Is it a girlcott for me?

Rachel was the first one to inform me of the anti-gay scandal of misappropriated Target funds and the subsequent boycott. I'm not exactly sure how it flew under the radar for me, as I generally pride myself on being pretty well informed. In a strange way, my reaction to this news was visceral. A store that I love, that I respect, has, in essence, betrayed me.

I actually have a deep love for Target. It has, for a very long time, been one of my favorite stores. Not just for their low prices and quality. Target has often been a safe-haven of shopping for me. Over the last several years, when I was feeling especially down, I often found myself there for the bright lights, human contact and discounted make-up. I always spend an inordinate amount of money there, but I am rarely remorseful. From what I knew, Target treated their employees well and still managed to remain very competitively priced. And sometimes you just don't want to spend $9 on hand soap. Target always had a fairly nice representation of eco-friendly products, and that was just more for me to love.

Once before, I had a similar reaction to a brand I enjoyed utilizing their resources to "invest" in something I disapproved of -- Snapple. I used to drink Snapple Apple like it was my job. And not just any job, but a job that I enjoyed. Then, a few years ago, my then-boyfriend's mother told me that the upper management at the company supported the anti-abortionist movement. And I was done. I had one last ceremonial Snapple Apple, and said goodbye.

I fully believe in individuals supporting - with their time or funds - a cause that they find worthwhile. I accept that sometimes those are not the same causes that I find worthwhile. Not everyone is an Earth-hugging, bleeding heart lefty. I mean, sometimes I don't know why they're not, but they aren't. But in the cases of Snapple and Target, at least for me, I cannot support those efforts when they so strongly disagree with my own opinions. I am in love with and live with someone of the same sex. I support gay marriage, even if I'm not actively pursuing it for myself. But I also support all marriage. I've never had an abortion, but I strongly believe in a woman's right to choose. If I had a car, I would also not purchase gas from BP. It's my choice to do so, just as its the company's choice to support platforms that I find appalling.

I feel hurt by the decision of Target's masterminds to contribute to a campaign that is so outwardly anti-gay. I wish I could overlook it, especially since I do love the store, but I can't.

I'll be accepting suggestions on new places to shop for hand soap that costs less than $9.

Older is so much better

Ive mentioned to a few friends lately that I am anxious to turn 29 in a few months. I've often gotten a puzzled look. Yes, 29, not 30. I am so ready for 30. Bring 30 on with a big ol' party and lots of cake and champagne. Twenty-nine, less so.

The anxiety that I feel about 29 is a lot like the anxiety I felt at 17 and 20. Something big is coming, but you still have a whole year to wait out. I'd rather just be there already. Perhaps, in some way, because most of my friends have already hit it and I'm one of the younger ones. I'm envious. I don't like lagging behind. Why didn't my parents just have sex just a year earlier? I mean, really, they clearly weren't thinking about me then. How their only child would one day feel ready to turn the big 3-0 but still have a year and four months to go. Rude.

Overheard in NY

Overheard today at Starbucks: "So I just don't wanna talk about any of this money financial shit today, okay?"

Random Dude, I hear ya.

Oh, the places you'll go!

I've been freelancing/writing full-time (er, unemployed?) for about six weeks now, and I've more traveling since than I think I ever have. No place to be at 9am?! I can go to IKEA! Or get a delicious bagel across the street! See the sights! Like, you know, Court Street! Jog along the promenade! Look at me, I work from home!

Much to my mother's delight, I also went "home" to Pennsylvania for a week and a half. The last time I was home for that long? My junior year of college. Really. It felt a little strange to plan the trip, knowing that only a few weeks before I thought I would be moving back there for good. I looked for jobs and apartments and contemplated which local bank I would use, and how far I could feasible be from a Sheetz. But my life is a little wackadoo sometimes and that didn't happen the way I thought it would. Because, ya know, I was going to be a real WRITER and make it here in New York, finally.

Ahem.

Hershey and the surrounding area is never the same as I left them. When my hometown got its own Dairy Queen, I was like, WHOA. This time I came back and heard about a WEGMANS. I was concerned... that I'd died and gone to HEAVEN! I didn't get to visit the Wegmans, but it was reassuring to know that it was there.

Next week I will venture even further and travel to Florida via one of those airplane things I've heard so much about. I hear it's sunny there. And there's more air conditioning! Weeee!

Life in the time of air conditioning

My "new life," as I like to call it, improved significantly when we had a professional install our industrial-sized air conditioner last Friday. It's 15,000 BTUs of goodness. And I didn't even have to fake a pregnancy to get it. One of the nights last week when it was 976 degrees at 10pm, Rachel and I were talking about how our grandparents didn't have air conditioners and they just toughed it out. They sweat and were miserable bitches to one another. That's the way things were. My grandparents were better people than me, obviously, because I was freaking hot.

This week has been nothing but humidity-free bliss when indoors. I occasionally venture outside, though. To do silly things like run. I took up running. Yes, me. "My middle name is 'exercise is stupid.'" Yep.

I run on the promenade, two blocks from the new apartment. It's pretty. I see the Brooklyn Bridge. I try desperately not to compare myself to the scads of late upper middle class thirty-something mothers running with their strollers. They have hot bods, and my goal to look like Kim Kardashian seems eons away. Each morning that I run, there's a contingency of elderly Asian women walking and stretching alongside me. I do my best to keep up with them. It's challenging enough for now.

Then I come inside to the air conditioning, collapse on the floor in front of it, and all is right with the world again.

Soundtrack Edition (5, 6)

One of my all-time favorites... Morrissey, you are my idol.

(Track 5) The Smiths, "This Charming Man"




And this, too, because it was just freaking ridic!

(Track 6) Alex Wong and Twitch Hip Hop, So You Think You Can Dance

Familiar

Recently in therapy I recognized a pattern in my behavior - - every three or four years, I basically uproot my life and start again. Chaos ensues. Three years after college ended, I left my boyfriend, moved out of our apartment and quit my job. Then I started dating women. ANOTHER three years later (also known as last month), I quit my job, decided to freelance and "make a go of it" as a writer. Of note, also, I moved again (with little" although some, of the same drama and gravitas of the last time).

It’s no wonder to me that I prefer the smaller aspects of my life to remain familiar and comfortable. Although I attempt to keep up with current music and TV, etc. my favorite band will likely always be The New Pornographers and favorite series to be Buffy. Other things come and go, but I have a few constants. Addiction to coffee. Gap jeans. A slight Dutch accent when I say "radiator."

Today I spent the day in Philadelphia with one of my closest friends from college. We've kept in touch over the six years since we sat together at Newhouse graduation, but have yet to end up back in the same city.

We planned my visit the last time he was in New York - a fun cheesesteak-filled date in the city of Brotherly Love. Today we connected as well, if not better than we had in college. We ate, drank and laughed about the acronym for his family's restaurant being HOBAG. We talked about careers and marriage and families because that’s what old friends so when they're rapidly approaching 30.

He wooed me with Philly's best coffee and cupcakes. He knows me. I know him. I realized this August we will have been friends for ten years. I love sharing that longevity and familiarity with someone. If I’m not knocked up by 35, he's my guy.

Making up is hard to do

My brother and I got into kind of a big fight. We didn't speak for a week. A week. That's the longest my brother and I have ever gone without speaking. We're freakishly close.

It all started because I had a tad bit of an overreaction. For several weeks now, I've been planning a trip back home for a week - my longest in quite some time. Last week, my brother informed me that while I would be in town - the entire time I would be in town - he'd be helping a coworker's daughter's best friend's sister (or something) move across the country to California. He'd be gone nine days, and I'd be home for five. No overlap.

More than angry, I was disappointed, although I didn't express it that way. So, he got huffy, I got huffy. Some Yeiser blood a-raging. Then, THEN! my brother came to town for one night for a Yankees-Phillies game last week. The game was a gift to him from his best friend (a Yankees fan who grew up just an hour from Philadelphia... traitor), so I only expected to see the boys for dinner and then they'd be off to the game drinking illegal brewskis and yelling at pitchers. Except we didn't get a chance to have dinner. I saw them for no more than ten minutes. Again, disappointing.

My brother called after the game to ask me to meet up with them before their bus. I was already in bed, reading. There was a misunderstanding - a gigantic one - and a continuation of the previous knock-down drag-out brawl ensued via text that night and the following morning.

Then we didn't speak. For a week.

After the full week had gone by, I text-raised the white flag, "so, can we be done with this whole not talking thing?" He said okay, and then we were.

Fighting with my brother is especially difficult for me because I am extremely protective over the kid. And by the kid, I mean the almost 21-year-old who could totally kick my ass in a minute flat. But he's my little brother. I used to watch Barney and Power Rangers with him, so I deserve some cred for being a superior sis.

At least we're good now.