Tomber Amoureux

When I was young I would ask my Mom and Dad where the man I was going to marry was. I wanted to prepare. I wanted to know about him before there was a him. They always said the same thing. "He's off becoming the man who will fall in love with you." I would roll my eyes and stomp my foot impatiently. I was ready to be in love and I was only eleven. I read voraciously and any time the tale dealt with love and romance I studied it, memorized it, and added it to what my ideas of love are. If I could go back in time and switch out all of my early reading and give myself a good smack to the head I would. Because I read, and read, and read. When the book had a sex scene for the first time I hid in my room, sure that the door would burst open at any second and I would be grounded until I was twenty-five. I blushed the entire time but I studied that too. I wanted to know what I was doing when the time came, how I was supposed to act and react.

By the time I was a teenager I had love all figured out and sex mostly figured out. I stopped asking where the man I would marry was. I became patient and I watched quietly. So of course nothing really happened. I had one high school boyfriend who was a lot of fun but not the one, and after that a whole lot of nothing. My eyes would rove over the men I would see, "Is he the one? Or him? No not him," and so on. I didn't conquer the sex issue until I was 22 where I realized I had nothing figured out as far as intimacy.

Then I did fall in love and it was wonderful for while. Until it wasn't. It also made it clear that while sixteen-year-old-Wendy had it all figured out, thirty-year-old-Wendy knows nothing, is throwing it all out and starting over, this time with different goals. I'm not in it for love. I hid the key to my heart so well I don't even know where it went. So, goal one is being happy. I'm also determined to work hard, to do things on my own, and to have fun. I need to spend more time with friends and let them know more often how special they are to me. Without them, I wouldn't have gotten through the past year. I need to spend more time alone too. Balance. I need to see new things. I haven't been to Washington D.C., or the Empire State Building, or to MOMA, and there's no good reason for it. I need adventure. New things. New tastes, and new passion. I'm going to be off becoming the woman who I dreamed of being when I was young. She kinda rocks.

Act Natural

When it comes to alcohol I am what is referred to as a "light weight". In fact if there was a term for someone even lower than a light weight that's where I would be classified. Especially now. I have one drink and I am a very, very happy lady. Two, look out. Three - well you better know where I live. Today at work when the announcement was made that there were margaritas being served you've never seen people wearing suits and business attire move quicker, me being one of them.

There it was, a full on margarita machine, delivering slushed tequila to the group. Some days it's wine. I admit, I am very lucky to work there and love it. I took my cup like a kid getting candy and enjoyed it's very potent contents. Ten minutes later I felt my cheeks go rosy. Sign one that Wendy has had alcohol. I sat at my desk typing away and finding the most boring things highly hilarious. I kept my cool and couldn't help but hear a friend's words in my head, "Act natural." But that was even funnier than the boring stuff and I knew I had a silly grin on my face. Act natural Wendy. Oh, such sweet torture I was inflicting on my funny bone. Any second sign two was going to show. Giggling.

I closed my eyes briefly then kept up my typing, the sound always soothing. Then I got an email from a co-worker who had also indulged in the frosty cocktail and there was a typo. A funny one. I let out a soft laugh, a catalyst to the eruption of giggles threatening to escape. At least I wasn't the only one affected. My teeth sank into my lower lip , pinning the laugh there. No. Can not start giggling. But the funny typo was still in front of me and tequila was dancing in my eyes. Act natural. Ah, no go away you. Giggle. Just Act Natural. No.

I held on for dear life, pushing down the volcano of hysteria, and pulled out my mirror to throw on some lip gloss. Distraction. My reflection taunted me, my eyes warm with laughter, and oh yes there's those rosy cheeks. I couldn't help it, really I couldn't - I mouthed "Act natural," to myself and officially lost it. Thankfully there was a surge of laughter in the other office and I was saved the embarrassment of being the light weight. Also thankfully it was time to go home. Cheers!

Take a tour with me

Tour from Wendy on Vimeo.

Video tour of my new home. Sorry for the shaking. I need to work on steadying my hand.

HD/ larger version is HERE

New Yorker

Before we moved to the East Coast we were told that if we made it 5 years then we could call ourselves New Yorkers. That was immediately followed with, there was no way in hell we would make it past year 2. We would run back to the beautiful weather in California in no time. I kinda take pride in the fact that not only did we all last but I grew to love NYC. It actually feels like home now and when I talk about California it's to "visit my family" instead of "going home". According to some other sources I can't call myself a New Yorker until I've made it ten years but honestly I don't care, which I feel is a good indication that I belong.

I was standing at 53rd and Madison the other morning sipping my morning coffee and gazing up at my new office (YAY) when I was asked a very simple question. By simple I mean ANY New Yorker should be able to answer this question but something a little funny happens when you ask residents for directions. We suck. And by we, I mean me, but I know it's not just myself who this happens to. You ask a group of 10 of us where something is and you will get conflicting and at times polar opposite routes. Wanna know what I was asked? Blah, it's so embarrassing. I was asked where the Empire State Building was. I had - no. idea. where. So I said what I've heard others say, "Just walk around and look up. You can't miss it." I'm very helpful.

Oh boy, the subway system. I'm a lot better now but before the summer I could only tell you how to get to 3 or 4 places. Thank god for hopstop. It has saved my life so, so many times in the past 4 months. I stole a cab for the first time the other day and don't feel terrible. Normally I'm pretty passive when it comes to cabs and that's why I'm always losing them to the more aggressive. No more. I will dash a block ahead if I see one coming. Snooze you lose. But I'm not the cab fanatic I was before - god so slow! I'd rather walk and hop on a train which is so startling coming from me that concern over me being possessed is completely fair, but I've also grown to love striding along the streets.

I can't get used to hearing people say "on line" when they're talking about waiting IN LINE for something. It's so weird. But I have embraced New York pizza and nights out not really starting till 11pm. Which is why at 9pm right now I'm still debating whether I should go out.

The night is young after all.

It's Courtin Time

"The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions -- the little soon forgotten charities of a kiss or smile, a kind look, a heartfelt compliment, and the countless infinitesimal of pleasurable and genial feeling." - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

I've been thinking a lot about courtship. It's just in the air this fall. Or maybe I'm just noticing it more now that I'm dating too. I like hearing the stories about how couples met, what made that person "the" person, and the things they each did to really find their way into the other one's heart. One friend told me she knew her husband was the one by how he treated her family. Another by how he kissed. The small gifts they'd give. The phone calls and vulnerability that they only expressed to that person. How kind they were. What it seems to boil down to are the little things that happened at the beginning of the romance, and then later when the love had matured. Then there's the things that don't work and end things before they've really begun. Little things make cracks that eventually take it all down. I like hearing those too. They're sometimes hilarious.

We all say it - "I just knew," but it's more than simply knowing. What the other inspires in you and you in them is how you "know". With my last boyfriend it was a lot of little things too. Things I knew he did for me. Like the concert the first few weeks in. I knew that concert was just for me. I was the Prince fan after all. But he did it because he knew it would make me smile. Or maybe it was to get him laid. That's what a guy would say. Or all the little notes he'd leave throughout the years. The hand drawn smiley sun he hung in the window with a flashlight attached behind it when my sleep pattern had me waking after the sun had gone down. And laughter. Someone who could make me laugh. It was little things like that that won me over. And got him laid.

With each relationship it's different. A different cocktail of forget-me-nots and moments. Each new connection inspires a new variety and some repeats that went well a time before. Another ex had this ability to remember every thing I told him and would use that to buy me the perfect books or cds. It was all very thoughtful and always made me feel special. "What about the movie moment?" I was asked recently. We were talking about what was important and I find that I remember simple things with the most fondness. "Don't you want the movie moments?" You know the moment - the Jerry Maguire moment when they make the grand gesture in front of your entire group of friends, family, maybe even the cat, and your neighbor where they lay it all on the line, pour out their heart and soul - that leaves every one crying and professing how much they love each other. Maybe singing. Ha. I'm pretty confident that those moments are called movie moments because that's where they live and die, there, up on a big screen tugging at our heart strings. I don't think the movie moment exists in reality. It's the little things that actually count. The quiet. Softly spoken words, or as simple as a look, a kiss. Bumping into someone and the way they steady you. Not speeches or huge public scenes.

If you hear a weird noise...

Upon moving into my new place I was given a run down on quirks, little things that tend to be a bit spastic or not work in the way one would expect them too. The first I knew about - the door locks are finicky. I know this because it took me 40 minutes to open the front door on one of my trips over with boxes. Awesome. I have since learned the "trick" to how the door likes receiving the key and it only takes 5 minutes tops. I hope I never have to pee really bad or I'm in some trouble.

Some others I wasn't warned about and to be fair, I should have noticed when I first looked at the place. Like the outlets. They're all two prong outlets. Ugh. Practically every single electronic device I own needs three. But no big, I bought an adapter and I'm golden. There's no outlet in the bathroom so I've been blow-drying my hair in my hall, and the fridge makes quite the racket at around 2am.

I was also told "If you hear a weird noise while you're showering get out of the way." Apparently the weird noise signals Antarctic currents to flood out and you have mere seconds to avoid hypothermia. So my first shower I was paranoid, flinching at every little sound. I had no idea what this weird sound would sound like but I was ready to get the hell out of the way if I heard anything other than water.

No sound prefaced the sudden onslaught of freezing water. In fact the only sound was me shrieking and moving faster than any human has ever moved, faster than the speed of light or sound people, when my entire body was hit with the colder than cold jets. I don't even know how I ended up in my kitchen, dripping, cursing and naked, but I think I also defied the laws of gravity and time. I may have teleported. Whatever weird sound was supposed to warn me must only be heard by dogs.

So yeah, going through some growing pains in my new abode. I've had next to no sleep (not used to all the noise and people moving about) and probably still have conditioner in my hair. I'm loving it. It's rough and imperfect and I love it.

It Can't Rain All The Time

Moving is never fun. Never. Ever. Fun. I'm a pretty organized person but when I have to sort and box and label...well everything gets a little out of control, including my hair. I like to keep things together, with their mates. My books should all get to stick with their friends but no, no, that makes the box too heavy. Grrr. No fair. So I have to ditch having order in exchange for wrapping glasses in teeshirts, sticking balls of yarn in-between knick nacks, and creating complete chaos in my living room while doing it. I hate every moment of the mess but I am embracing it. I'm putting my feet up on a stack of boxes at the end of the day, getting into fights with the tape gun, and placing my life into cardboard and bubble wrap.

I was packing up my closet a few days ago. No, that's not right. I was actually standing hip deep in stuff I had at some point shoved in there and lecturing myself on the shoving when my cell started ringing. A hop, skip, trip, ouch, and a jump, and it was in my hands. "Mom's cell," glowed on the display. I bit my lip, sat on the edge of the bed, let out a little sound, and then one word, "Dad." See, when it says "cell" from one of the parents something's wrong. Almost always. You know those numbers, or people that only call with bad news? Well my parent's cell lines are among those numbers for me. When they call from home or work it's for happy talking. Cell phones = something not fun is going down. But maybe this wasn't one of those times so I pushed a smile in my voice and said hello to my Mom.

I stared at a thread that had come loose on my shirt throughout the entire conversation. It fluttered nervously every time I breathed out and I was mildly distracted and irritated by it. Are you home? Oh no. She asked if I was home. That's like being asked if you're sitting down. Bad, bad, bad. I knew before she even said the words. Hospital. My Dad had a stroke, and in that single moment I came unhinged. I'm over-tired so I lost gravity for a few seconds. Just a moment, really a cup or two of time, then, deep breath, I was back together again. All I wanted, selfishly, that quiet evening, was a hug and to cry into someone's shirt. I wanted to be little again and rocked to sleep.

You know those moments? When you just need to lean a little till you can stand back up again? I needed to lean that night. Instead, I drank a bottle of wine and danced around in my underwear. Danced it out to weather the storm. I know my Dad, and he would much rather have me listening to some great music and dancing, than being sad. A mix of Ottis Redding, Prince, Miles Davis, Bon Jovi, The Beatles, and Al Green filled my messy apartment. They sang their words the amazing way they do and got me through the night. I may have thrown in a little Dj Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince, and some Chipmunks. Don't judge. I moved and twisted, sang loud and badly until I was beyond exhausted. Then I tucked into a ball like the cat does on the left side of the bed and slept. The next day I was ready. Ready for whatever else is thrown my way in the coming weeks.

In an episode of How I Met Your Mother Lily and Marshall are in a fight and they call a time out and go out, have a great time, completely putting the fight on hold. Awesome right? Since I think relating real life to that show is a must, as often as possible, I'd really like to call a time out. It's a bit weak of me but I could use it. I'd go have a fantastic meal, talk for hours. Laugh. Maybe a little karaoke. Most important is the laughing. If only right? But I will keep all the balls in the air, and everything going as my thoughts are with my family and my father slowly recovers. I have a lot going on but I know it's all doable. Especially when coffee and sheer will is involved.

We rolled in style

My brother may disown me for this but it's too fantastic not to post on a dreary Saturday. Plus between the two of us I am definitely the NO in this picture. I'm glad I worked out the whole hair/puffy paint thing. Look, I'm even rocking the shoulder pads. Nice. I can't even blame my parents. I remember picking that shirt out at Mervyns all on my own (in the women's section) and being SOOO happy when I got to wear it. I did a little dance of victory, huge shoulders bouncing and all when I tried it on for my Dad, who I'm sure covered his horror with a "Hey that's really colorful." The fanny packs? I kinda dig those. There's something wrong with me.


(sorry joe)

Fighter

"Keep your motor running baby I was built for speed"

A lot has changed in my life. I've become a determined, strong, and the crazy part, athletic woman. I knew that my body had changed but I really didn't realize how much until I needed to wear business clothes recently. I pulled out my nice charcoal grey slacks and slid them on. I almost want to do one of those pictures where the newly slim person is standing in one leg of their slacks. Cause I totally can with them. But then I would feel like one of those silly before and after ads and that's just not me. It's not about the size I am but more about how incredible I feel now. I have a long ways to go still but I can't believe how far I've come. I won't tell how much I've lost (a girl has to have her secrets) but I will say I basically lost an entire person.

It's crazy. But I've been working hard. Harder than I ever have, and as a result my body, the way I move, my skin, even my eyes...everything has changed. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror the other day while I was doing yoga and I stopped dead when I realized I was looking at my rib cage. I'm not sure I even had a rib cage until that moment. It was the best part of that day. A rib cage. Yoga has been that pivotal thing in my life. I didn't know I was missing it until I had it and now I can't imagine living without a practice.

It's not just yoga and, not that I need to defend myself but someone asked recently if I had gastric bypass. I'm not sure what my stance is on weight loss surgery so I'm not going to even go there. For me here's what worked. Yoga every day, treadmill 2 miles in the morning, and 2 miles in the evening. I've slacked on the treadmill but only because I walk so much now in the city. As for my diet, I'm pretty awesome now when it comes to what I put in my body. I don't count calories, or eat "diet" anything, but I am constantly aware. I know if I have a cheeseburger I will feel like a sleepy bear for hours so now I stick with nuts, granola bars, chicken, you know the deal. We all know the deal but it's hard to get to a place where you actually want to do it. Yoga gave me that and I am grateful. I feel like a new person and it can only get better.

Namaste.

Once More With Feeling

"When I say, "I love you," it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman."

The men of the Buffyverse really knew how to say it didn't they? If someone said this to me I would have as many Spike-babies they wanted. And if the person saying it looked like Mr. Marsters with those cheek bones and eyes...God, I would do terrible, terrible things to him. He is just beautiful. If he used the fake accent when he said it....oh wow the world just got so glowy and butterscotch. Heh. Apologies to Mr. Marsters. I'm sure he's sick to death of women and their sex drives...maybe not. But guys don't say those things all that often. I think that's good because when they do show their softer side it's that much more intriguing and spicy. I'm a big mush so it's easy to get me with some pretty words.

Besides streaming lots of French films on netflix, I've been on a shows-that-kicked-ass marathon. I've found the perfect way to watch the seasons of Buffy when you have very limited time. Pop in the last disc of each season, play, and enjoy. Seriously, the bad-Willow season ending has to be one of the best ever. The musical episode - one of my absolute favorites. I haven't really found that in any new shows. Maybe it's my age and I just don't get as giddy as I did but I think that there's just something lacking. That passion, those crazy romances just aren't as exciting or breathtaking to watch anymore.

I'm giving Heroes a try. Really, I am. The first season - Awesome. I pushed through the second, knowing from numerous sources that it sucked, but, "Get to season 3, it gets good again," and they were right. Still, it's just not as enjoyable as the days of Buffy were. Or Roswell. Lord when Max asks, "Just friends?" and Liz says, "Yeah, just friends," and Max whips her around to kiss her...oh the world just got glowy again. Ahem. It's those passion fueled moments that make life so exciting. The kiss after a fight. The first touch with an old flame. Meeting someone's eyes across the room and slowly gravitating towards one another. It's those moments that you remember and get excited just thinking about.

So I know I said I was back, blogging away, and I am, but life is hella, crazy, complicated right now so my posts will be sporadic. They will be wildly interesting and talk about silly things like Buffy and how freaking gorgeous the men on the show are. Complaints? I thought not. :) Especially when I leave you with pictures like this...


you're welcome. ;)

Cell Phones and Booze

"apparently I was in the closet for a half hour screaming "where the fuck is narnia!" "- anonymous text

We all have those moments. The ones where it was just one cocktail too many and suddenly, for what seems like perfectly logical reasons, we pull out our cell phone. It's in these moments where you need the cell phone police to confiscate your phone for your own good. Otherwise the next morning is a long stretch of greasy food and apologies to those you abused with your drunk exuberance. But the cell phone police i.e your friend who has your back, often has had the same number of cocktails and instead of grabbing the phone out of your eager hands they laugh and say, "Yeah! Do it!! You should totally text him blah blah blah." Enablers!!

Thankfully my cell phone policewoman, i.e Fahima, is a rock-star and quickly pockets my phone even if I give her my pouty face. With me it's always about wanting to make the party bigger, which in my case means that where ever I am I suddenly want to invite people who I haven't seen in months and months, cause - wouldn't that be awesome if they were here too! It matters little that some of them live 3000 miles away. To me hopping on a plane to come out to The Gaff on the Upper East Side is a killer plan. That's infinitely better than a series of Swingers style voice mails to some guy but still, really inappropriate at 2 in the morning.

It was 2 in the morning in fact, when it happened. I had recently changed my cell number and had received a few calls to whoever the number had formerly belonged. I was blissfully asleep dreaming of Don Juan and his amazing...well it was actually probably about cupcakes or puppies, or french fries but you get the idea, when my cell phone beeped. I let out an angry sleepy sound, rolled over and tapped. There on my screen were these words, "Are you coming? You have to come!" In my half-conscious state I ran through a lot of scenarios. First, the cell number wasn't in my address book - so who was this mystery person? I figured it was a friend using another friend's phone. I texted back, "Sleeping, who is this?"

I waited, now awake, and considered putting on clothes and going out depending on who it was. It is the city that never sleeps you know.

"It's Jeremy"

Um...I don't know a Jeremy. I turned on my light so I could better thumb my response, "Um...I don't know a Jeremy. I think you have the wrong number."

"You should still come. I need some one to take me home. Very trashed."

By now I was kinda laughing. It was so ridiculous. I even considered going to help this poor dude who clearly didn't have a cell phone police person on duty. But no, not that nice - or crazy. "Sorry Jeremy, wrong number. Call one of your friends and good luck to you."

His response, "Ha. Sorry."

I turned out the light and went back to sleep. Two hours later my phone beeped again. No way. I mean really? Now I was annoyed. My alarm was going off at 6 and if you know me then you know I treasure my sleep. But the text made me really laugh. "Are you coming to get me?" Poor Jeremy. I do hope that he found his way home.

Bad Apples

"I feel like I am on a roller coaster and I am the only one not screaming in fear or exhilaration. But I am surviving the ride." -me (said in a dream)

I had a plan. No more blogging. Simple plan right? I mean there's only one step to that plan. No. More. Blogging. The plan was working. I had put up my I-Am-Woman-watch-out-world post and I was pretty content with that being the end of the damewendy.com story. I ditched the internet and went off with my camera and sass in tow. My readers saw me dancing off into a hopeful future and I felt happy for that. I would vanish from the online world and eventually be forgotten.

I did need some sort of written outlet so I took to my moleskine journal and my penmanship, I have to say, has never been better. In my physical journal I suddenly had absolute freedom. I could say those things that I could never say here. And I did. I purged every thought, feeling, bafflement, late night cry session, every medical drama onto it's smooth pages, feeling better and worse. I sat in book stores, coffee shops, the roof deck, and my floor furiously writing in-between jobs. Then I re-read what I wrote and I cringed at how I was going to react to these words years from now because really - so pathetic and dramatic and sad, mixed with strength and pep talks, and joy. My emotions on the pages yo-yoed so much I made myself sea sick. I said it all alright, and it became more about saying than what I was actually feeling. I would start an entry about my morning coffee and a lovely walk and all of a sudden it became how lonely and lost in this world a poor soul is. Blech. Not reality. Stick with the awesome coffee I have perfected and how perfect NYC is in the morning will ya?

It got me thinking. It's the thinking that will always get ya. I really enjoy blogging. For many reasons, some of which embarrass me. They make me feel like I'm one of those look-at-me people. Maybe I am one of those people but had too much pride to admit it. Whatever. I like it. So lookatme! Heh. I say the things I want to say. I like getting comments (that's one of the things that embarrasses me), and I like getting better as a writer. One could argue that this is a terrible forum to get better at anything, but it's something I love. The things I love have great importance. More now than they ever did. I know that my punctuation, my sentence structure, my appalling made up words, all of it is lacking, but I do want to learn and get better. Be inspired. Share. So here I am back on my little space talking about things. There's so much to talk about. Like YOGA, struggling in this new life, a new love of beer, and a run in with a drunk texter.

Some of you noticed that my blog went through an aggressive edit and asked about it. I would have wondered too and I thank you for the emails and virtual hugs. I actually can not remember the last time I got a real life hug. The moleskine entry about that is a real sappy doosy (huh, how do you spell doosie? doosee? dousy? meh, I give up. curse you spell check!) you can practically see the words smeared with tears. I archived a slew of entries and comments, locking them up nice and safe for me to look at when I was ready but hidden from the public. The simple answer why is, it needed to happen. It did, and I'd tell you why but that's saved for the moleskine vault of words, and besides, I'm sure you can guess fairly accurately why. Pick a reason and you're not wrong. Unless you think it's because I was going into witness protection, or because I ate a bad apple.

(is it DOOZY? )

U-Turn

For last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning. - T.S. Eliot

Six years ago today I made an illegal u-turn in Southern California very late in the evening. Two lives are forever changed by it. It was rash, brave, exciting, and romantic. It led to a fairy tale event and to two people colliding and fusing together through friendship, love, strife, betrayal, and life. That one act changed my life, it altered my path and it brought me many things. It brought me great love, laughter, pain, a new family, my favorite person, and it brought me to this great city. Without that 180 degrees I would likely still be in Orange County leading a very different life, maybe even a better one. I wouldn't change any of it. Not a moment, or a laugh, or my tears. That realization, that I'm OK, that I live without regret, for me, is the very definition of peace.

In the last eight weeks I fell in love. Completely. I am smitten and overwhelmed by it. The love of my life turned out to be a person and a place. It sounds corny and just now typing this I'm shaking my head at how it sounds but I fell in love with Me, Wendy, the strong, fearless, determined woman I have become and my great love, the love of my life, is NYC. The big apple finally seduced me. It took 5 years but it happened and I am dazzled. The friends I've made in the last two months are the friends who I will be sitting with ten years from now and also the ones who I've had longer, who called every day, were here for me at any hour - I love each of them for how they accepted me, as I was, as I am, and as I'm becoming. I also love them and my family for feeding me when I was actually starving and providing endless bottles of wine. Good people. They are my guardian angels (who help me get drunk, heh).

I've always scoffed at people who say things like, "I wouldn't change anything because it's brought me here, to where and who I am now." I'll likely still scoff but I understand so much better that the choices we make, those u-turns in our lives and hearts, the big moments where we throw caution to the wind, those moments are so important. If you're honest and your intentions are true, and don't cause hurt or harm, it's those leaps that make us better, give us soul quakes, and enrich our lives. While my life could be better had I never turned that steering wheel, I don't think I would have the sense of serenity and power that I do now. I live knowing that I'm honest and a good person with a beautiful heart. Someone once told me that people live their lives two ways and do things two ways. They live for pleasure, or to avoid pain, and they do things the easy way which is actually the hard way, or the smart way. I'm sure I inwardly rolled my eyes at the time but now I live for me, and I do things the smart way even if that means it's more difficult, or I have to try harder, be more patient. I don't look back except in fondness and love, or to learn, and I move forward living in the moment. I LIVE my life open to anything new. I'm going to learn and travel, to flirt, experience, meet new people, and get into those electrifying conversations that leave you flushed with fire and desire. You know the ones.

The girl I was six years ago, even eight weeks ago is not the woman I am now and that's fan-freakingtastic. I had no idea how strong, how amazing I could be and what I could accomplish mentally and physically until I took another u-turn. I did one of the hardest things I've ever had to do and even thought the process would kill me or leave me an empty, sad person. But I was the one to finally do it. Me. Who knew I had it in me? I did the smart thing and emerged from the wreckage a little harder, sad sure, with a more guarded heart, but also with "I can have anything I want. I can be anyone I want. I will never be a doormat, so foolishly nice, or so submissive ever, ever again." I forgive myself all of it and move on. It's the greatest gift you can give yourself.

For the first time in my life it became about me and I put myself first. I decided what I wanted and I went after it with a zeal previously unknown. I found my smile and the sparkle in my eyes came back. For my Mom - you are a lioness. I had no idea how unfailingly strong you were and I can't ever thank you enough for picking me up, dusting me off, and letting me see myself with new eyes. Most of all for believing in me. I healed/am healing, started going out, meeting new people, getting male attention, which was such a exhilarating, awesome thing. I found my power, my sexuality, my very being in these past weeks. I went from girl to woman and I'm proud of that woman. I walk taller than I ever have and I can meet others eyes without the old shyness dropping my gaze. In another eight weeks, years, whatever - I'm sure I'll pull that wheel again, be even more different, or the same, a million miles away, or back at the beginning. Better. Me.

Dame Candles!!

Dame Candles!!
Originally uploaded by Dame Wendy

Poured a new batch of candles. This will be the last of the frosted glass for awhile so if you want one, better grab one quick. :)

Dame Etsy Shop

Pudding Stones Wine Bar

Do you like wine? I love, love, LOVE wine. I even have a special glass for my red named Lily. My love of wine has grown since moving to NYC. Before, in my college years, a bottle from Trader Joe's for, god what was it(?) $2 was sufficient. My palate is bit more sophisticated now...just don't quiz me kay? Unless I have my wine notebook. ;)

Every time I've gone to Pudding Stones (one on the Upper East Side and another on the Upper West) I have left tidily, soft-hazy-happy. The wine flights are lovely and the appetizers simple and a great wine pairing. Highly, highly recommended so if you're in the area or looking for a new wine bar definitely check it out (and call me, cause wine is best with company!).

Hoop Dancing

It began with a picture that a flickr buddy posted. I became instantly intrigued and excited by the idea of taking this child's toy and using an adult version to dance with. What was this thing called hoop dancing? I soon found out that it was pretty much the most fantastic form of exercise EVER. I now have 2 hoops and hoop ever day.

You just can't help but grin and laugh while hooping. My stomach muscles are already noticeably tighter and I have control over muscles I didn't even know existed. Plus it's a good hard cardio workout. It's easy to work up a sweat and have fun at the same time.

Check out the Hoopnotica video below. My hoop and DVD's came from them. They've made me a total believer. :)



There's a flickr group for us crafty sorts here. Seriously, SO MUCH FUN!!!!!!!

Goodbye Old Friend

During college I became a heavy smoker. As a theatre student, I joined the masses and in-between rehearsals, scenes, tech, anything, I was outside smoking with the rest of them. I can say with complete sincerity I loved smoking and, because of how much I enjoy it, wish I had never started.

I remember that first real cigarette. It was a capri slim and I was visiting my Aunt in Montana. I was outside looking out over the lake and I tentatively pulled smoke into my mouth and immediately blew it out. This wasn't so bad, it didn't hurt like I thought it would. On my second pull I actually inhaled and coughed explosively. It was the most horrid feeling and for the life of me I could not understand how anyone could want to smoke.

I, for insane reasons I'm sure, persisted and soon understood exactly why some one would want to smoke. It was wonderful! There is something truly awesome about sitting with a hot cup of coffee, a good book, and a cigarette. Most of my early romance with Marty involved a Diedrichs Coffee, a rickety metal table, and many cigarettes. We spent hours there talking, debating, or ignoring each other while I was on my laptop and he read. Those memories have taken on that rosy hue reserved for nostalgia.

In November 2007 I was down to smoking 1-2 a day. Not packs. Even I never got that crazy, but I had my one cigarette before work, and perhaps one more later in the day. The realization that I was as close to quitting as I was probably ever going to be hit me in December and I made a choice. I stopped smoking and because of how little I was smoking at the time, it was really easy. It's something I'm glad I did because had I waited, even a month, I probably would have been smoking more and just wouldn't have done it.

I miss it, like an old friend I haven't seen in a long time but I did it. I quit and now over a year later I don't think of it very often.

Candles Available

Edit to add: WOW! Seriously thank you! I can't believe how fast they're going. :) Woo!



I poured a batch of my 12oz frosted glass candles. They're now available at my etsy shop. :)

Thanks to all who purchased from the last batch!

From Coast to Coast: Part 2

Previously ~

In the middle of the room was an older man, with white hair discussing something with another man. They looked like teachers going over something so when they yelled for everyone to quiet down and take a seat I wasn't surprised. The older one, I learned, was Rick and he started the meeting. After a few announcements about upcoming shows, he had the other man take over saying, "Marty is going to tell you about the play he's directing and what he needs."

It turned out that Marty wasn’t a teacher but was in fact a student directing and staring in a play that semester. He explained that the play was by David Mamet and was called Olleana; He just needed a few people to help backstage. This was perfect! I wouldn’t have to act. I could just move a prop or two and maybe learn how this whole theatre thing worked without having a nervous breakdown. When the meeting ended I rose, gathered up my things and my courage, and approached Marty.

He had pulled on a black leather jacket, and I thought he looked so cool. When I was within speaking distance my voice came out soft and timid, “I can help with your play.” I sounded like a child. He looked down at me and I noticed he had very direct, blue eyes. I inwardly squirmed at the intensity. He gave a quick smile and responded, “Great. You’re my stage manager.”

I think that was probably the first time I truly gaped at someone. Stage Managawhat!? But my crazy nervousness had me nodding like a fool. Another quick smile and he exited the room. I trailed behind, my brain now complete goo. Outside he was lighting up a cigarette and talking to a few of the others. Seeing me, he nodded in my direction. My cheeks flamed red but I forced myself to smile and approach in time to hear, “This is going to be our stage manager. I’m sorry, what was your name?” Somehow I spoke and the introduction was complete.

On my drive home that first night I stopped at Barnes and Noble to buy a book on stage-managing. I was determined to be the best stage manager EVER. And I was. It was no secret to anyone that I developed a crush for the Olleana director. I had total hero worship for Marty and so I followed him around, an eager, shy puppy. It makes me laugh now but I was not at all subtle and wore my adoration on my face. We dated. Within that first week he was calling me "baby", and I LOVED it. It made me feel like a happy, purring kitten when he’d say it.

We were sitting at the concrete table right outside the green room on our college campus. The table, broken in a jagged crack across the middle, teetered slightly to the right, and was covered with four blue presentation folders. Marty was always really organized when directing a show, and had one for all involved, the scripts each neatly secured by bent prongs. I was copying technical notes from his script into mine. It was slow going because his writing looked like he'd written blindfolded, with the wrong hand, while in an earthquake, and on fire.

I remember it being cool and breezy and that I felt pretty that day. It's the times when I look and feel really good, beautiful even, that I wind up being humbled and mortified in some crazy, colossal way. I was having a good hair day and the jeans I'd thrown on were still snug from the dryer, giving me that extra slimming every girl loves. I could tell by his eyes and how his hand rested on the small of my back that he liked the black turtleneck I had on. I liked that he was looking. We'd been on one sorta date where we watched Eddie Izzard with another couple, and one real date where we watched Silence of the Lambs, then went to see the sequel at the theater.

After the movie we were laying on my futon and talking in that way not-yet lovers talk. Nervous and over one another. He asked if he could kiss me and waited, his eyes staring into my own. He stared in a way no man had ever stared at me. Those blue eyes pinned me in place and it wasn't the first time my stomach turned to water while with him. I somehow pushed out a sound of permission. Yah hmm. He wrapped his right hand around my waist and pulled me tight against him while the other hand cupped the back of my head and said, "I was hoping you'd say that," and I swooned. The man could kiss. I mean really. I'd never had a man hold me like that, so tight, so in control. I died.

We were in that middle place of dating and maybe more that day I was diligently copying his tech notes when one of the girls in the theatre repertory came over to bum a cigarette. God I miss smoking - and, as she thanked Marty for the Amercian Spirit he held out to her, he said three words. "You're welcome baby." Casually, like he was saying buddy, pal, kid.

The scene seemed to slow down and my cheeks felt hot. Twisting my fingers I watched her walk away and tried to appear as casual as him when what I wanted to do was let out a lion roar, leap across the table and take the bitch down. "So you, um, you uh, you call girls baby." I said it with all the finesse of a drunk bulldozer and immediately cringed at the thick accusation that had somehow slipped itself into my tone. It hadn’t occurred to me I didn't inspire the nickname, that maybe he had used it before, or that he still used it, and often - with all the girls.

To be continued…

From Coast to Coast Part 1

Dame Candle Company Announcement

Wanna do a happy dance with me? I'm so excited to finally announce the re-opening of Dame Candle Company! I'm taking things slow and keeping everything small to see how it goes. If the first batch sells I will be pouring small batches and posting them on my etsy store as they become available. The first batch is listed now (without photos, will have photography done soon - here's a flickr set of my candle photos) so if you're interested head on over. :) They are all tins, 100% soy wax, hand poured, and burn 8+ hours. I've been asked if NYC locals can pick up their candles to save on shipping and the answer is yes! Shoot me an email: wendydorrel@gmail.com and let me know which you would like and a contact phone number so we can arrange for a good time.

DAME ETSY STORE