Brushing it off and saying “it’s just one of those days” is a disservice to yourself. It’s a cheat out of giving yourself permission to experience real pain, real emotions, real sadness. Whether or not you understand where it’s coming from doesn’t necessarily matter- and it doesn’t make it any less.
You would think that after living overseas in a third world country I would have developed a thicker skin and to expect the unexpected, and if not that at least be comfortable doing things a bit out of the ordinary.
Evidently this isn’t the case.
Usually the Monday after Easter Sunday I’m floating on a high of closeness, an intimate afternoon with family and friends, and a pile of goodies at the foot of my bed.
Something is amiss this year.
Recently, everyone and their aunt on the internet has been talking about the “Ban Bossy” campaign lead by some heavy hitters like Condoleeza Rice, Anna Maria Chávez (Girl Scouts CEO) and Sheryl Sandberg (along with all Jezebel readers it seems). While I agree with the core of the movement, I think it’s a bit of a waste of time. Rather than striking the term “bossy” from our vocabularies when referring to strong, commanding women (at home, the office, everywhere)- maybe we should be focusing on how we can continue to be bossy- and in bossy, I mean taking charge.
I normally wouldn’t reblog something from a website called Couples & Co., but this entry technically written by Brad Pitt was particularly moving to me.
Enjoy, disagree, or take away from it. Happy Friday.
As just vented via social media, my travel agent has dropped the ball. I suppose I have as well.
I should have been more assertive in the situation and double checked those sticky, small print facts, but it’s looking like my ticket with Korean Air expires September 5th and it turns out that I cannot, as mentioned before, schedule my trip for December even if I book before the September expiration date.
I know it should have made less sense when exploring those options earlier but the thought of wearing multiple sweaters, seeing my best friends and family, and drinking hot apple cider deadened my common sense and I got lost in a mental Winter wonderland.
This question is catfish noodling in a murky, dark pool but is there anyone out there who may have gotten around this by paying a fee, talking their way into a ticket change, anything?
I’m feeling defeated and the images of a Christmas in the Northwest are melting as quickly as an April snow.
We’ve all had a dining experience at a canteen teeming with fellow feasters, bustling wait staff, blaring music, and been overwhelmed with the penetrating hum of noise and anxious rush. Luckily, there are places like Ze Foodiebus that give one a bit of an escape from the hustle.
This week was full of said hustle and not what I would describe as effortless. Between deadlines at the magazine, the last week before bills are due, work stressors beyond understanding, sickness in the household and the typical ups and downs experienced in a relationship I was exhausted and I had a demeanor that closely resembled if not entirely impersonated Grumpy Cat. Luckily, I feel blessed to have times like this past Friday night which was replete with overwhelmingly juicy oysters, Brut Champagne, and buttery pate at Sonoma, delightful Kampot pepper and lime won tons at Chuck Norris Dim Sum and saccharine passion fruit cocktails at the WUPP’s monthly Eighty8 party with some of my favorite comrades Allison and Duncan. Still though, it wasn’t quite what I needed pull out of the emotional end of the month slump.
Saturday started off a bit uneasy and strained, but after open, honest conversation and persistence, I could feel the weight of the past week begin to shed. That evening I was treated to an unexpected dinner at, surprise! Ze Foodiebus. I had visited this quaint, secluded eatery roughly a month and a half ago with Ashley Louise, as previously described in a blog entry and was overwhelmed with pleasure by its character, offerings of simple yet enticing French gourmet, and above all, the beyond delightful owners and chef, Nanou and Bo. My favorite Scotsman, Mr. Munro, had logged that information away and made necessary advance reservations at the charming dinner retreat.
As we sat (with one other couple in the extremely exclusive dining area, available for a total of four patrons) commenting on the tenderness of the steak seasoned with local pepper and sea salt and the perfectly roasted baby potatoes, I sensed something evocatively special about the experience. As Nanou poured us glasses of wine and gingerly translated the French menu for us, I felt as if we were part of something that had happened purposely, time and time before. These restaurateurs chose their method of service and style of dining intentionally; it is undeniable that Ze Foodiebus is geared toward intimate meals, presumably between lovers or close confidants. I began to think of the couples they had seen frequent their restaurant and the stories they must hear and the emotions that are unleashed in such a personal space. I felt warm towards the couple sitting a mere two feet behind me. That if they were experiencing the same feelings as I was toward my dining partner, Ritchie, they must walking through their days with everything rose tinted and enveloped in strange mixture of excitement and tranquility.
It’s been a whirlwind year. From April 2012 when I first visited Cambodia to this day where I celebrate my sixth month living in Southeast Asia, my life has been overturned and kicked up with wild abandon. Not one thing do I regret, and only look back on past relationships, choices and lives fondly. I try to set my gaze on the day I am living, pushing away excessive thoughts on the future and remind myself that this, this is as close to perfect as things can possibly be.