It’s okay to laugh.

October 7, 2011 17 Comments

The man I love has one particular quality which I admire and value more than I thought I ever could.

He’s able to laugh at himself. Quite effortlessly, in fact.

Maybe this isn’t a big deal for some of you but for me, it’s really up there.

I am not very good terrible at laughing at myself. I pride myself on having a good sense of humor but there are just certain things I don’t find funny. I was never one of those who appreciated practical jokes or prank calls, especially if I was the recipient. And I’ve been the recipient.

One of the traits I always loved about my brother when we were growing up was his ability to make me laugh when he was making fun of me; I held this in the highest esteem, of course, because I didn’t like poking fun at things I said or did. It’s always made me feel as if my flaws were on display and I could just never lighten the hell up about it.

I think that’s why even now, when someone goes out of his or her way to try and make another person feel stupid, I get really defensive, whether it’s myself or not. I’ve always valued any person’s ability to have patience and explain things if I (or someone else) doesn’t know something.

Nonetheless…one thing that will get me in hysterics every time is physical humor. Specifically, people tripping. Kevin is the first person to admit that he’s klutzy, and most of the time, it’s endearing.

But after the thirty-seventh time of listening to things crashing in the kitchen or watching him come home completely torn up and bloodied because he tripped while walking, it starts getting frustrating. (The most recent incident had him scabbed up for a few weeks – thankfully he had his bike helmet still on when he tripped or he would have given himself a head injury. I can’t make this stuff up.)

The best part about Kevin being clumsy is that he takes it all in stride and doesn’t stress out about it at all. Me, I fret. I’m constantly wringing my hands and telling him, “For the love of God, be careful!” He just laughs and shrugs his shoulders.

I so wish I could be like that when it comes to myself. I’ve had several people in my life make fun of my pronunciation of certain words. I think it’s when I get particularly Midwestern and say something with a classic nasal A or E sound. I have a friend who was in absolute hysterics listening to me order a “lamb sandwich on a pita” in NYC one day. I’ve never heard the end of it. I still don’t get it. I’ve laughed along as best I can but I seriously don’t get it. And it’s not one of those, “You had to be there” moments because I was there. I can “heh” a little bit that she finds it so hilarious but since I don’t understand where in my pronunciation I went wrong, I can barely crack more than a confused smile.

It’s in those times that I want to channel Kevin and just bust up laughing with everyone else. I think he’s a good influence on me, though, and I get the biggest laughs when we’re teasing one another at home about something or other. I like to impersonate him in different voices which always ruffles his feathers a bit but he’s such a damn good sport about it, so I never stop doing it. I’m in stitches every time!

Little side story: when we were first dating and Kevin was learning about my likes and dislikes, especially when it came to food and cooking, he told me I was a really picky eater.

At first I was kind of appalled, because I never considered I was picky, just someone who had very particular taste. (I know. Denial.) Over time as we’ve lived and grown together, I have to admit he was right and I don’t know how I ever thought I wasn’t but I am one picky mofu.

Today’s lunch was a perfect example. I went to the store to get something from the deli and I wanted to add something from the produce section. I wandered amongst the fruit and veggeis, undecided. Then, I spied the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen:

DICED PEPPERS!

For those of you wondering what the BFD is, they’re diced peppers. Diced! I have a thing with veggies where they have to be diced in order for me to eat them with gusto. Otherwise I’ll just pick at them. I know it sounds so oddball but anytime I’m given a salad and the veggies are in big slices or chunks vs. nicely quartered or diced, I never finish them. That includes lettuce leaves, usually, as well.

But with this? I managed to eat the entire 6 oz. container with NO salad dressing as I ate my chicken lunch. This is a proud moment in Zoe history, I’m just saying.

And I know that this is weird, I know it’s funny, and I feel good about laughing at myself. It’s progress! Kevin will no doubt shake his head when he finds out since I still eat vegetables like a five-year-old but hey, whatever works, right?

I don’t know if I’ll ever get to the point where I can laugh at myself when everyone is staring at me after a particularly embarrassing moment, say, if I tripped. But let me tell you. There is no stopping the mirth from flowing when I see someone trip and just completely bite it. I just CAN’T HELP IT. I will – between gasps of laughter – ask the person if s/he’s okay, of course. I’m nice like that. And I so wish I weren’t a hypocrite on this one but it’s never funny when I do it and always funny when someone else does it.

No matter what movie it is, if someone can pull off a successful natural looking trip, I will crack up. And so, if you’d like to join me, this YouTube video has some of the best physical trips I’ve seen in a long time. Favorite moments: waitress, hurdling, Mercedes honking.

As I get older, I sincerely hope I can keep working on this and be able to tell others, “It’s okay to laugh.”

Filed Under: Humor, Zoe Quirks Tagged With: , , , , ,

Macabre Meets Practicality

September 10, 2011 16 Comments

I have a morbid fear that if something bad were to happen to me, no one in my circle of friends and family would find out for days – or weeks – at a time. Mind you, this is all under the presumption that my cell phone would still be on my person or found in my home. I have my doubts that my phone would be accessible but since this is my macabre fantasy, let’s just go with the idea that something has happened to me and the police or a hospital worker has to look through my cell.

If all of the names in my phone are nicknames or signifiers which only mean something to me and me only, it’s not exactly going to help narrow down who to call. (And it’s not Ghostbusters.)

For example, I don’t assign names to people in the following manner:

  • Dirty Money
  • Drunkface
  • Jerkwad
  • Silly Rabbit Trix Are For Kids
  • Homeboy 1
  • Homegirl 4
  • Slick
  • Lovebunny
  • Dude Whose Name I Never Remember
  • Psycho

I am a strict First Name, Last Name sensible inputter of Contacts. The following in my phone are exceptions, which is why someone with common sense would know to call any one of these people in an emergency:

Simple, right? They’re not only my favorite people but they are related to me in some way, shape or form, and the simple lack of last names lets us know they must be Very Important Peeps in my life.

First and last names make it easier in an emergency but I also have the added benefit of always knowing how to spell my friends’ names. (You’d be surprised how many people don’t know how to spell a friend’s name…..or know their birthday, which baffles me. I think that’s more of a guy thing, though.) I hate not knowing how to spell someone’s name or worse yet, forgetting what someone’s last name actually is.

In essence, this is another way I celebrate practicality but also help the imaginary people who would be assisting my family in some kind of Zoe-related emergency. Aren’t I ever so helpful?

Now that you’re getting a better sense of how deep this rabbit hole is, tell me: how do you label people in your phone? Do you get really wacky or are you no-nonsense like me?

Filed Under: Relative to Everyone, Zoe Quirks Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

A hug from the soul

August 28, 2011 8 Comments

Make lists of positive aspects. Make lists of things you love—and never complain about anything. And as you use those things that shine bright and make you feel good as your excuse to give your attention and be who-you-are, you will tune to who-you-are, and the whole world will begin to transform before your eyes. It is not your job to transform the world for others—but it is your job to transform it for you. A state of appreciation is pure Connection to Source where there is no perception of lack.

– Abraham*

“They” always say that when you are at your lowest, it is when you need to feel gratitude the most.

I don’t know about you, but I have a really really tough time doing that. When I am severely down in the dumps and despair is the main feeling radiating throughout my mind and body, clinging to gratitude does not come naturally to me.

However, while I sit in my house this weekend thinking of those on the East Coast who are contending with Hurricane Irene, I remember to be grateful.

I sit comfortably at my computer in an air-conditioned home, with plenty of running water and food at my disposal, the weather is beautiful, the streets are quiet. I have a good job and work with really nice people. I get weekends off; I had time to relax and even nap today. My dog is sweet and healthy, my boyfriend and I are not suffering from any health issues at the moment, and we have celebratory brunch plans for Kevin’s birthday tomorrow.

We have a functioning car with working seat belts, air conditioning, heat, cruise control, airbags, cup holders, automatic windows, remote, and CD player. It’s five years old and is at a time in its mechanical life that it needs a little extra TLC and maintenance, but that is the way of life. I am grateful that it runs well and gets us where we need to go. When I complain about wanting a new car, I will try to remember to recite this to myself.

Despite the litany of things I worry and mutter about throughout the week, I am not lacking. I have more than enough. Relatively speaking to those in the world, I am a rich woman, and that is not easy for me to say. (I focus on feeling poor wayyy more than I do feeling abundant.)

But today, I am making a point of taking the time to reflect on all that I do have. Feeling gratitude and appreciation is like receiving a hug from my soul. It sounds corny but it’s really true. It’s in that feeling place that I can acknowledge that all is well. Again, not easy to remember in the day-to-day stuff we all get caught up in.

So even though I am not directly affected by Hurricane Irene this weekend, I know many people on the East Coast whom I care about and I am thinking of them.  And I remain grateful for the loved ones in my life and for my circumstances. Right now.

The Rainbow from Trey Ratcliff at www.stuckincustoms.com

 *Excerpted from the book “Money and the Law of Attraction: Learning to Attract Health, Wealth and Happiness” by Esther and Jerry Hicks, 2008
Filed Under: Deeper Tagged With: , , , , ,

Bagels: A Remembrance

August 21, 2011 20 Comments
Topped with poppy seeds, sesame seeds, dried onion and garlic & salt

Photo courtesy of Brown Eyed Baker on Flickr

This morning, as I munched on my toasted “everything bagel” with butter, I was inexorably drawn back to my years in New York City, one of the bagel capitals of the world.

Prior to moving there, I had certainly had my share of these round wonders. Panera makes a fine bagel, if I do say so myself. However, there really is something to be said for the culture of bagels in New York, something I have experienced nowhere else.

In fact, by the time I had graduated from college, I declared myself to be a person who really didn’t like bagels. And if you just thought to yourself that I must be crazy for holding that opinion, get in line. My friends thought it was incredibly bizarre. I think I just had a natural aversion to them for years. I have never liked using bagels for sandwiches, either. Too thick and chewy for a sandwich, at least from my perspective. The idea of a plain bagel with cream cheese sounded incredibly unappetizing to me (in fact, it still does).

Google "NYC bagels" and this is what you get.

However, something shifted for me when I lived in New York. Not only are bagels everywhere – bodegas, delis, bakeries, cafes – but people line up for them like they’re going out of style. A distinct Sunday Morning Bagel Ritual takes place in hundreds of shops each week in that grand city, where thousands of people slowly gravitate towards their favorite local place to “get on line” and call out their regular order. And no two are the same!

I was in New York for five years but I probably didn’t appreciate the bagels there until the last two. At the last place I worked, they had Bagel/Donut Fridays. Usually there was no stopping me from partaking in a donut or two, but one day, I started noticing a particular bagel staring back at me. I later learned that it was called an “everything” bagel. On top of these round creations are poppy seeds, sesame seeds, garlic, dried onion, and salt.

Craving something salty to go with my sweet donut, I tried one. I loved it.

Everything bagels renewed my palate for this local delicacy. They’re insanely messy to eat and you will spill no less than three thousand pieces of bagel debris on yourself while you eat it, but the mixture of flavors can’t be beat. I became a total convert.

And! I even started frequenting Brooklyn Bagels in my neighborhood (though I lived in Astoria, Queens). There was one on Broadway around the corner from me and they had a great array of things to eat, including French Toast Bagels, which I don’t even have to say were amaaaaaziiiiing. One had to get to this place before 10am on Sundays or there would be at least a fifteen to twenty minute wait. It was worth it, though.

Like the rug in The Big Lebowski that tied the room together, frequenting my local bagel shop for my “usual” really solidified the love I had for my neighborhood, and even living in that enormous metropolis. (Astoria rocks and if I were to move back to New York City, I’d totally live there again.) I have extremely fond memories of getting breakfast at Brooklyn Bagels with Kevin when we were first seeing one another. Can you beat an everything (or French Toast) bagel with a cappuccino? I propose that you can not.

While I now have to settle for buying my everything bagels by the half dozen in a bag from the supermarket, toasting them myself and buttering them, they still bring forth these treasured memories which I hold dear to me.

Bagels are more than just “something to eat” in New York City. They are an experience. They are New York.

A satisfying breakfast to say the least.

Filed Under: Relative to NYC, Zoe Quirks Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Can you keep a secret?

August 19, 2011 14 Comments
Shhh.

Photo courtesy of ~robot robot lover on Flickr

I had a fleeting thought the other day: are bloggers good secret keepers? Or are we in a special category because we have a public Internet presence? (I suppose saying “public Internet” is like saying PIN number–redundant and unnecessary.)

In my case, I can certainly keep things to myself that other people tell me in confidence. But I am a pretty open person and don’t mind talking about myself to most people, creepoids excluded. I also have a hard time buying gifts more than one week in advance for loved ones and not spilling the beans on what it is. I may have mentioned already that Christmas poses a huge problem for me because the anticipation just kills me. For weeks, I drop hints about how much my loved ones are going to love what I got them. Last year, I gave Kevin half of his presents early because I couldn’t stand to wait.

Now, I’m not saying I’m one of those people who has no tact or just blurts out what I’m thinking. I can actually be a pretty quiet person. I just mean to say that in my friendships with people, I have to compartmentalize friends into categories like Can Tell This Person Anything, Everything But Sex Stories or Fart Jokes, or Doesn’t Get My Humor. I suppose everyone has to do this to some degree but I keep detailed mental notes on what I can and cannot talk about with certain folks.

Having a blog allows me to write down many of the meandering thoughts that pass through my brain at any given moment. Sometimes it’s a miracle I even remember a topic for later if I don’t write it down right away. I find that a lot of my ideas or wonder-ments come to me while I’m driving (formerly it was on the subway when I lived in New York). But like dreams, they can be easily forgotten, gossamer wisps lost to the wind.

Naturally, not everything I think about or that has happened to me is written about on this blog. I have considered writing on more private topics but then I think that that goes against the grain of what this blog is about and would be better suited for a different medium – certainly a different kind of blog.

Still, I admire authors who have the ability to write short stories or memoirs of their lives where it gets rather down and dirty; we are reading about intimate moments that I don’t think I could fathom putting down on paper for any old stranger to read. Two examples come to my mind: Running With Scissors and Are You There, Vodka? It’s Me, Chelsea. One is by Augusten Burroughs and the other Chelsea Handler. Granted, the latter author’s books are written with a huge dose of tongue in cheek, but we’re still reading about all of her sexcapades in gritty detail. Hm, the word ‘sexcapades’ is officially on my blog now.

As for Running With Scissors, all of that dude’s family business is out there for anyone on the planet to know, albeit with a lot of humor and hindsight thrown in. I struggle with how much I want people to know about me and thoughts that I have which are deeper than complaints about salesmen and even what some of my childhood pasttimes were. I don’t know that I could keep a blog that is much more like a diary and one which I allow the world to see. I really possess such admiration for those who can regularly write out their innermost thoughts. Maybe it’s something a blogger or writer progresses towards, much like an actor who works on successfully drawing upon certain experiences in his or her lifetime to evoke a specific emotion for a scene.

But that begs the question again: does being a blogger/writer necessarily make a person naturally more open? Or can s/he remain an immensely private person regardless? Perhaps I should be directing this question to someone like J.D. Salinger, a notorious recluse, even after (and in spite of) the success of his books. (Side note: I do not think The Catcher in the Rye is one of the best stories ever written. Quite the contrary.)

Here’s my first attempt to put something out there I normally wouldn’t: bad as it sounds, I rather hope that if I get to the point where I feel comfortable publishing some seriously private ish, that I have a generous book advance in my bank account. That’s not to say that people are clamoring to read my life story, but it’s the private stuff that usually garners more attention and is more interesting to read.

How’s that for revealing? Eh, it’s a start.

And because this is Zoe Says and I usually leave you with something arbitrary or funny, the below picture is of a book I can actually highly recommend. Its title is apt. Some might call it “chick lit,” a term I’m not entirely comfortable with, but it’s a good story written by Miss Sophie Kinsella. If you don’t mind modern day romantic comedies with a British female protagonist, I can assure you that you’ll enjoy it. And with that, I’m off to my private life. I think it’s suppertime.

Filed Under: Blogging, Deeper Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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