Hey You! What Song Are You Listening To?

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Confession: I have playlists I listen to while walking around that are made up exclusively of non-embarrassing songs, specifically because I saw this video in 2011 and I’m terrified that Ty Cullen will ask me what I’m listening to while I’m listening something awkward.

I also carry a flattering shade of red lipstick at all times, just in case I get stopped by HONY.

August 10th, 2015 | posted in bits |

Lately, late July

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I feel most like myself in the summer. Without worrying about where the cold will find its way under my clothes, I’m much more relaxed. Everyone else thinks its too hot, but I feel so peaceful in late July. We’ve been taking Leeloo to Prospect Park in the evenings to run around, and can see shooting stars and moving satellites pretty easily.

We are settling into our new apartment… I think. Kind of. Things are put away, but we are at such a crossroads in our lives that putting together a home for the future feels futile. What is the future? Are we meant to stay here in Brooklyn, in New York, or…? Even what we need now is less clear. My life has consistently moved in patterns of settled in and not. I’ve learned to take the settled parts with a grain of salt, like how in the summer of 2013 I was single and living in my amazing apartment that was finally, perfectly decorated and arranged for one, and then I met someone and fell in love, and he moved in with me in the late spring of 2014, meaning I was “settled” in that formation for about 10 months before things had to move around again.

Right now it’s what we need, but it’s messy because we haven’t figured out where everything goes, and we are living in the spaces between piles of things and curtains that have to be hung up.

We mailed off wedding invitations. I was delighted to realize I had to look up the proper addressing to both a Reverend and his wife, and to married lesbians sharing the same last name (Should you also need this information, it is “The Reverend and Mrs.” and “Mrs. and Mrs.” respectively, but the latter only if the women in question are comfortable with being Mrs., not Ms.)

I’m so excited to get married.

July 24th, 2015 | posted in blah blah blah |

In Which I Run a 5k

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I ran a 5k on Saturday. My problem is that I lived my teenage years in a house where “No!” was the operative word (usually “because Jesus wouldn’t like it” was the reason for not being allowed to do anything fun). Now that I’m an adult, I’m trying to say yes to everything, including things, like running, that I have no business doing. It was for a good cause, and I don’t have that thing inside of me that worries about failing or looking stupid (which is a blessing and a curse) so I said yes, and then did fuck all to train for it.

I’m human. Humans run. How hard can this be? It’s only five kilometers. Training? Like, I don’t have the time, man.

Right.

So I ran cold turkey. Ish. And then I slowed down, and then I walked, and then I tried to jog more and my body was like, “Can you not?”

Laura was the one who invited me to join her. She finished, and then found me back on the track and talked me into jogging for my big finish. Out of 430 participants, I came in 417. NOT LAST! I crossed the finish line and immediately burst into tears and kind of snotted on Laura a bit in the process. Sorry, Laura. It was your fault for believing in me.

We got metals, and afterward, we had brunch and wore them proudly all throughout. I spent the next few days unable to walk well, but it is so cool to say I (mostly) ran a 5k. I *might* do another one.

June 18th, 2015 | posted in blah blah blah | tagged

How Emily Margolin Helped Me Find a Home

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It has been my motto for years, and it’s been even more true feeling since becoming a business owner: I do business with people, not companies. When we were apartment hunting, I was worried about finding a New York City real estate agent that I trusted, that was thoughtful and smart, and that realized that I am looking for a HOME not just piece of real estate for my portfolio.

Enter Emily Margolin.

She is bright and happy which made her fun to work with, and she was honest about the properties we looked at even when that meant we were walking away from something that would have given her a good commission. I trusted her completely. New York City real estate feels shady quite often, but this was not the case here. When we finally found our apartment she was genuinely happy for us, and I completely adore her! We talked about how our businesses dealt with great big life moments, and how we both feel it is an honor to do the work we do. I’m basically throwing my hands in the air right now hollering, “This! Thiiiis!”

We went straight from the closing to a a bar for champagne, and I took this photo of her.

Thank you, Emily, for helping us find our wonderful little home in Brooklyn, and for your excellence.

The One Where I Bought a New House

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Marley and I bought an apartment. After seven months and nineteen days of open houses, insane bidding wars, weighing our options, compromising, staying up late in bed propped up on elbows figure how far into Brooklyn was too far and whether or not we needed to think “that hard” about good schools at this point; after getting so far as to having a home inspection on a gorgeous, three-story, so-cheap-it-hurt Queen Ann house that looked like a wedding cake in Newburgh, NY and then deciding after all of that that we just COULD NOT wrap our heads around leaving Brooklyn right now; after changing what we wanted since we only have one dog, and trying slowly to accept that we would probably have to leave our neighborhood… we found the perfect apartment in our neighborhood.

It’s not actually perfect. It’s incredibly small and there’s no backyard. But the windows are big, the ceilings are high, the layout is amazing, and it was in budget.

Then there were the delays. The co-op board changed who was in charge; the lawyers didn’t get it together. Four months after our offer was accepted, we closed.

Immediately, I got on a plane LIKE AN ASSHOLE. I had had this trip planned for ages and canceling was going to be flushing a LOT of money, so we signed papers, had champagne, went to sleep grinning at each other, and then I woke up and beelined to JFK.

Marley is at home now taking care of finishing up the packing and having the apartment painted while I am in Portland visiting a friend before the Canada Photo Convention in Vancouver. I’m swinging south to San Francisco, and then I’ll be home and we move in. And then the settling begins. And then wedding season begins. And we get married, too.

This is a big year.

p.s. Someone should go buy that house in Newburg. It’s really amazing.

April 18th, 2015 | posted in blah blah blah | tagged

Travel Snacks

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When I was little, I promised myself that I would occasionally let myself go to the toy store as an adult and just get anything I wanted. The obvious flaw in this plan is that I don’t care about toys now, but I modified it based on something my friend Elizabeth Clayton does: when I fly, I let myself buy whatever snacks I want. Price and calories don’t count at all, and it is super fun when you’re in Terminal 5 (this terminal is part of the reason I’m such a devoted JetBlue customer).

In reality, I never spend more than twenty dollars, which is a pretty great price for something completely thrilling. Even more so, because we generally don’t keep snacks in the house.

Above is what I got for my flight. (It was $30 because I got a sandwich.) It’s all vegan; I’m not even a vegetarian  but buying airport meat seems like such a fucking bad idea.

April 17th, 2015 | posted in blah blah blah | tagged

Shoes On, Shoes Off

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I’m totally shoes-off in my house. Especially in NYC, I think it is so disgusting to wear your shoes in the house, because if you can think of a fluid that the human body excretes, I’ve seen it on the subway (and sometimes I’ve seen it actually in the process of being expelled or excreted.)

Yes, even that one.

A few years ago my foot missed its mark as I was getting on to the subway, and fell down into the gap between the car and the platform. My remaining leg stuck out behind me while the top half of my body was on the train floor. My main concern was NOT that I was now in a position to have my leg severed off mid-thigh (even though I TOTALLY WAS), it was that I was facedown on the subway floor where all manner of gross resides, in layers, and some was really close to my mouth. It’s just too vile out there.

Is it over the top to request shoes be left outside? Some people have thought so, but it really makes me sick to my stomach to think about what you’re otherwise bringing in to my living room. The dog and her muddy paws are bad enough.

Are you a shoes OK or shoes off house? Does it annoy you to take your shoes off at a friends house? Are you a friend who is annoyed at me for having to take your shoes off?! (I don’t actually plan on letting you wear your germ-boots into my house, but I’m curious, and I’m sorry. I mean, not so sorry you can bring human shit onto my kitchen floor, but still sorry.)

April 1st, 2015 | posted in blah blah blah | tagged

Conversations on the Subway with Other Women, Which We Have Using Only Our Eyes

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“You ok…?”

“No. This guy is creeping me out. I think he is trying to touch me.”

“I’ll come over.”

“Thank you.”

March 25th, 2015 | posted in bits,only in new york | tagged

Tim Gunn and I Marvel at Our Place in the World

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On Sunday, Marley and I drove upstate and then came home in the same day, just as the sun was setting and hitting the skyline of Manhattan in rose-gold light. The deep velvet blue sky was in the back, and I got washed over with joy. Marley was driving; I poked him to look quickly while wiping tears off of my chin.

I live here. This city is my home.

Holy shit.

Back at my apartment I read my favorite parts of the Times. Tim Gunn – one of the people I aspire to be like as I grow older; I haven’t met him, but the kindness he exudes is so obviously genuine anyway –  talked about his Sunday rituals which involve a trip to the Met. He’s been a member since 1985. (In 1985 he was my age.)

This quote from him stood out:

I’m particularly struck by it on Sundays: How lucky am I to live here, how lucky am I to be in this fantastic city filled with riches, how lucky am I to have this surreal life? I’m just blessed, and I’m very cognizant of it.

Me too, Mr. Gunn.

A Trilogy of Elevens or The Best Thing I’ve Learned in 33 Years of Living

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There are Amber Hope Marlow people and not Amber Hope Marlow people, and I’ve learned to accept this. Business has taught me this, mostly, but it translates to real life, too. I don’t care about what the non-AHM people think of me, but I press the advice, support and wisdom of the Me-People into myself and try to support them in return. It’s made for a pretty good life thus far.

The Amber Hope Marlow people also get invited to have cake on my birthday.

High Dive in Brooklyn, 6pm.

March 13th, 2015 | posted in bits | tagged