Sometimes I’m that person who loves going to Whole Foods on Sunday morning, New York Times in tow. I feel as though I should apologize for it, or at least make fun of myself for it, but in truth, I look forward to this time to people watch, eat well, read or strike up a conversation.
Today I sat next to man who was also reading the paper. We got chatting about newspapers- “Did you see that they revamped the New York Times Magazine?”- and about three exchanges in he asked, “Are you Jewish?”
I laughed and nodded my head yes.
“So am I. I can tell,” he said.
I quickly added that I’m non-practicing, but that I’ve been interested in exploring the culture. My culture.
“Don’t worry- most Jews are that way,” he pointed out.
“My family is from Eastern Europe. My Grandmother was raised in an Orthodox Jewish household, and I think it scared her,” I explained. “My grandma raised my mom without religion and so on. My mom and I would like to reconnect with our roots.” This is something I’ve been
…And I bought a Jeff Goldblum mug this weekend, so I’m pretty happy right now.
So, what do you think of the new design?
Laurel over at Recspec is the magic woman behind it.
Just check out her other work and see the magic.
She was an absolute pleasure to work with, and she created exactly what I was looking for.
She does web design and graphic design for individuals and businesses; if you’re thinking of a sweet rebrand, definitely check her out.
Oh, and look at this picture of a bear falling (and being caught) out of a tree.
Grandma getting her hair did three days after her diagnosis
We heard those terrible, dreadful words- “you have cancer”- on Tuesday.
My grandmother, my stoic, indestructible grandmother, was diagnosed with lung cancer.
They found it by accident. She had fallen and wanted to see if she fractured her rib. A small shadow on her lung made itself known on an X-ray, and then a CAT scan. The doctor in the ER wasn’t sure what the small shadow was, so he recommended that she see an oncologist.
Half of me thought it was impossible- ridiculous- that Grandma could have cancer. The other half knew for certain that she had cancer, but it was still small. She was asymptomatic, minus the general fatigue she felt as an 88-year-old woman with arthritis.
I arrived home for the holidays just in time for Grandma to see the oncologist, who ordered a biopsy. At the hospital, my grandma, mom and I made each other laugh. We were nervous, and the laughter felt good. Grandma was
When I was a little girl, I wanted to be an artist. Whether it was filmmaking, writing, acting or dressing up as deceased Borscht Belt entertainers, I had the bug and I knew I needed to pursue a career in the arts.
When you’re a wee one, you have no idea that a career in the arts means years, or sometimes a lifetime, of struggle, heartbreak, comparing yourself to your friends who took more conventional paths, stealing and drinking tiny bottles of alcohol from airplanes or being curled up in a ball on the couch immobile from the demoralizing fact that Bret Easton Ellis wrote Less Than Zero at 21, Orson Welles directed Citizen Kane at 25 and Tina Fey began writing for Saturday Night Live at 27. You have no freaking clue that these times of uncertainty will be punctuated with last ditch efforts to become a “real human being” by working as a paralegal at a law firm or an accountant at a law firm or an office manager at a law firm, and you’re not even sure how you got a job at a law firm because
Friends, I was asked to partake in a really exciting challenge.
Snap Kitchen, an Austin-based health food eatery, selected me as one of the 21 Texas challengers for their 21 Days for Good Challenge.
From November 1st-21st, Snap Kitchen will be providing us healthy breakfast, lunch and dinner as we work towards our personal goals for the month. In addition, the challenger who does the best job chronicling their 21-day journey will receive $3,000 for the charity of their choice. My charity is LIVESTRONG.
Instead of picking one goal, like losing weight or getting more fit, I decided to aim for 21 goals. On each of the 21 days, I will strive to do something good, either for myself or for someone else. I’ve been filling up my calendar with volunteer opportunities such as dinner service at the Austin Resource Center for the Homeless, dog walking at the Austin Animal Center, meal delivery through Meals on Wheels and trash pickup through Keep Austin Beautiful. As for personal goals, I’ll
This is my grandmother.
She is one of my favorite people.
I come from a very small family.
There are only four of us.
My mother, my father, my grandmother and I.
Dad left when I was seven, and my grandmother, who still lives across the street from my mother, helped raise me.
I grew up in the clothing store she owned for 35 years and spent my childhood thinking she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
She still is, but she’ll tell you she’s not.
“Beauty is for young people,” she says.
I try to tell her that her logic is faulted; I tell her that beauty can be any age, any woman, any soul.
But she won’t hear of it.
I never thought that the day would come when this determined, stubborn, busy-bee-of-woman would get old.
But she did.
And she hates it.
Aches and pains make it difficult for her to walk for long stretches of time.
She gets exhausted easily.
She spends many of her days inside her house, losing track of what day it is and
It got to the point where I couldn’t leave the house.
A small, round bruise on my leg would send me into unshakeable despair.
“I’m going to die,” I’d repeat to myself.
My suffering boyfriend, the man who didn’t sign up for this, would hold me and remind me, like he always did, that everything was going to be ok. You are ok.
And that’s the kicker, right? You know you are ok, so why are you feeling this way?
Minor panic attacks were hitting two or three times a week, while the major ones, the “PLEASE, SOMEONE TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL BECAUSE I’M PROBABLY HAVING A STROKE” moments, were once or twice a month. It made me irritable, it made me flakey and it made me want to retreat from the world.
Throughout my twenties, I was confused, I was sad, I drank, I passive-aggressively texted paramours, I threw myself into my job, I changed who I was for the worst. All of these ugly feelings and character manifestations happened, but there
Activity trackers have been all the rage in 2014, and arguably no device has received such wide acclaim as the Fitbit. For many, the Fitbit, which comes in the form of a clip or wristband, has become a form of obsession. Once you’ve joined the Cult of Fitbitdom, there is no turning back. You take it with you everywhere you go, and you’ve found yourself becoming the health nut you typically despise. It’s ok though; you’re not alone. Millions of people have become just as annoying as you and I.
I love my Fitbit. I named it Harry. He likes going on long walks. Sometimes he says “Bonjour, Lauren!” and I giggle. I LOVE HARRY.
If you’re wondering whether or not your Fitbit has taken control of your life, here is a quick checklist.
1.) You are often asked the question: “Do you have to pee or something?”
2.) You know that you’ve become that asshole who walks in place at work, but you’re ok with it. You’re ok with the stares BECAUSE EVERYONE WITHOUT A FITBIT
It’s been a tough week. For everyone.
Ah, fuck it.
It’s not just the week.
Things have been tough for a long time.
Oh, the news.
It has gotten to a point where you just don’t want to read it, see it, hear it.
But you gotta.
You have to stay informed.
You have to know what other people are going through.
See the pain.
The white flags have been thrown up on Facebook statuses.
“The world is too much; I’m getting offline for awhile.”
The heaviness of our hearts is making us sad.
We want to close our eyes.
I watched a comic book blockbuster last weekend, and I started crying afterwards.
I felt physically pummeled by the never-ending action and violence.
The sound of gunfire blanketed my ears.
When I’d look down, images of Gaza projected on the back of my hands.
And it made me think why.
Why do we watch these films of violence? Or in other cases, rape and torture?
With so much hatred festering in the world, why
My grandmother drinking a margarita for the first time in her life
“This man started chatting me up in the parking lot,” my grandmother called to tell me this past Saturday. “Man, did he like to talk a lot. He’s 87 too.”
I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“Anyway, he asked me out for dinner.”
My grandmother and I talk several times a week. Over the past year, our conversations have taken a melancholic turn. Two years ago, her partner, Lionel, a tiny, spitfire of a Jew, just like my grandmother, was admitted to a home for people with Alzheimer’s. Lionel was not my grandmother’s greatest love- in truth, I’m not sure she’s ever truly been in love- but he was a companion. She had grown dependent on his presence, and vice versa.
“I told him that I couldn’t go, but he gave me his number.”
“What?! Why did you say you couldn’t go?!”
My grandmother has a tendency to miss out on the great joys in life. She was raised to be a martyr by martyr. In fact,