sound bites: the ramblings of amelia pontes

8 Favorite Things

2012-01-27T13:49:00.000-05:00

1. A new place for my bed.

2. Arm candy

3. Sitting at my desk.

4. Finally getting some snow fall in Boston.

5. Not bowling at Sacco's Bowling in Somerville, but drinking yummy adult beverages and munching on yummy Flatbread pizza.

6.Taking pictures of barrels and not looking like a total creep at the bar.

7. Not being able to solve puzzles. Does anyone know what it says?

8. Getting my nails done before work and wearing my favorite hunter green infinity scarf.

Have a great weekend, folks!

OOTD: Lumberjack Chic

2012-01-19T23:02:00.001-05:00

dress:Macy's/vest:DKNY Jeans/shirt:Old Navy/leggings:ASOS Curve/boots:AnneKlein/necklace:JewelMint

Oh, I Care

2012-01-19T00:06:00.000-05:00

There are pieces of my job that are beyond disturbing. Some of our babies (this is how I refer to all human beings under the age of 18) have been through some very traumatic events. I know that this is what I signed up for, but sometimes it gets to be too much. There are moments where I have to rush to the bathroom and cry a few tears just to hold it all together for everyone. Today, I started to doubt if there was a way for me to make a real impact, especially when some of the girls who have to deal with so much bullshit.

Our girls are growing up in a hostile psychological environment; where they are over-sexualized, abused, ridiculed, and exposed. It's one thing to READ that sentence, but quite another to see the products of that society trying to hold onto their innocence and self-decency. It is a battle they fight without the right defensive strategies. Most of the time, I am not even sure how to even prepare them for this ongoing battle with their peers, their hormones, and complete strangers who financially benefit from their insecurities and uncertainties.

I sat at my desk for a break today, feeling exhausted and defeated. I have an amazing coworker who is wise, patient, a bit eccentric, and the perfect man to be working with youth. He gets it. As I usually do, I turned to him to express my doubts (complain) about whether or not I could do this work. It's not that I don't think I am capable of my actual job, but the WORK is hard (and nearly impossible).

Let me explain. The WORK is the change that we hope to create. It's the shift in culture we're hoping appears one morning; where finally the world is at peace and our children can breathe without the threat of emotional pollution. It's the most overwhelming goal that one could choose to take on, but...here I am.

My coworker and I talked about one of our kids who seems to be going down the wrong path. I said to him, "Thank goodness you are doing it. My heart is too weak. I don't know if I could handle it."

And so while the babies shuffled down the hall behind us and dug into their backpacks to put away homework, he said, "Ahh. You can do this. Of course you can. You can do this because you care."

I can do this because I care. Not because I am smart enough. Or because I know all of the answers. Or because I have read all of the books. I care.

And damn. I do. I care so damn much.

Sometimes

2012-01-16T17:12:00.000-05:00

1. Sometimes I daydream. At my desk, I am the most famous writer in the world who can also play the piano, sing, and gives the best advice. Kanye West calls me up after his melt downs, but Chris Brown and I have a public beef because everyone knows I will never forgive him for what he did to my BFF/Party Partner, Rih-Rih.

Last May, at Kevin's wedding, Junior (our oldest brother) gave an amazing Best Man's speech, where he let out our little family secret. He is a decade older than the both of us, and with a head start on life, he learned that the secret to survival was to create a mental escape. His speech exposed the world to how he would tell us that before we went to bed at night to pretend we were singers, basketball players, lawyers, etc. Whatever we wanted to be or whatever life we wanted to live was possible through our daydreams. This little place, where my eyes glaze over and I can't see anything, but the images I have conjured in my head, is the only space where I've felt free from judgement, ridicule, expectations, and fear.

2. Sometimes I drink Patron out of a coffee cup.

3. Sometimes I cry during the happiest moments; knowing that its end is almost near. It's like I'm always teetering on the edge of a depression because I can feel so much.

4.Sometimes I wish I wasn't driven by emotion. My dependence on "energy" and other illogical factors can get in the way of success. Recently, I have started to think that I have become too focused on being happy in the moment and forgetting to plan for the future.

5. Sometimes I want to start going to church again. I just can't get over the whole "after-life" bit.

6. Sometimes I take breaks from reading a book to live in it. I feel the characters. I move as they would. Listen to their music. Drink their spirits. I wallow in their self-pity. I rejoice in their happiness.

7. Sometimes I fall asleep on the couch listening to Nina Simone and John Coltrane with the lights on, hoping their melodies and tunes take over my dreams.

8. Sometimes I delete his number from my phone to keep myself from calling him first. His number is memorized, but it's a small victory when he's the first to reach out.

9. Sometimes I wonder why I got the tattoo of the ankh on my ankle and wish I could move it to another spot.

10. Sometimes I don't know what to write about or how to feel about this blog. It feels like it is at a standstill, or that I haven't found a way to maximize its potential. There are readers. There's interest. Yet, it feels empty and stagnant. Sometimes I want to quit, but I'm committed to this space like a marriage on the rocks. And so, I drink until I can think of something to write about. And so, sometimes, dear friends, you get a post like this. It's a hodgepodge of thoughts. Sometimes I'll click "publish," knowing it's an absolute fail.

skirt:H&M/sweater:Urban Outfitters/Belt:ASOS/vest:DKNY Jeans/Boots:Berk's

Get In My Belly

2012-01-14T21:35:00.001-05:00

Not much else makes me happier than cooking breakfast in an empty home. I spend all week with children, energetic adults, and juggling responsibilities. I am grateful for the people who made this long week, where I was sick with an awful head cold, manageable. But again, the silence after so much noise is like coming up from air when you've been afraid of drowning.

All of this is to say, look at the amazing dish I made this morning. Come on, now? Baked eggs. Parmesan and mozzarella cheese. Rosemary. Parsley. A little bit of butter. BACON. BACON. BACON. Broiled for 7 minutes. Devoured in less than 5 minutes.

Hunting for New Looks

2012-01-08T18:27:00.001-05:00

I haven't done much clothes shopping in the past month, but during a trip to H&M I found this hunter green infinity scarf. It's safe to say my summer tan has faded, and I'm embracing the pale skin with dark contrasting colors. This jersey biker jacket in mustard is one of my favorite year-round pieces because it's thin enough to wear underneath a heavy winter coat or with a heavy scarf in the fall and spring.

Like most people, I'm obsessed with finding new hair tips and makeup tricks on YouTube. I had grown frustrated at the lack of growth in my hair and wanted to wear one of those cool buns on my head, too. I found a video showing how to make your own bun stuffer from a sock and I can't get over its magic! There's nothing easier than pulling the hair all up off your face and stepping out. I'm learning to not be limited by the length of my hair or the lack of new items in my closet, there are so many more looks to pull off.

Happy Sunday, folks!

The Week in Pictures

2012-01-07T22:46:00.001-05:00

I finished reading The Hunger Games trilogy and started the History of Love.

I started Weight Watchers, which had me eating lots of oatmeal and fruit.

But then I also ate lots of yummy food from some of the best restaurants around town.

A coworker and I made "Mikasa," Wilson's little brother: A glitter bow tie and crown wearing former volleyball on a wooden stick.

I wore my favorite owl charm.

I went to an 80's party for my cousin's birthday.

The first week of 2012 is coming to a close, and it has been great. It feels good to read again (on my new Kindle!), follow the Republican presidential primaries and caucuses, cook, hug my students, go out for drinks with friends, and put some attention back on moving forward.

The Emotional Weight Loss

2012-01-03T21:34:00.001-05:00

I am trying to get back to something. For the past few months I have really felt the extra pounds on me, holding me back and weighing me down. It's more than just the physical weight. In fact, it has nothing to do with my body.

I have been rushing through everything.

It is only today, sitting back at my kitchen table with my lunch packed for work: (leftover spinach lasagna, salad, a copious amount of mixed berries, and two chai tea bags) and eating oatmeal and fruit with a cinnamon spiced coffee for breakfast that I feel something like myself again.

I gambled my sanity for productivity. For the past six months I was racing to be the best at work, obsessing over perfection, and beating myself up for small faults in what I thought I needed to do to be successful.

I was trying to be like Bill Belichick and Tom Brady at the end of the football game. They've demolished the other team and in front of blood thirsty reporters they are cool, calm, and collected saying, "Yup. Well. It was a good game, but we have lots to improve on. We're looking ahead to next week's game, that's the most important thing."

The viewer (me) listens to one of the best coaches and quarterbacks in NFL history with envy in their ability to overlook their accomplishments and look ahead to the next challenge. We think they are the pinnacle of success: perfectionists, never satisfied, and emotionless. It's been easy to fall into this trap in the name of false humility, but it's scary when you're slipping further down into negative thinking where nothing you do is good enough.

You stop applauding. You stop cheering. You stop throwing your arms up in victory. Unlike football teams, there is no Super Bowl of life. There is no culminating event (other than death). There is no podium where we get to stand up and soak in the energy of the roaring crowd and blow kisses to the wind.

Our generation was the first to be awarded for "effort." We racked up ribbons, plaques, and mini-trophies for participation a.k.a. showing up. It felt good to have your name called in front of your class and have everyone half-ass clap for being "The Best at Reading in a Loud Voice."

Even the kid who tortured animals and started fires at recess got an award at the end of the year. What kind of sense does that make?

Many will argue that this sort of fake recognition for unimportant achievements makes us arrogant and overly confident. However, I'd say for the most of us, it makes us feel absolutely worthless. We're like Pavlov's dogs awaiting the ringing bell to be fed, but instead we're waiting for some sort of external acknowledgment to let us know we're worthy of moving on to the next task. It’s hard to undo those years of conditioning, but at some point when you’ve realized that no one is showing up to pat you on the back things have to change.
So back at my kitchen table, I took a breath and let myself be content with what I had done in the past year. I didn’t need to recognize all of my past accomplishments or gloat over a great work evaluation. Being able to sit at a table in complete silence with only the fish tank filter humming in the background is enough for me.

This is my reward.

And before I have shed any pounds, I already feel like a weight has been lifted.

A New Year?

2012-01-01T11:26:00.001-05:00

It's how it starts and how you put it on. The year begins on a note that you just weren't ready to sing. You swallow hard. Try to get down those thoughts that have held you down for weeks. A new year has not turned you into a new person. It has not brought you new people who will treat you better. You're the still the same ol' girl with a bag of questions about where you're going. In fact, because things are "supposed" to change you feel even worse about not being the new and improved you thirty-three minutes after the clock has struck midnight. You are not Cinderella. There was no Fairy Godmother and definitely no glass slipper left on the stairs for Prince Charming.

But let it go. It's okay to not be better, yet, It's okay to want to sit on your couch and read away on your Kindle. There's this pressure to be exciting, festive, and cheerful just because the calendar says so, but forget about that. Just because Chipper Anne prances around on New Year's Eve on a sequins dress and cheap six inch heels and wakes up in the morning retelling the story about her crazy, wild, once in a lifetime got stranded in some New England Patriots' player's hotel suite in downtown Boston, it doesn't mean that she is any better off than you.

I fell asleep last night with the lights on and the Kindle still on my chest after I retreated to the bedroom read before bed. Something in me was unsettled. Maybe it was the argument I had with my mother earlier. Maybe it's because I'm realizing that I am no longer a naive child with an excuse for her missteps. Either way, it felt good this morning to make my bed, jump in the shower, and cook my own breakfast. If all of that was an indication of what 2012 is going to be like, I am okay with it.

Life will be good.

dress: c/o Dream Diva/sweater:Urban Outfitters/shoes: Berk's/clutch:Kate Spade

My Charmed Boston Life

2011-12-29T15:36:00.001-05:00

A simple morning brunch and dessert in Davis Square (Somerville) with friends.

I used to be flattered when people said they could see me living in New York City. I thought it meant I was a driven, socially well-adapted human being who was cool enough to hang out in the trendiest places in town before New York Mag had a chance to write about it. So when my friend visiting New York asked for a good, but cheap place we could go to for dinner with "yummy salads and gluten-free options" in the Boston area, I was ashamed that I couldn't think of anywhere to go. Like anyone else who can't find a good place to eat in her own city, I turned to Yelp. Those pretentious reviews by wannabe food critiques can be annoying, but they're just so damn accurate. You think anyone has ever been hired because of their Yelp review writing skills?

Anyway...

To save my city's reputation, I decided that Boston/Cambridge/Somerville is the kind of place where everyone goes home for dinner in their comfy cozy homes because what could be better than that? It's a city where only the wives of diplomats and/or Jersey Shore wannabes wear heels to walk on the cobblestone sidewalks. During the day we huddle up in cafes and sandwich shops with books and laptops with other creatively struggling and intellectually lost beings. We all wear the same H&M camel colored sweater from the front rack with riding boots and skinny jeans. We're the type who like to play Apples to Apples and drink Sam Adams beer. We jump on fashion trends a month too late, but are current on important news (i.e. Whitey Bulger being caught in California).

I live in the kind of place where we don't make friends for the sake of social mobility because really, where the fuck would you go and what would it get you? There are only three good places total in the city that play good music, serve good drinks, and don't have creepers crawling along the walls trying to grab your ass. It's the city everyone else thinks is filled with heartless and cold human beings, but all of the shop owners and food servers almost know your name and favorite panini.

I have started to think that if I lived in New York I'd be a shell of a person. Of course, many of my best and kindest friends live in the "Big Apple," but it's a place I'm not ready to take a bite out of. The good people who live there fight on a consistent basis to remain true to themselves, their values, and integrity. You have to be strong to live there and survive. Boston challenges me in a different way and in no way is it a little pond.

The brightest and most hopeful live here. We're the type who believe that one day we'll become cool and hip. We indeed use the words "cool and hip." We cheer for the aging Celtics and root for the Bruins even if we hate hockey. We're unpretentious enough to know Starbucks is good, but Dunkin Donuts is the best for an iced coffee and a hangover breakfast sandwich.

I mean, there are good places to go for dinner in Boston. The North End is filled with homemade pasta and yummy desserts. The South End has trendy restaurants with yummy waiters who wear black framed glasses and great at recalling unimportant details about the life story of the chicken you are about to eat. Even up the street from my childhood home is the best place for live music, crammed seating, and shrimp, grits and bacon. Cheap and delicious pizza STILL exists here, too.

But in the end, rushing home for dinner is still cool. Living in Boston means that I can raise a family here. It's okay to be a boring couple that streams Netflix to your ridiculously large TV in the living room and orders mediocre Chinese food to eat on the couch. Because someone or someone you know drives, you can go grocery shopping at Costco's and buy toilet paper in bulk. Streets don't get plowed right away so building snowmen is still an option if you ever get your ass out of bed on cold winter days.

Boston isn't the place where you fight to survive; it's the place where you come to live. You can settle in and settle down. My hope is that I am now the type of girl you could see living in Boston. It doesn't mean that I'm not driven, but success wears a different outfit here that isn't about pretending. It may not be as stylish or pretty, but it feels good once you put it on and sit at the dinner table with those you love most. At home.

How I Wear Sequins and Make It Casual

2011-12-27T17:55:00.001-05:00

Sequins isn't just for New Year's Eve or a fancy night out on the town, especially if you're a gal like me who doesn't spend many nights out on the town. Ever wear a sequins mini skirt to your favorite cafe? No? Try it! People might think you're THAT girl who is just over doing it, but most likely they'll be jealous of the guts it takes to wear something so dashing while the sun is still out.

Skirt:H&M/Sweater:Urban Outfitters/Shoes:Jeffrey Campbell/Bracelets: Kate Spade and gifted from brother

2012: Not My Year

2011-12-26T11:51:00.001-05:00

2012 is not going to be my year, I will not be "rising and grinding," I will not be going H.A.M., or doing anything that those annoying people on Twitter like to proclaim they are doing every morning while sleeping in their mother's basement. And hey, I'm not dissing anyone who lives in their mom's basement. I live in our attic, but my place is totally tricked out with cheesy white lights and cheap artwork from the Christmas Tree Shop. What I am saying is that I'm not going to pretend that just because I finally get to use my new Kate Spade calendar that things are going to be any different.

This will not be the year I become a millionaire or marry one. This will not be the year my father and I become best buds and mend all of our differences. This will not be the year family members stop getting sick or stop getting old. This will not be the year at work when I stop being a neurotic control freak with absolutely no clue of what she is doing. This will not be the year when I let my guard down and start expressing my true feelings to people. This will not be the year I make up with old friends. This will not be the year when I am at my absolute best.

This is the year when I will break.This is the year when I won't emerge from underneath my blankets until I have to get up for work on Monday morning. This is the year I'll rejoin Weight Watchers to get a handle on my eating. This is the year I'll lose blog followers for the previous action. This is the year I'll gain a ton more followers because people love other people who are on diets. This is the year I'll become a shopaholic again to numb hurt feelings. This is the year I'll get in a big fight with my mother like a teenager because she "just doesn't understand what I am going through" even though we'll be going through it together. This is the year when things will be disgustingly hard, tiresome, and draining.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that with how things are going, 2012 will probably suck hairy balls. Gross, right? But you know what? People DO suck hairy balls and they survive! Sure they have to floss pubes out of their teeth the next morning, but the dentist will praise their hygienic habits.

What I am trying to say in a less gross way is that from despair (and necessary acts to keep a boyfriend) comes some pretty great results --pun unintended. 2012 doesn't have to be the best year ever or the one I pretend to love that I'm NOW in my late 20's. I won't have to wake up on the right side of the bed every morning or become totally perfect.

From depressing weekends alone, I'll probably read a whole lot of great books and become even more of an intellectual snob (that's a good thing). I'll be so worried about the amount of calories that I am consuming that I'll skip out on dinners at my favorite Thai restaurant to stay home to eat squash and spinach soup and finally write a great masterpiece. I'll become so lazy that I won't want to take a bus and train to my hair salon and my hair will grow so long because I will forget to cut it.

And so by this time next year, I will be smarter and more productive with long, luscious locks. That is all I hope for in the next year. I don't think every day will be better than the one before. I don't think the birds will be chirping at my window. I don't think a man who is a cross between Michael Jordan and Ryan Gosling (someone please make one of those mashups of their faces!) will be waking up next to me. I don't think the world will stop being at war. I don't think the economy will get back on track. I don't think I'll be any less anxiety filled or possessive about the chocolate in my desk. I will still be the same me, but at least, with another year in my body and on this planet, I will come to accept things as they are. I will try my best to be my best. I will be thankful that I get to wake up everyday. I will not take my relatively good health for granted. I won't complain about my job because at least I have one.

In short, 2012 will still be great despite all of the shitty things that are going to happen, and definitely not because of any stupid sayings or omens that others predict. 2012 will be great because I will have to pretend that it is, just so I can get through it.

2011 Lesson Learned: Fashion Edition

2011-12-20T10:17:00.000-05:00

Life is too short to not wear what you like. Not to make fashion part of life's purpose or anything, but really, I'm not trying to end up on my death bed saying, "Geesh. I really wish I had worn that black mini skirt and hadn't worried so much about what other people would think of me." Back in 2009, I cut off all of my hair and then spent the past two years angry that it wasn't growing back fast enough. I've always been hesitant to wea wear a weave or a wig, but I decided that it was time to get it over with. I wanted to long and since nature wasn't doing its job, I took matters into my own hands and my wallet. I shelled out a good amount of money for the best quality hair I could fine and got to work.

I looked up tutorials online and sewed in my own hairclips. By the end of the evening, I finally had long hair and it looked good from all angles. And yet, I was scared to wear it out, afraid of all of the questions people would ask. "Is it yours?" "How did you do that?" "Can I touch it?" "Will it fall out?"

I was becoming anxious over what other people's perception would be of something that I loved. I had my close friends come over and we headed out for drinks at a local bar. Two beers later, I was relaxed AND twirling my weave. I wore it for the next few weeks, until I realized that the constant headache I went to bed with was from the clips.

The best thing about clothes and fashion is that you can always wear it until you hate it. Then, you can look for some new inspiration and start all ove again. I'm happy with my shoulder length hair now and haven't dreamt of having long hair in months. But hey, in life and in fashion, we try new things until we're over it and move on.

Favorite Things

2011-12-15T13:13:00.001-05:00

It's been a while since I've posted one of these, but we all know how much I love --things. Here are some of my favorites of the holiday season.

1. On the nails
Sephora by O.P.I. in Fiercely Fabulous and Only Gold For Me.

2. On the neck and wrists
Forget jewelry, it's all about perfume for me. I can't choose which one I love more, OH, LOLA! by Marc Jacobs or Miss Diorby Dior.

3. On the eyes
Keep it simple, cheap, and efficient: Great Lash by Maybelline because I'm definitely not born with it.

4. On the skin
A little over a month ago, the skin care company Simone France offered to send me a sample of their product. I was more than hesitant to try anything on my skin. As a teenager and even into adulthood I have struggled with constant breakouts. I thought I had found a good regimen using only organic and natural products. I decided to try them out when they had me fill out an extensive survey about my skin and promised a skin care consultant would email me back about how my habits (cleansing and makeup) were not helping me get the best skin possible. Within a week, I had all of the recommended products on my bathroom sink and I was ready to give it a chance.

It has to be the best decision I have ever made for my skin. It's an extensive process that includes moisturizing, scrubbing, soaping, and then moisturizing again, but it's well worth it. My favorite part of the process is slathering on the Lovely Glow moisturizer and watching it soak into my skin without leaving an oily residue, but having my skin glowing even in these cold winter months.

5. On the heart

My cousin made the crazy (read: awesome) decision to attend college in Scotland. She was smart enough to start a blog and keep all of her stalking cousins informed on her whereabouts and musings. She's a great writer with an interesting perspective, not that I'm biased or anything. http://livealifeabroad.blogspot.com/

sequin blazer:Forever21/tank:H&M/pants:ASOS Curve/shoes:DSW

4 Things I Meant to Write This Year

2011-12-13T10:22:00.003-05:00

1. I don't think I have ever been more annoyed by a comment about my style than this: "You know how to dress. I mean, you just know what works for your body and you do it. Most big girls don't know how to do that."
Shut. The. Eff. Up. There's an implication in the statement that unlike other fat girls, I know how to dress this -unfortunate- body. When in fact, I can dress better than most girls...period. Cocky? Absolutely. I put effort into what I wear and this doesn't make me better than a person who doesn't, but please don't diminish my talents by comparing me to who you think can't dress. And as for making it work for my body, what the heck does that even mean? I wear whatever style I want, and proudly mix between silhouettes that are traditionally "flattering" and those which only Olsen twins and Rachel Zoe enthusiasts can appreciate. My point is that my goal is that people will see how everything can work on any body, and we don't have to be limited by the rules and regulations of body policing fashion.

2. Hope isn't always this bright and cheerful ray of light coming in through your window, while the birds chirp a pretty little song. Sometimes hope in something that just can't be, paralyzes your true emotions and freezes reality. It's okay to wipe away the hope and live in the truth. Things don't always have to get better and people don't always have to get cured for us to enjoy the present.

3. Work really doesn't stress me out. Although I am highly performance driven and a perfectionist, I like that I can come home and put more important matters at the forefront of my life's purpose. I have this hand gesture that I use when I want people to sweep away the bullshit that gets them riled up. It can appear to be dismissive of a person's feelings or thoughts, but really, why spend energy and time fretting over the things that just don't matter? Brush it away and make room the things that are worthy of our attention and affection.

4. I like blogging so much more when I don't think anyone is reading. It's not for the reason that you may think. I am over the idea of people finding out my secrets or intimate thoughts. We've passed that threshold long ago, and in a time where you're likely to see a naked photo of one of your elementary school classmates floating around in cyberspace (i.e. your favorite porn site), who cares that I am writing about being 26 and still single? Exactly. Anyway, when I see no comments on a post, it makes me hungry again. Any blogger who says they are not driven by the comments or the hits is either a) lying or b) a serious underachiever. Otherwise, we'd all be recording our thoughts and photos in a scrapbook. And I don't think we all need comments for validation, but blogging allows us to connect with others. I like knowing I have made an impact or an impression on someone else in the world. It's gratifying. Helping other people (even in the smallest of ways) brings me joy. It strokes my ego. And so when I am writing something and there's not even a word of "Cool!" or "Thanks for this" I am not doing my job. I don't want my blog to be taking up space in your Google Reader. When things aren't working here, I need to find a way to make it better. And lately I know something isn't quite working. I am not connecting the way I used to and I need to get back to that place.

When I Can't Write

2011-12-12T11:51:00.002-05:00

I make narcissistic collages. Happy Monday!

2011: The Year With No F*ckin Point

2011-12-11T20:30:00.001-05:00

With a big white satin bow on my head and a red borrowed coat, I brought in 2011 in the streets of Boston. Only slightly inebriated, I cheered along with the crowds and quickly found my way back to the house I was raised in to sleep alone. It was a new year, but nothing told me things were going to be this different. The cold winter months of the year were spent in coffee shops and on my couch with very little sleep. I scratched through words with red pens, cried over not putting together a perfect sentence, and asked myself over and over, "What is the fuckin point?"

Twelve months later my book has not been written. Yet, this year has been the most confusing, challenging, and beautiful of my entire life. The words I preached were tested. I feel accomplished and unsettled. In the end, the fuckin point of failing to complete a memoir was that my life story wasn't quite complete. I haven't even been to the west coast! And so this year, I took the time to live. With very little time to reflect, to breathe, to process, and to digest, the seasons blended and only the moments captured in pictures are remembered.

And today, with only two more Sundays left in 2011, I am taking the time to drink tea, listen to mellow music, and unwind from the mess. I can feel all of its aches in my back and its joys in the laugh lines on my face. I became a grown up with a serious job with my own desk. I became a boss and the new girl. I cried for the accomplishments of good friends and for the burdens others have had to face. I sang along with Sade about staying by his side; swaying my arms in the air. This is the first year I have lived as myself. I felt authentic and genuine. I was lost and found, and lost again.

If there is one thing I know for sure after all that has happened, it's that life is supposed to be hard. It's undeniably challenging with very little chance for success. So all I can do is honor the good that comes my way and dance with the hardships until it's time to let go and take a seat on the side. There is no purpose to life (i.e. fuckin point) other than to live. We live until we have no other choice. We live until the next song doesn't play.

Emptying Out the Phone

2011-12-08T20:54:00.001-05:00

No rhyme. No reason. The week is almost over.
Xoxo,
Amelia

My Oprah Moment

2011-11-29T21:15:00.001-05:00

I am attempting to keep my head afloat this week at work and finding time to unwind with my new favorite drink. It's a blend of hot chocolate, cinnamon, and vanilla powder. It's magical and soothing, even in this unseasonably warm weather. I'm still searching for love, still pessimistic, and still trying to figure out how to make it happen. Oh! I'll be posting part two of "Blocked" later this week, as well.

In the meantime, I made a zine tonight as a sample for my students. In my head I have great artistic visions, buy my skills are lagging far behind. I registered for an art class in January and am hoping that it'll help with a personal project I am working on for a loved one.

If there is one thing I know for sure, the more I learn and create, the less I think about how single I am.

Just Thankful

2011-11-27T17:45:00.001-05:00

The world has its way of proving itself, huh? In a week where I bickered and groaned about wanting to be in a relationship, I was showered in the love of family and friends. This is the life. This is the life, indeed.

Back to work tomorrow, and I'm ready to finish out the year with lots of positive momentum. Thanks for all of the love and kind words left in the comments in the past few posts. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I am being a bit selfish to expect even more than I already have.

On Not Wanting To Be Single

2011-11-23T20:15:00.001-05:00

There was a time when I cherished “me” time, needing hours alone to decompress, evaluate, and process through the shambles I thought my life had fallen apart into. When you’ve invested so much energy and all of your emotional resources on putting the pieces back together, it’s hard to come out of that clean-up mode. When you’ve lived in the messy existence of depression and when you’ve decided to climb out of it, there this cleaning up process, if you will, that gets put into place.

It’s like having that annoying roommate who refuses to clean up after herself, and so tacked on the fridge is a weekly to-do list on how to wash dishes in the sink, pick up dirty socks, and to unclog the sink of her hair gunk. To keep myself clear of those self-defeating thoughts, I tacked simple tasks onto my list. With small practices, I have been able to avoid any major spills and mental breaks. But I haven’t been able to break out of, what I like to call, my Depression Fighting OCD.

Whenever something sad, frustrating, or anger-inducing happened, I took a break to reflect and get over it. I wanted to keep my life mess-free, afraid that my prior emotion hoarding tendencies would overflow again and spatter all over my pretty little floor.
And now I am ready to get my hands (and heart) dirty. I am ready to watch things fall apart and have my ego shattered. I have long celebrated the single life as an opportunity to explore and learn about myself, but it’s time to find some quality romantic company. In other non-sugar coated words, I am ready to be in a relationship.

I want to be in a couple. I want to have my hand held while walking down the street. I want my forehead kissed after a disagreement. I want to have disagreements that turn into make-ups. I want the euphoria of being loved. I want the messiness of a relationship and trying to become one with a stranger. I even want the breakup, just to know what it feels like to get over it.
I can say with the utmost confidence that I am well-adjusted and happy, but I am ready to risk all of that for a little bit of love. So like India Arie sang in her heart wrenching and exposing song:

I am ready for love
Why are you hiding from me
I'd quickly give my freedom
To be held in your captivity

Charted: I'm Dating My Blog

2011-11-21T16:46:00.001-05:00

I love a good chart. If you look at my notes, to-do lists, and even doodles I find it beneficial to put things into a little box. And so this morning, when I had a mini-meltdown about why I was still single with no potentials in sight, making a chart calmed my nerves. Here's a little peek into my neurosis, folks.

Why I can’t be in a relationship	What I need to change	Why I won’t
1. Too picky	I need to lower my standards. Nikki’s mother told us to “look for compatibility and not qualifications.” I’m just hunting for good looks and a brain. I live in the false universe; somewhere in between a fairy tale and GQ Magazine.	Because who doesn’t want Prince Charming?
2. Not open enough	I need to become more vulnerable. I hate to complain, and asking for help is still one of the hardest things for me to do. Because of this, I come off as shallow and closed off to opening up.	Dude, I have a blog. Whenever I have a problem or life crisis, I turn to it to pull me back together. Wait. Am I dating my blog?
3. Too many female friends	I need to go out alone and stop hiding in the comfort of good girl friends. Apparently this intimidates men.	Going to a women’s college and being raised in a matriarchal family structure makes it so easy for me to hang around other females. I mean, what isn’t there to like about great conversation and laughter.
4. Too much pride	Not sure how this is different from #2	I love being right, strong, independent, and capable. It’s what makes me confident and able to withstand the other bullshit in the world, but frankly it’s what keeps me single.

OOTD: Sequins Covered in Mustard

2011-11-21T14:57:00.001-05:00

A similar look to my gold sequin outfit, but...who cares? Not me. You can never have too much sequins in your life and when it comes in navy blue, I am sold. I wore this to my cousin's baby shower yesterday and to breakfast with a friend this morning. Yes, this outfit is that great. I'll wear twice in a row, there's no shame in that.

Dress: Thrifted/Top & Cardigan: Target/Shoes:Jeffrey Campbell

Favorite Things

2011-11-19T19:12:00.001-05:00

1. The Odd Couple:
I love when I am smitten with old items in my closet. I just can't get enough of this thrifted polka dot dress and the DKNY Jeans anorak jacket. I wear them both on a regular basis, and last weekend I decided it was time to unite the two. It doesn't make much sense together, but I like to think the boots help make this union complete.

2. Butternut Squash Raviolis:

They should be called Butter Raviolis because they seriously melted in my mouth. When I got home I wished I had another plate, and in the morning I wanted them for breakfast. We went to Giacamo's in the North End, and although the pace was hurried, the service was impeccable. I felt welcomed by the waitresses and the chef made love to my taste buds.

3. Modern Pastry:

People like to ask me my favorite spots in the city for food and dessert. Of course, there are so many great places to eat, but when it comes to Italian desserts Modern Pastry is the best. After a family taste test, I can assure you that it is delivers. You can't go wrong with a classic canoli and a cappuccino.

4. Fallen Leaves:

Soon they'll be crumpled and moldy, but for now the leaves are still worship worthy.

Blocked: Part 1

2011-11-16T07:36:00.000-05:00

I hadn't played with guys since my high school summers at Tufts where we'd show up with purple Gatorade bottles and wearing Adidas flip-flops. Unlike the teenage girls who wore booty shorts wasted warm nights looking for love on wooden park benches,we were banging against bodies, reaching for rebounds, and being praised by college boys for our basketball skills. Our sneakers were packed in matching team gym bags along with deodorant, lotion, an extra t-shirt, and maybe a portable CD player. We sprinted back and forth, as the sun set into the sky in hopes of earning bragging rights on the walk back to the parking lot.

This was the kind of attention I grew up on from men. With all of their eyes on me, jaws dropping over my ability to keep up with them on the court, I felt appreciated. My brother warned me that soon enough the boys wouldn't care about how good I was at two hand touch football at recess or if I could play defense on the biggest guy on the court. Their focus began to shift in middle school, but I kept my eye on the rim and off the inevitable prize of the boys' attention.

Things began to change when I turned 13. Shauna got pregnant. My red headed friend and her sister with the rhyming name moved back to Brasil with their parents after their shorts had started cutting off the blood supply to their legs. I'm guessing the crazy house party they threw one weekend where a knife was slashed through their green leather couch didn't help either. The girls were running amuck. Kate gave Michael hand jobs in music class after lunch recess underneath her bomber jacket. Girls were wearing skirts to give boys' clumsy fingers access to their underwear, that's if they still wore them. Sisqo's "Thong Song" had recently come out and girls were pairs of the scandalous undergarments at the cheap mall store on weekends.

None of the boys were asking for my phone number for late night pillow talks, nor did they notice when I was doing my hair differently. Before I went to high school, my oldest brother told me I would no longer be invited to the movies with guys and that I would have to accept that some of my girl friends would become more consumed with boys than with friendships and innocent giggles. Even though he was right, it wasn’t until after high school when I would start feeling undesired.

In four years of high school, I never walked alone down hallways. I caught hi-fives and swapped notes in between classes, and sat at the "cool" table at lunch. Being on the varsity for the best sports teams didn't hurt my social climbing, either. I was cool, without any of the typical prerequisites the other girls had to have. I had acne, I was fat, wore a sweatshirt and sneakers uniform, and had no remedy for my frizzy, curly hair.

I found a way to be prom queen, class president, teacher's pet, loved by the freaks and geeks, take the coolest football players to prom, and thrive in the typically horrendous high school bullshit. I thought I had it good, until I hit college and felt like something was terribly wrong with me. Eighteen years old and had never had a boyfriend or even a short-lived fling. The frustrations grew during my time at a women's college, where it was safe to stand behind feminism to cover up sexual insecurities.

All of the years spent shooting foul shots on empty courts, dribbling a basketball bare of its grip on the concrete, and sliding my feet against imaginary opponents was a part of someone else's story. The new college girl I was trying to become read books in foreign languages with translation dictionaries and ate containers of Chinese takeout in her bed. I did anything to forget about the basketball shoved in the back of the dorm room closet. The language of bragging was no longer one I dared to speak. I blocked out memories of what I once was and was dangerously unaware of the destructive path I was going down to become a new person.

I was searching for a new kind of validation and it wasn't until I broke out in hives over a boy that I realized that something was wrong.