Buttercup Has Moved

Buttercup has moved to a new site at:  http://buttercupingotham.wordpress.com.  All content from Tout de Suite Buttercup! has been imported into Buttercup In Gotham.

Nephew-Sitting

I have a few moments to write because I just put my little nephew down for a nap. I calmed him, rocked him until he went to sleep, and then gingerly laid him down in his crib, holding my breath that he wouldn’t wake up, and he didn’t! He’s all sweaty and adorable, knocked out for 20 minutes or so. Quite an accomplishment, Auntie, if I do say so myself.

I’m on baby-sitting duty with my mom (she does all the diapers) because my little sister just gave birth to her second child. I now have a niece! She’s beautiful just like her brother. She’s hanging out with her mom and dad in the hospital for a few days, so it’s just me and my mom taking care of my nephew.

Having lived many years away from children, it’s always astonishing, delightful, and eye-opening to be around them. How stay-at-home moms and dads do it is completely beyond me. How my little sister is going to take care of a one year old and an infant is beyond me. From the moment I’ve woken up, it’s been (almost) all about my nephew. Me and my mom fed him, which was quite the experience, with him ending up covered in goo, and then we tag-teamed playing with him while first one and then the other showered and got dressed.

My mom vacuumed (vacume is such a strange word), cleaned up the kitchen, and made the beds while I rolled around with my nephew pretending to be a monster. I brought out finger puppets and he went angelically nuts, beaming and giggling and shrieking with glee trying to grab them all. His smiles are so sweet it’s sometimes heartbreaking. For a while, I let him play by himself and watched as he picked up his toys one by one, mumbling shh-sing noises to himself. I tried to read some of my book, but kept looking up every few sentences. Moms of young children probably don’t read a lot.

A few days ago, I was talking with my friends Em and Essa about leaving New York at some point in the future. I love the city, and right now the thought of moving away from it makes me feel like I would be carving out a piece of myself, so I’m not going to do it anytime soon. Maybe never, I don’t know. During the conversation, Em said that no one should leave new york until they get to the point when they’re really ready, because if they leave before they’re done, they’ll regret it. I’m not sure I’ll ever be done with New York, so that leaves me in a bit of a quandary for the future (a quandary I suspect will work itself out eventually).

Playing with my nephew, I was thinking that a similar thing could be said about babies. You shouldn’t have them until you are really ready. Right now, I still feel like I’m too selfish to have a baby. For example, I have stolen more than a few moments to read my book in between playing with him (stolen them from who? Him? Me?). Maybe that makes me a terrible Auntie? Or, maybe I’m just channeling mommy guilt and projecting it? Or, maybe I’m just being balanced about this? If I played with him 24-7, both of us would be too tired for anything else. It’s OK for him to entertain himself, and it’s OK for me to do the same. Balance. If I was a mom, I don’t think I would play with my child 24-7 either. Who could? Instead, I imagine you do what my mom and I have been doing the past couple days, you work out a routine that works for you, try to keep the kids safe, if not perfectly clean, and you go with it.

Getting back to my nephew and new niece. They are so freaking cute. I feel really lucky to be an Auntie. Can’t wait until Bean and the new baby come home from the hospital.

Hostage In Legal La-La Land

I’m somewhere in the Midwest doing litigation training and I’m taking a quick break out of my mock-trial preparation to note that I would like the record to reflect that I would much prefer doing any of the following:

1) Riding my bike, with which I am still very much in love, all over New York. In fact, I’m going through withdrawal at the moment.

2) Pondering the existential crisis into which I threw myself after my retreat at the Chopra Center. The crisis being: What is my Dharma (i.e. “purpose and meaning” in life. Me thinks I must find it).

3) Meditating – I did not do my daily RPM today. Curse early morning flights! Or is it a lack of discipline, dedication, and organization I should be cursing.

4) Reading book 7 of the Anita Blake Vampire Chronicles. When last I left that marvelous world Jean Claude and Anita had kissed for the first time, after Jean Claude had taken a bubble bath just before “dying” at dawn. How hard could it be to find a human version of Jean Claude? Snap to it Universe!

The point, my friends, is that although this is a great training experience, and although I am grateful for it and will get as much out of it as possible – all caveats aside – I’d rather be doing something else at the moment.

If I only have one life, shouldn’t I be spending as many minutes of it as possible doing something I want to be doing? Finding my Dharma. I can’t even consider, however, these greater life questions because I have to go prep now. Duty calls.

RPM (For Meditation)

How do I meditate? When do I meditate? How do I silence my mind? What do I do with the thoughts? These are some questions I have pondered during the last year. In it’s most basic sense, mediation is sitting in stillness. Physical and mental stillness. One would think that sitting quietly would not have so much mystery around it, but it does. I want to know the “right” way to meditate. I want to know what to expect, how do I know that it’s working, what’s the proper way to sit, and again, what do I do with those incessant thoughts that poke up like an infinite supply of pink elephants the minute I start trying not to think of them?

This weekend, at a retreat lead by the Chopra Center, Renewal Weekend, I had some of those questions answered. They practice a type of mediation called “primordial sound meditation,” where you meditate by repeating a mantra over and over again as a way to quite your mind chatter and allow you to go deeper within yourself. The three-party mantra starts with “om” and ends with “namah” (pronounced nemah), and has a sound in between that is your “seed,” the vibration that the universe was making at the time of your birth. The Chopra Center has a computer that figures out your seed; without the computer program I’m not sure how to find out your seed, but I don’t really think it’s important. The important thing is to have a mantra, any mantra, but one that’s a sound, not words with meaning that will create, rather, than still your thoughts.

In terms of how to mediate, the Chopra Center is big on comfort. There should be no discomfort or “trying” in mediation, according to Deepak. You are to sit comfortably and repeat your mantra. When thoughts come and you slip away from the mantra, gently drift back to repeating the mantra. The idea is to be gentle with yourself. There is no berating, no judging, no punishment. Just the mantra and gentle drifting back to the mantra when thoughts come.

In terms of when, one of the teachers, David Gi, gave us “RPM” as a meditation tool. RPM stands for: Rise, Pee, Meditate. Everyone rises in the morning, many of us pee, so we are 2/3rds of the way there. The third part is sitting down, even before you’ve brushed your teeth or gotten your caffeine kick of the day, and meditating for a half hour. Because a half hour is a lot, it might be too much at first. I made a commitment to try RPM for 20 days – until June 14th – and have done it for the past 2 days for about 15 minutes each. The idea is to create a stillness and silence within that you can take with you for the rest of the day into your relationships. So far, I think it’s working today. I feel calm and well. It’s nice.

For the afternoon meditation, David Gi gave us “RAW” – “Right After Work.” Because I’m being gentle with myself and starting with baby steps, I’m not putting pressure on myself to do two meditations a day, but for the future it’s something to think about. For now, I’m sticking with the RPMs. I have 18 more days to go. It’s an experiment to see how I’ll feel after 20 days of this. Anyone else want to try?

Old Maid Is Just A Card Game

A word about being single: Relative to stormy relationships, being single is fantastic. You get to do what you want, when you want, with whomever you want to do it with. You might not have the clouds bursting into rose petals around you, but you also avoid relationship-related pits of anxiety, uncertainty, and hurt feelings which can sometimes happen. Instead of the highs and lows, you have a more even-keel existence.

Feeling a little anxiety about being single, however, is sometimes unavoidable. For example, when a critical mass of your friends suddenly become engaged and/or married and you find your totally unattached self out at an event admiring everyone else’s rings, it can be somewhat destabilizing. Don’t get me wrong, I could not be more happy for my friends. Their happiness makes me happy; they’re wonderful, they have wonderful men in their lives, and that’s thrilling and exciting. But, to be perfectly frank, all those uniquely cut diamonds do make a girl just a tad self-conscious about her current lack of prospects. Not for marriage – just for men that she might be interested in.

This feeling is added to by comments from the peanut gallery, i.e. your family. Another example will be illustrative. The other day, I was talking with my father and sharing with him my excitement over a trip I am planning to Tanzania. The trip will include 11 days out on safari in 5-star camps and lodges, taking puddle-jumper planes in between camps, seeing lions, giraffes, elephants, and tons of other animals up close, and then a few days on the beach in Zanzibar. The trip is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and I’m so excited about it.

My Dad asked me who I was going with and I told him it was one of my girlfriends who is a few years old than me. My father responded, “Oh, she doesn’t have a boyfriend either?” I said, “Either?” I thought we were talking about my trip to Africa; I didn’t realize were talking about my relationship status. That conversation was a few days ago, but it keeps coming back to me. It reminded me of a conversation I had with him while I was planning my trip to India last year. He said something to the effect of: You say you want a relationship, but you’re not going to get it this way. Why don’t you wait to go on these big trips until you have a boyfriend? At that time, we got in to a huge fight. Now that I’m more mature a year later, I just let it wash off of me, for the most part.

I know I’m single. I get it. I don’t need comments implying that I’m doing something wrong just because I’m not neatly packaged away into a nugget of nuclear bliss. And let’s just remember that I was in fact dating someone until 2 1/2 months ago. It’s not like I sit up on a shelf twiddling my thumbs gathering dust bunnies around me. What is the point of criticizing me for doing something that I love (traveling)? If I was in a relationship and making the choice to travel on my own instead of nurturing the relationship – if I was really making a choice between (a) traveling and (b) relationship – then I could understand my father’s comments. It’s like he thinks I could make a worthwhile relationship materialize out of thin air at the snap of my fingers if I would just focus on it and stop flitting around the globe. Instead of using my coveted 4 weeks of vacation to do something fun and self-sustaining, I should apparently be directing all of my spare energy into hunting for men. Not.

The choice he imagines is not before me. I am not in a relationship. Going on a kick-ass trip to Africa is not going to limit my chances of getting into a relationship with someone eventually. Two weeks away from the New York dating scene is not going to destroy my relationship chances for life. Frankly, the way dating in New York can be sometimes, I might just have better luck bumping in to someone amazing outside of Manhattan.

The choice before me now is whether to (a) enjoy my life to the fullest or (b) feel sorry for myself. I like to enjoy my life, and I don’t really have any reason to feel sorry for myself, so for many reasons, I choose option “A.” All I can control is me, so I’m taking my single self to Africa. Because I want to, because I can, and because there’s no one around to stop me.

The thing that really pisses me off about this is that there’s no way my father (and probably most people) would have a similar view if I was a man. My brother Frey, who is one year younger than me, has a demanding job, just like me, and just like me spends his free time traveling. I don’t believe my father has once said to Frey that he should focus more on settling down and less on enjoying himself. It is a total double standard based on this image of women turning into old maids if they’re not married by the age of 30, and men becoming ever more sexy in their bachelorhood.

Well, fuck that. I passed my 30th birthday and my taxi did not turn into a pumpkin, and I don’t think it’s going to anytime soon, what with all the blessed cabs there are in Manhattan. Of course I could kiss a boy if I wanted to – most women could. But, I’m on a boy moratorium until I find something worthy of more than a roll in the shadows of a club. For now, I’m going to continue as I am: Yoga and meeting up with friends tonight, brunch, shopping, and going out tomorrow night, and Sunday to relax, run and enjoy the Park. It’s not a bad life. It’s actually quiet wonderful. It would be nice if the peanut gallery realized that.

Pinballing

There must be something in the air because there have been a number of ex-sightings of late, not to mention some ex-play. I saw Drummer again a couple of weeks ago, in between being sick. In fact, he may have just given me my latest bug – a bug which I’m proud to say I beat off sans antibiotics and am now stronger for it. I’m not getting sick again this season. Period. We went to Beauty Bar and Snatchers down in the East Village and had some beers – the first beers I had had in almost a year. Apparently, I’ve turned in to a bit of a wine drinker. There was something about drinking a chilled $5 Brooklyn Lager that was unbelievably satisfying, and fun.

Perhaps too fun, because we ended up having a little sleep over and some smooching ensued. It was nice and comfortable in a way that I guess only making out with an ex-boyfriend who was cool can be. There was no awkwardness or anxiety. It was just pleasant. I’m not sure though that I’ll repeat the experience because I think it’s true that if you’re directing your energy into the past, you’re necessarily not opening yourself up the future, or even to the now. On the other hand, enjoying someone from the past in the present – with no concerns about the past and no anxiety about the future – is very much living in the present, so that’ s OK. But, I think the whole “recycling” thing, even for an evening, can keep you stuck in the past, in a way that I don’t want to be. I’m melancholy, sensitive, and nostalgic enough as it is – I don’t need smooches with men of my past to mess with me.

And, if I’m honest with myself, though I did not want anything and still don’t, mess with me it did. Not in a major way, but just a little. It’s like a cove open to the Ocean that’s been cordoned off by a deep wall of rocks piled one atop the other all the way up to the surface. The power of the open water is held at bay, the pressure remains carefully balanced as water passes back and forth between the cove and the open water, splashing and trickling over and between the rocks of the wall. A storm happens out in the Ocean and the wall protects the cove. But, the cove is only protected as long as the rock wall remains intact. Take a way a few boulders and suddenly a rush of open sea floods the cove, bringing with it pretty shells, pebbles, a different ph-balance, and, on occassion, a few sharks. My indiscretion with Drummer did not let a shark in, but it toppled a few boulders out of place. The wall was easily rebuilt, but the temporary break was a reminder that some things are probably best left out in the open water on the other side of the wall.

The other sighting wasn’t really a sighting per se. I heard through the grapevine that my college ex-boyfriend is getting divorced. Totally unexpectedly, that news brought with it a small swirl of emotions. One of them was sadness. Sadness that we’re all bouncing around this life like pinballs, running into one another, spending a moment here, a moment there, finding moments we think are special, building on them, and then watching them splinter apart. Sounds a little bleak and depressive, right?

I think I’ve been feeling kind of melancholy, and sure enough, the Capricorn horoscope on Facebook – an eminently dependable source – said today: “Capricorn, you’re having a hard time shaking yourself out of your funky mood. Stay away from others so you don’t bring them down.” Thanks, Facebook. My little sister, Bean, echoed Facebook when she said to my Mother, upon hearing (a) that I had smooched Drummer and (b) that I was sick again: “Buttercup’s got to stop kissing boys.” I think there might be some truth to that. It might just be time for a Boy Moratorium.

Friends + Fun = Drinks

This week, I met up with my friend Pas from D.C. on one night, and my friend Bug from A2 (Ann Arbor for the non-Michiganders out there) on another. Pas was up in New York for work and Bug was back here visiting folks. I feel so lucky I got to see both of them. It’s one of the perks of living in New York: People come to you.

My current interest in detoxification (I have another class tonight on detoxification taught by the Chinese herbalist), did not stop me from imbibing a number of toxins. I was celebrating, my friends were in town, how often do I get to see them? You want to prolong the enjoyment of their company and the wine tastes good, so you have another. It’s not like I fell off the proverbial wagon. I had two glasses of wine on Tuesday and two glasses of wine + a beer last night. But still, that’s 5 drinks already this week. Assuming I have at least 2 drinks on Friday and Saturday, that could easily get me up to almost 10 drinks in one week purely on a social (not-partying) basis. The numbers – and the toxins – can really wrack up.

To counter the toxins, I sometimes alternate between drinks and a glass of club soda with lime. As long as you have a glass in your hand, no one notices (or cares) what’s in the glass, but your body notices because you feel a shade better in the morning than you would have had you not alternated. Last night, of course, I didn’t alternate. I had a glass of pinot, a syrah, and then a stella artois. I came home and guzzled a glass of water and 2 motrin, channeling my high school days. I also ate some granola to sop up the alcohol, although I’m not sure that was necessary or useful. I feel fine this morning except that my stomach feels like I have a wet clump of clay sitting in it, my mouth is a little dry, and I’m tired. It’s just no longer worth it to feel even a twinge of hung-over. It’s like a wet blanket dragging across the dirty ground on an otherwise perfectly lovely summer day. This must be because I’m in my 30s, or maybe it’s just the effects of having a more healthy lifestyle. It’s the whole Princess and the Pea effect.

In any event, I had a terrific time seeing both of my friends, and I wouldn’t trade a minute of it – or a drop of the toxins.

Cascade of Events

A cascade of unfortunate events, that’s how I would describe the last month and a half. It started with the Italian Man – after 3 relatively terrific months (and fantastic sex) – flaking out and me breaking things off with him. Great sex and getting wined and dined and driven all over New York were fun, but, in the end, they were not worth me sacrificing my self-respect (obviously), so I had to give him the figurative boot.

Even though it was ultimately my decision to end it, it was still a little disappointing because – up until the point where he showed a side of himself that I had not seen before – I had really started to like him. I guess that’s why we date though, to come to know people over time, and to learn more about what we want and need out of a partner, and what we want out of ourselves.

While that situation was playing itself out, I came down with MRSA, a staff infection resistant to normal antibiotics that is apparently raging through the gyms and public transportation systems of New York right at this very moment. (Watch out!). After a series of doctors, I finally found an infectious disease doctor who diagnosed me correctly and prescribed me with super sulphur-based antibiotics to combat the MRSA. Things seemed to be looking up. It turns out, however, that I’m allergic to sulphur-based antibiotics, and as a result, I had a rather extreme allergic reaction to the antibiotics which lasted for almost a week (because I had no idea I was feeling so gravely ill from the antibiotics – I thought it was the MRSA). By day 5 on the pills, I was so sick — from days of fever, chills, a constant headache, no appetite, and physical exhaustion — that I felt too weak to roll over in my bed to have a drink of water.

Thankfully, I had done some research on the web on allergic reactions to sulphur and by day 5 got suspicious enough so that I stopped taking the medicine. Within 24 18 hours of taking the last pill, I — almost immediately — started feeling remarkably better. It was kind of amazing how quickly I started to improve once the medicine started to clear out of my system. My infectious disease doctor, when I finally was able to reach him, confirmed that I was having an allergic reaction, applauded me for stopping the medicine, and prescribed new non-sulphur-based antibiotics.

I got better just in time to work like a dog (where does that expression come from? poor dogs) for a few days before leaving for a brief trip to Mexico, which was supposed to be a relaxing, rejuvenating mind-body-spirit vacation. The vacation itself did not live up to my expectations, but I think the real problem was that I had a number of huge deadlines scheduled for the week immediately following my vacation. Thus, I wasn’t really able to decompress fully while in Mexico. I found myself walking down the beach, after just checking my blackberry, trying hard not to think about work, but unable to clear my mind. I learned some valuable lessons, of course, such as the importance of not scheduling anything, if you can help it, for the week after your vacation. It almost totally defeats the purpose getting away, when you’re unable to mentally get away because of what’s looming on the horizon.

Since coming back from Mexico on the 4th, I’ve been working non-stop, around the clock. Although I had expected things to be busy, I had no idea just how intense work was going to be. Twelve days without a break is not fun, let me tell you. Walking through the office at midnight the other night, glancing out the window at the twinkling buildings, I was suddenly brought back to a year ago, at my old firm, when late nights were the norm. It was not a pleasant memory, and I most certainly do not want late nights to become a norm once again. It’s also hard feeling so disconnected; from friends, from myself. When I go through those phases, where it’s work and work alone 24/7, all of the other things that make up my life – the things that matter in my life – fade away into the background and lose them, temporarily. I lose touch with my life.

As you can tell by this post, now I have a bit of a break. I finished a huge project yesterday afternoon and went to therapy for the first time in weeks. I caught up with a few friends and family members over the phone, and am now catching up through writing this. I’m going to Swedish class tonight for the first time in weeks, and aim to go to they gym tomorrow night – again, for the first time in weeks (more like months). I’m crawling out of the cocoon, as it were, bit by bit. Cocoon is really not an accurate metaphor. Swirling sandstorm of chaos filled with asteroids and other dangerous objects would be a better one. Deep, dark pit also comes to mind.

In any event, where ever it is that I’ve been, I’ve started climbing out of it. Yay! Here’s to hoping the end of the week brings more sleep, friends, connections, and better health (for me, and all of you). Cheers.

Decluttering Obstacles

I’m hunkered down in my office, where I’ve been since returning from Mexico on Thursday, working on a deposition outline. It’s slow going. Compiling my potential exhibits and drafting my questions is like wading through molasses. I have to keep reminding myself that, come Wednesday, life will once again return to a state of relative calm. Relative being the operative word, because actually April is shaping up to be a rather busy work month. Rather too busy for my tastes, I must say.

Oddly, the major thing I wish I was doing right now, instead of sitting in my office, is working on my room. About a month ago, I was suddenly hit with the all-encompassing desire to finally, once and for all, organize my existence. I had made valiant efforts at cleaning up the clutter in the past – purging – but they had been short-lived and stunted in terms of the scope of my goals. It’s like, prior to a month or so ago, I couldn’t really see the clutter that was surrounding me. It didn’t bother me. I saw it as a positive personality trait: I was laid back, not anal, able to exist and focus in the midst of seeming chaos.

But, then a flip switched. I confess that I think it happened in part after I spent some time at the Italian Man’s place. His place was so perfectly ordered and quite beautiful. His bathroom was sparkling and spotless, his kitchen was bright and airy, his bedroom was minimalist (the bed was – not surprisingly – the height of comfort). All of his furniture was nice wood, not a scrape in sight, and his apartment was decorated with striking pieces of art. In short, his apartment was put together and adult. It also was inviting and had nice energy. When I went over there the first time, I couldn’t get over how nice it was, and I felt a little like a kid playing dress-up – pretending I was an adult in such an adult environment.

Then I started thinking of my place, and how, for the past two years, I had been living temporary states of limbo, first after I moved in to EXBF’s place and had to give up my gorgeous studio and put most of my things in storage, and then after I moved in to my current place under an illegal sublet situation. In the beginning of March, my living situation changed for the better. I got to stay in my place as a legal tenant and because of how everything worked out, the management company loves me. Always good to have the management company on your side. In short order, I had the management company fix my shower and take care of the mouse that had been plaguing my existence. And then, just in time for Spring Cleaning, I threw myself in to ripping out the old, spackling, and painting (as some of you saw in my partial before and after pictures).

Since that switch flipped, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. I’ve opted to forego drinks in favor of staying home and working on my IKEA wardrobe. Walking down the beach in Mexico, I felt a compulsion to be back home, getting my things in order. Last night, I dreamt about my furniture and how I’m going to organize my t-shirts and work shirts. And, now, today, while I should be focusing on this massive project I need to get done asap, I’m twitching in agitation, wishing I was back at home sorting my belongings into “keep,” “toss,” and “goodwill” piles. Twitching in agitation. I’m obsessed.

I have an obsession and work is keeping me from it. I feel like I’m chomping on a bit and can’t go anywhere. On a positive note, I have made a lot of progress, and when I’m all done, I believe I will have transformed not only my physical space, but also at least part of my mental space. I think that’s why I’m so obsessed. The curtains have parted and suddenly all I can see is how essential it is to make my environment mirror the calm I want in my mind. It’s kind of cool – and very uncharacteristic of me – be obsessed about this. I’m excited by it.

Now, if only I didn’t have to do this work… I have important things to do!

Inexplicable Something

I am dying today as a result of some crazy systemic bacterial infection that I appear to have picked up god knows where. It started on my hand, then my foot, and now the inside of my leg. Attractive, no?

It’s alarming and slightly scary because I don’t know what it is, but the most disturbing and incredibly irritating part of it is that it itches like nothing I have ever felt before. O. M. G. I have often thought that itchiness would be worse torture than pain – although that might just be because, thankfully, I seem to encounter itchiness more than intense pain. Be that as it may, I Can Not Stand Itchiness. It’s terrible. I woke up every few hours last night wanting to claw my foot off.

Because my primary care physician can not crack the case, I’m off to see an infectious disease doctor. Is this not crazy? My primary care physician asked me yesterday if I had “been anywhere exotic,” and the only place that came to mind was India almost a year ago. It’s funny that people always assume inexplicable things are picked up abroad – and in many cases they are – but what about the subway? What about the millions of people clutching the same metal poles that I clutch, breathing into the same tight spaces that I’m smashed into, wiping their noses and coughing and no one washing their hands or covering their mouths?

Obviously, I’ve started carrying purel everywhere I go. It hasn’t done anything for the thing I’ve got, but hopefully it will prevent me picking up anything else.

This is terrible! (I say, even though I know it could be worse, and – trust me universe – am very grateful that it’s not).