Everything happens for a reason.

That is such a cliche, but I totally believe it.

Back when I was weighing two job offers--one full-time with benefits, but in New Jersey; the other a long-term freelance contract in New York--I opted for the gig with health insurance and a 401(k), even though I was more excited by the New York gig. How bo-ring of me, right?

Now it seems that, for once, my practicality has paid off, as the New Jersey gig has since moved back to New York and the Web site of the freelance gig just shuttered.

But I guess hindsight is always 20/20, huh? (Hey, they're cliches for a reason.)

Face Off

Emily Gould (whom I don't personally know) is one of those people whose talent I'm jealous of in the most absolutely depressing of ways. This post is a great example of how and why she has this effect on me. She's worth reading if you're ever feeling introspective, but can't quite put into words why you're feeling introspective.

I point out that post because I can relate to it in a very superficial way. While I certainly do not think of myself as one of those people who radiate "look at me waves," as she says, I do, on a once-to-twice-per-day basis, get stared at. I'm convinced this is because I am the generic person: people always think I am someone else they know. Or Anne Hathaway circa The Princess Diaries. (Anne, if you're reading this, I'm sorry.)

"Tiffany?" A man came up and asked me on an airplane once. "Are you Bob Garrett's daughter?" a woman once asked me while in line for coffee. "I know you!" said a drunk boy at a pizza place. No; no you don't, I replied. "No, really, I know you! I'm not trying to hit on you," he angrily shot back. "I know," I said, "but trust me, you don't know me." (My cyber presence isn't even immune to this phenomenon.)

And this staring problem is only compounded in New York, where you come into contact with thousands of people on a daily basis, a few of whom search my face with a look that reads, "Where do I know that girl from?" (I did that to Luke Wilson once, who sheepishly smiled and waved at me. I ignored him, which only made my faux pas all the more groan-worthy once I realized who he was.)

The reason I know these people don't know me is because I never forget a face--to an embarrassing extent. I can't tell you how many people I've been introduced to, only to run into them later where they say, "I'm sorry... What's your name again?" All this does is remind me of how unmemorable I personally am, unless I'm getting mistaken for someone else.

So, yeah, anonymity--there's no such thing.

Burnt popcorn

I want to blog. Really, I do. I just don't know what's worth blogging about anymore.

Is anyone really interested in hearing about the day's banalities? I don't have a problem reading about other people's banalities. I just read about how one friend is going to ask her midwife to strip her membranes, while another shared the story of a heart-to-heart while eating Kashi's Heart-to-Heart oatmeal. But I'm not so sure you and I share the same tolerance for banality. Do you care that I just burnt popcorn while writing this post?

I get that this is the point of blogging, the sharing of the day-to-day banalities, that is. And I guess I could blog about how I bought a brand new couch and coffee table the other day, my first truly grown-up purchase, considering that the last "grown-up" item I bought for myself was the $125 Tiffany's mesh ring, which, next to the sterling silver letter opener, is the cheapest item you can buy at Tiffany's, which really isn't all that exciting of an event given that I'm almost 30.

Were I 23 and fresh out of college and buying new furniture -- now that -- that would be exciting. Because you're 23! And buying furniture! That's not from Ikea! Or Target! (It's from Suburban. How very -- suburban.) Buying furniture at 23 is so unexpected! And buying furniture at 29 is so very expected.

Wait for it, folks. I'm sure there's something more interesting around the corner.

(Off to Cincinnati for the New Year. Perhaps something interesting will pop up between by then.)

These Dreams, Cont.

I've previously documented the dreadful dreams I've been having since arriving in Seville, and now, it seems they've become contagious.

First, it should be noted that I am a very light sleeper. The slightest wiggle of a bed mate's toe will cause me to immediately come to consciousness. So I wasn't surprised to be woken up when a fully asleep Jay shot upright in bed late last night.

"Are you OK?" I asked with sleepy concern.

"Yes," he said. "It was just a dream."

"What was it?" I replied, thinking it involved the impalement of a family member or the premonition of a fiery plane crash on our way back to New York.

He turned to me. "I dreamt that I was at Shake Shack,"--that famous New York burger joint--"and the burger was terrible."

I've come a long way since Stanhope, NJ.

Not only have we been living above a grow shop for the last two months, but we just recently caught on to the fact that "women of the night" (and day, in this case) hang out around the corner from our apartment, right near our favorite gelato shop. And yet! None of this phases me.

I feel so bohemian, circa 1970s East Village.

These Dreams

Ever since I arrived in Seville, I’ve been having really disturbing dreams. Like, for reals. One was about the natural death of someone close to me, another involved me letting someone die for the sake of saving myself, while another had me at a round table interview with Gwyneth Paltrow, my lovely friend and editor Dawn, and my dad, who totally monopolized the interview with thoughtful and engaging questions. All of these dreams leave me equally terrified.

Last night’s was a particular standout. I was badgering Sarah Jessica Parker about why she didn’t like me. I kept asking and asking, like a three-year-old in his why stage, and she refused to answer me. At last exasperated, she shouted, “Fine! You want to know why I don’t like you? Because when I look into your eyes I see nothing!” I was rendered speechless and felt that pang in my chest--you know the one you get, like when you overhear a friend say something nasty about you--and I felt like a completely worthless being, because in this case, SJP was the Dali Lama in a gray frock and too-tight ponytail. I woke up sweaty and shaking.

Weird, right? I’ve been feeling really unhappy with myself here, mostly because I'm so unkempt, being too chicken to go to the salon and ask for an eyebrow wax, manicure and pedicure, so, perhaps that’s it. Plus, t-minus 31 days until the SATC movie opens!

Lunchtime Poll

Aliens (aka upcoming visitors) land on earth (aka Seville) and say they're going to make you (not really) attend a bullfight (aka bullfight), the same day you caught glimpses of a bullfight on TV and decided you couldn't handle it. What do you do?

Seriously. Bullfight season is in full swing and when Jay and I happened upon a televised fight at a bar today, I started tearing up the minute the poor thing pranced into the ring, unawares of what he was walking into. The whole thing is, in fact, worse than I imagined. Horses are involved, as are these spears, which look tiny but produce a nauseating amount of blood from the animal. I had no idea if the poor creature made it (it is, of course, doubtful), because Jay just kept telling me, "Don't look up. Just finish your drink and we'll go. Don't look up."

But the decision isn't the no-brainer it seems. Bullfighting is an incredibly integral part of Spanish culture, and Seville in particular. The stands are packed full of men in three-piece suits and women in their best archaic Sunday attire. If the whole point of this excursion is to immerse oneself in the day to day life of a Sevilliano, how can one not attend a bullfight? It seems so righteously uptight to not attend the spectacle based on principle, especially since I have been a far-from-perfect vegetarian since arriving here.

I await your advice in the comments.

Bizzaro World

"The first year and especially those first few months can be really isolating. Sometimes just getting out for a cup of coffee can be the most entertaining thing of the day."

That's a source I recently spoke with for an article. She was talking about having a baby, but I think it also speaks well of going freelance. Does this mean I'm ready to be a mom now?

Mice on a Plane*

First poop, now this:

"Chinese inspectors found eight mice, dead and alive, on a United Airlines flight [from Washington, D.C.] to Beijing after the airline reported the stowaways to local quarantine officials upon landing Sunday afternoon, Xinhua news agency said."

I'm not so concerned about mice on a plane, per se. They're kind of cute, minus the tails; and really, any diseases these rodents might bring are just China's karmic retribution for shipping us all those lead-tainted toys this holiday season. What gets me is that these mice, both dead and alive, were found (among other places) in the pillows supplied to flyers for their comfort.

I happen to have two of those neck pillows made for flying (basically the frequent flyer's equivelant of fanny packs) and when Jay and I were packing for Scotland, I asked if he wanted one. He declined, replying, "Why would you lug that around when they give them to you on the plane?"

At the time, I couldn't think of a viable reason for such geekiness, but now, about a month later, I have one, and it will forever be my excuse for flying with those lame-ass looking things.


* yes, its an obvious title and I'm certainly not the only one to think of it, but I'm feeling especially uncreative today.

Thank you

I'm the type of person who looks for signs. Signs that what I'm about to do is the right thing; signs that I did the right thing; signs that I missed an opportunity. Sometimes they appear; more often than not, they don't. But when they do appear, I feel a confidence that no person or words can otherwise give me. Whether these signs come from God, fate, the universe, or are just mere idiotic coincidence, I don't know, but they are nonetheless comforting.

Yesterday, I turned down a promotion and quit my job. Honestly, I had sort of expected to panic the second I left my boss' office, much like I had when I plunked down the hefty deposit for my own apartment in New York. I'd be lying if I said I didn't experience a little anxiety over the move--especially after the guttural "What?!" my usually laid-back father uttered when I told him--but in general, I felt calm. Still, on the subway ride home, I asked for a sign. A sign that I had done the right thing in quitting my job--and not just in quitting my job, but in uprooting everything I know and truly testing the strength of mine and Jay's relationship by moving to Spain.

This morning, in yoga class (of all the places this may be completely apropos or incredibly cheesy), my instructor read the following quote from Anais Nin at the end of a particularly challenging hour and a half:

"It takes courage to push yourself to places you've never been before, to test your limits, to break through barriers. And the day came when the risk it took to remain inside the bud was more painful then the risk it took to blossom."

I got my answer.

Signs of Aging

Driving in the slow lane, five miles under the speed limit, on a highway you used to do 85 mph on just a few years ago; cringing the entirety of the hour’s drive, not just because it’s been a few months since you’ve driven—let alone on a major highway filled with raging New Jerseyians—but also because your driving skills now resemble that of your mother.

Also; buying eye cream.

Because Susan Miller says so

It appears the planets are aligning for mine and Jay's plans to temporarily move abroad next year. Like, for real:

Scorpio (aka me): From now on, Mars will be in your long-distance travel/foreign people and places sector, so something big seems to be brewing for you in this area. You may travel abroad in coming months (very likely) [Ed note: Given the job, duh] or you may get special help from people who are based in foreign countries. Sometimes it works out that a foreign person that you meet or know from your city, and not abroad, will be the one who is lucky for you. The point is that there will be a strong and positive international influence entering your life, one that will be sustained for quite a long time, taking you at least to May, if not longer.

Sagittarius (aka Jay): If attached, there's a good chance you will travel to an exotic country together soon, either now or sometime prior to early May. This would be a worthy goal, for you'd enjoy this particular trip very much. It would not be a trip to take alone, if possible, and not one meant to take with your Mom, sister, brother, child, or friend. This trip needs to be with your partner for the most fun.

Syanara summer

The last time I was in Hilton Head, SC, I officially entered womanhood, receiving my first-ever visit from the now much-loathed Aunt Flo. I was 12. So it somehow is fitting then, that on my second visit, 15 years later, my biological clock starts ticking.

It's Jay's own fault, really. First, on Friday, there was his friends' wedding. These things inexplicably get to me, making me think "Oh, I want this!" for the preceeding four hours. Then, over the weekend in Hilton Head, I was exposed to baby fever brought on by his four adorable nieces. To wit: Maggie is still working on prounouncing her J's, so she called me me "Zen." Which I kind of like. I hope Maggie never learns how to properly say my name.

Then there's Libby, who is the most encouraging toddler I've ever met in my life. Stuck inside on a rainy day and working on a 550-piece puzzle of the Little Mermaid, Libby popped in every so often to tell Jay and I what a good job we were doing.

So, once I start conspicuously leaving Tiffany's pamphlets (does Tiffany even make pamphlets? Probably not.) and stop taking my birth control pills, Jay has no one to blame but himself.

Pics here.

Are you there God? It's me, Hungary.

I'm in Budapest right now, taking part in Hungary's St. Stephen's Day celebrations. Apparently the city is on high alert this year, after what happened in 2006:

"At least three people died and more than 250 were injured when a storm lashed Hungary's captial, Budapest, as huge crowds watched a firework display."

With three hours left to go until 2007's fireworks, Budapest is again currently under seige by heavy rains. Trees are toppling sideways and people have fled screaming for cover. The winds are so strong, I had to throw my body into my balcony door in order to close it. (For once, work has possibly saved my sanity. Earlier, I opted to go back to the hotel to work, instead of remaining on the large ship floating in the Danube that I'm supposed to be on right now.) I have to admit it's a little freaky.


Yesterday, during a guided tour, our guide stopped at the Holy Trinity Column, which was erected near the Royal Palace in 1713 to protect the city from the plague, which Budapest was repeatedly (forgive me) plagued with. "We don't have a lot of good luck here in Hungary," she said.

No kidding.