Sucker Punched

Have you ever come to the realization that you may love someone that you don't even really like? Not necessarily family (because, come on, all of us have that one cousin who just sucks, and you wonder why you're allowed to choose your friends when you are stuck with family), but friends... or people you think are friends.

It's a hard lesson to swallow (euphemisms are not my forte, but I'm sure you get the gist).

Self-worth is something that we all contemplate at one time or another-- are we smart enough for this school; are we well-behaved enough for our parents to love us; are we talented enough for the lead in the play/spot on the varsity team/solo for the a cappella group; are we popular enough for the cool kids; are we good enough to be loved? There are some of us that know we are; we surround ourselves with people that are going to tell us nice things, no matter how ingenuine (think actors)-- and sometimes those people turn out to be arrogant and have over-inflated egos, and make other people feel badly so that they feel good.

Then there are those of us who question every move we make, and surround ourselves with people who only make us feel worse about ourselves. And feeling worthless is a horrible, horrible thing. Imagine being in relationship after relationship where you always feel like you're a second class citizen; the runner-up; the alternate... that that person has only chosen you because the first choice didn't work out, and you're so accomodating and work so hard to fill the imaginary gap left until you actually believe that all of that's true. Then imagine feeling that way every single day you wake up.

You trick yourself into believing that they really do love you, but they haven't quite figured it out yet; and, if you work hard enough and do enough nice things and fill in that imaginary gap that, they're going to wake up one day and realize that you're amazing, and that there's never going to be anyone like you, and there never was, and then they're finally going to tell you. Just that simple act of telling you that they appreciate you. But you'll wait forever. You see, the truth is, they never deserved you in the first place.

I told my niece today that I loved her-- and that someone should tell her that multiple times a day, everyday, and that she should always know what she's worth and that she's loved. I know she won't necessarily remember this (she's only 10 months old), but maybe something in that little baby subconscious will hold on to those words. Everyone should be so blessed.

So back to the question at hand... can you still love someone when you realize that you don't like them?

Happy Birthday, Aloha B!

Heehee... and also to me. :) Cupcakes DO make people happy-- especially a dozen happy birthday cupcakes delivered to your door from your twin sister. She's most certainly my better half. Thank you, Aloha!

(Check out the cupcake shop's cool website.)

Trick-Or-Treat

A little late, yes, but thought I would touch on it anyway, since it's been a looooong time since I've actually gone trick -or- treating.

I love this time of year. Fall is my favorite season, and I will be very sad when I live in a location that doesn't relish in the changing leaves, crisp weather and the smell of Fall-- because, yes; Fall does have a smell: a combination of freshness and fireplaces and apples and spices like cinnamon and nutmeg. Yum.

Right when the leaves start changing, I make it my mission to buy pumpkins. Even in NYC, I would lug a couple home from C-Town on Broadway and 29th, to dress up my little apartment for the season. Here in Chicago, it's a little easier since there's a little neighborhood farmer's market up the street every Saturday. Every October since I moved here, I've faithfully trekked a short walk south to pick up some pumpkins. This year, due to the surgery restrictions, I couldn't get the usual "heaviest pumpkin I could carry" so I resigned myself to a gaggle of mini-pumpkins and a small guy with an interesting "nose," snuck into the bottom of my niece's stroller so I didn't get in trouble for carrying it. Laid out on all my window sills with the small pumpkin with the interesting nose sitting on my kitchen counter, my little apartment in Chicago got all gussied up for the season.

This year, with all this time off of work, thus, no crazy late night hours, I was actually home on Halloween and I actually got to go trick-or-treating with my friends Kristina and Claudia and their 1-year old tots. Okay, okay-- so, the 1-year olds can't exactly eat candy... and I partook in the spoils... but that's another story.

I have often been heard saying that I live in the fanciest neighborhood that I'll ever get to live in-- Chicago's very own Gold Coast. And this Halloween was proof in the pudding. As a kid growing up in Los Angeles, there was an occasional Halloween where a friend's parents would drive us over to Beverly Hills. There, many a mansion would have giant fishbowls of loose change instead of candy; and us kids were allowed to scoop up as much as one tiny hand could carry. Most of the time they were filled with pennies; but there were the occasional quarters. Score!

While the Chicago Gold Coast isn't quite so lotto, the mansions were out full swing with king size-- not just full size, but KING size, candy bars. The mansion across the street had a mummy holding a bowl of king size snickers and nestle crunches (my favorite) and when the kids went to grab a candy bar, the mummy would move. Freaky! And down the street, one mansion-owner decided to throw a block part of their own, complete with heat lamps (it was 36 degrees...), cocktail rounds and tables of mini-meatball sandwiches, various rolls, mini cupcakes and hot apple cider, with costumed staff patrolling and serving the masses. Oh yes, my friends. A lotto block party. Not to mention, the fog machine blowing from the foyer where the neighborhood kids could venture in to retrieve not only candy, but also florescent wrist bands and other fun Halloween treats.

Gold Coast indeed.

Empty Nest

No excuse for my lack of blogging (although I did think about offering up the lame "major surgery" and subsequent "recovery" excuse only, somehow I managed to blog just a short week after the surgery...); I guess as my act of contrition I will have to stop harping on all my friends who take endless amounts of time off between posts... at least until I get my groove back.

Apologies aside, I've been a little down as of late about my quiet house. The last of my caretakers/houseguests left last Friday, and things have been a little too quiet for this self-proclaimed homebody who relishes in her "alone time." After having my folks here for a couple of weeks, followed by my sis and the beautiful Nanea, things have been a little too, well, quiet.

I've always been the one that's lived far away (moving to NY for college when I was 17 and never looking back) and thought that I'd gotten used to it. But it all changed when my sisters started having babies. Now with two little ones all the way on the other side of the country (California and Hawaii, to be exact), it's getting harder and harder to stake my claim for independence.

So, here's the question of the day (or in my case, it may be the week...). As you get older, does it only get harder to be further away from family and loved ones?