Winter

So.

I’ve been trying to make a mental list of who reads this blog that also knows me in real life.

I think I have you all pegged.

But I could be wrong. These things get around, you know.

This is why I sometimes wish I blogged anonymously.

Though my stats would be much lower then.

Hmm.

Anyway. The reason I bring this up is that there’s been “stuff” happening. Serious “stuff.” It isn’t about me, directly, so it’s just a matter of protecting privacy.

To the people I know in real life: I’d tell ya anyway.

To the people I don’t know in real life: I am anonymous, so it doesn’t really matter what I write.

To the people I know in real life who are anonymously reading: DL, okay? No offense, but you’re the people I’m worried about.

Anyway.

A sibling of mine attempted suicide last Friday.

I know. Difficult to wrap your head around it, isn’t it?

Since then, he’s been in the Adult Psychiatric unit and more realities about his life for the past …many… years have been coming out.

It’s really, really sad.

And I don’t know what to tell him, except that: We love you. Life will get better.

But it doesn’t seem like he’s in a place right now to buy that.

What does one say?

Anyway, I might delete this in a fit of paranoia or guilt. It isn’t really mine to share, so I’m sorry if reporting this offends anyone. It is wrong to share this? I think it might be.

I just haven’t even had time to talk to anyone in my real life. It’s the hospital every night. The boyfriend helps, but feels incredibly guilty for not being here. Especially since those two have always had such a great connection.

Like Tori says, “When you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do?”

If only Tori could speak to him the way she speaks to me.

Ha. Attempt at a joke.

Anyway.

Letter to my Younger Self

Dear Younger Me,

What you thought you’d be as you waded into your late twenties? Forget about it.

You are not that perfectly-planned established self. You’re living in an apartment, but not feeling the need to make moves any more permanent than that. You aren’t married or on the verge of starting a family. You look around and see others who have taken that path and feel respect, but not jealousy. You’ve learned not to compare, though you still may be guilty of it every now and then.

You’ve loosened your grip on the black-and-white world you once craved. You don’t automatically choose judgment – not because you’ve suddenly become enlightened, but because you’ve been there. And it sucked.

You’ve started to shed the layers of illusion that surrounded adulthood. They had stopped being protective and started becoming restrictive.

Relationships are no longer put into boxes and you don’t get angry when yours has strayed too far from the status quo. You’ve started to grapple with people you love finding that love isn’t enough. You accept the fact that your mother was right when she told you that your mouth would get you into trouble someday.

You were right about your friendships, for the most part. You knew that when your cousins told you that “ten years from now, you won’t be as close with your high school friends” that they’d be wrong. Friends are friends and close is a relative term.

You did grow apart from your oldest, closest friend and, along with it, you felt the heaviness of your first big regret. Now that it’s impossible for you to pick up where you left off the way you’d always assumed, you miss her more. You rest on a hope that your memories are tucked safely inside her head and that she didn’t lose the feeling that was “us.”

But regrets aren’t your thing, so you consider yourself lucky that after 27 years, you have just one.

You’ve experienced the elation of a country coming together. You feel all World-War-II as you watch your fellow countrymen promise to do and be better because they feel that – finally - their values are being represented instead of minimized.  You sense that you’ve stood witness to something bigger than yourself and you close your eyes and vow to remember what this is like.

You’re realizing that you aren’t yet satisfied enough with where you’ve been and what you’ve done in your life to come within a 50-foot radius of the word “settle.” If you are to live your life like Anthony Hopkins in Meet Joe Black the way you promised, you’ve got a lot of work to do.  Uncomfortable though it may be, you get that it is something valuable to wake up one morning and say “I don’t want anything more.”

So, appreciate the shades of gray. Find out new things about yourself and have some confidence. Outwardly love others in an unconditional way. Save and spend wisely. Don’t let fear hold you back. Let your disappointments in all their varying degrees make you strong and thicken your skin. Don’t expect it to get easier, but enjoy it when it does. There may come a point where you have it all figured out, but it will likely be fleeting.

In the words of the Emily Saliers, “there’s more than one answer to these questions pointing me in a crooked line/the less I seek my source for some definitive, the closer I am to fine.”

As you write this, you won’t know any more about what lies ahead than you did before, but you’ll savor the uncertainty.

Love always,

Your 27-year old self

Currently

from Slice of Pink

Loving: My new and completely unnecessary Blackberry. It just feels so natural in my loving palm.

Consuming: Yogi Tea in Immune Protection “Flavor” – Yogi Wisdom in this cup: Your heartbeat is the rhythm of your soul.

Craving: New York City

Hoping: For “easy” to come strolling by and sit down to stay awhile.

Netflixing: Sex and the City: Season 3, Disc 3 (hence the NYC lust). Fav ep: “Hot Child in the City”

Listening to: “Birds Fly Away” by Theresa Andersson

Reading: Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Wanting: a clean and organized desk

Looking Forward to: President Obama’s leadership and innovative ideas. PRESIDENT Obama. Loving it.

My Proustian Interview

I’m copying a friend. Thank you, friend.

If I were on Inside the Actor’s Studio with Mr. Lipton…

The Venerable James Lipton

What is your favorite word? besos. As in “besosbesosbesooossss” with a swirling hand motion. Try it.
What is your least favorite word? calm down
What turns you on creatively, spiritually, emotionally? new music (creatively), church music (spiritually – nothing gets me like a good “On Eagle’s Wings”), and Tori Amos/Regina Spektor music (emotionally)
What turns you off? formatting on Microsoft Word
What sound do you love? the sound of TBWSRN’s ring on my cellphone
What sound do you hate? Sarah Palin’s voice
What is your favorite curse word? god-DAMMIT-all-to-hell
What profession other than yours would you like to attempt? fancy editor working out of my fancy loft in fancy New York City
What profession would you not like to do? special education teacher
If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? I’d like him to give me the choice to stay or go.

The Curious Case of Beloved Blankie

In the dawn of my life, I was given a baby blanket. It was your typical blanket: a pale yellow square of cotton waffle fabric, trimmed with monochromatic satin and smelling of Downy fabric softener. It was, as all security objects are meant to be, a comfort. I loved that blanket.

Like all blankets, it was intended to serve its purpose until I grew up and became embarrassed by it, pretended not to care about it, and  and replaced it with more age-appropriate toys, like a purple boombox and New Kids on the Block cassette tapes.

Friends, that would have been a total waste! Our best years together came later.

My blankie actually became MORE of a toy as I grew up. Though I probably should have been embarrassed by that, as a late elementary into middle-schooler, it still held a permanent place on my bed. Aiding and abetting in what psychologists might today label an “attachment disorder,” was my best friend Rachel. I knew we were meant to be when we met; she thought my blanket was AWESOME and still had her blanket too.

Our blankies became an important part in our play. In our creation of the still relatively unknown “RSK” television network, the music videos we (Rachel, Sarah, and Rachel’s little sister, Krystal) created often used the blankie as an integral prop. The most memorable was the “Blankie Land” rap video where, not only were our blankets the inspiration of the song, but also guest-starred right before the beatboxing part: “Now introducing the King of Blankie Land” (Sound the trumpet made of pure blankie).

When we played “Abusive Husbands” -I know, I’m sure psychologists would have plenty to say about this, too- and had to quickly flee with our Felecity and Samantha children because “They’ve found us again!” (in a British accent, always in a British accent), our blankies served as shawls to keep our babes warm as, of course, we had to run away barefoot in the middle of the freaking winter. Damn husbands. If we’d have been wiser, we’d have just divorced them and taken their child support money to buy shoes and move to Miami. Duh!

I aged, my blanket aged. And as it did, it went through its own metamorphosis. The square-shape of its origin imperceptibly changed, eventually becoming a long, beehive-shaped pile of knots and torn ends. Instead of being able to gather the folds of my blankie together for comfort, these piecemeal knots came together in a pile of what we called “nubbins.”

As I entered high school, the collection of nubbins was still around my room somewhere. But, much to the relief of my parents who were probably becoming a little worried at this point, it wasn’t such a thing anymore. Then, one day, the blanket disappeared unceremoniously. Stomping extra loudly up the stairs from my bedroom, I demanded that my mother reveal where she had hidden it. She swore that I must have just misplaced it, but later commented, “There was nothing left of it!” Complete and total admission of guilt.

With this story, I lay you to rest, blankie. Gone, but never forgotten.

Did you ever have a toy that you were overly attached to?

*Another trip down memory lane: two of the songs that iTunes shuffled to as this was being written were “Not If You Were the Last Junkie On Earth” by the Dandy Warhols and “Cut Your Hair” by Pavement. 93.7 The Edge, anyone? I curse the day this station was struck down. Sing it with me: “I never thought you’d be a junkie because heroin is so passe´.”

It’s 2 am and I’m awake.

Fun Facts

1. I just watched The Namesake. It was alright. “Aight”

2. You know what is good, though? Weeds. Totally flew through two seasons on Netflix.

3. I have absolutely been sleeping on the couch ever since break started. I’m depressed that TBWSRN is still out of town working. The bed feels a little too yes-he’s-really-gone-over-the-holidays. Don’t feel bad. It’ll be alright. “Aight” We’re rollin’ with it.

4. As a result of the aforementioned, my dog got confused and marched her little self right into the bedroom and piddled on the bed the other day.

5. Which is another reason I’m still sleeping on the couch.

6. And it still doesn’t make total sense because it’s not like she piddles on the couch. Get your head straight, dog.

7. I have to start getting my bad self together for the spelling bee. Ugh.

8. You know, there is a Drunken Spelling Bee at a bar in Minneapolis each January. Takers?

9. The candidate for RNC chair sent around a racist e-mail about my hero (Barack Obama) and called it “political satire.” Whaaa? No, I don’t think so. Nobody puts Barack in a corner.

10. I am going to go to Macy’s tomorrow and use a gift certificate to purchase a new pair of black shoes.

Okay, I finally feel the sleep coming on. Thanks, folks.

How’s YOUR day going?

Imagine you wake up with that “Geez, it feels so late” feeling. You look at your cell phone alarm, which you will NEVER USE AGAIN. It has mysteriously frozen at midnight. You click until it comes back to life.

It reads 7:30.

But, but…you have to report to work at 7:40 and, on days with good weather, it takes you about 40 minutes to get to said work. Adding salt to your  barely awakened wound, you knew today was not one of those days. It had rained all day on Sunday, the temperature had dropped – creating a virtual ice rink – and then it had snowed. The windchill was 27 below zero so when you leave in your heels – instead of wearing your warm boots – the little cracks of your exposed upper toe area become crinkly and painful. You wonder aloud, “Why the F*** am I living in this godforsaken hell hole?”

Just kidding. You loooove it here.

Anyway, needless to say, the highways aren’t exactly “free-flowing” and as you give your secretary a panicky phone call, you realize it may take well over your typical 40 minutes to arrive at school. You say a quick prayer that your 8th graders will behave themselves in the dangerously unstructured time before Homeroom begins at 8:30.

You walk in the front doors at – miraculously – 8:30. On the dot. Your 8th graders have morphed into little angels and all are seated, being quiet enough. You stroll in nonchalantly. Everything is cool. “I was just at a meeting,” you say. Nevermind that you actually did miss your ILA Department meeting earlier in the morning.

Now, let’s say you arrive home to a stomach-churning smell. Why? Because you have a little doggy whom you carelessly tossed into her kennel this morning while you were running around half-dressed, trying to prioritize (AKA: Do I have time to make coffee?). The poor dear left a vengeful mess and continues to bark punitively the remainder of the evening. “Is glaring an effective training method?” you wonder – again, out loud.

You pour another glass of wine and remind yourself to pull out the faux-wood-paneled alarm clock you hate to look at, but love to hear in the morning. Okay, maybe “love” is a strong word.

Day over.

You may or may not have noticed.

I changed the name of this blog yet again.

“iris* in dc” didn’t work because the move to DC was temporarily put on hold. “iris in minnie” didn’t quite have the same ring to it.

“iris punkinbabycheeks” was SO annoying. Sorry if you liked it. It was supposed to be temporary until I could think of something better. But- baby talk, come on.

“iris independent” retains my favorite part of the title, but makes a bit more sense with the header and I would like to think it is more in sync with my personality.  And it sort of sounds like a newspaper. Fun!

Sorry for the inconvenience! I hope this one will stick.

: \ (Errrrrr-faced man)

*Iris is the name of my dog, in case you felt left out. Pathetic, I know. But I love her!

The Sound of Silence in 106

Since I moved into the newest of my new places (I’ve been quite transient lately – another story, for another time), I have been without television. It wasn’t my plan- I just never ordered cable and my late-90’s TV set requires an antenna to pick up any stations at all. It’s an accidental case of smug “I don’t watch TV” elitism. Pure laziness, really.

Nooo.

I’m not about to go around claiming that I suddenly don’t love TV. I definitely do – I can keep up on 30 Rock, The Office, and Ugly Betty online and The Huffington Post often shows the best clips from the most recent Saturday Night Live so I can skip the non-funny business.

It’s just that the extra 100 bucks a month (I steal my internet too and am not the least bit ashamed because I think it should be a public service – again, another story, for another time) have been helping my wardrobe TREMENDOUSLY.

And – okay – I feel just a smidge smuggish. Let me have that.

Anyway, as I was sitting here breaking in my new chair, drinking a glass of wine, and casually browsing the internet, I realized how accustomed I’ve grown to…quiet.

TBWSRN has been out of town most the time since early September, so there’s that. I used to just put Sex and the City episodes on so the witty banter and sexual innuendos of Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda could subconsciously pervade my thoughts. Perhaps I can become them through osmosis? Or I’d listen to NPR’s Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me so I could feel intelligent. And, you know, just to have some noise.

But now, the clicking of my keyboard seems to be sufficient. At least tonight, anyway.

Ask me again in March. I’ll be contemplating whether I’m high enough up from the ground to be successful should I choose to spring free and jump from my balcony.

I’m not. Just checked.

5 Things

5 Things I Was Doing 10 Years Ago

1) A junior in high school (yeesh, I don’t like how young and naive this makes me sound)

2) Dressing up as Baby Spice for Halloween (along with my other Sisters in Spice Girl World: Sporty Spice Amanda, Posh Spice Jenny, and Scary Spice Rachel)

3) Dance team 24/7

4) Getting my driver’s license (it was a long, arduous road)

5) Walked the wild side and tasted alcohol (read: got drunk) for the first time (which was swiftly followed by getting caught, getting punished in the harshest way possible for a 17-year old – grounded for THREE MONTHS because my parents are Puritans – and being too afraid to drink again for a very long time)

5 Things On My To-Do List Today

1) Correct papers

2) Swiffer the floor

3) Possibly go see Twilight?

4) Keep children under control on this day-before-Thanksgiving-break

5) Take nap

5 Snacks I Like

1) Jelly Belly jelly beans

2) Fruit Strips (like Fruit Roll-ups for grown-ups)

3) Pumpkin Pie Blizzards from the DQ

4) Naked juice thingies

5) Cheese

5 Things I Would Do If I Was A Millionaire

1) Pay off all student loans
2) Buy a summer home in another country
3) Save so that I never have to worry
4) Donate more to charity
5) Purchase many beautiful shoes

5 Places I Have Lived (For Various Lengths Of Time)

1) Coon Rapids, MN
2) Minneapolis, MN – U of M
3) St. Joseph, MN
4) Minneapolis, MN – Uptown
5) Minneapolis, MN – Southwest

Lame

5 Jobs I Have Had

1) French fry cook at local McDonald’s (for two weeks)

2) Dishwasher at The Season’s Restaurant

3) Laptop rental “chick” at the U

4) Mary Commons Info Desk receptionist at St. Ben’s

5) Warehouse worker “girl” picking parts for beverage dispensing machines