Posts tagged women
39 Year Old Comes with Splinter
Brought to you by Pete at Pep Boys for making my car the absolute last one off the lift tonight.
For sale! One 39 year old with a splinter. Not only a splinter but a week long one and not just a week long one but one that crunches that crunchy glass sound every time I step down. I can hear it in my teeth.
That sort of splinter. And no, the splinter isn’t 39 years old but I am. Did you know when you’re 39 you are the Splinter Taker Outer not the Get Splinter Taken Out Person? *DeepTweezeredSigh*
Sitting at home tonight working out a splinter that kept working in I cried, “Jesus! I’m the person. I’m not the kid and I need your help even with this. Where are you cause it won’t come out?!”
I get it. I get this age. This adult age that says you are the one that cares for people not necessarily the one cared for. Damn, babies and old people have it made.
I had, not one, but two flat tires tonight after a lovely dinner. It didn’t bother me too much. I made it to the gas station before they completely gave up the ghost, put enough air in to make it to Pep Boys. Everything was okay. But then I sat in the waiting room with three other women. Around my age women. Women that work their asses off to spend the evening getting tires repaired. Women that needed new batteries because they probably ran into work early in the morning leaving the lights on. I left the waiting room, drenched in the smell of grease and new timing belts, and walked outside to the garage, “Please! Could you JUST put the tires back on my car? Just two? Not four.”
I paced and paced and was entirely unreasonable and stayed far enough away to not make the mechanic think I was checking his work but close enough so he knew not to make me the last customer.
I was the last customer out. I deserved it.
I get it. I get flat tires. I get splinters. I know bigger things happen and just around the corner could be absolute ectasy or tradegy. For now, for just this one little moment….
I don’t want to be at Pep Boys. And I don’t want to be the Splinter Taker Outer.
Somebody hand me a needle and a match,
Cole
Lessons in Calm
Brought to you by the voice screaming in my head Sunday night.
It happened. I think I almost officially went to Crazy Land. I’m not knocking it. I think most creatives dip their toe in that pool once in awhile. If the water isn’t cold and I ease in, I’m good for a visit.
It didn’t happen that way last night. I was driving back to set up for another event. A fun event. An event that was relaxing and calming and should have been a breeze to organize. All of a sudden, driving over the hill I heard a scream inside my head. It’s simply been too much of late. Too much media. Too much time checking Huffington Post, Facebook, CNN, Twitter and more. Too much time trying to find ‘pretty’ sites to visit about things like fashion and design to rest my brain rather than going offline and, uh, resting.
My brain is hyper-active. I long for the days when it was sluggish. *DeepOld-FashionedBlackAndWhiteTelevisionSigh*
So, for now, I’m making some small changes. Mini changes. Changes of the small and not the big kind:
1. I started buying books again. I’m not talking about digital versions but real live paper books that get soaked and swollen in the bathtub. Those kind. I’m reading one book a week, focusing on memoir for now since that’s where my passion rests.
2. I’ve restructured my time. No more watching Netflix as a means of falling safely to sleep. Old episodes of The City can really screw a girl up.
3. I removed all interactive apps from my phone. Well, except for the pizza delivery one. I mean, let’s not get out of control here. FB and Twitter and Netflix are no more.
Might that change tomorrow? It could. I’m a woman and therefore inherently fickle. For now, for today life is just a bit quieter.
Have to go. Going to walk outside and star watch. And I don’t mean the magazine kind.
Much love to you as you rest and quiet the loud places,
*whispering* Cole
leather seats.
- me: don't rent an impala cause they must have done a design contest called, "place as many buttons in the wrong place as possible and make sure to do this on crack" good luck finding the hazaards on chevy. oh, nevermind. the malibu was fun. it had leather. i want leather in my car again. i might just get married for leather.
- the boy: leather too hot and sweaty
- me: that's funny. get married for hot and sweaty leather but the marriage wouldn't be hot or sweaty. you don't ride in them naked, darling boy.
- the boy: why bother having them if you don’t plan on being naked in them
Lessons in Love and Epilepsy
I was just thinking how it’s been SO long since my last seizure and even the last one was SO minor I could barely feel it and aren’t I becoming the epilepsy poster child?
Not so much.
Last night was an ass kicking of sorts.
And no one is to blame except for me. Give me the epilepsy ticket if they are in the Giving Tickets Out sort of mood. I have been going to sleep at 4am working way too late on my book. I missed taking my medicine one night which is one night too many when you have seizures. I had (a beer). Shh. Don’t tell my dad. Yes, I think many people with epilepsy drink on occasion but, for me, since I’m not much the drinker it doesn’t set well with my brain. Oh, and there was that half glass of champagne the night before. And I think I had red wine somewhere on Sunday.
Don’t tell my dad ANY of that. Yes, I know I’m 38.
So, it was the perfect storm and I should have seen it coming when that dog staring out the back of that wagon Volvo at McDonald’s locked eyes with me and wouldn’t move away. Dogs know about seizures the way people don’t. He knew even though I thought he was a she but then looked down and saw things hanging that were clearly of the he type. The dog knew. It crossed my mind that I knew. I went about my day and stayed up late again and didn’t even think last night could have been MY last night.
It was a big one. My brain shuddered. I kept my breathing even. Did all the things I know to do but then my damn face turned into the pillow Flo-Jo style. Remember her? Long nails, Olympic athlete. Well, without the nails or the running or the cool outfit I was her for a moment and I didn’t want my face in a pillow with no ability to move. I wanted a clear passage to breathe through this seizure until it ended.
It felt like it would never end.
It did. I lived. I quickly fell back asleep out of an exhaustion most cannot imagine. When I awoke in the morning I did the first post seizure thing I always do - checked to see if I knew what year it is and went through the past presidents. Clinton’s in office, right? Check. Knew ‘em. Brain still semi-intact.
And then I wept.
I wept for being alive. Wept for having my face smothered in a pillow. Clearly you should know that makes me not a fan of The CSI’s. Wept for almost not living. Wept for people that don’t. Wept for those that have seizures in the middle of crowds. Wept for being alone through it and being grateful no one had to go through that scare with me. And wept that God gave me another day, even if just one more, to be a better me than I was yesterday.
My friend Red sent me a message and wants me to stop using pillows. My brother said the same. I’ve thought about it but I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to live a life without pillows. It’s sort of like love, you know? Yes, a pillow could smother me that one time…that one night but the rest of the time it’s so damn comfy and brings great pleasure to my life. I don’t want to live in fear with my head flat on the ground.
And love. Sure, it could smother me sometimes, too. That one time and that one night and the one man that breaks the heart might not be worth the pain but I don’t want to spend my life without love in fear. I’ll still search it out and be open to it and say yes to it.
I decided some time ago to say yes and not to say no to things. I decided to take adventures and have a YES life. Is there a chance it could end up bad? Yup. I’ll take the chance anyway.
Pillow. Love. Any of it.
Much love and gratitude for one more day to love and learn and change and grow and be something better,
Cole
October Lessons
It’s been an interesting fall, hasn’t it? Today was warm and yesterday, while setting up for our event, I was shielding my face from the sun in the hopes of adding not one more brown spot to this pre middle age face. I’m not sure how successful I was. I might start wearing a bag over it so if you see me and I don’t wave, well, now you know why.
An interesting fall it has been and even a better October full of bits of learnings and lessons and things I didn’t know and now I do. And I don’t mean know in a BIG way but in that small tucked into your brain way that hopefully gets to the juicy parts and does the right amount of damage. You know? Makes change, bit by bit.
I learned…
1. If a woman comes up to you, in a witch costume, beer in hand and starts yelling at you take it with a grain of witch-beer-infused salt. She’s probably a little intoxicated and even though all of her meanness comes out in her heightened beer state and that witch costume might just be Business Casual and not for Halloween, chances are she didn’t mean to curse you, your future children or children’s children.
2. Saying sorries a decade later is good. Saying them in a year is better. Saying them in a month is really good. The same week or day? Rather brilliant. Imagine if you apologized immediately after making an ass out of yourself, you know, the very next moment? That would be downright emotionally mature. Plus it feels good to say sorry when you tell your bartender to, “Get this effin bar together. Now!” Yes, that was me. Ugh.
3. Take responsibility. If you screw up, don’t lay blame elsewhere. Own it. Not more than your part and not less than your part, just your part. Be the exact opposite of every politician you know and forget about putting spin on your story. Simply, say, “I blew it but I’m going to try not to blow it again.” How quickly we could move on if we’d take some ownership instead of mastering spin.
4. Share. Try your absolute hardest to think of someone before yourself. I saw grown adults maul a candy bar and little kids stand there with empty trick or treat bags. That’s not right, folks. If you look around you, see - you there looking to the right and to the left - there are other people besides you. Notice them and include them and think of them when you are filling your bag to the brim. I think our bags are filled to the brim in many ways and can be shared with someone else. Who needs your share?
5. Talk to strangers. I don’t mean in that sordid pedophile way. I mean talk to a stranger that is ten feet away from you and you’ve nodded at or waved to or thought of saying more than a hi or bye with for months. Those strangers. Have conversations that last longer than a sound bite. Ask someone about their day or their life or their greatest love. Imagine what you’d find out if you took the time to meet someone new.
6. Hot chocolate helps. It helps everything. Well, when it’s 83 degrees out it’s a little strange but on most October days if you’ll trust me and order it and add whip cream even though that will be so anti-wellness of you, it will help everything. You’ll feel better and younger and you’ll remember you from back when you were…you.
7. Like your likes. My niece Kristina just got her license which technically means she could drive when we go to LACMA but I’m not much of the “driving with a brand new driver on the freeway” sort of girl. I think if you get the blessing of having children then you get the blessing of their freeway firsts, too. So, Darling Girl wants to Museum Hop with me which makes me ultra happy and as we chatted I realized her tastes in art are very different than mine. I like that. I don’t need her to like my likes. Are you liking your likes? I hope so.
I ended today at a wake celebrating the life of a dear family friend. Ninety-six years of life lived by a woman that chose to be full of grace and full of civility and showed love and kindness each time I encountered her.
That’s my goal. I want that in my life. Bits of learning and changes and growth and being less like today and more like I want to be tomorrow. Oh, that’s the plan anyway. Sometimes I blow it and sometimes my days are a smashing success. Today, well, today was a good one.
Much love to you as we peak our heads around the corner at November,
Cole
Lessons from Toys ‘R’ Us
I was on the hunt for the perfect, huge doll house to hold down 1000 balloons Friday night for an event Saturday which is the way I do things. I wait until the night before or the moment before and try to make perfection happen.
Toys ‘R’ Us was all out of perfect, huge doll houses. They had lots of small, lovely, dainty ones and pretty, delicate, tiny ones that would break if you looked at them wrong. Those type don’t hold down 1000 balloons. They cry in the corner at the thought of 1000 balloons.
Still, I learned a couple things during my Toys ‘R’ Us visit.
1. Middle aged men should probably not roam the store smelling of beer and hovering in the Barbie aisle. Can you say creepy and cops are on the way?
2. If you are single and childless or have long since entered a toy store of this sort, follow a parent-type in. They know the entrances from the exits and will help you from looking like a jacka**.
3. Toy stores are not really intimidating. Simply think of them like giant Targets but with sirens and eternal supplies of batteries.
4. Everybody needs a pink Barbie microphone. (I’ll be right back.)
5. If you see a stuffed hippo sitting all by himself, yes him, it is your duty to save. Try not to talk to Jack, yes Jack, in a loud voice for fear of someone taking you out in a straight jacket.
6. Play-Doh helps. It helps in nearly any situation. I gave some to a co-worker today that was having a tough go of things. If you squish it between your hands and smell the Play-Dohness of it all, you’ll begin to feel much better, much sooner than if you don’t. Promise.
7. The woman in front of you in line that is melting down because she doesn’t have her Toys ‘R’ Us Rewards card needs: to get a grip and wear denim shorts that cover her fifty year old a**. (Wait a second while I light your cigarette. Ugh.)
8. Don’t get mad at the check out guy for asking Would you like batteries with your purchase? even if you don’t need batteries for your stuffed hippo or your Play-Doh. He’s doing his job and following the sign and if he doesn’t ask he’s going to get written up so go along with it and thank him for asking. Just play along, won’t you?
9. Look. Look at the six foot tall man made out of Legos and stop to stare at the new backpacks coming in just in time for Back to School and think about your excitment when you would pick out your backpack and how important that was and then, for a moment, spend some time bouncing a big, red, rubber ball, well, just because it’s in that bin. You don’t have to pretend to be a child but you can still play. No one said you can’t.
Much play to you,
Cole
Lessons in Messy, Beachy Love
Brought to you by 1962 and 1963 for that matter.
This shot was taken 48 years ago this summer. It’s my mom and my dad and one year before their wedding day, today. Thinking back on their love. Messy, beachy love. Love that sometimes slammed doors and didn’t talk in the morning but by midday couldn’t stay away from each other sort of love. Love that said I choose you even though sometimes I cannot stand you. Love that went to the beach hating the sand because you were happiest there. Love that lived at your bedside when you were ill. Really ill. Like going home ill. That sort of love.
Missing my mother today but not nearly as much as my father is.
Wishing you a love like that and then some,
Cole
Lessons in Details and Gratitude
Brought to you by a McDonald’s large, not medium, Diet Coke.
It’s Friday and the end of a very, ultra busy event week. I have sore everything and things are throbbing that shouldn’t throb. On top of that, on a morning where I should bask in the glory of my amazingness, which is what I do the mornings after events, I had a press conference to stage.
*cursing under my breath and out of my bed which I did not want to get out of*
It’s post press conference. I park underground, come inside my apartment, kick off my heels and instantly feel grateful. I mean grateful in the hugest way someone can feel grateful. Grateful like empire state building or egyptian pyramid big grateful. That grateful. But it’s for the little things. The detail things.
Here’s a couple I thought I’d share.
Feet free from four inch heels. Large diet cokes when you normally get medium diet cokes - especially hot days with air conditionless cars. Service managers that say, “I know others don’t see but I see you - you have your eye on everything, Cole. I see.” Sunglasses that shade harsh sun and brief frustrations. Showing grace when I only want to show ‘strangle’. Home air conditioning set low and then lower again. Mixing up all The Godfather movies to make my own synopsis. Assistants that finish my sentences and understand my different head nods. Men that remember. Summers. Being called a sexy, smart damsel in distress. Working until my team stops working. Necklaces that turn into bracelets that turn into sometime belts. Tears that last three minutes instead of three days. Sweaters. Messy beachy hair. Almost biting my nail but then not because things really are okay. Little boys with summer tans that scrunch their noses when they answer you. Girls that proclaim their favorite color is pink until their favorite color is green. Oh, and nicknames. I love a good nickname.
I like details. I love the little things. I’m enjoying this summer, this Can’t Decide If I’m Going To Be Hot Or Cold Summer. It’s fickle. I understand it. It’s sort of like a woman that way. I get that.
Much love to you as you pay attention to the little details of your very big every days,
Cole
Lessons in Wills
Brought to you by the year 2003. I wondered a bit on Twitter yesterday if Will would phone me from the airport as he headed out to Cairo. You see, he always does that and normally the calls are full of him out of breath as he races for the check-in or sits down in his seat. He generally runs late, Will does but he always, always phones me to say he’s on the plane and to say goodbye and we have our chat about us. That’s just what we do, Will and I.Things are changing though. This trip to Cairo Will is getting married and not to me. And you may wonder how my soul is resting with that. I’ll have to let you know Monday. He’s sending me the feed so I can watch him take his vows live. A little twisted watching the former, first love of my life get married to someone else? No, not at all. When you love someone from the gut and know they aren’t for you and that they are for someone else, you even want to be there for the big moments even if the big moments aren’t for you.
So my phone rings and it’s Will and it’s the last call he’s going to make to me as “us”. You know…I’m not going to be first or even second probably not third on his phone anymore. I’m sure I haven’t been for sometime. Still, he makes the call and it goes something like this:
Cole: Are you on the plane?
Will: Seat 29. (Will is a nano engineer and likes to get to the point)
Cole: Really? You called. You did.
Will: Seat 29. I told you.
Cole: What if I told you I loved you. Would you change your mind?
Will: Come on. First of all, you’re not in love with me. Second, you’re still a lion and the only benefit to marrying you is having white babies. Maybe I should marry you. (Will is Egyptian and desperately wants white babies)
Cole: What time is the ceremony?
Will: I’ll send you the link. You can watch it live. I’ll even wave goodbye to you. (brutal, he is)
Cole: I love you. I love you. I love you. You gave me the best of everything.
Will: Stop it. I’m not dying. Not til I marry this one anyway. Then you two can fight over who speaks at my funeral. No, Habibti, you gave me the best, first six years in America I could imagine. I love you. I’m going to bring The Wife (that’s what we call her) to California and she’s going to like you. I’m going to make her like you.
I walked back inside my office and Miss Chloe, my assistant asked if I was okay. With tears in my eyes, the only thought I can muster is I feel sentimental. Not sad, not depressed, not regretful…full of memories and adoration for a man that helped raise me into a full pre middle age woman.
I do less stomping of my feet because of you, Habibi. I am calmer because of you. I’ve been to places I never would have seen and met people I never would have met. And learned a language that some see as so harsh but I hear such beauty in. You opened my heart to another world and gave me a million memories that I’ll paper someday.
For now my heart is grateful, so grateful, for an airplane call.
Cole
Lessons in Names
Brought to you by The Cheesecake Factory.
Her name is Arden. Did you know that? And did you know she has a really cool job and the dress she wore yesterday was this beautiful fitted black thing, the kind you wear when you want to act like you don’t want people to look at you but you really want them to look at you.
I didn’t know any of that.
Her name is Arden. And for all intents and purposes, she hated me. Every encounter we had at one of my events was negative. I was always asking her to leave the jacuzzi since we still had to tear down an event or take her alcohol outside because our caterer does not permit outside alcohol. She used to just roll her eyes and walk away and then, one day, recently she stared at me with what could only be described as hatred. I looked at her and said, “You really don’t like me, do you?” It’s a rare thing for a person not to like me.
Annoyed? Sure. Exhausted? Of course. Needing a break or vacation from All Things Cole? Definitely. But not like? That stings in ways that get to the heart. I’m someone people like. I’m a person to know. Not in a fancy papparazi block my eyes from the cameras way but in a knowing way.
My birthday came around and the whole Cole’s 38 Mitzvah Project thing started and Arden stayed on my mind. Truthfully, I couldn’t get her off my mind during this whole project. I’m not okay with people being at odds with me, especially when my hearts intent, it’s song is to love on people. I kept trying to think of a way to talk to her but didn’t know how or what to do.
It happened. As naturally as if it was ordained. I was sitting in my office and looking at a gift card my family gave me and Arden walked by which she never does. I asked her to come into my office. The first thing I did was:
1. Ask her name. How many people do we interact with and don’t even take the time to know them by name?
2. Apologized for not knowing her name and for not getting to know her. She only knew me as the “rules” woman and not the woman.
3. Told her a little about me. Engagement goes two ways. If you want someone to let you in, you’ve got to let them in, too.
4. Ask forgiveness. For being all about work and not about people. For not doing this sooner.
5. Gave. I gave her the gift card and asked her to please have lunch on me.
This sweet girl who had so much anger towards me…melted. Literally melted. Her shoulders dropped. Her countenance shifted. Her voice went from aggressive to soft and sweet. She realized I was human and she realized I knew she was one, too.
There are a million reasons why our first reaction is anger or hurt or aggression and it takes time to sort through that, sure. But when, if, you have the chance to push through to the side of love, I challenge you to do it. You might get eye rolls or the silent treatment. Or you might find an Arden with a soft, soft heart waiting for someone to find it.
Much love to you this early Summer day,
Cole
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