Monday, March 29, 2010

nothin' + a little somethin' = this post.

I've got nothin'.

Nothin' to say, nothin' to report, nothin' to ponder.


Except for this: the first four episodes of my five-episode web series for Eyetique. Enjoy.

Yup. That's about it.

with love from Pittsburgh,

Monday, March 22, 2010


I know, I know! TWO blog posts in one day? Crazy! And that's just about how I'm feeling right now. A little bit crazy.

I'm restless as hell, people. Something's gotta change. I've enjoyed my day off today. Oh, yes. Very much. I've stayed off the interwebs most of the day, and it's been really nice. But doing so has also made me think a lot. {I know, right? Thinking? Who does that? There's no time for thinking. We have work to do and interwebs to be on! We cannot think!}

And here's what I've been thinking:

I want an iPhone.
I want to travel. To somewhere where the water is crystal blue and the sun is always shining.
I want to go shopping. Crazy shopping. Like, whole new wardrobe shopping.
I want a day--no, a week--at a spa. Massages, massages, calming music, and massages.
I want to lay in the park, on my back, staring up at the blue sky. For at least two hours.
I want to make at least $45,000 a year. Is that too much to ask?
I want a treadmill in my apartment.
I want to be able to watch How I Met Your Mother every minute of the day.
I want to pay off my American Express and start putting money in my 403b.
I want to be a bit more of a bad-ass.
I want to dress up, put on smokey eye makeup, step into some killer heels, and go to a martini bar.
I want to take a road trip. To somewhere I've never been.
I want a color laser printer.
I want to do more voice-over work.
I want a craft room. That's right. I said it. I want. A craft room.
I want a music room. Just for my grand piano and my cello. And also my iTunes.
I want a Boston Terrier so bad I just might pee my pants.
I want Pittsburgh to get more into the 21st century and fix its mass transit. Hello, rail system?
I want a new car: one that doesn't squeak when I drive over a speed bump.
I want laser hair removal. These arms are much too furry for my liking.
I want to learn to sew.
I want to plant a beautiful garden in the backyard. With tons of peonies and hydrangeas. But I want someone else to take care of it. {Please. I could kill a cactus.}
I want to hire a private cook who will make the most delicious vegetarian meals possible.
I want to get a bike, with a basket, so that I can go to the market and buy french bread and put it in said basket.
I want to have two hours set aside every single day for me just so that I can nap.

People, I am restless. I want change. I can't believe I'm saying this, because I've never liked change too much. Is this a "spring-has-sprung-so-change-your-life" kind of moment?

Tomorrow, I'm gong to do something different. I don't know what it's going to be, but I'm going to do it. Hear me, World? I AM GOING TO DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT. AND I DON'T CARE THAT IT WILL BE ON A TUESDAY.

Deep breath.

with love from Pittsburgh,

wanted: change.

What's that word that describes a feeling of stir-craziness? I seem to be at a loss for certain words today. I feel I'm at a loss for some other things, too. Like rest. I've taken the day off today from work. It's raining outside this morning, and I'm still in bed as I write this. The rain is soothing, almost welcome, even though the past few days brought beautiful sunshine and warmth to my world. I like the rain sometimes, especially when I feel like I need to slow down, to re-group.

{What is that word? Frustrated? No. Unsettled? Not quite.}

I need to do some things differently, I think. I sometimes feel tired and worn out because I've been caught up in a routine that's become stale and uninviting. I mean, I like routine--almost all of the time. But maybe it's time for a change in routine. Do you ever feel that way? I mean, I get up, go to work, come home, crash on the couch. Day in, day out. What's that doing for my spirit? Nothing. Maybe it's because of the recent winter weather--the months of feeling trapped in my apartment because the elements were brutal and prevented any sort of life from actually taking place. And now that spring is here--literally--the air has changed, and so must my spirit.

{I've been restless. Yes, that's the word. Restless.}

So after today, after my day of rest and quiet {I'm staying off the interwebs}, after my day of listening to the slow patter of the cleansing rain, I'm going to take the restlessness and put it away. I'm going to breathe the air in a new way, I'm going to do things differently. I'm going to change up my routine a bit, slowly but surely. I'm going to stretch beyond this stifled world I've been in {i.e. winter}.

But first, I'm going to take a nap.

with love from Pittsburgh,

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

i'm not dead. promise.

Um, I'm tired. No. Scratch that. I'm exhausted. I'm not dead, in case you were wondering. Because, you know, I like to think that you're all sitting around, um, thinking about me all the time. Like I'm important. So, yeah. I'm not dead.

I'm prolly gonna lay low for the next couple of days. This week at work is making want to grab the nearest letter opener and gouge my eyes out with it.

But, you know, I won't. Gouge, that is. I might, however, still grab said letter opener and clutch it. Clutch. It. Tightly.

I'm missing you all out there in the blogosphere. I haven't visited in the past several days. I can barely hold my head up at this point. But I'll be back soon. Like, maybe after I put down the letter opener.

with love from Pittsburgh,

Friday, March 12, 2010


I'm ready for this weight to be lifted. This weight of winter. Do you know that I've been feeling heavy lately? Almost like breathing is difficult and walking takes effort and moving and thinking and being is just too much to ask. All because of winter.

The air has finally changed here in Pittsburgh. The temperature has risen a good ten or fifteen degrees, and the air smells different because of it. And then my lungs fill up with life again. I haven't felt much life lately: coming home from work, putting on sweats, curling up on the couch, turning on the television. Lather, rinse, repeat. Not wanting to go anywhere, not wanting to make any effort, because the air was so heavy with winter. But not now.

I had dinner tonight with three of my best girlfriends. After work. When I'm usually too tired and want to just go home. But I went. And my lungs filled up with life again. And my heart squeezed its warm blood through my veins, and I smiled. Because winter's weight is lifting.

The seasons remind me of how healing change can be. How special it is to go from one experience to the next, whether it's sun to cool breezes and golden leaves, or frozen air to freshly rejuvenated lungs. I could never live where there aren't all four seasons. The seasons make me appreciate that change, that healing, that reminder of all the amazing ways the earth and heavens take care of me.

My lungs and heart feel a bit of life again.

with love from Pittsburgh,
{i really, really love jude mcconkey's photography.}

Saturday, March 06, 2010

oh yes i did.

When I was in middle school, I was friends with a girl named Robin. Robin with an "i". She was gorgeous: blond, tan, blue-eyed. I was, well, not: tall, lanky, hairy-armed, brunette. She pegged her jeans, wore Vuarnet, and had an older sister, Mickey, who was just as gorgeous and looked nothing at all like a mouse. I never really understood why Robin was friends with me. But she was. We hung out a lot, as a matter of fact. She was, if I remember correctly, my very best friend in sixth grade.

Robin and I had one thing in common, though, despite our polar opposite appearances and coolness factors: we were both gymnasts. When I was younger, I was obsessed with gymnastics. I was on the local gymnastics team. I could do handstands and round-offs and the uneven bars with the best of them. But I had secret weapon: I was extremely flexible. Almost to the point of circus freakishness.

I used to be able to stand in a doorway and put one leg up against the frame, perfectly parallel to it, as if I was doing the splits standing up. I used to be able to bend my body, exactly like the photo above, in an instant. Some people actually referred to me as a human rubberband.

One day, after school, I went over to Robin's house. Her mom wasn't home, but Mickey was. And so were some of Mickey's totally cool high school friends. They were in, like, the tenth grade. And that made them rock stars in my eyes. And some of her friends that were over were boys.

I know! Boys!

Robin and I were hanging out in her bedroom when Mickey yelled for us to come into the living room where she and her friends were sitting on multiple couches, watching television.

"Hey, Laura," Mickey said. "Do that bendy thing you do. You know, where you put your legs over your head." (See photo above.)

I couldn't believe The Rock Star had spoken to me, let alone requested me to show off my super secret weapon. I was so nervous, though, because they were all! so! cool!

Robin gave me the nod of approval, so two of Mickey's friends (boys!) moved the coffee table out of the way and prepared a performance space for me. I got into position, took a deep breath, and swung my legs over my head, just like in the photo above.

And then I farted.

No, really. I farted.

In front of Robin, in front of Mickey, in front of all of her totally cool high school friends.

And they all burst out laughing.

"Oh, my God! Did she just fart?!" they cackled. "I think she totally just farted!"

Trying to be super cool like everyone else there, I tried to play it off.

"No, I didn't," I tried to convince them. "I made that noise with my mouth, see?" And then I actually tried to mimick the farting sound with my little sixth grade mouth. And failed miserably, of course.

"Dude!" one guy yelled. "She totally farted!"

Needless to say, it was at the moment that I called my mom and asked her to come pick me up immediately. I hid in Robin's room until she arrived, trying to act cool and as if nothing unusual or embarrassing had happened.

I am so thankful that I am no longer that flexible.

with love from Pittsburgh,

{and no, that isn't me in the photo above}

Friday, March 05, 2010

quirky mcquirkerton.

My armpits get itchy
when I get nervous or anxious. It's true. Like, if I'm driving along and all of a sudden some other driver gets too close to my car or makes a sudden move that catches me off guard, my armpits suddenly get all itchy. Deodorant companies should make a product that prevents that. I don't know how it'd work or what it'd look like, but I'm just sayin'. I get tired of my itchy armpits.

Know what else happens when I get nervous or anxious? I eat really fast. Like, if I'm at a party, particularly one I'm hosting, and I want to make sure everyone's having a good time, I eat and talk fast because I think it'll make it look like I'm happy and having a good time. You know, like I've got all kinds of energy and excitement over such! a wonderful! party! The reality, however, is that I'm convinced everyone is bored to tears, just as uncomfortable as me, and wishing they were somewhere else. Why I think shoving crackers and cheese in my mouth at Mach 5 will remedy all of that, I'll never know.

I wash my feet before I go to bed at night, because I can't stand the thought of bringing any kind of grossness into my bed.

I have to take off my nail polish the second a chip appears. Even a tiny one.

If the Ross-a-tron gives me a kiss on my cheek, I have to have him give me a kiss on my other cheek. You know, so I'm even.

I have quirks. I realize this. But I am damn good at my quirks. They are mine. They are what make me me. The Ross-a-tron loves them. I think they make me unique.

Do you have quirks? Weird things that happen to only you? Or things that you do that may seem weird to someone else?

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go make sure all of my kitchen cabinets and drawers are closed completely before I can go to bed.

with love from Pittsburgh,

{How great is the image above? 3LambsGraphics has such awesome stuff.}

Tuesday, March 02, 2010

reason 493.

Every year around Mother's Day, I'd stand in front of the card section at the local grocery store or Target and get a knot in my stomach. All those gushy, mushy cards, expressing such love and gratitude to the women who bore us. I never wanted to buy one of those cards. I never wanted to celebrate Mother's Day. I felt so alone, so left out. Watching young women my age picking out cards for their mothers, smiling and clutching that perfect folded gift as soon as they found it. Reading all of the cards that never said anything I could actually say to my mom, let alone feel about her. What kind of card do you get for a mother who suffers from schizophrenia? Who was never really there for you because she couldn't be? Who was too sick to even carry on a lucid conversation with you? What does that kind of card say?

To Mom, on Mother's Day
Thank you for not being in the psych ward this year.

To a Wonderful Mother
Well, at least when she's on her meds.

Dear Mom...
You've been the best psychotic mother a kid could ever have.

I say these now in a semi-joking way because there's been a lot of healing in the past year or two. Prior to this healing, I don't think I could even write a blog post about my mom without crying my eyes out. But now. Oh, but now.

My dad is currently in Russia on business. My mom sent me an email telling me how much she misses talking to him. My parents have been married for more than three decades, despite my mother's illness. My father, my hero. My role model for what it means to truly love. To truly be married to someone. In sickness and in health. And that part of the email that said she misses talking to him? What a blessing that she can say that! She never could've have said that, expressed that emotion. Her illness was too strong, too controlling. But now. Oh, but now.

I'm going over to my parents' house tomorrow after work to make dinner for my mom. I wish it was Mother's Day, because I'd bring eleventy-seven of those cards with me. Just to tell her how much I love her. And how I've missed talking to her all these years.

Now. Oh, now. How thankful I am for now.

with love from Pittsburgh,
{I love LOT 9 PRESS. I want the print above.}