Coming home with more baggage than we left with

After a sometimes hectic, sometimes relaxing trip back to Ohio to visit and pick up our dog from her summer in Michigan, we came back to New York with a bit more baggage than we left with. It belonged to my sister, Brittany, and my cousin, Gillian, who hitched a ride in the van we rented to get back to New York. Free ride for them, and two built-in, always-hangout-ready family members for me!

But because I had just taken a vacation to go back home, I had to work extra shifts at the coffee shop to make up for all the time I'd missed there. So between working, preparing for and going on several job interviews at publishers that I lined up while on vacation, and getting a few winks each night, I tried my best to hang out with the girls without asking them for too many favors along the lines of "make all these copies for my writing portfolio" (thanks Gill!) or "get my husband his birthday present" (thanks Britters!).

It was a feat of epic proportions, but I still managed to go to dinner with the girls before taking them both to their first Broadway show (Avenue Q, natch), bringing them along to serve as my basketball team's personal cheering section (though I think they flirted with the guys on the other teams more than they cheered), experiencing the museum of sex together (fun!) and lining up a group of my friends to entertain them at trivia night at the bar before I could get there (gotta love the Joshua Tree on a Tuesday!).

Though I was sad to see them go - I love visitors - I have to admit that I was relieved to have a portion of the weekend to recouperate, and by that I mean sleep! Lots of job prospects to cross my fingers for...

Never would have thought to ask...

I was recently reading my new favorite magazine, Real Simple, when I came across this article by a woman who thinks that as adults, so many of us don't ask enough about our mothers, whether that be because we're scared or just don't get around to it. Yet she says there's no better way to become closer to a person, even if you've known her all your life.

So, she asked a bunch of her friends and acquaintances to come up with 10 questions they want to ask their mothers (and, sadly, some wish they would have asked these questions before their mothers passed away).

I read that part of the article on the plane ride back to Ohio on Friday and immediately thought, "There's nothing in here that I don't know the answer to about my mom."

I was wrong.

Out of the 10 questions listed, I knew the answer to NOT A SINGLE ONE. So I made a vow right then and there to find some time with both of my parents (it was a Mother's Day article, but I thought, "Why limit it to just my mother?") and ask them these questions.

Two hours later, my mom, dad, sister, husband, and I had gone through a range of emotions from anger and worry to joy and roll-on-the-floor laughter. I have never felt so close to my parents and feel blessed to have been able to ask them these questions, some of which my mom said later she wished she would have known what my grandmother - her mother - would have thought about a few of them.

Don't wait before asking your parents these questions:

1. What’s the one thing you would have done differently as a mom?
2. Why did you choose to be with my father?
3. In what ways do you think I’m like you? And not like you?
4. Which one of us kids did you like the best?
5. Is there anything you have always wanted to tell me but never have?
6. Do you think it’s easier or harder to be a mother now than when you were raising our family?
7. Is there anything you regret not having asked your parents?
8. What’s the best thing I can do for you right now?
9. Is there anything that you wish had been different between us―or that you would still like to change?
10. When did you realize you were no longer a child?

In asking these questions, I learned a whole lot more about my parents' relationship with each other, the qualities they admired about me, qualities I didn't know about them, the kinds of parties my mom believes kids are into these days, and how my perception of what our financial situation was like while I was growing up was quite different from reality. And my husband learned a whole lot about his wife and how she got to be the way she is.

The whole conversation was fascinating, and when it ended, I remember thinking that I never wanted it to end. But what made me sad is that I can't remember a time we'd ever sat down and really talked. I'm sure that's not just my family; but most families, which is a shame. Unless it's a life-changing event, like a funeral, or a once-every-X-number-of-years event, like a family reunion, people don't sit down and talk about things that really matter.

I'm glad I did.

Hey! There's grass in these two states!

Once school was out, I was LOOOOOOOOOONG overdue for a vacation - and not one of those fake vacations where you go somewhere new, race around from dawn until dusk trying to see and do everything (though that can be fun too), and then come back home 10 times more exhausted than when you started.

Well, that's kinda how I am every time I go back to Michigan/Ohio (what can I say - I have lots of family and friends who I miss back there!) at least it's racing around to ultimately sit and visit with people I love!

So last week was chock-full of chasing around after the nieces, lunch with friends, Cedar Point with Brent and Brittany, swimming with my little cousins, dinner with old pals and, of course, a head-to-toe body massage!

It's sad that it takes being more than 500 miles away to really appreciate time with my friends and family, but I'll never forget to make the most of it when I can. Miss you all!

"Best friends, never gonna let you down, best friends, always gonna be around, you know..."

Remember back in grade school when you became instant friends with another girl in your class just because your lunch boxes had the same cartoon character on the front? It was so easy.


And luckily, that's kind of how I feel about my New York friends. Being friends with them is, well, easy. People ask me how I met my closest New York friend and we look at each other awkwardly and say, "the gym" because it was the place we both happened to be when taking the most awkward class ever, yet continued to go only because we liked each other's company. (And I'm happy to say that while I still see her every week, it's no longer at the gym because we both quit in favor of meeting at the park for a walk with my dog or at a bar for cocktails.)


As for several of my other New York friends, we're friends because our T-shirts say the same thing: Zogsports. They're the ones on my basketball team who I'm hanging out with more and more off the courts, both after the games and on the weekends.


And then there are the friends who I had before I moved here, and have since moved here as well or visit often.


So last night was the ultimate hangout when I had friends from all three groups meet up with me at Gael Pub to see Rusty's European Tour, the band I sang with when their lead singer was on vacation.

Good friends, good beer, and good music. What more could you want?

Daaaa da da da daaaaaaaaa daaaaaaaaa (That's the beginning bars of the graduation song. Just so you know.)

It's FINALLY summertime!!

Well, it's been summertime for a few weeks, but now it feels like it's summertime because I graduated yesterday. Again, I guess.

After enrolling in the shortest graduate school in the country (forgot to read the fine print when I signed up that elaborated that while it truly is the shortest grad school in the country, it feels like the longest), I FINALLY made it to the end.

WHEW!

I never knew just how long six long weeks were until taking the New York University Summer Publishing Institute, and living through the more than 100 (no joke) PowerPoint presentations and dozens of hours of group work that went with it. And yet I would do it all over again. I learned a ton about the industry, shook the hands of numerous publishing executives who were kind enough to take the time to impart their wisdom, and met some really great people along the way who are in similar shoes. But with NYU SPI looking good on my resume, I'm ready to hit the ground running in the publishing industry.

Now to find a job.

And to help me, NYU kindly set up a job fair to at the culmination of the program with all the big names in both the book and magazine publishing industry. We're talking Hearst, Penguin, HarperCollins, Random House, Scholastic, Hachette, etc.

After spending days preparing for the job fair between polishing up my final project for school, I was so frazzled the night before the job fair looking at my resume that I had read over for the gazillionth time that evening alone, that I actually could not comprehend what the sentences were actually saying. Brent said "enough already" after I thrust a well-worn copy of my resume in his lap and pointed at one of the last sentences. "BRENT! Is it 'in' or 'on' that I mean here? Did I write stories focusing on topics ranging from X to Y or did I write stories focusing in topics? On or in? ON OR IN!?!?!? And did you read this again? Are you sure there aren't any typos on this? Or is it 'Are you sure there aren't any typos in this?' ON OR IN!?!?!?!"

After missing a perfectly good night's rest, I high-tailed it to the job fair in plenty of time to ensure that I was one of the first ones there so I could have more time for anticipation and hyperventilation.

Like any job fair, I spent most of it waiting in line. Yet even that was productive because my classmates and I used that time to exchange notes along the lines of, "When you go to that table, make sure you talk to the girl, and not the guy," or "The lady at that table will grill you until you break," etc. And while I feel like I did really well with some interviewers (and even scored an interview for a position I hadn't even formally applied for at a huge book publishing company - score!), there were of course the "interviews" I felt I bombed, like the one at Random House where I blanked out for a good five seconds (which seemed to last an ETERNITY) when the interviewer asked me which imprint I would ideally like to work for. Luckily, the "bad" interviews were few and far between.

And now my thank you notes and e-mails are written with yet another reiteration about how my skills will undoubtedly translate well at your small magazine publishing company/ginormous book publishing company/ANYWHERE IN THE PUBLISHING INDUSTRY and now all I have to do is wait for the phone to ring and obsessively check my e-mail.

Huh. And I thought school was hard.

Oh beautiful, for spacious skies...

Every family has their own traditions when it comes to the holidays, and mine has a rich tradition surrounding the Fourth of July. Every year, my dad's siblings (11 of them total) plus spouses and kids - plus some of their extended family and friends - hang out at my parents' house all day to swim, play volleyball, eat, drink visit, and, of course, blow off fireworks.

After blowing up the Christmas tree, there's more eating and drinking leading up to the unbelievable fireworks show my Uncle Chris - who lives next door to my parents - puts on every year. As far back as I can remember, there used to be one or two rows of spectators. That's grown to at least five rows of people of all ages.

Unfortunately, living in New York, I have had to miss the Fourth of July celebration for the past two years. Last year, I (kind of) went to the Macy's fireworks show in New York. This year, it came to me.

Last year's show was over the East River. This year, it was over the Hudson, but after seeing the sheer numbers heading toward New Jersey all day, I was not willing to join the crowds.

Instead - since Brent and I live in an apartment building without rooftop access; which wouldn't help since it's only six stories high - we cuddled up on the couch and tuned the TV to the events that were happening just a few blocks away (ridiculous, I know, but I never knew what the word "crowd" meant until I moved to New York).

What was surreal was that a second after the first fireworks were shot off, I heard an unmistakable KA-BOOM! So I muted the TV, yet heard it again even louder a few seconds later. If I were just watching the fireworks on TV, I would only see them and hear the patriotic music they were being set off to. But since they were being shot off just a few blocks away, I could hear every one just seconds after seeing them on TV. It was like I was there with everyone else, but while still in the comfort of my own home. And there's nothing like the New York fireworks show.

Happy birthday, America!

RIP Michael Jackson: I'd be willing to bet this barber could definitely make the sides of his clients' hair perfectly even.

Crazy sad time for celebrities.

First Michael Jackson, then Farrah Fawcett, and then Billy Mays (who achieved celebritydom in his own right.)

While their deaths came as much as a shock to me as the rest of the world, what I was more shocked about is the immediate reaction of New Yorkers - about Michael Jackson. (Poor Fawcett and Mays; their deaths were just completely overshadowed in the media and otherwise.)

The morning after Michael Jackson died, I snapped this photo while waiting for the train (it's an iPhone photo, so sorry about the bad quality. Someone took a black Sharpie and wrote "RIP 'King of Pop' Michael Jackson.")

And nearly everywhere I go, I hear "Billy Jean," "Thriller," or "Beat It," mostly from inside stores or coming from tables set up with Michael Jackson paraphernalia. But even people not trying to hock souvenirs are taking part - people driving by my apartment with the windows down are rocking out to it in their cars, iTunes sales of Michael Jackson songs have skyrocketed, and even Winston, the homeless guy who lives outside my neighboring building, has been blaring it from his stereo for days.

And more recently, I took a photo of this unbelievably amazing work of art. Again, it's a poor-quality iPhone photo, but trust me when I say it was an incredible depiction.

May all three rest in peace.

Still can't imagine...

I've blogged numerous times about how surprised I am about how safe I feel while walking to work at 4:30 a.m. or walking my dog before going to bed at 11:30 p.m. And rightfully so. Even though I live in Midtown Manhattan, there's always delivery people, other dog walkers, etc. also out and about on their own business.

Of course you have to balance those feelings of safety with different types of danger, which the Metro newspaper put so eloquently today in headline form: "NYPD warns city still a bull's-eye for terror" and a lead that read: "Osama bin Laden is alive and plotting another attack on New York."

Even though I wasn't a NYC resident on 9/11, I've made a point to ask several people who I've become friends with who were here at that time. Even if they weren't anywhere near the twin towers that day, it not surprisingly affected them in ways much different from how it affected me living three states away at that time. Though each story is different, each also has the undertones of the utmost respect for those who worked to rescue people from the rubble and sympathy for those who lost someone that day.

And even though I've talked to numerous people about that day, I still have no way to even fathom having actually been here while it was happening. And I pray to God I never will.