Starry Eyed Girl

I am overly fatigued. Not the type of fatigue from a hard days work, the mental type of fatigue.

I made it here to the great state of California one year, four months, and two days ago. I have learned a lot about myself in this time, some amazes me and some completely frightens me. If I had ever been informed by someone that I would have voyaged across the states via Amtrak and survived all this time with a bicycle as my only form of transport, I would have laughed in their face.

I'll admit, I spoiled myself in my Cleveland days (probably too much). I had a great job, an adorable apartment in the Tremont neighborhood, a new car every three years, good friends, and a closet to make practically any female jealous. My life in the golden state is much different. I am struggling to find a job, my apartment is nothing special, I commute via bicycle or foot, friends are few, and I am slowly purging goods from my beloved closet (cute dresses on a road bike don't mesh well).

At the start of 2009, I thought I'd take the time to recharge and reanalyze my situation. I made goals and developed hopeful plans for the new year. Here I am in October, nine months and six days later, evaluating my progress. To say the least, I am more frustrated then satisfied with myself. There have been great opportunities and experiences that I have been granted due to my abundant free time, but there also have been substantial setbacks as well. Those opportunities all seem a bit void by the obstacles that have overshadowed them.

I've had my time to get settled into my new surroundings, make lifestyle adjustments, and meet friends. Unfortunately, I have not done a great job at any of the three. This year, 2009, has been petrifying. I have become afraid to jump and take risks as I have suffered too many bruises. I wonder what happened to that brave girl who was willing to take such a giant leap from from the uppermost part of Ohio to magnificent Northern California.

I've crashed hard and have had a terrible time recovering. I have lost my confidence, my grace, and the ability to take life's risks. I have nothing to show for my nine months and six days of freedom and it is more evident then ever. Every time I get some momentum, it reaches a quick high point and the pendulum swings back down hitting me even harder then the time before.

In the meantime, my relationships with friends near and far have suffered. It is in part due to my situation and my lack of faith. I won't get into specifics, but I am not happy with who I have become lately and I regret how some things have manifested. It is a huge disappointment to me, as some of these people were very close to me. They held my hand through this journey and I hope each one of them knows that I dearly value them.

Things have changed, my life has no similarities to the past. My ideals and structure are unfamiliar and distracting to me. I am a fish out of water and I become more irritated day by day. I had such high hopes and a clear vision of what I wanted from my new life here in the bay area. To go from the spoiled girl from Cleveland to the struggling bay area washout has knocked the stars from my eyes. This is supposed to be my dream come true, but I am allowing it to fall down all around me.

As I get older, a few things have become clear to me. First, expect the unexpected. Second, learn to be okay with the unexpected, and last, learn to stand up for myself when it is necessary. The last one gets me sometimes as I need to make sure the battles I choose are necessary. There is always going to be some disappointment in life, sometimes you just have to let it go.

So, here I am, trying to let the disappointment go and trying to get myself back into the water (even if only starting my getting my feet wet). I am in search of the girl I once knew. The girl who battled fear and embraced challenge, the girl that had eyes full of stars.

Year three.

There are dramatic events that happen to each and every one of us in our lifetimes that are so devastating that we will remember every detail. Some of these events impact all of our lives, they are so colossal they are talked about and even noted in history books. I for one, remember every detail of where I was and who I was with when I heard the details about 9/11. My eighty-something year old grandmother vividly can recite the details of her day on December 7, 1941 (Pearl Harbor). No matter how miniscule: the time on the clock, what you were wearing, who you were surrounded by or what you were doing - you remember.

This week three years ago, January 1st to be exact, marked the death of my eldest brother, Brian. I should have been at a party that night with my then boyfriend, but I opted to stay home. I curled up on the couch with a slice of leftover falafel pizza from Edison's and watched my newly purchased Six Feet Under box set.

It was 9:14 pm on New Year's Day and I had just finished watching watching Six Feet Under, episode four of season three to be exact, when the my mobile phone began to ring. I looked at the display and it was a call from my parents house. Normally, I don't answer. I let the calls go to voice mail and after listening to the message decide if I have the motivation to have an uncomfortable and usually pointless conversation with my mother. For some reason I answered. It was not my mother on the other end, but my aunt, who I have and equally bad relationship with. My aunt was at my parents house visiting for the holidays and was to drive back to the Pittsburgh area the next morning. The details of the call were going to extend her trip to the Cleveland suburbs.

Aunt Glor's voice was trembling as she told me that my parents needed me at their house as soon as possible. My first response was "Why? What happened?" I assumed it was my parents. Maybe they were announcing the divorce I had wished they would get since I was in the fifth grade. Her voice, still trembling stated that I drive safely and get there soon. This was an odd call. I never talked to my aunt and the calls with my parents were few and very far between. I asked if something happened to my mom or dad and her response was no.

I continued the questioning. My sister? My niece? They were the next guess since Sandee's boyfriend and Jordyn's father is a known drug and alcohol abuser. There are other factors here that prompted my concern. Those details are another blog in itself. My answers were no to both.

"Who? What? Mimi?" Mimi, my 82 year old grandmother was my next concern. Again, "no."

My mother's voice was now on the other end of the phone. I was in extreme concern at this point. I again went back to questioning about my niece and sister. This time I got an answer, short and to the point, "Brian's gone."

I left out a sharp yelp as the phone fell out of my hands and I fell to the floor. I called the then boyfriend as I grabbed my pink and white striped duffel bag out of the closet. As I stuffed the bag I left what I thought was an understandable message on his voice mail.

Within five minutes my bare feet were cold as I ran on the wet cold brick with the duffel bag thrown over my shoulder and my black pointy toe Charles David shoes in my shaking hands. I rang my landlord's doorbell and stood there quivering as Katy answered the door. I could barely speak. She held me as my shoes fell to the floor and I managed to ask for a ride to to west side suburbia. Her husband, Jim put his coat and shoes on. I got into his Volkswagen Rabbit and he held my hand in comfort as we drove on the wet highway streets of 71 and 480.

I was the last to arrive at my parents home. They all sat in the family room with their heads low as I entered the room. "How?" is all I said and wanted to know at this point. I thought it would be a result of drunk driving as my father and both brothers seem to have problems maintaing alcohol levels and getting behind the wheel. I was wrong. At this point all we knew was he was found on the garage floor and it appeared that his motorcycle had been running.

My brothers friends stared arriving to the house around midnight. Calls started coming in from other friends who wanted to hear that it wasn't reality. My niece Jordyn arrived and it was time to tell her the news about Uncle Brian. I didn't sleep that night.

In fact I didn't sleep that entire week. The calling hours at the funeral home were from 9 am to 9 pm with only an hour break. The long showing hours were my mother's doing. She wanted everyone to have a chance to say goodbye to her son, the one who was almost a doctor.

The funeral home events are still vivid. It became reality when I saw my 34 year old brother in a casket. There were so many people. People I hadn't seen in years, people I had forgotten about and people I never knew.

The mass at church was packed. People were crammed in to get a seat in one of the pews. The church estimated there were over 300 people in attendance that day. My sister read the eulogy she had written and at the end announced the golf outing she and my mother wanted to host in honor of my brother's memory on June 5th that upcoming summer.

I was speechless. The events in themselves were more than enough for anyone to deal with let alone hearing in front of 300 people that my birthday was now going to be a day of remembrance for my brothers suicide. At that moment I knew what I meant to my family. Didn't I at least deserve a thirty second conversation notifying me of this information before it was announced to all?

All I wanted was an apology, and three years later, I have still yet to receive it from my mother or sister.

My family was already in shambles before my brothers death and things are just as bad, if not worse now. It doesn't bother me, it has been this way my entire life. I know no different.

What I do know is that I have surrounded myself with what I consider family. I am fortunate to have good people around me. People who care and want to be a part of my life. It is those people who make life worth living.

MIA

Okay, I've been MIA and apologize for the lack of updates. No excuses as I haven't worked since the surgery took place in mid-September. Yes, for those of you who did not know... I had wrist surgery to finally fix the damage from my cycling accident in May of 2007.

I had a fracture extending transversely across the waist of my scaphoid. There was also an extensive subcortical cyst along the margins of the fracture and the distal segment is fragmented.

What in means... I broke my scaphiod bone in two pieces. I had to have a bone graft from my hip in order to repair my wrist as well as a bicortical screw placed across the fracture. Not fun! The surgery was outpatient and I was given enough pain medication to last a lifetime.

Post surgery pics:





At this point, I was still in an empty apartment and sleeping on an air mattress. The day after surgery, the new mattresses arrived. My deluxe pillow-top Serta was an upgrade from the air mattress and was just in time as the drugs from surgery the day before were wearing off.

I had a follow up appointment a week later and cast #2 was applied.



A few days later the moving truck finally arrived with everything from Cleveland! I had not seen any of my belongings with the exception of my clothes, shoes and bike since the end of May (4 months). It was like Christmas as I tried to tear through the boxes to the best of my ability with one arm. Thankfully, the moving expenses included any assembly that was needed and the guys helped me place my furniture as well. I had all boxes emptied by night fall and the next week was filled with organizing everything. That whole no work thing was great for getting all this accomplished.

The lean mean one armed unpacking machine...


The day after everything arrived it was time to get cast #3. I opted for green and was excited as my waterproof cast would still allow me to utilize the pool at the new apartment.



I am slowly adjusting to this one armed lifestyle the hip seems to be healing from the bone graft. There are some setbacks as eating and writing via the left hand is difficult... I slop food on myself and write like a third grader. Blow drying my hair is another very difficult task. More then anything, not being able to hop on my Bianchi and zip around is the worst. I am house bound and only commute via foot if not being chauffeured around by one of my newly acquainted friends.

I promise more updates more frequently in the near future.

Creme de Mint.

Officially, the color is Celeste, but call it what you want... mint chocolate chip, Tiffany & Co. blue, creme de mint. I've heard them all. The coordinating Celeste Bianchi helmet to my Giro finally arrived from Australia about two weeks ago. I am trying to prove the theory that "although not fashionable, helmets are functionable" theory wrong.

Thank you Portland!

Our last day in Portland was to quench our own sense of adventure. Vanessa and I hit the Max by 9am... she was off to scout bakeries and I had opted to persue cycling through Portland. I hopped train at Skidmore Fountain to explore a bit of the Saturday Market (on Sunday). They had just finished set up. A brief stroll through the market place and under the bridge and I was ready for my rental bike.


I hoofed to Waterfront Bicycles to get my Portland cycling fix started. I ended up with a Redline 760 road bike (which my Bianchi puts to shame). My adventure started by cycling to the waterfront where I paused to witness a dragon boat race that was in progress (and made me realize I miss rowing). I ventured over the Hawthorne Bridge in an attempt to visit Clever Cycles to set my eyes on the Velorbis that my heart is throbbing to someday own. It's too bad my wallet doesn't like the looks of the British cycle I could lavishly ride while wearing skirts and going to the market (I've done the skirt and market thing on the Bianchi, but it isn't so lavish). As I peddled to the shop it was closed to my dismay, they had taken the week off to head to Europe.

I decided to make the most of my rental and did a tour de Portland bridges. I crossed the Morrison, Burnside and Steel Bridges before heading back to the Pearl District to grab a coffee and croissant for a late breakfast. It was at this point I realized I was not given the correct key for the bicycle lock I was provided. This forced me to limited stops and more peddling. I returned the rental and received a discount in lue of their error. After the five hour bike tour I was headed back to Skismore Fountain and the Max to catch up with Vanessa.

Vanessa was in the Alberta neighborhood which was a train ride and an almost a two mile walk away. She had scoped out most of the cute neighborhood with store front boutiques and eateries already. She dragged me into shops until we finally hit another bakery on her list, Pix. The place was magical... coffee, cocktails and pastries in an eclectic setting. Vanessa and I grabbed a cocktail and dessert to go as we were to have a farewell dinner with Jesa at Papa Hayden's within the half hour.


We called a yellow and arrived at the restaurant promptly at five o'clock to meet Jesa and her mother. They drowned themselves in a huge slice of cake for dinner while Vanessa and I shared fondu and creme brulee. We said our good-byes and and made plans for a long walk to the Hawthorne District. On the way we passed the Aladdin, where apparently people from Portland still wait in line to see Hanson perform?!



We were tired of walking and stopped at Cafe Castagna where we sat at the bar, split a big Chimay and met our unofficial Portland tour guide, Melodie. From here, it became the day that would not end. Melodie was determined to make our last night in Portland one to remember... at that it certainly was! Before we were chauffeured to the next Hawthore District joint, Melodie and I had a street side hula hooping session.


From here we hit Crush where we had more cocktails and met some Portland locals. We eventually made our way back downtown and said farewell to our new Portland friend. It wouldn't be long until we were united again... while at XV I realized I had forgotten my iPhone in Melodie's car. She generously drove back in her slippers to return my beloved to me!



Vanessa and I were back on mission Portland. We hopped over to Dirty, here I learned I could swing above a bar. Bicycles, hula hoops and swings... all in one night. Have I mentioned yet how much fun we had in Portland? We hit the Ash St. Saloon before finally hopping a yellow to head back to Jesa's apartment. By the time we arrived back, there was no time for sleep, we were to be at the airport within the hour! We gathered our things and sat on the porch eating colorful macaroons from Pix for breakfast until it was time to depart.


We were both tired. Vanessa had the advantage of a long flight back to DC to catch up on sleep. My flight departed later. I curled up on the airport seat and napped until it was time to board, I slept the entire way home. It took me almost a week to recover from that last night in Portland, but it was a night I will never forget!


To view all the Portland photos, please click here.

Seattle Road Trip

While in the Pacific Northwest we planned three hour trek for a day of fun and excitement in Seattle. I slept during most of the ride there only awakening for a bubble tea milkshake just outside our destination. The girls nibbled on food while I sucked down the brain freezing liquid and had too much fun with the security camera in the small eatery.


I was far too exhausted during the Seattle day trip, but I made the most of the excursion. I started by jetting up the Space Needle. Vanessa and Jesa opted out, but I wanted the birds eye view of the Emerald City. Our next stop was lunch at an Ethiopian restaurant just outside of Pike's Place. I devoured curried corn and rice along with a Harar beer while we people watched and took in a bit of the Seattle atmosphere. Heading to the market was the next adventure we had planned for the day.


The Pike Place Market was bustling with people, locals and tourists, like sardines in streets lined with stalls and shops of produce galore. We walked down the packed streets taking it all in, it was unfortunate we were just there on a day trip as we weren't really able to buy and partake in the market festivities.


We eventually found ourselves at the storefront of the very first Starbuck's location. We of course ventured into the overly touristed coffee joint for a mid day pick me up. I have to give it to these baristas, the joint was packed and my order arrived quicker then in most slow and tame locations. We exited the shop coffee in hand and found a grassy noll overlooking the Pacific and Mt. Rainier.


A stop back to the car to unload was needed before heading to Belltown to visit Vanessa's long time friend at Cafe Zoe, where he is the Chef de Cuisine. The original plan was a cocktail at the bar, exchanging greetings and off to Capital Hill. This plan was immediately neglected when plate after plate paraded toward us as we sat at the bar sipping our martinis. We were indulged with charred spicy octopus in a blood-orange vinaigrette, big eye tuna sashimi with pickled ramps, seared foie gras with rhubarb compote and toasted brioche, among other small plates to share. We opted to order a cheese plate, dessert and a French 75 to finish the meal. An end to the perfect sampling was that our entire bill had been taken care of. Check or no check... I would definitely hit Cafe Zoe again. We were so stuffed that Capital Hill was just a pass through before our tired feet headed back to the car and back to Portland for one more day.

To view the Seattle photos, click here.

Portland D2

Day two of the Portland excursion was just Vanessa and myself. We headed out early to catch the Max downtown. There was no real agenda for the day other than hoofing it through the city. We exited the Max at Lloyd Center and galavanted through the Rose Quarter, over a steel bridge and into Chinatown. We popped into one of the many restaurants in the district and fueled up on dim sum. Whilst exploring we met Daniel who informed of us of the Music Fest NW. The venue was great... and was in day 3 of 4 already.

Exploring continued again in the Pearl District where we popped into the local Apple Store to view what was left of MFNF. Vampire Weekend had already sold out... but early afternoon still provided us with time to nab our tickets for Fleet Foxes and TVOTR. We printed our will call voucher via the Genius Bar and headed to Nob Hill.

The next stop was a Portland brewery, Deschutes for a mid afternoon treat. I opted for a Black Butte, an elixir with chocolate cocoa nibs and dry-hopped with locally roasted coffee. I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone... a coffee and beer buzz all at once. I later discovered this brew was 11% alcohol by volume. I couldn't have been more buzzed if I sniffed a bee's ass.




The voyage to Nob Hill via foot was long and treacherous. We were to visit a bakery Vanessa had wanted to scope out... none the less we arrived and it was closed. We explored the neighborhood a bit and indulged in sushi and (my favorite) hitachino beer. The Black Butte had worn off by this point, it was time to refuel. We wolfed down our fishies and headed back for the show.

We arrived to the Roseland Theatre early for what was now a sold out 'TV on the Radio' show. The Portland venue was one you love to hate. You may have to go through metal detectors and a pat-down to get to your stage but the show made it worth it.... and for a log day. We finally left the venue and headed for transport via the Max after 2am. Another long but rewarding day in Portland!