We moved.
Well, actually, I should say, we started the process this past Friday, and are still in the process of unpacking boxes.
Granted, it's a bit of a nightmare to uproot your life and start somewhere new, but I find it perversely thrilling. And I think both of us tend to behave like gypsies: our tally is officially 5 moves in 3 years, one of them being transatlantic. Yeah, insane is an understatement.
No, I don't have sadomasochistic tendencies (though the last post might have you think otherwise), but I do enjoy lifting furniture, packing boxes, organising things in a new way, getting rid of old clothes, planning a schedule of how to do things, setting up a new adventure in a new house... it's the unknown that I love, it's the organised chaos, the challenges and the new perspectives that we as a couple really thrive on. We'll never be the kind of people that just sit back and watch things happen- we want to do stuff. We like to change our habits and vary our perspectives- sometimes to an exhaustive degree.
The mister and I work phenomenally well as a team, and this past weekend was solid proof, in a lot of ways. We worked like a pair of relay racers. We groaned, we laughed, we got annoyed, we had pizza. Frustratingly, I couldn't lift heavy objects or do a lot of the hard work with him this time around*, but the boxes and furniture that he brought over I then swiftly unpacked, squirreled away, and did all the small jobs. We worked from the same page, we spoke the same language on where we wanted things, and what we wanted from this new place. Though I'm sure I'm the only one that noticed this imperceptible click, it made me fall even more in love with the man that I met 4 years ago and the amazing relationship that we started from day 1. From the beginning we knew we fit each other impossibly well, but just couldn't put a finger on how. And now I get why people stay married for 60 years: it's the little things that you start to realise about how the relationship innately works. Even something as simple as moving house. You learn about each other a little bit at a time.
In a way, this house feels like a metaphor for change for us, for new plans, new trips, new business ventures. It sounds like we take on a lot, but I can't get enough of that gorgeous feeling at the end of the day to collapse, exhausted onto the sofa with my running partner, and know that the next day is a whole new set of challenges to get ready for.
* more info later
Tuesday 31 March 2009
Wednesday 25 March 2009
Simple things for the loved ones in your life
We have our third anniversary coming up on April 29th. For fun, each year we've tried to test ourselves on how original our gift can be according to the "traditional" rules for what each year is supposed to be. 1st year was paper, 2nd year was cotton.
For the third year, the traditional gift is apparently leather.
Hmm....
Is it bad that I'm thinking of so many ideas already?
Or bad in a good way?
For the third year, the traditional gift is apparently leather.
Hmm....
Is it bad that I'm thinking of so many ideas already?
Or bad in a good way?
Saturday 21 March 2009
Learning
I just read a post today by my beautiful friend Amanda. Call me a bit of a blogarcheologist.
It's an old post, but I always find so many new gems in her past writing, as she writes with an amazing awareness of who she is, and bravely confronts challenges with amazing wit, emotion and positivity. Forgive me, sweets, for using one of your statements in this post, I hope that's okay.
For the most part, as I've looked back at the last few years, I've noticed that my attitude has changed towards myself and life in general. My writing has gotten stronger, more sarcastic, funnier, a bit more ballsy. I like that. I'm proud of it. I'm celebrating a new part of myself this year and we're tackling a lot more amazing things than we ever thought we would. But we all have days, right?
And yesterday was a bit of a step back.
In Amanda's post, she wrote: So, I'm not perfect, this I know. I can be righteous and demanding, expecting more than most people are willing or able to give. I am annoying because I hold myself to the same standards and for the most part I make good, which can border on martyrdom.
That hit a tremendous chord for me. Brutal truth: I can be really curt, unforgiving, controlling and expect everything and everyone to be as perfect as I try to be. And if I feel hurt or disappointed in someone, I take it as a personal offense- as if someone doesn't give a rat's ass about me and has hurt me on purpose. It's a trait that I've had for as long as I can remember, and it's something that's been a battle to change. Almost harder than accepting that I have a serious addiction to Mexican food.
This post, and the lesson that came with it, was triggered by a simple phrase the other night: "My company is throwing a party for me and my colleague next week."
"Oh, can I come?" I said.
"Well, it's just the work crowd, it's not like a fancy party where people bring other halves, so you'd probably be bored to tears hearing me talk about myself and the business the whole time and standing there while we all get sloshed."
I bristled. I felt left out. Instead of saying "yeah, you're probably right", my brain flashed backwards. My memories of the past became razor-sharp and I threw them at him like darts, without taking a breath. Remember those times when you said oh, its just a work party and you strolled home at 5am? Remember when I kept asking to go with you to work functions and you always felt like you wanted time to yourself at these things? Why is it that other couples manage to go to things together and you feel it necessary to keep your private life separate from work? Why do you leave me out of these obviously fun events and I'm stuck at home knowing that I'm missing something? Why can't I come too??
Oh, fuck.
It's an old post, but I always find so many new gems in her past writing, as she writes with an amazing awareness of who she is, and bravely confronts challenges with amazing wit, emotion and positivity. Forgive me, sweets, for using one of your statements in this post, I hope that's okay.
For the most part, as I've looked back at the last few years, I've noticed that my attitude has changed towards myself and life in general. My writing has gotten stronger, more sarcastic, funnier, a bit more ballsy. I like that. I'm proud of it. I'm celebrating a new part of myself this year and we're tackling a lot more amazing things than we ever thought we would. But we all have days, right?
And yesterday was a bit of a step back.
In Amanda's post, she wrote: So, I'm not perfect, this I know. I can be righteous and demanding, expecting more than most people are willing or able to give. I am annoying because I hold myself to the same standards and for the most part I make good, which can border on martyrdom.
That hit a tremendous chord for me. Brutal truth: I can be really curt, unforgiving, controlling and expect everything and everyone to be as perfect as I try to be. And if I feel hurt or disappointed in someone, I take it as a personal offense- as if someone doesn't give a rat's ass about me and has hurt me on purpose. It's a trait that I've had for as long as I can remember, and it's something that's been a battle to change. Almost harder than accepting that I have a serious addiction to Mexican food.
This post, and the lesson that came with it, was triggered by a simple phrase the other night: "My company is throwing a party for me and my colleague next week."
"Oh, can I come?" I said.
"Well, it's just the work crowd, it's not like a fancy party where people bring other halves, so you'd probably be bored to tears hearing me talk about myself and the business the whole time and standing there while we all get sloshed."
I bristled. I felt left out. Instead of saying "yeah, you're probably right", my brain flashed backwards. My memories of the past became razor-sharp and I threw them at him like darts, without taking a breath. Remember those times when you said oh, its just a work party and you strolled home at 5am? Remember when I kept asking to go with you to work functions and you always felt like you wanted time to yourself at these things? Why is it that other couples manage to go to things together and you feel it necessary to keep your private life separate from work? Why do you leave me out of these obviously fun events and I'm stuck at home knowing that I'm missing something? Why can't I come too??
Oh, fuck.
He looked like I had just slapped him. And I instantly regretted the viciousness of my tone.
The past is never relevant to a present argument, but I used it as ammunition. I was whining. I was spinning in my insecurity like those cotton candy-making machines.
It was a bad moment for me, and I probably should've walked away to cool down. But I forced myself to talk about why I was feeling like that. I forced myself to confront it and rip off the perversely comforting shield of insecurity that I've used so often. I dealt with it. And he listened, though understandably felt a bit hurt.
I dwell sometimes. I analyse too much. Especially about things and people that I cannot control. I'm still trying to figure out why, but I think it stems from some kind of fear of failure. Fear of my own failure. Fear that people will fail me. Fear of disappointment that things won't always be perfect (whatever that means). I feel like, if I hold myself to certain standards, I think others should be the same. Should be like me. It's rather unforgiving for the other people in my life, because it doesn't celebrate their differences. It punishes them for their faults.
For the people that know me, they can probably say that I am not a malicious person, I'm very loyal, and I love very strongly- even though it makes the above paragraph maybe bit contradictory. I'm just recognising that there are some residual bad habits that have a tendency to poke me if I'm feeling vulnerable, and entice me to fall into my familiar trough. I haven't felt this way in a long time, so it came as a bit of a surprise for me, hence the self-psychoanalysis.
It's my duty to talk about the fact that yes, I can be insecure and not recognise my strengths. No, I'm not perfect. Yes, it's okay to be angry that these moments happen. No, it's not okay to punish people for being different. Life is about missteps. The lessons in the failings. Laughing about the mud that gets on your knees when you fall forward.
And I'm pretty happy that I have a partner that no matter how hard it gets, he reminds me to do this and just start again:
(yes, my haircut and colour wasn't a disaster)
Friday 20 March 2009
Little treats
I'm dancing the "surviving recession" dance as I call it. Let me explain.
I haven't had my hair trimmed/coloured/spruced up/pampered in about a year. Not a big deal really, because my hair is pretty healthy and shiny for the most part.
However, I'm beginning to feel like there's dead energy in there, know what I mean? It's the equivalent of craving a massage when your skin and bones are aching. My hair is aching for some luuuuuuv.
The reason I haven't had my hair cut in a year is because I'd stopped coming up with reasons as to why £90 was a fair price to pay for a really good haircut. Yes, that's correct. that's the equivalent of about $160.
I have pretty thick/wavy/layered hair, and because I've had some gasp-inducing haircuts in my life, I've always felt like a good hairstylist was the holy grail. So I found one when I moved here, and stuck with him.
But I'm trying to be a lot more careful nowadays and shopping less and finding bargains. No kidding, I shop at the GAP here regularly because that's the only thing that carries stuff small enough for me other than crazy designer stuff that I'd need to sell a kidney to afford (I'm serious, GAP over in the UK has some great cuts and is on par with JCrew).
And the other day, I spotted a blink-and-you'll-miss-it ad in the paper that a "celebrity stylist" (whatever that means) is offering cheap haircuts for a few days, to entice the flagging market over here. Total price: £34.
You don't have to ask me twice. My fingers practically flew at the phone and I made an appointment for tomorrow. Bliss.
Now, I'm hoping that this isn't some experimental session where I'll come out looking like a German expressionist on crack, but I've been assured that these are all snooty senior stylists that will make sure I have exactly what I want. Yeah, and I have a feeling he'll be called Serge.
Whatever. A little treat for the tresses. Priceless.
I haven't had my hair trimmed/coloured/spruced up/pampered in about a year. Not a big deal really, because my hair is pretty healthy and shiny for the most part.
However, I'm beginning to feel like there's dead energy in there, know what I mean? It's the equivalent of craving a massage when your skin and bones are aching. My hair is aching for some luuuuuuv.
The reason I haven't had my hair cut in a year is because I'd stopped coming up with reasons as to why £90 was a fair price to pay for a really good haircut. Yes, that's correct. that's the equivalent of about $160.
I have pretty thick/wavy/layered hair, and because I've had some gasp-inducing haircuts in my life, I've always felt like a good hairstylist was the holy grail. So I found one when I moved here, and stuck with him.
But I'm trying to be a lot more careful nowadays and shopping less and finding bargains. No kidding, I shop at the GAP here regularly because that's the only thing that carries stuff small enough for me other than crazy designer stuff that I'd need to sell a kidney to afford (I'm serious, GAP over in the UK has some great cuts and is on par with JCrew).
And the other day, I spotted a blink-and-you'll-miss-it ad in the paper that a "celebrity stylist" (whatever that means) is offering cheap haircuts for a few days, to entice the flagging market over here. Total price: £34.
You don't have to ask me twice. My fingers practically flew at the phone and I made an appointment for tomorrow. Bliss.
Now, I'm hoping that this isn't some experimental session where I'll come out looking like a German expressionist on crack, but I've been assured that these are all snooty senior stylists that will make sure I have exactly what I want. Yeah, and I have a feeling he'll be called Serge.
Whatever. A little treat for the tresses. Priceless.
Tuesday 10 March 2009
Driving me crazy
Literally.
Well, I'm taking driving lessons.
Not kidding.
I'm in my thirties and I feel like I'm 16 again (which is not a bad thing, but not in this situation).
When I was living in upstate New York, driving was a lot of fun. I tested the speed limit loads, found the quickest routes to places, managed to back into a mailbox with Tato's car, and managed to total the front half of my brand new Chevy Beretta right after I got it, when I was 19. In general terms, I was a pretty good driver.
Living in the city, however, has the benefit of me not having to worry about car insurance, navigating complicated roundabout systems (who the fuck invented those things?!), roads that are about as wide as a tennis shoe, and competing with aggressive cab drivers and suicidal bicyclists. The mister gets to deal with that, and I get to be the co-pilot and music-nazi. Plus, the mister drives with controlled insanity, which is a lot of fun, especially in our little sportscar.
But, now that we're getting a new car, and both our hectic schedules cannot rely on just one person driving to places, I've decided to conquer my fears and just do it.
I decided to take lessons in an automatic car. I tried the manual gearshift (which most people drive in this country), and I did think it was a lot of fun, but I can't be bothered with remembering to worry about the clutch and which gear i should be in while people are cursing at me to get onto the left side of the road.
So, automatic it is. And my lessons have been really fun and my teacher is great. It makes me feel really brave when I'm weaving in and out of crazy London traffic (and I have to say, it's much worse than driving in New York City, if that's even possible).
But the amount of information that you have to know for the written and driving test is testing my noodle. There are so many signs and and light-signal combinations and legal requirements and hazard perception videos and "perceived" speed limits... I didn't remember my driving test being like this when I was 16.
Anyway, I studied pretty well for the written test that I took today.. and..
I failed. Duh. I would've passed, but I got three more than the maximum wrong. Oops. And the three were the "road marking" questions. The next time I can take it again is a month from now, and I have to pay another $60.
The actual driving test itself is rumoured to be a bitch, and apparently they fail you over very tiny things (no, I don't qualify "tiny" as hurtling off a cliff by mistake).
So, this is one of the hurdles that I have to get over- but I'll tell you, once I'm able to get my hands on our car and drive it (and peel the mister off the ceiling), oh man will it be worth it.
Well, I'm taking driving lessons.
Not kidding.
I'm in my thirties and I feel like I'm 16 again (which is not a bad thing, but not in this situation).
When I was living in upstate New York, driving was a lot of fun. I tested the speed limit loads, found the quickest routes to places, managed to back into a mailbox with Tato's car, and managed to total the front half of my brand new Chevy Beretta right after I got it, when I was 19. In general terms, I was a pretty good driver.
Living in the city, however, has the benefit of me not having to worry about car insurance, navigating complicated roundabout systems (who the fuck invented those things?!), roads that are about as wide as a tennis shoe, and competing with aggressive cab drivers and suicidal bicyclists. The mister gets to deal with that, and I get to be the co-pilot and music-nazi. Plus, the mister drives with controlled insanity, which is a lot of fun, especially in our little sportscar.
But, now that we're getting a new car, and both our hectic schedules cannot rely on just one person driving to places, I've decided to conquer my fears and just do it.
I decided to take lessons in an automatic car. I tried the manual gearshift (which most people drive in this country), and I did think it was a lot of fun, but I can't be bothered with remembering to worry about the clutch and which gear i should be in while people are cursing at me to get onto the left side of the road.
So, automatic it is. And my lessons have been really fun and my teacher is great. It makes me feel really brave when I'm weaving in and out of crazy London traffic (and I have to say, it's much worse than driving in New York City, if that's even possible).
But the amount of information that you have to know for the written and driving test is testing my noodle. There are so many signs and and light-signal combinations and legal requirements and hazard perception videos and "perceived" speed limits... I didn't remember my driving test being like this when I was 16.
Anyway, I studied pretty well for the written test that I took today.. and..
I failed. Duh. I would've passed, but I got three more than the maximum wrong. Oops. And the three were the "road marking" questions. The next time I can take it again is a month from now, and I have to pay another $60.
The actual driving test itself is rumoured to be a bitch, and apparently they fail you over very tiny things (no, I don't qualify "tiny" as hurtling off a cliff by mistake).
So, this is one of the hurdles that I have to get over- but I'll tell you, once I'm able to get my hands on our car and drive it (and peel the mister off the ceiling), oh man will it be worth it.
Monday 9 March 2009
I'm back... and completely clueless that a lot of you sent me lots of nice "hellos"!
Okay, first off, forgive me for not replying to all of you sooner- my blog has decided to engineer a mind of its own and is now "moderating" all the comments that appear on my posts. So I only just saw them. I swear I wasn't ignoring all of you.
I've been in London, but I've been so busy, I really haven't had time to put finger to keyboard.
What's been happening? And, in the words of the lovely Cat, "is that bacon I smell? Mmmm."
In no real order, here's what's going on in the Days of Myshka's Life (cue musak):
We're moving to a new place in a few weeks. Funny enough, it's literally about 10 steps from where we live now, which is kind of nice, since we like the area we live in. However, this is a much bigger place spread out over two floors, built like it should always host 70s dinner parties, huge floor to ceiling window that overlooks a little lake, has a little park across the way.. etc. Basically, the way I can describe The Barbican is like a 1960s architecture homage to Lincoln Centre- but the UK version. If you live in this place, it's like a haven in the centre of London- walkable to all the main stuff, but without the touristy/noisy bullshit. We like it here for now, so we're staying for a little more time before we buy a house somewhere.
We're buying a bigger car. We've had a little two-seater sportscar for over a year now, and although we love it, we want to buy something different. We drive about an hour to see our boat over in the rural parts of the UK, so it would be nice to get something more like a Land Rover to transport all of our gear.
My aunt died suddenly two weeks ago. She had a lot of mental and health problems, and we weren't very close, but it's still family. Poor Babchya found her in the bath and had to call paramedics, which arrived just in time to pronounce her dead of a massive heart attack. I comfort myself to know that she's in a much better place.
My job has been great, up until a major fuck-up on my part the other day. Basically, my brain went loco for a day or so and I forgot to put my boss on the correct flight to make a meeting that I helped organise in Asia. So he missed the meeting, screamed at me, and after I hung up, I burst into tears. I was petrified that in this economy this would lead to me getting fired (yes, I know that's a bit dramatic), and I went hysterical until the mister had to calm me down and tell me that I would be fine, that it's okay to make mistakes. I know that's true, it's just hard for me to forgive myself when I make them, for some reason. I'll learn someday.
The mister is in the process of starting up a business with a colleague of his. It's all looking promising already, but I don't want to say to much, don't want to jinx it. But I am SO proud of him and I really think that this is going to be the start of one exciting year for us.
I'm really enjoying this year so far. I'm learning how to breathe, how to smile more, how to focus on the big picture and not the little niggles, how to appreciate my body for never having any illnesses or broken bones and taking care of me no matter what (even through my 5-year long punishing phase of trying to be "perfect" by getting down to 95 pounds).
I'm learning to realise how lucky I am that no matter what happens, no matter how much I earn, how perfect I want to be, how unravelled and dark I feel the world is getting, that I have my family, my friends, and the love of my life to run right with me.
It's a nice feeling to look in the mirror and see strength. Positivity. Fierceness. Pride. Love.*
*Though I think the whisky helps.
I've been in London, but I've been so busy, I really haven't had time to put finger to keyboard.
What's been happening? And, in the words of the lovely Cat, "is that bacon I smell? Mmmm."
In no real order, here's what's going on in the Days of Myshka's Life (cue musak):
We're moving to a new place in a few weeks. Funny enough, it's literally about 10 steps from where we live now, which is kind of nice, since we like the area we live in. However, this is a much bigger place spread out over two floors, built like it should always host 70s dinner parties, huge floor to ceiling window that overlooks a little lake, has a little park across the way.. etc. Basically, the way I can describe The Barbican is like a 1960s architecture homage to Lincoln Centre- but the UK version. If you live in this place, it's like a haven in the centre of London- walkable to all the main stuff, but without the touristy/noisy bullshit. We like it here for now, so we're staying for a little more time before we buy a house somewhere.
We're buying a bigger car. We've had a little two-seater sportscar for over a year now, and although we love it, we want to buy something different. We drive about an hour to see our boat over in the rural parts of the UK, so it would be nice to get something more like a Land Rover to transport all of our gear.
My aunt died suddenly two weeks ago. She had a lot of mental and health problems, and we weren't very close, but it's still family. Poor Babchya found her in the bath and had to call paramedics, which arrived just in time to pronounce her dead of a massive heart attack. I comfort myself to know that she's in a much better place.
My job has been great, up until a major fuck-up on my part the other day. Basically, my brain went loco for a day or so and I forgot to put my boss on the correct flight to make a meeting that I helped organise in Asia. So he missed the meeting, screamed at me, and after I hung up, I burst into tears. I was petrified that in this economy this would lead to me getting fired (yes, I know that's a bit dramatic), and I went hysterical until the mister had to calm me down and tell me that I would be fine, that it's okay to make mistakes. I know that's true, it's just hard for me to forgive myself when I make them, for some reason. I'll learn someday.
The mister is in the process of starting up a business with a colleague of his. It's all looking promising already, but I don't want to say to much, don't want to jinx it. But I am SO proud of him and I really think that this is going to be the start of one exciting year for us.
I'm really enjoying this year so far. I'm learning how to breathe, how to smile more, how to focus on the big picture and not the little niggles, how to appreciate my body for never having any illnesses or broken bones and taking care of me no matter what (even through my 5-year long punishing phase of trying to be "perfect" by getting down to 95 pounds).
I'm learning to realise how lucky I am that no matter what happens, no matter how much I earn, how perfect I want to be, how unravelled and dark I feel the world is getting, that I have my family, my friends, and the love of my life to run right with me.
It's a nice feeling to look in the mirror and see strength. Positivity. Fierceness. Pride. Love.*
*Though I think the whisky helps.
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