True Love

I love my boyfriend so much. We are really good together. He’s always there when I need him, and I love being close to him when I feel bad, and when I feel really good. There is no one better to celebrate with or have with me after a long week.

Things aren’t perfect. When I was younger I couldn’t get enough of him and I never got tired of having him around. But as I got older that constant attention took its toll. I started to gain weight and get headaches, until I could really only be around him every once in a while. But ultimately we found a balance in our relationship and moderation really has been the key to our everlasting love. He understands when I need him and I know he’s there for me, even when I have to handle something on my own.

As Valentine’s Day approaches we have very special plans together. On this one special day there will be no moderation, only indulgence and excess. We will be with one another constantly and I look forward to every minute. And when the holiday is over we will return to our well-honed relationship based on trust, understanding, and love, and he’ll give me just enough distance that I still crave him at the end of the day.

Because our love is true. And my boyfriend is sugar.

Holy Moly Land

My staid existence was recently both stirred and shaken. This was not a particularly difficult thing to do, since as I mentioned before, very very staid. Coming off of months of teaching teenagers in return for a PDF (instead of money) I literally could not have imagined a better idea than fleeing the country. Israel took this challenge- to reinvigorate my very being- extremely seriously.

From the first sleepy days in Tel Aviv thinking “gee, this looks a whole lot like Southern California” except for the whole I’m in Asia, and this is the Mediterranean part; to the last day in the Golan Heights, savoring every moment of the last sunrise over the hills and sheep before I had to leave, the trip was incomparably magical. I rode a camel, introduced s’mores to the country and climbed an ancient mountain in a 24 hour period. I made some friends and kissed some boys. And I may or may not have worn Ugg boots to a night club (I will never confirm).

My teacher tendencies only escaped my careful tethering when it came time to organize Shabbat. My lack of aptitude with Hebrew notwithstanding, I can power trip an event without trying. There was candy. And crafts.

I had the privilege to experience the supreme pleasure that is taking off 5 layers of clothes that I slept in and a sports bra, slathering my entire body in mud, and wading into the Dead Sea. And then the supreme honor to tour Yad Vashem mere weeks before International Holocaust Remembrance Day, and seven months after my visit to the DC museum, under the tutelage of a fellow history teacher. Given my recent writings and rumination on my own family’s experience in this vein that day was particularly evocative. The Israeli people are incredibly open and engaged and refreshingly forthright. This meant I was told to eat new and delicious foods that I probably wouldn’t have chanced on my own, and enjoyed immensely, while deciphering Hebrew conversation- mostly through a thorough analysis of expressive body language and inflection. Turns out pasta should always have sweet potatoes in it.

I saw Israeli soldiers with M16s across their lap texting their friends and Hasidic rabbis on scooters. Walked on three thousand year old stone pathways and touched a wall that has brought peace and hope to millions. My new Israeli friends gave me a new perspective on life with the realities of military service, managing interesting and unfounded stereotypes, and the importance of hummus. The only thing I could have asked for is to have stayed a little longer.

Everything about this trip felt like a much needed deep breath. And if the transitional space that I find myself in results in a return trip, then so be it.

Off to a Sexy Start

I was always completely aware that the trip to Israel was going to be much worse than the trip in Israel. A redeye from LA followed by an 11 hour flight to the promised land on an airline that promised to interrogate me. All of those dreams did come true.

In my ever logical and valiant efforts to arrive in Israel relatively bright eyed I resolved to stay awake all of Saturday night and sleep through the long haul flight. In this pursuit I decided that eight new books might be adequate to keep me occupied and awake. Little did I know I wouldn’t need any of them. By fate, or possibly a fatal combination of obliviousness and tenacity, I kept the poor man sitting next to me up for 5 hours; and he kept me up.

First, there was the mandatory tail feather flaunting of what schools we went to and what enviable jobs we have had. And then we had to prove how clever and smart we were. But then hours passed in a haze punctuated by in depth literary analysis, rather intimate commentary on our lives thus far and candid musings on our purpose and very selves. The flight crew, who were already striving for new levels of on board cheek, gave us a bottle of wine, and we drank it- at three in the morning. This, of course, both mellowed and intensified an already heady conversation, though wine did feel more appropriate than breakfast.

He decided he knew me well enough to flick me when I was being cute, and I decided he might be allowed to finish his own sentences instead of amusing myself with my own endings.

As any heroine would, I wrote my name in the back of his novel, and left him enigmatically at the gate. All before I ever left the country.

New Year

While it is refreshing and noble to make grand declarations of all that we will do and change with ourselves in the coming year, I present a new kind of resolution: Give yourself a break.

I have no idea how all of the people I have heard about giving up alcohol for the month of January plan to pay their credit card bill from the holidays without a cocktail in their hand. Perhaps you have had time off or been spending time with your family (whether that’s a pleasant experience for you or not). Does this really seem like the ideal time to give up carbs cold turkey? Because you are going to be miserable if all you are eating is cold turkey.

This is not to say that goals are not a good thing, because they are. And goals should certainly be in the spirit of self-improvement, but they should also manifest with a nod to humanity. Moderation and exceptions for reality are everything. Of course we should all be working out more regularly, but you’re going to need to use your legs tomorrow and thirty minutes on the elliptical totally counts. When you said you were going to be more patient, considerate, and kind you have to include treating yourself that way as well.

We do not live in bubble-like microcosms where we can do whatever we decide instantaneously. Other things and people are going to get in your way, and the least you can do is not be one of those obstacles. Have an overall goal, then break it up into smaller goals, then break those up again. If you accomplish sixty percent of your tiny goals this year then you are doing amazing. And you get to have extra cake and booze. Confidently allow yourself to enjoy your life, make mistakes, and fail.

Be good, be better, be yourself.

Happy New Year.

Black Fri Lady

Yes, I’m aware the wordplay does not completely work. But the sentiment stands true. There is nothing ladylike about elbowing your way to an eighteen dollar sweater at five in the morning. There is no reason to pay more for something than you have to, but the value of your time and character also have to be accounted for. The spirit of gift-giving is to think about the people in your life you want to show appreciation to and what it is in your power to give them that they might like.

The spirit is not to dive in to the dollar bin grabbing everything within reach, only to decide later which unfortunate cousin is going to get a battered copy of Die Hard, and who gets the stuffed reindeer with the jingle hat. Shopping on Black Friday is not relaxing, so you can’t even claim retail therapy.

The only ladylike way to shop on the Friday after Thanksgiving (the day after you have dedicated a whole uninterrupted twenty four hours to connecting with friends and family whilst consuming twice your body weight) is online. There are some incredible sales, that no reasonable person can expect you to ignore, but the pursuit of a bargain should not take over your brief respite from work and other distractions. Pick a time to commit yourself to the pursuit of a reasonably priced coat, or set a cellphone alarm for that Amazon lightning deal you just can’t miss, but limit it to an hour or two. Then read a book, curl up and watch a movie, or even take a walk with your aunt or other relative you don’t get to see very often.

As we get older, and advertising agencies get evermore overeager during the holiday season, we seem to forget that celebrating is meant to be about spending time and making memories with those we love. Whether it’s taking the time to tell one another what you’re thankful for, or making sure gifts are both thoughtful and personal, make sure you take full advantage of your time away from the obligations of work to play a little bit.

If your idea of play happens to include a quick tirade through Target with your mom, then so be it.

Happy Thanksgiving! And Happy Hanukkah!

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

I have never had my hair done. Trust me, I don’t know how it happened either. My life, as far as my tresses are concerned, has devolved into a series of quarter inch trims and biweekly at home conditioning treatments. Not one pause for a dramatic updo, sweeping french twist, or even a softly curled blowout. All formal events are signaled by a few twists of my own curling iron and a halo of flexible hold. For a long time I didn’t even realize how sad this was. I happily straightened my own hair for my senior prom and slapped on some sparkly eye shadow without ever recognizing what my hair could have been. The pictures forever thrown into obscurity by the indeterminate consequence of my stylistic ignorance.

But now, in a world full of Drybar and Blow Bar, the time has come to have someone lay hands upon the virgin strands. I don’t need to leave enough time to mess up and start over again. The back will finally look as good as the front. I’ve been getting by for way too long on naturally decent and shiny hair. Aside from some, practically requisite, questionable highlights when I was sixteen, my hair has been its natural color and texture every single day. The madness must stop. Hair must meet blow dryer, and styling creme, and their good friend boar bristle brush. Just once, at least.

I may not have any movie premieres or palace functions to attend, but there’s nothing that says I can’t look like I do. Having your hair styled is a feminine right of passage that I somehow bypassed, and now I find myself, in my twenties, still reaching for the ceramic wand every time I get a wedding invitation in the mail. Holding it over my head for twenty seconds while simultaneously applying a second coat of melting mascara, when I could be sipping champagne and reading about how to wear a peplum while someone else handles it. Time for this princess to get some practice in.

Even When No One’s Watching

There is something so incredibly satisfying about being in a room with like-minded people. It’s the reason people start clubs, and families form traditions. And with those of us with an eye for class, manners, and decorum there’s nothing we like better than finding those with that same eye and practicing what we know to be the best way to look and behave in various situations. Oftentimes we purposely go to places and associate with people where we know this will be the case, but there are times when that is simply impossible.

Depending on your workplace, you really have no control over the people you work with and have to find a way to deal with the fact that they don’t understand the importance of dressing to your body type, sending thank you notes, or that no one should leave their house in, or admit to owning, Crocs. This can also be the case at family events that you are socially obligated to attend with the full knowledge that you can’t wear your best dress without the possibility of upstaging someone, or bring your best purse because of the very real chance that someone is going to spill alcohol on you.

While some people may see these situations and realities as a sign that adhering to a credo that no one notices is pointless, and give in to the frustration, and start wearing polyester and strappy sandals with unpainted toes, a truly classy woman will not. Because to really be classy it can’t be something you put on and take off, it’s a part of you and all that you do.

Someone else’s lack of manners is in no way an excuse for you not to display them any more than you would jump off of that proverbial cliff your mother was talking about. While classiness is a feminine quality, and can be attained by any woman who considers it important, it is also very much about being an individual, and it often takes a strong individual to be exactly the kind of woman she wants to be all of the time. (If I swear at the other cars when there’s no one else in my car, did it really happen?) This does not mean that you should sacrifice fine Italian leather to every rum and coke that happens along, but don’t let the circumstances you find yourself in ever keep you from being yourself.

There is nothing wrong with being the woman that others look up to.

That said, don’t repeat your anthem of class so frequently inside your head that you can’t enjoy a beer with your cousins, or indulge in casual Friday with your co-workers. Just be the prettiest one there.

Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Everything

While I have always leaned to the fuchsia end of the girly scale, I have never needed to prove it with things. Of course I think sparkly things are pretty and I can twirl like you would not believe, but these were passing fancies, not obsessions. I have also envisioned myself with a sapphire engagement ring since before the Royal jewels hit my radar. Which is why, when I tried on a diamond ring in the whisper quiet, velvet lined wing of my local Tiffany & Co. (just for the fun of it, you understand) I was completely unprepared for what it would feel like to slip 3 carats of grade D, VS1 clarity onto my left hand.

I have no boyfriend. No one was offering me this ring. Is putting jewelry on supposed to make you breathless? I seriously couldn’t breathe for a second. It fit perfectly. Even the security guard said “Wow, that looks really good on you”. I know he’s probably paid to say things like that, but I might have been glowing, and that room is really well lit, so it’s anyone’s guess. I can now see why women, when faced with a proposal from a boyfriend they’re not totally sold on, scream a resounding “Yes!”

I’m slightly afraid I’ve had some kind of premature bridal moment. But, I also kind of don’t care. It wasn’t even just any diamond, it was that ring, in all of its perfect, faceted, vivacity that called to my very soul. Ok, maybe that’s a bit overdramatic, but you get the idea.

Most men claim not to understand what the female fascination with jewelry is, yet still respect its powers of distraction, and healing minor emotional wounds. And now I know why the whole proposal process hinges on the selection and offering of a ring. They are designed to pull you into their circlet of commitment, and help you make that final leap from I love you, but being around you 24/7 seems extreme to ‘Til death? No problem.

And it works. Or, it will work. There is a reason it is a tradition. It has everything to do with glitter lust, and nothing to do with everlasting vows (at least, not at first). I can’t wait.

Fiscal Responsibility is Sexy

Not everything is about money. There is even a fair argument that money can’t give you any of the things in life worth having: happiness, validation, love. But as long as money is the currency of choice to bring certain material things into your life- shelter, food, one shoulder silk ball gowns and patent leather pumps- we are going to have to pay attention to how we use it.

Like the things it buys, money can very easily disappear if you aren’t aware of how it works and how to use it to your best advantage. It is equal parts tempting and terrifying to imagine yourself in a Becky Bloomwood state of existence, but “overdraft” is a really bad word, and we need to treat it like one.

It sounds glamorous and fabulous to spend money on what you want, when you want it, and there is something luscious about indulging your see, want, have impulses, BUT what is really sexy, and classy, and sophisticated is a credit score over 700. If you budget your income, and don’t spend money that you don’t have then one day you can do awesome things like buy a house and pay off loans for education and business endeavors. And when you use your credit card frequently and responsibly other companies offer you more credit cards, which you don’t even have to use, but having tens of thousands of dollars of credit available to you does allow for some pretty detailed run-away-to-foreign-countries-and-drink-and-dance-and-eat fantasies. Not to mention the whole perk of being able to suddenly buy a car, if you had to, should you find yourself stranded in Costa Rica.

All of these things will make your bank manager really happy (and probably encourage him to be very nice to you) but they will actually make you happier, too. You will have circumvented the stress of not knowing if you have enough to pay for the essentials, financial independence can easily support all of the other important kinds of independence, and the guys who matter will find it hotter than being able to change a tire.

Obviously it’s nice to have friends and family on hand to take care of you, but even they will like you much better if they don’t always have to buy your lunch because you’ve spent your entire paycheck on pink champagne and three different colors of the same ballet flat. And you will find that when you do organize your money intelligently that you find yourself with a bit of extra for that amazing bag that is going to last forever. Or even that epic vacation, with the eating and drinking, without having to apply for welfare when you get home.

Fiscal responsibility is not the first thing that most people think of when you think of sexy personality traits, but it’s one of those long run, even after those laugh lines become permanent, sort of admirable qualities. Knowing what you’re spending does not mean never spending any of your money, but doing it thoughtfully, with grace and confidence. So sexy.

Purse Personified

You might be aware that I recently acquired a Modalu Pippa handbag. The reason you might know this is that I have been flaunting it rather shamelessly, constantly, brazenly since the moment I got it. I have been lusting after this bag for about three years, something I’m sure you can all relate to (if not the bag, then the lust, certainly). I finally received it from a slightly startled UPS man, and was duly enthused.

Now, most people would remain happy with their purchase, but it’s generally hard to keep up the kind of excitement expressed when you just get something, every time you see and use it. My particular brand of excitement mellowed into a form of appreciation heretofore reserved for pets and family members. I personified it. I don’t know how this happened, it wasn’t a conscious decision, but my purse’s name is Purse, and it’s possible I speak to it occasionally.

Just normal things, like, “You sit there, Purse; can’t have you getting your feet dirty.” Or, “Don’t fall on your face, Purse, you have to stand up and show everyone your hardware.” That last one seems much dirtier as I type it than it did setting my purse next to me in the restaurant.

So far it hasn’t said anything back.

Now, I am supremely aware that this is not normal behavior, but also that there are much stranger things I could be doing. Just look around the next time you’re stopped in traffic. And I can’t honestly say that I want to stop. Not that I’m desperate for leather clad friends with handy zippered pockets, but, for someone who usually relishes having a variety of clothes, jewelry, and shoes that I like, I am really enjoying having one thing I love all the time. (Anyone who would like to draw comparisons or juxtapositions to my twenties and the evolution of my romantic ideals, may.)

I can only hope that one day you find one thing, or dare I say, one person, that makes you light up every time you see it. And I promise not to judge you when you ask it what it thinks of your dress.