Show me the LIGHT!

A recent discussion with a close friend led us to the conclusion that the year directly following College graduation is essentially the hardest year we will ever endure. Although this may or may not be true I can attest to the fact that this year has indeed been very tough on me. The transition from school to work world is a hard one. One has to manage to support oneself financially, prepare one’s meals, attempt to acquiesce with the standards of corporate America, while simultaneously trying not to take life too seriously. Needless to say it is hard! I often times feel resentful that my life filled with free food, dorm rooms, and all night parties was pulled out from underneath me and replaced with never paying auto pay cable bills, spinning class, and condo association violations.

In these dark post grad times I have tried looking deep within the depths of my soul to figure out my deeper meaning. Okay I will stop euphemizing. I have become obsessed with self help articles!!! I can’t stop. It all began with a dynamic presentation by a motivational speaker at my company sales meeting. She was energetic and filled with applicable nuggets of insight on sales skills as well as life lessons. I was enamored with her discussion, which I might add is a feat in itself due to my wandering noggin. After the meeting I felt rejuvenated, refreshed, and inspired! It was like that first hit heroin (hit? Shot? I don’t know drug terminology) I keep trying to recreate that initial high. My thirst for self help has been mildly satiated monthly with my Real Simple subscription I poached off of my sister when I bought it for her for Christmas and it happened to come with a free second subscription. Don’t you feel special Caitie?? Anyway they have a pretty useful article called “Wise Words” or something which I rather enjoy reading while on the elliptical at the gym.

Maybe I miss the quizzical environment of school or it is the uncertain period of my life, but I like anything that results in a lesson learned. I enjoy take-aways, conclusions, and bullet points. I took Philosophy 101 in college; needless to say I did not stay on for 102. My attention withered after the meditation on whether or not I truly knew that I had hands and the fact that I could feel them was not considered as a factor. The articles in Real Simple on the other hand provide me with tangible illustrations of how to better my life and understand the world around me. There is even a handy column on the left with bullet points! But once I have read the articles for the month I yearn for more. “More questions, more answers! How do I create the life I want and deserve? Tell Me Now!” I demand from my podium on the elliptical.

I mean really when does all of this come together? There is no answer. I have been thinking that the people that seem to have the most peace within are people that have a strong faith in God. Unfortunately I was brought up Catholic which resulted in a strong harboring of resentment and hatred towards said fellow through most of my childhood. But due to my recent ambiguity about the state of my life and future I figured it can’t hurt to have something solid on which I can rely when the going gets tough. Despite all my moans and groans things are pretty great. What will I do when I am actually faced with adversity? I was thinking I could turn to God.

On Easter Sunday I threw on a sweater set and my rosary bracelet and I headed over to my local church for some spiritual refection. And I have to say I was disappointed. I am used to intellectually opposing most of the cornerstones of the Catholic faith, but I am not used to the utter clown act that the priest put on for the congregation. I felt that feeling of shame and embarrassment like an audience member at a poorly attended and executed comedy act. He fumbled through the order of the service and at one point asked us to vote on whether he should “sprinkle the holy water or just skip it”. But worst of all was the sermon. I will paraphrase it here. “Easter is about new opportunities”. I felt good about this message and could not wait to see how he would apply this to our lives and the current state of the world or at a minimum the community. Unfortunately, the remainder of the sermon was merely a slew of the words new and opportunities repeated over and over again until I became so enraged I almost had to excuse myself to avoid rushing the alter and drop kicking the alleged “Priest”. Needless to say, I was not inspired, but I did get sing a few hymns, which I always enjoy. I guess I did learn something. Looking for inspiration is like watching the water boil. It doesn’t work and it will make you crazy in the process!

moderation what?

The past two weeks have been the truest test of my strength and independence since my move to the bottom of the country as I have had to endure both my very first company sales meeting as well as my first sales trip as a Sales Manager respectively in that span of time. It was there that I was forced to grapple with serious life issues such as the definition of “resort casual” dress and what the appropriate etiquette is for a business lunch. With the assistance of others as well as a little fancy footwork with Google I was able to somehow get by without being called out as the impersonator I truly am. Somehow nobody publicly pulled back the curtain revealing that in actuality I am not a seasoned hospitality professional, but really merely an overgrown student shaking in her boots.

In these past weeks I have gained skills pertinent to my career in sales as well as my life happiness. I learned how to craft an effective presentation, how to resolve objections, as well as overcome obstacles, and how to enable a safe environment to conducive to buying behavior. The most important step in my growth came after a very hard day with my boss after I came to the realization that I was completely ill prepared to begin handling the accounts given to me on my own. I spent the night feverishly preparing making myself sick with worry for the appointments I had set the next day. Four hours of sleep and three semi productive appointments later I was feeling weary. I had decided that I would forgo the standard take-out in the frigid hotel room evening and I would treat myself to delicious meal at a well regarded restaurant.

Initially I was unsure if this would cause me more strife or provide me with the release I needed after my emotionally straining days in the recent past. Would I feel awkward dining alone in a restaurant described as “cozy and romantic”? Would I cause other diners to feel sorry for me and my single status? Should I bring myself a book or my laptop? After contemplating these factors I opted to go for it bringing nothing at all, ready to forget my sorrows and focus all of my thoughts and energy on the savory treats I was about to enjoy. Driving to the restaurant I felt strong and empowered. “I am a single independent woman and I will enjoy this dinner for all that it is worth”.

The warm scent of seasoned meats and vegetables welcomed me as I was led to the only table for two in the small 30 person farmhouse-esque restaurant. It was by the window and I was surrounded by jovial families and intimate couples. As I perused the menu it immediately became clear that I would need to order the oyster appetizer. The oysters were lightly poached in a creamy broth with pancetta, Napa cabbage, topped with parmesan and then braised and garnished with a dollop of caviar. They were heavenly to say the least. The oysters were soft and fresh. They were healthy and plump like little sea angels. They melted in my mouth like golden nuggets of joy. With each slurp and slither my stress dissipated into the back stacks of my mind. I stated to myself dreamily that everything that had gone wrong in the past few days was worth it since I was able to eat these oysters. In addition I chose to order what I thought was an entrée composed of lobster, chanterelle mushrooms, and fingerling potatoes, but was actually almost entirely Charr, a delicate flavor fusion of both salmon and trout. When my entrée was presented, my heart sank. Instead of the rouge claws and tail I desired there was precariously balance a blackened piece of fin fish. Although it was tasty and well prepared (although a bit dry despite the shellfish emulsion) it rapidly displaced my residual euphoric feelings from the oysters with feelings of over overindulgence and guilt.

I feel that the most important lesson I learned in the past two weeks is two fold. The first lesson I learned is that you should never feel wary of dining alone, especially if you are an avid people watcher and food fan. But more importantly, I think I finally now grasp the idea of moderation. If I had only ordered my oysters I would have walked away from my restaurant experience in a hazy fog of absolute food obsession. Since I ordered more than what I absolutely needed and desired I left happy but somewhat food logged with food memories slightly muted. Though to some this may seem small, I think my lesson to be an important one that I hope is lasting. And I now I extend this lesson to you, Happy Eating!

I just have a lot of feelings

I have recently realized that I am relatively uptight and therefore have initiated a crusade to become a more sentient, present being. I have been going to yoga classes to try and balance my mind and soul and also become a more peaceful person. But as you are all aware I have trouble turning off the time bomb that is my brain, thus the yoga has failed to make me balanced or peaceful at all, but rather sore and sleepy. That’s when I realized that I just have a lot feelings. I am not really that uptight, but extremely emotional. The way you might feel when you experience the loss of a pet is how I may feel due to the loss of an earring. This is a mild exaggeration, but I use it as an attempt to put my hypersensitivity into perspective.

After assessing my internal imbalance I have been diligently working to make amends. I have now embarked upon a journey to desensitize myself. For years I have avoided sad movies, books, poems, and situations in general since I become too emotionally involved. To again help you empathize with this hardship consider the following; while a sad film may effect your night, it will ravage my thoughts from anywhere from a week to a month. For years I have tried to avoid these feelings, but as a result have allowed myself susceptible to more potent feelings of pain when emotional situations are unavoidable.

Therefore, “Mission: Desensitization” is in full force. I have been logging in hours of “Law and Order” “Criminal Intent” and “Special Victims Unit”, and my new personal favorite “Intervention” in an effort to mute my currently hyperactive feelings. If you haven’t had a chance to watch the latter, each week includes a unique account of a new person facing extreme addiction. The footage is raw and deeply disturbing and the final scene includes an emotional interaction with the addicted individual’s family offering an ultimatum unless the person seeks recovery. I have watched several episodes including those focused on an alcoholic so severe her children aren’t allowed to see her, a bulimic so excessive she has to strip to pay for her ice cream that she only throws up, an opiate addicted son who steals from his mother to buy Oxycontin, and everyone’s favorite crack addicted uncle. It is my dream that I will one day become so accustomed to addiction, death, and deception that when I lose that earring I don’t wallow in self pity for hours, but will be able to handle my emotions in a rational and calculated manner.

So far I have openly wept for at least 75 percent of each episode of “Intervention” and I change the channel when things get too heavy to handle on L+O, but I think my progress will soon become apparent and I will be enjoying even and stoic emotions in no time.

Get out the crackers, I’m done!

This morning I woke up to a sky filled with the majestic glitter of sunshine nary a cumulus nor cirrus in sight. I could hear the distant angelic bellows of the neighborhood feathered friends and could feel the moist warmth of the sea air. I shot out of bed, slid into my suit, and in moments I was ready for a day at the beach. After selecting a couple of glossy reads and filling my travel mug with some sweet caffeinated nectar I was on the road.

To say the least, it was a breathtaking day. The water was clear and warm, the beach selectively sprinkled with sunbathers, and the sun full exposed to bronze my skin. Unfortunately, today, much like every other day, I failed to remember that the sun has not once bronzed my skin. It does not kiss my cheeks, nor cause me to glow. Mr. Golden has not once given me a brownish hew, but more varying shades of fuchsia. But once again today I lay on my pink towel and basked in its glory waiting for the result I desired.

I could smell the banana boat oil drifting amongst the salt particles in the air. It brought me back to my youth when friends would use said oil to tan their skin laughing and flirting with hunky beach goers, while I miserably applied SPF 45 and huddled underneath my parent-required umbrella. Today as I was free from all judgment and apparently not enough SPF, I could hear the skin sizzling underneath the ebb and flow of the tide. I could feel the heat on my back, but I wrote it off, as merely the warmth of the sun’s rays, not the charring of my flesh. The warmth sent me into a blissful afternoon’s nap calmed by a blanket of ultra-violet rays. I left the beach warm and happy, hair tousled, and skin taut with sea salt. It wasn’t until I was home that I realized the sun hadn’t merely warmed me at the beach and allowed me rest, but had also scorched my nearly porcelain skin.

Once again I left the beach, not with the sun kissed glow I desired, but more of a lobster type look that I prefer more in my dinner than on my dermis. Someone clarify some butter, because I’m done, dinner is served!

Am I concious right now?

I remember having a conversation with a friend once and though the subject matter and participants are forgotten, I do remember the tagline. A friend said to me, “Marissa I just feel like you can’t stop thinking. You just can’t let go”. At the time I was okay with that. I mean thinking is a good thing right? If you can’t think well, then you can’t do a whole lot I would say. I believe that the memory of this conversation resurfaced due to the fact that I have recently realized that I am uptight. Sure I like to enjoy life, being with people, laughing, and having a good time. But it still remains true that I have a hard time turning off the thoughts that ransack my mind. I really can’t let go and I have a hard time living in the present moment. Each night I fall asleep reliving moments past or filled with anticipation of upcoming events. I am sure this is true for many, but I never simply savor each moment for what it is and in Buddha like fashion achieve harmony with the present. This makes it rather hard to get things done because during each task I am thinking of the next or daydreaming about the fun things in my life I have to look forward to, spiraling me into hours of procrastination. Fortunately I also I enjoy making to-do lists, which allow me to get back on track. This affinity for list making does sometimes cause me to include menial tasks on there that I know I have to accomplish just so that I can cross them off. For example a typical to-do list make go as such:
1. Wake Up
2. Make Coffee
3. Get Dressed
4. Call Bob
5. Finish project

Before two shakes of a lamb’s tail I can cross off items one through four and I feel I accomplished enough to let my mind begin to wander. So anyway, I have been thinking a lot about how life is too short and how I should enjoy every moment of every day and flow with the wind and all that jazz, but my mind will just not comply. I have been successful in somewhat numbing my brain via excessive television watching, however once the tube is off I am on my own compulsively making lists and getting lost in my thoughts.

So since I have pretty much turned into a lunatic, I decided that today would be the day I get my life in order and I start living in the moment. Instead I spent the day perusing match.com looking for love in all the wrong places. After editing my profile, winking at two strangers, adding an additional picture that the founder Jim claims will increase my chances of finding true love, and then determining that I hate match.com, I was spent. There was no way I could start living in the moment until after 5 pm. I decided that I would give yoga another chance to help me become more present. So I gathered up my mat, put on some spandex and my giant Cornell Tee and headed to the gym. I felt weird and out of place without my sneaks and my intense spinning face, but I figured to be worth it to feel calm.

My instructor whisked into the room like a ball of serenity. Even her hair was free, curly and uncultivated, her karma oozing like molasses. She told me to focus on my third eye. So I did that. I could really get into this I thought. The sitar was crooning in the background, the lights dimmed. But then suddenly I also had to tuck in my abs and straighten my back as if I were going to shoot through the roof. Within moments this was just as bad as a day in the life of me. I had to twist, while remembering to keep exhaling, while simultaneously curling my foot around my ear! Lady you lost me at the twist. After 45 minutes of twisting and tightening, and exhaling I was told to flip my legs over my head and exhale. Finally, my head was clear. Everything was fading away. Who cares about the work? Who cares about anythingggggg…. As I drifted away to where the birds were chirping and waves were crashing, I realized that I was not breathing. As I flipped upright the instructor was informing us that we were to do this two times a day for six minutes each, but she did not have to deal with the issue of stomach fat smothering her nose and mouth. I decided I would rather lie on my back for 12 hours a day than smother myself for 12 minutes. So that’s it, I still can’t relax. I guess I am forever uptight. But at least I’m conscious and at least I know I have a brain. And I think I will return to yoga, I feel I am growing some arm muscles from all that twisting, and who knows I am pretty sure my third eye sensed some heterosexual males in the room, which may nullify my need for my recent move to match!

Feel my beat

As a Freshman in college I formed a series of friendships and by the end of my first two semesters these friendships melded into one group with whom I spent enormous amounts of time together between class and socialization. It became somewhat humorous to me to pretend we were a gang. Slow moments in class would be filled with doodles of the “Hotelie Ballas” wearing the popular ghetto runway boots “Timbs”, picking fights in bars with Grill (rapper fabulous diamond studded teeth caps) bedazzled smiles, and scuffed up features. To relieve stress during study breaks we would often host free style battles during which we would huddle outside laying down beats and coming up with humorous rhymes and insults. I found these sessions especially humorous when wearing pink sundresses with ribbon decorated hair to clearly illustrate the disparity. To this day the “Ballas” are enormously close, but our free styling sessions have dwindled due to the fact that we have spread ourselves thinly across this fine country. Since I am feeling particularly inspired and I like to find new and interesting mediums to poke some good-natured fun at my surroundings, I feel quite strongly it is time for my “Hotelie Blogger Free Style Debut.”

“Deep fry me something now before I wrestle you like I did that there gator”
-by Marissa
Yo Yo Yo I got the ill flow,
I live down South, I don’t like Techno.
I miss my ballas throwing down beats
To find good hip-hop, gotta search the streets
These Ladeeda peeps got the sun in their head
Listen to Reggaetone to up their street cred.
Despite my distaste for their musical style,
There are some things that make me smile
The beach is hot, the gators wild
I ate em deep-fried, got my buds all riled
Up so much I had to take a deep breath
And cool em down with a chilled bev
All this good food to my ribs they stick
I spend most of my time at the Publix .
The age is 71 but so is the temp
There are no hippies, the look is unkempt
But there are mullets, bullets, and silicone
I’m on vacay, this aint home
I voted blue, made the rednecks shout
When I’m gone y’all will miss me, but please don’t pout
You can visit me wherever I go
Where the age not temp is 30 or below.

Order in the Court!

“My name is Marissa Brady and my hobbies primarily center around buying and selling marijuana. I have strong distrust of the police and the judicial system as a whole.” That should surely win me a ticket out of jury duty I thought to myself as juror after juror introduced himself and listed his hobbies to the court. It was my first time with jury duty and earlier in the day after the Pledge of Allegiance the Court Personnel had instilled within me a strong sense of pride and excitement to be on jury duty. I was contributing to the unique judicial system that makes us American! It was mere moments into the day before I was swinging the flag, singing Yankee Doodle, while simultaneously reciting the Gettysburg Address. But by 3 pm when I was seated in front of Mr. Dewey, on trial for possession of marijuana, I realized that the judicial system is not so much wonderful as it is boring. I had enjoyed my moments in the lunchroom eating my Lean Cuisine watching the Anna Nicole trial with my co-jurors, where we shared some petty conversation and commiseration. But at a certain point I realized I would much rather be outside enjoying the sunshine than locked up inside the Broward County Courthouse with the dredges of society. Unfortunately, it was as I was contemplating this that it was my turn to introduce myself and the following pitiful sentence projected from my lips, “ My name is Marissa Brady and I enjoy reading, writing, beach activities, and cycling”. As soon as my turn had passed I had turned from cool and confident to scarlet with shame. “Could I have come across as a little bit MORE law abiding??” I do not think so. I am sure everyone in the Court Room nicknamed me Suzy Suck Up within an instant. I am fairly certain I even saw a raised eyebrow from the Honorable Judge. After my turn to speak I was sick with worry that I would have to endure another day of order and procedure. Why couldn’t I have just mentioned the fact that I hate cops and think marijuana should flow through the streets like beads at Mardi Gras??? It would have been a small task that could have easily ousted me from my juror seat. Perhaps I could have simulated a Turret’s attack or perhaps initiated a drug deal from within the walls of the courtroom. But instead I had to practically come skipping out in my habit and rosary with a picnic basket housing a puppy in arms. Perhaps it was this behavior that encouraged GOD to look out for me because as it turned out I was not selected. I have never felt a joy as pure as the moment the last juror was selected and I was not selected to serve on the case. I was free and am now untouchable for at least 12 more months. As promised by the Court Personnel I did drive away from the experience with a good feeling, but it was not so much warm and fuzzy as enormously relieved to not have to return the following day. I may not have truly contributed to the outcome of the trial, but at least I got home before sunset and in time to watch the first of many episodes of Law and Order.

Remember when I dissolved the duck?

My mom recently alerted me to the fact that she would rather I be dating a little blue doll than being a single independent woman. Meet Pierre! This endeavor was much more successful than the grow my own rubber ducky as I learned the dolls’ preference for tepid rather than boiling water. Note Pierre’s well defined abs and his flexible nature!

I’m Lovin’ it

Late yesterday evening I found myself hungry and on the run. A typical meeting that, under normal circumstances, should end after an hour and a half came to a creeping, sputtering halt after about 4. This was mostly attributable to the fact that the client with whom we met harbors an obsessive dependency on crack cocaine, which caused him to speak at the speed of light for about 95% of our demonstration turned one-man circus. As we left the meeting in a hurry, to get my boss to the airport for his flight and my co-worker and me back to a civilization based on less speaking and more boozing, we realized we were all extraordinarily hungry.

On any typical day my diet consists mostly of vegetables, lean meats, legumes, and whole grains in a strong and purposeful effort to avoid a literal meld into the couch. This becomes increasingly more difficult when you are in Key Largo and apparently the only dining option for those quick to escape is a McDonald’s “Express”. I use quotes here to signify the humorous use of the word express, as I am fairly certain the employees of this establishment drove to Miami and back in rush hour in order to provide us our meal. However, it was after this feat was accomplished on this fine day I found myself enjoying the American treat known as the Big Mac. Initially I was only going to eat half, but with every Lucifer inspired bite I became more infatuated with this succulent chaotic assemblage and huffed it down in its entirety faster than you can say Kokomo.

It is not that I truly believe this sandwich to be a good one. Clearly the bread is soggy, the lettuce wilted, the meat most likely not meat at all. However, I have to admit, it was the most delicious thing to grace my tongue in a long while. I don’t know if it is due to the recent caloric restrictions, the four hours spent in Satan’s sand box, or that I was contributing to the ultimate symbol of a questionably moral American Capitalist society, but it just felt so good to be so bad. It was like sneaking out past curfew and getting caught. I knew it was wrong and I would have to pay for it later, but even as I spent 2 hours on the elliptical to repent for the detour off my path of nutrition nirvana I could still taste that special sauce on my lips and it tasted just as sweet.

Just when you thought I couldn’t get any more lame

As I was recently reprimanded for a lack of present blogging I have been thinking about on which subject I can blog. What infinite possibilities. The new and enthralling changes in my life are too plentiful to count. The new people I’ve been meeting, the swank parties I’ve been attending, the revelations I’ve been making…. while meditating on these gems of progress, it hit me like a bad dream that in fact nothing is new in my life at all. Not only are none of the aforementioned examples of good fortune my own, but I am also scraping closer to the bottom than ever before.

In my previous life, when I actually had one, whenever I was sad or lonely all it took was a little baby or a puppy to walk by and all of my previous embittered emotions would dissolve instantly. These tiny, illiterate creatures were somewhat of a prescription painkiller for me, with fewer side-effects (other than temporary memory loss they were minimal). Anyway back to the point. As of late, the sight of these little cherubs doesn’t even fight to improve my contentment. For a few days I even considered not having children! It is as if nothing can lift my mood, not even the innocence of the ignorant and infantile. That’s when the real revelation occurred (actually right this instant).

The reason babies haven’t been making me happy lately is because… THERE ARE NO BABIES! I used to love walking around downtown Ithaca and watching all the hippie families with their patchwork pants and pom-pom hats, with tiny clones in toe. Laughing babies on shoulders, in strollers, swinging from swings. Some families doubled my pleasure by hanging tight to a Grateful dead leash which happened to be keeping a scruffy little mutt at bay. I love watching families at the beach playing Frisbee, twirling on tire swings, or engaged a round of Marco Polo. How uncomplicated and beautiful life is. No thought of tomorrow or the future unless an impending trip to Disney is in the works.

In truth, the average age of Broward County is 71 (yes this is the same age as the only man to approach me in a bar in a flirtatious manner. I know he was 71 because he told me). I am not embellishing this fact, this is no fillip, but a solid statistic provided to me by the car insurance company in explanation of the fact that my car insurance is astronomically high. Due to the elderly population there are no babies for me to ogle over. Therefore, I am pretty bummed on a consistent basis. This morning I woke up singing my special Birthday song thinking it was late June. Upon the realization that it is in fact still February and that I have somehow entered some sort of time vacuum from which there is no escape I began to silently weep.**

**Now that WAS overstatement, and there is no cause for concern, just bring me a baby or toddler and I will be as good as new. If you bring me that freak of nature from the Volvo commercial however, run for your life. If you still have yet to view this haunting advertisement consider yourself lucky and avoid TV at all costs in case of its appearance.