tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2963634807586205242024-03-04T23:11:36.327-08:00Ma Vie en RoseFollow Your BlissMa Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-71878962268320212622008-09-30T09:30:00.000-07:002008-09-30T09:42:27.166-07:00The Sarah Palin Pity PartyI know I haven't blogged in awhile but I had to share this article. I think its incredibly important-- mostly because Sarah Palin is the greatest insult to women, men, the presidency, and the vice presidency that has ever existed. <br /><br />The money quote: <br /><em>When your project is reliant on gaining the support of women whose reproductive rights you would limit, whose access to birth control and sex education you would curtail, whose healthcare options you would decrease, whose civil liberties you would take away and whose children and husbands and brothers (and sisters and daughters and friends) you would send to war in Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, Russia and wherever else you saw fit without actually understanding international relations, I don't feel bad for you. </em><br /><br />_______________________________________________________________________________<br /><br /><a href="http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2008/09/30/palin_pity/">The Sarah Palin pity party</a><br /><br />Everyone seems to be oozing sympathy for the fumbling vice-presidential nominee. Please. Cry me a freaking river. By Rebecca Traister<br /><br />Sep. 30, 2008 | Is this the week that Democrats and Republicans join hands -- to heap pity on poor Sarah Palin? <br /><br />At the moment, all signs point to yes, as some strange bedfellows reveal that they have been feeling sorry for the vice-presidential candidate ever since she stopped speaking without the help of a teleprompter. Conservative women like Kathleen Parker and Kathryn Jean Lopez are shuddering with sympathy as they realize that the candidate who thrilled them, just weeks ago, is not in shape for the big game.<br /><br />They're not alone. The New Republic's Christopher Orr feels that Palin has been misused by the team that tapped her. In the New York Times, Judith Warner feels for Sarah, too! And over at the Atlantic, Ta-Nehisi Coates empathizes with intelligence and nuance, making clear that he's not expressing pity. Salon's own Glenn Greenwald watched the Katie Couric interview and 'actually felt sorry for Sarah Palin.' Even Amy Poehler, impersonating Katie Couric on last week's 'Saturday Night Live,' makes the joke that Palin's cornered-animal ineptitude makes her 'increasingly adorable.' <br />I guess I'm one cold dame, because while Palin provokes many unpleasant emotions in me, I just can't seem to summon pity, affection or remorse.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I'm just like all of the rest of you, part of the bipartisan jumble of viewers that keeps one hand poised above the mute button and the other over my eyes during Palin's disastrous interviews. Like everyone else, I can barely take the waves of embarrassment that come with watching someone do something so badly. Roseanne Barr singing the national anthem, Sophia Coppola acting in 'The Godfather: Part III,' Sarah Palin talking about Russia -- they all create the same level of eyeball-squinching discomfort.<br /><br />But just because I'm human, just because I can feel, just because I did say this weekend that I 'almost feel sorry for her' doesn't mean, when I consider the situation rationally, that I do. Yes, as a feminist, it sucks -- hard -- to watch a woman, no matter how much I hate her politics, unable to answer questions about her running mate during a television interview. And perhaps it's because this experience pains me so much that I feel not sympathy but biting anger. At her, at John McCain, at the misogynistic political mash that has been made of what was otherwise a groundbreaking year for women in presidential politics.<br /><br />In her 'Poor Sarah' column, Warner writes of the wave of 'self-recognition and sympathy [that] washed over' her when she saw a photo of Palin talking to Henry Kissinger. Palin -- as 'a woman fully aware that she was out of her league, scared out of her wits, hanging on for dear life' -- apparently reminded Warner of herself. Wow. Putting aside the massively depressing implication that Warner recognizes this attitude because she believes it to be somehow written into the female condition, let's consider that there are any number of women who could have been John McCain's running mate -- from Olympia Snowe to Christine Todd Whitman to Kay Bailey Hutchison to Elizabeth Dole to Condoleezza Rice -- who would not have provoked this reaction. Democrats might well have been repulsed and infuriated by these women's policy positions. But we would not have been sitting around worrying about how scared they looked.<br /><br />In her piece, Warner diagnoses Palin with a case of 'Impostor Syndrome,' positing that admirers who watched her sitting across from world leaders at the U.N. last week were recognizing that 'she can't possibly do it all -- the kids, the special-needs baby, the big job, the big conversations with foreign leaders. And neither could they.' Seriously? Do we have to drag out a list of women who miraculously have found a way to manage to balance many of these factors -- Hillary Clinton? Nancy Pelosi? Michelle Bachelet? -- and could still explain the Bush Doctrine without breaking into hives? This is not breaking my heart. It is breaking my spirit. <br />The Atlantic's Coates takes a far smarter, but ultimately still too gentle, approach to Palin in his blog. He writes, compassionately, 'There are a lot of us lefties who are guffawing right now and are happy to see Palin seemingly stumbling drunkenly from occasional interview to occasional interview.' Coates asserts that McCain '[tossed] her to the wolves' and notes that while she surely had some agency in this whole mess, 'where I am from the elders protect you, and pull you back when you've gone too far, when your head has gotten too big.'<br /><br />Where I come from, a woman -- and especially a woman governor with executive experience -- doesn't have to rely on any elder or any man to protect her and pull her ass out of the fire. She can make a decision all on her own. (Palin was more than happy to tell Charlie Gibson that she made her decision to join the McCain ticket without blinking.) I agree with Coates that the McCain camp was craven, sexist and disrespectful in its choice of Palin, but I don't agree that the Alaska governor was a passive victim of their Machiavellian plotting. A very successful woman, Palin has the wherewithal to move forward consciously. What she did was move forward thoughtlessly and overconfidently, without considering that her abilities or qualifications would ever be questioned.<br /><br />Christopher Orr writes sympathetically about the scenario that Palin may have envisioned, in which she tours the country on the wave of adoration that buoyed her out of St. Paul and through a post-convention victory lap. In his mind, she might well have continued to give winning, grinning interviews, charming the pants off regular folks all across the country, if the accursed McCain campaign hadn't nervously locked her in a no-press-allowed tower. Orr compares Palin to a talented athlete who, as a result of being over-coached, doesn't soar to new physical heights but instead gets 'broken down, [loses] confidence in his game, [becomes] tentative, second guessing himself even to the point of paralysis.'<br /><br />Surely if Palin's political muscles were as taut and supple as Orr suspects, the campaign would not have been so quick to put her on a special training regimen. <br />It was so predictable that we would get to a pity-poor-helpless-Sarah phase. The press was already warming up for it on the day McCain announced her as his running mate, when NBC reporter Andrea Mitchell speculated that McCain's choice was designed to declaw scrappy Joe Biden, whose aggressive style would come off as bullying next to the sweet hockey mom from Alaska. Now, of course, we know about the hockey moms and the pit bulls; the more-powerful-than-expected Palin juggernaut forestalled the pity/victim/mean boy/poor Sarah phase.<br /><br />So here it is, finally. And as unpleasant as it may be to watch the humiliation of a woman who waltzed into a spotlight too strong to withstand, I flat out refuse to be manipulated into another stage of gendered regress -- back to the pre-Pelosi, pre-Hillary days when girls couldn't stand the heat and so were shooed back to the kitchen.<br /><br />Sarah Palin is no wilting flower. She is a politician who took the national stage and sneered at the work of community activists. She boldly tries to pass off incuriosity and lassitude as regular-people qualities, thereby doing a disservice to all those Americans who also work two jobs and do not come from families that hand out passports and backpacking trips, yet still manage to pick up a paper and read about their government and seek out experience and knowledge.<br /><br />When you stage a train wreck of this magnitude -- trying to pass one underqualified chick off as another highly qualified chick with the lame hope that no one will notice -- well, then, I don't feel bad for you.<br /><br />When you treat women as your toys, as gullible and insensate pawns in your Big Fat Presidential Bid -- or in Palin's case, in your Big Fat Chance to Be the First Woman Vice President Thanks to All the Cracks Hillary Put in the Ceiling -- I don't feel bad for you. <br /><br />When you don't take your own career and reputation seriously enough to pause before striding onto a national stage and lying about your record of opposing a Bridge to Nowhere or using your special-needs child to garner the support of Americans in need of healthcare reform you don't support, I don't feel bad for you. <br /><br />When you don't have enough regard for your country or its politics to cram effectively for the test -- a test that helps determine whether or not you get to run that country and participate in its politics -- I don't feel bad for you. <br />When your project is reliant on gaining the support of women whose reproductive rights you would limit, whose access to birth control and sex education you would curtail, whose healthcare options you would decrease, whose civil liberties you would take away and whose children and husbands and brothers (and sisters and daughters and friends) you would send to war in Iraq, Iran, Pakistan, Russia and wherever else you saw fit without actually understanding international relations, I don't feel bad for you. <br /><br />I don't want to be played by the girl-strings anymore. Shaking our heads and wringing our hands in sympathy with Sarah Palin is a disservice to every woman who has ever been unfairly dismissed based on her gender, because this is an utterly fair dismissal, based on an utter lack of ability and readiness. It's a disservice to minority populations of every stripe whose place in the political spectrum has been unfairly spotlighted as mere tokenism; it is a disservice to women throughout this country who have gone from watching a woman who -- love her or hate her -- was able to show us what female leadership could look like to squirming in front of their televisions as they watch the woman sent to replace her struggle to string a complete sentence together.<br /><br />In fact, the only people I feel sorry for are Americans who invested in a hopeful, progressive vision of female leadership, but who are now stuck watching, verbatim, a 'Saturday Night Live' skit.<br /><br />Palin is tough as nails. She will bite the head off a moose and move on. So, no, I don't feel sorry for her. I feel sorry for women who have to live with what she and her running mate have wrought.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-46698407908011510752008-07-10T11:46:00.000-07:002008-07-11T11:52:25.234-07:00Happiness at my HeelsI had a very happy moment the other night as I sat at my local cafe bar in my gym clothes: spandex, a track t-shirt, and my hair pulled up on the top of my head, the way I wear it when I have no one to impress and nothing to hide. Sipping mint tea and conjugating french verbs to the <em>bee-bop-be-do</em>oo of live jazz. I was joined shortly thereafter by my <a href="http://ma--vie--en--rose.blogspot.com/2008/05/je-ne-regrette-rien.html">'other half' </a>and while we giggled through fistfuls of homemade cookies, I was struck by a feeling of absolute contentment. Despite the killer humidity, grueling work schedule, and financial hardship I fight daily as a twenty-something young professional, life in Washington is actually quite lovely. <br /><br />I am grateful for moments that remind me why.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-84700044775540901892008-06-19T14:01:00.000-07:002008-06-19T14:06:29.989-07:00Too Much + Too Many = PerfectionIt was a fabulous birthday, complete with the best of friends, family, and loved ones. Stories and laughter complimented by multiple Berry Smashes and Organic Pomegranate Martinis. Dinner outside on a beautiful night. NBA finals in one of my favorite dives. Cocktails and hookah at Gazuza till 2am. It was an evening of too much and too many, but it was the perfect 25th celebration—so perfect that I didn’t mind waking up on Wednesday with a well-earned birthday hangover. <br /><br />Celebrations and debauchery to be continued on Friday with some more fabulous folk and a few out-of-towners. So far I absolutely love 25.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-5291438076472945802008-06-17T09:20:00.000-07:002008-06-17T09:27:23.408-07:00Of Five and TwentyTwenty five is:<br /><br />The number of years of marriage marked in a silver wedding anniversary. <br />The minimum age of candidates for election to the United States House of Representatives. <br />The number of cents in a quarter. <br />The designation of United States Interstate 25, a freeway that runs from New Mexico to Wyoming. <br />The designation of the M25 London Orbital motorway. <br />The number of Florida electoral votes for the 2000 U.S. presidential election. <br />The name of the national card game of Ireland and India (Pachisi - Hindu for 25). <br />The size of the full roster on a major league baseball team. <br />The number of syllables in The Gayatri Mantra. <br />The atomic number of the chemical element Manganese. <br />The oh-so-fabulous age I am TODAY!Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-84348724022692595182008-06-05T10:23:00.000-07:002008-06-05T10:25:49.817-07:00Dins and a DocI hosted Dinner and a Documentary at my house last night with a friend that has become a central character in my life in DC. (I use the term <em>character </em>because I am ever more convinced that my life is a musical complete with show tunes in the moonlight, but I digress). This character is a particular favorite because we always have thought-provoking conversations that expand into all out philosophical throw downs. Last nights match-up featured white peach sangria garnished with raspberries, my Mom's tomato bruschetta with fresh grated Parmesan, spinach risotto with feta and sauteed mushrooms, and fresh steamed asparagus on the side. And for dessert, a documentary on rape as a weapon of war. All set to the backdrop of impassioned conversations and a raging thunderstorm. <br /><br /><br /><br />Do Wednesday evenings get better than that?!Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-81722563024083811542008-06-04T09:02:00.000-07:002008-06-05T09:52:29.475-07:00"I wanted only to live in accord with the promptings which came from my true self. Why was that so very difficult?"I am a person who wakes up in the middle of the night worried about the state of the world. Who has tears over the world hunger crisis at 2am. Who has been accused of feeling too much. <br /><br />I am a person who loves love. Who is intoxicated by chemistry, affection, and connections. Who relishes moments and whispers. Who doesn't remember dates but remembers expressions and favorites. <br /><br />I am a person who fears settling in every sense of the word. Who embraces chaos as an absolute. Who runs from the ordinary as if its contagious. <br /><br />I am a person who is quick to anger. Who has to work hard at forgiveness. Who has a stubborn streak that is both a gift and a curse. <br /><br />I am a person who feeds off enthusiasm. Who is always searching for passion and inspiration. Who believes that optimism is the only way to live. <br /><br />I am a person who questions life. Who is constantly aware of the passage of time. Who believes whole-heartedly that there is meaning in every moment.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-55332364000218825562008-06-03T12:09:00.000-07:002008-06-03T12:10:33.991-07:00"Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time"The last few days have been full of reconnections with old friends, meaningful conversations, and words that inspire greatness. Steps towards dreams, plans to go abroad, and hoping beyond hope to visit loved ones very soon. The last few days have reaffirmed my belief that because May was such a complete disastor, June is going to be fabulous.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-54461101808265955332008-05-31T08:00:00.000-07:002008-05-31T08:09:23.596-07:00Home Sweet Home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-m5p7kEcbXJGpcvSrYq-9FRX_nMWROOqY0rxInMYRVtdilTE83B8SkUS8Aur2QH50b8S3_xQOSLS1BaZW6e-EBS42OP7Xt2F2Eq59U_mdGyCRD4wzK95Cl5GxIkYJA0K3sQWsngqycVOL/s1600-h/studio+4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-m5p7kEcbXJGpcvSrYq-9FRX_nMWROOqY0rxInMYRVtdilTE83B8SkUS8Aur2QH50b8S3_xQOSLS1BaZW6e-EBS42OP7Xt2F2Eq59U_mdGyCRD4wzK95Cl5GxIkYJA0K3sQWsngqycVOL/s400/studio+4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206559223197973778" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkERujEYF2zyjIisKfVYU-ugQUZGq0ecxasb9hVO7EpUGFgS7hJUeShB95hCaxovDu2X_-Ph3VlfW9i7kRsNqn7XTdlkcinKdD49JigtNbnu2OsRJs2q9k5dHrn6wO4Y5tAs40D74OaAgw/s1600-h/studio+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkERujEYF2zyjIisKfVYU-ugQUZGq0ecxasb9hVO7EpUGFgS7hJUeShB95hCaxovDu2X_-Ph3VlfW9i7kRsNqn7XTdlkcinKdD49JigtNbnu2OsRJs2q9k5dHrn6wO4Y5tAs40D74OaAgw/s400/studio+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206558308369939698" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfjrRFg9MmveBGP7RAupEmbjixg75nXClsn-X_wP9EM8NaejvyC1x207Qob-rIZZqExFgercvlXaAjPdwaD8aVa2u1MCAIJQjZKyC3XQ7_jQKZyvwV_6xQuWKa6tmYz-k53JNqitmYQOT/s1600-h/studio+3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfjrRFg9MmveBGP7RAupEmbjixg75nXClsn-X_wP9EM8NaejvyC1x207Qob-rIZZqExFgercvlXaAjPdwaD8aVa2u1MCAIJQjZKyC3XQ7_jQKZyvwV_6xQuWKa6tmYz-k53JNqitmYQOT/s400/studio+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206558308369939714" /></a><br />My sweet little studio in DC.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-67545064210725892662008-05-21T08:05:00.000-07:002008-05-21T08:10:13.550-07:00Bleeding Hearts<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3kQPzIiFTnzAseRWnNfZRGMf4aJ-kQ2ZbdbMT8n7bQdj575J_0McPhEmZijTJD6YjEt1DsaPxnrUTEdi85H2wlw4fSiVRcyzVoCMK11FadytO7Tm-BIkdLWIVPQAolQUDOhh4VANXMuS/s1600-h/bleeding-heart-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3kQPzIiFTnzAseRWnNfZRGMf4aJ-kQ2ZbdbMT8n7bQdj575J_0McPhEmZijTJD6YjEt1DsaPxnrUTEdi85H2wlw4fSiVRcyzVoCMK11FadytO7Tm-BIkdLWIVPQAolQUDOhh4VANXMuS/s320/bleeding-heart-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202848061757986402" /></a><br /><br />"It might be desirable to get away, really away, further away than little grey-green England, but this privilege was evidently to be denied her. Deep in her soul--deeper than any appetite for renunciation--was the sense that life would be her business for a long time to come. And at moments there was something inspiring, almost enlivening in the conviction. It was a proof of strength--it was proof she should someday be happy again. It couldn't be she was to live only to suffer; she was still young, after all, and a great many things might happen to her yet. To live only to suffer--only to feel the injury of life repeated and enlarged--it seemed to her she was too valuable, too capable, for that."<br /><em>(The Portrait of a Lady)</em>Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-19289312777438888942008-05-19T07:05:00.000-07:002008-05-19T07:07:53.901-07:00Je Ne Regrette Rien<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJpVNo8YLSEOdAHydNL58X0Y39Fs-BNlHzOQijKzE80DOBUXml55iJzo4HeRXQxXMd2oBvlwYUG6ZsdPf_KVOP-0dEeEfsrP4B9DKiT49q2D2-izWVNsT7Qi_tJCLBWvnnFmeY6AX4LfV/s1600-h/cake1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJpVNo8YLSEOdAHydNL58X0Y39Fs-BNlHzOQijKzE80DOBUXml55iJzo4HeRXQxXMd2oBvlwYUG6ZsdPf_KVOP-0dEeEfsrP4B9DKiT49q2D2-izWVNsT7Qi_tJCLBWvnnFmeY6AX4LfV/s320/cake1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202090317857822258" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyqd4fEU2AjEOWhYJ6atJa21xWRz_eZh5xjpZV47Tb5W2001pjptZNDIW554x-84mqZG69FYiD1VRzB7WpnVqX00705AfVGEVvn6MGMCzwtM5w-ezazbyU9v-VsnE3UTuRea1QXRUu2nB/s1600-h/erin+and+martine+cake.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmyqd4fEU2AjEOWhYJ6atJa21xWRz_eZh5xjpZV47Tb5W2001pjptZNDIW554x-84mqZG69FYiD1VRzB7WpnVqX00705AfVGEVvn6MGMCzwtM5w-ezazbyU9v-VsnE3UTuRea1QXRUu2nB/s320/erin+and+martine+cake.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202090322152789570" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KDB9CtdPY-6m138x_keGouzmi8F_VRcxXzw27afes7Bg0QZAQnXFWR0fZN8jpmZqhiYjnt_mJvHBZvLCbaK095j7jLIczeiDJ3ggDfLr0ejs-Jf1ycU3UHB30BLIVy1tH-lx5aTrYSSk/s1600-h/cake+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KDB9CtdPY-6m138x_keGouzmi8F_VRcxXzw27afes7Bg0QZAQnXFWR0fZN8jpmZqhiYjnt_mJvHBZvLCbaK095j7jLIczeiDJ3ggDfLr0ejs-Jf1ycU3UHB30BLIVy1tH-lx5aTrYSSk/s320/cake+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202090343627626066" /></a><br />Just another Saturday with my sweet friend.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-85210821777132944012008-05-16T16:14:00.000-07:002008-05-17T16:18:52.803-07:00You Made a Fool of MeHer voice was in my apartment. I stared in disbelief at the cell phone across the couch. She was there, sweet, unfamiliar, and full of anticipation. And in that instant her voice somehow reached deep into my chest and ripped out my heart destroying everything I thought I knew to be true. Hot tears burned paths of betrayal down my cheeks. The absurdity of it all made me laugh, half hysterical, but then reality sunk in. I was nauseous and knew there was nothing I could do, nothing that would make this terrible reality, this unbearable pain disappear. Because her voice was in my apartment. So I sank to the floor and sobbed.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-73033578003709445182008-04-22T11:16:00.001-07:002008-04-22T11:17:36.621-07:00I heart Obama...but not even <strong>I</strong> would pay $10k (and climbing) for someone's half eaten breakfast. <br /><br />http://cgi.ebay.com/OBAMA-SCRANTON-PA-DINER-4-21-08-CAMPAIGN-BREAKFAST_W0QQitemZ170212526773QQihZ007QQcategoryZ39721QQssPageNameZWDVWQQrdZ1QQcmdZViewItem<br /><br /><br />In any event, <strong>VOTE OBAMA TODAY PENNSYLVANIANS!!!</strong>Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-73413400688854329182008-04-16T07:21:00.000-07:002008-04-16T07:23:14.641-07:00A Good Friend...drives out of state to help you find a shot put circle to throw in. A <strong>best friend </strong>will pull over at a baseball field when the track is taken and retrieve shot puts in the dark.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-28529252160215986372008-04-15T08:31:00.000-07:002008-04-15T14:19:29.730-07:00The Together WomenEvery morning on my walk to work I'm surrounded by women. Women that embody the word <strong>together </strong> with their smooth, shiny hair, perfect make-up, and cobbled shoes. They never looked rushed or particularly hurried toting their lattes in their freshly manicured hands. They are the types of women that wear white pants without spilling anything, match their accessories to their shoes, and can fit everything a lady needs into one tiny purse. They remember to drop off clothes at the dry cleaners, they never run out of toilet paper, and they iron on Sundays to avoid hectic weekdays. <br /><br />A good friend of mine frequently says my personality matches my hair: organized chaos. I will never be able to walk down 18th street without being weighed down by my over sized purse, gym bag, and occasional shot put. I will probably always chew my fingernails, forget dry cleaning, take three days to read the Sunday paper, and have stacks of articles on my desk. I'll wait months to get clothes tailored or dry-cleaned, leave my apartment without my keys, and forget my umbrella every time it rains. <br /><br />On my way to work this morning I wondered if I could ever be mistaken for one of these together women, if by chance some passerby glanced at me without noticing my wrinkled coat, crazy hair, chipped fingernails, and scuffed shoes? But before I could give it another moments thought, I tripped and spilled my coffee with such momentum that it splattered all over my over sized sunglasses. It was then I realized that some things will just never be.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-63939598891773806962008-04-05T20:00:00.001-07:002008-04-05T20:00:31.031-07:00Grampy 04-05-08Do not go gentle into that good night,<br />Old age should burn and rave at close of day;<br />Rage, rage against the dying of the light.<br /><br />Though wise men at their end know dark is right,<br />Because their words had forked no lightning they<br />Do not go gentle into that good night.<br /><br />Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright<br />Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,<br />Rage, rage against the dying of the light.<br /><br />Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,<br />And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,<br />Do not go gentle into that good night.<br /><br />Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight<br />Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, <br />Rage, rage against the dying of the light.<br /><br />And you, my father, there on the sad height,<br />Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.<br />Do not go gentle into that good night.<br />Rage, rage against the dying of the light.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-67587087786521108722008-02-21T10:24:00.000-08:002008-02-21T10:27:38.149-08:00A Sighting on a High Stakes Day<strong>I just met George Stephanopolous on the street!</strong> <br /><br />And he was loooooovely. <br /><br />I'm convinced that this is good luck. Lots and lots of good luck. <br /><br />:)Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-62165093110673282252008-02-14T10:08:00.000-08:002008-02-14T10:09:15.300-08:00L.O.V.E.Roses. Laughter. Poetry. Studio apartments. Eire. Unexpected visits from friends across the world. Decorating. Running. Throwing. Black-tie events. Champagne. Poetry. Camus. Wellies. Soul-searching. Writing. Movie marathons. Nicknames. Truffles. Long emails. High heels. Track meets. Brainstorming. Book stores. New friends. Dancing. Singing in the rain. Simone de Beauvoir. Paris. Travel. Almond cookies. Philosophy. Planning. Musicals. Political debates. Huge sunglasses. Core-shakers. Wanderlust. Valentines.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-43030185333928055102008-02-06T06:40:00.000-08:002008-02-06T11:28:34.884-08:00love note from a dear (missed) friendi miss your face<br />and your freckles<br />and your vegetarianism<br />and your political opinions<br />and your cute little outfits that always look like something jackie o would wear <br />and your uncanny ability to make me laugh til i pee (a little)<br />and your ability to drink me, and everyone else in a room under the table.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-23826191592642963902008-01-18T11:50:00.000-08:002008-01-18T11:53:21.742-08:00Location, Location, Location!I have been looking for a studio for months- passively looking for about three, aggressively for about two. It is an exhausting, miserable process and I absolutely hate it. I have become a woman obsessed- every spare moment is dedicated to Operation: Adorable Studio. <br /><br />I’m about one property away from aborting the mission. <br /><br />I’m learning the trade-offs of renting in D.C. For instance, Apartment A is an English basement, beautiful one-bedroom with exposed brick, but the neighborhood is dodgy. Apartment B is a teeny tiny studio but in a great location. As far as neighborhoods go, the Hill isn’t a bad option- there is decent street parking, it’s a little more affordable, and I love Eastern Market- but it seems like <em>everything </em>is on the west side of the city- my work, my friends, my regular hangouts. Northwest is of course nearly impossible to find an affordable studio unless you go reeeeally far north or reeeeally far west -- or hit a goldmine. <br /><br />This week I went to look at a studio with my friend and potentially struck gold. It’s about a 15 minute walk from work and in a great area- right by U Street and Adams Morgan where there is a lot of food, booze, and culture (i.e. FUN). It’s in a nice building, very safe area, but is teeny and there is no getting around the whole bed-is-in-the-living-room business. However, the location and the price are PERFECT and though it is far from my “dream apartment”, with some creative decorating it could be a damn good “first apartment.” Within moments I convinced myself that this apartment is the key to my happiness in DC and without it I will in fact be miserable. <br /><br />Of course finding the apartment is only half the battle- you have to apply. This apartment had a line at the door a half hour before the viewing; t’was reminiscent of my Dublin days when hours were spent waiting to simply see the apartment. I faxed my application first thing in the morning and after a $30 cab ride to the leasing office found out that some scoundrel had already beaten me in: I was Applicant #2. So I tried to sweet talk the realtor and flashed my best smile in hopes that I would move to the top of the pile. Otherwise I just have to hope with all my might that Applicant #1 has craptacular credit. <br /><br />So now I wait while a guy named Tim in a leasing office on Rhode Island Avenue determines my fate and hope with all my might that this tiny little gem comes through. Nothing but crossed fingers and positive thoughts…<br /><br />Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease let me get this apartment!!!!!!!Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-68483429042705385792008-01-09T11:47:00.001-08:002008-01-09T12:06:35.373-08:00Reflections from New Hampshire<strong>Voters don't just desire change; they are demanding it!</strong><br /><br />-Hillary Clinton: props to you for showing a little emotion and flipping all those pollsters the bird. "I found my voice. And let's give America the comeback that New Hampshire has just given me." Not even I can argue with that...<br /><br />-Barack Obama: its not over, boyfriend. And a little humility won't hurt. No matter what Oprah thinks- you're not Jesus. <br /><br />-John McCain: a win you deserve. But for the love of St. Patrick FIRE YOUR COMMUNICATIONS DIRECTOR because that speech was dreadful!<br /><br />-John Edwards: FIRE YOUR COMMUNICATIONS DIRECTOR and stop recycling that damn speech. Though I'll support your poverty policies till the end, you have lost me by relying on the exact. same. stump. speech. for. the. last. three. months. AND by somehow managing to look less presidential than freakin Mike Huckabee. <br /><br />-Mike Huckabee: I don't care how sincere or genuine you appear, I will never, ever vote for anyone that A. has proposed quarantining AIDS patients; B. thinks homosexuality is a public health risk; and C. thinks evolution is a theory (a statement which in fact makes you a bloody moron). <br /><br />-Mitt Romney/ Phony McPhonerson: You're a fake. I will never consider voting for someone who condones torture (see also Huckabees deal-breakers above A,B, and C). <br /><br />Now on to Nevada!Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-671876061960131742008-01-04T08:31:00.000-08:002008-01-04T08:36:29.287-08:00A Beautiful Moment in History<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqoFwZUp5vc">FIRED UP AND READY TO GO!!!</a>Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-82338817294314515972008-01-01T07:09:00.000-08:002008-01-08T11:24:04.179-08:00No New Years Post This Year...no wistful look back at all of the memories. All in all, 2007 was rough. Of course there are a number of things I am grateful for, but the life obstacles, career challenges, and the heartbreaking loss of my Grandmom are probably what I will remember most about 2007. <br /><br />I can appreciate it for what it was: a year of great transition in my life. But there is no melancholy hesitation about putting '07 to bed. I am ready to let it go. I am ready to move forward. <br /><br />After quite a struggle, I look to the future with optimism. I was tested a lot this year. My family was tested. But we all persevered and I feel my determination and positive energy grow by the day. I look at my laundry list of 2008 resolutions and know that I have the strength to turn this year- this life- into exactly what I want. And I will. <br /><br />So no New Years post this year.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-49596440863779458842007-12-27T12:06:00.000-08:002007-12-27T13:02:19.703-08:00The Art of the RegroupIt has been quite some time since insomnia rocked me so hard I didn't get one hour of sleep. Last night was one of the nights- head spinning with nagging uncertainty, heart aching and wounded by a momentary setback in a very long battle- my eyes weren't closed long enough to even imagine sheep, let alone count them.<br /><br />I am far too old for all-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">nighters</span>.<br /><br />I'm working from home today, disgruntled and weary from last nights tossing and turning, practicing the art of the "regroup." I've become a master of 'plan B' as of late, a systematic side effect of setting my sights a little too high. But I am learning. Learning to be flexible. Learning to laboriously fight my way through a broken system. Learning to navigate through ambitions wrought with all of the impatience the universe has to offer. The lessons have not been hard to come by. I often feel like Washington tests my strength of character on a daily basis. But I am learning just the same.<br /><br />The rest of my afternoon will likely be spent in bed, wrapped in my soft leopard-print blankets, constructing <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">le</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">battleplan</span> part <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">deux</span> </span>to the hum of my space heater and drifting in and out of a restless sleep. I feel an obligation to be at least a little productive today after taking the 4:45am train back to DC, but at the moment I am paralyzed with a feverish exhaustion that lends itself only to somber blog posts. And maybe movies in bed. And probably <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Thai</span> take-out.<br /><br />Anything in the interest of regrouping.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-72954323234945804002007-12-18T17:15:00.000-08:002007-12-18T18:09:38.282-08:00"Am I more than you bargained for yet?"There is nothing worse than waiting. Waiting for interview results, waiting to go home for the holidays, waiting for change. I feel like I'm on "pause" and its the most frustrating feeling. Especially when others expect you to fast-forward.Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-296363480758620524.post-82199307609115328372007-12-12T08:45:00.000-08:002007-12-12T08:49:52.169-08:00Cloud 9This week's run down:<br /><br /><ul><li>Met Caroline Kennedy, otherwise known as the daughter of the man who inspired me to go into human rights work; also known as the daughter of the woman who has profoundly influenced my style and taste. </li><li>One job offer</li><li>Two great job interviews</li><li>Put a significant dent in the Christmas shopping</li></ul><p>The view is pretty darn good from here! </p>Ma Vie en Rosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14188194938522846844noreply@blogger.com2