Chow Bella.

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. –Annie Dillard

Fishmongers! A seaside style fish house in downtown Durham. I can't forget that fried goodness and the cajun tuna. Often, I find things that are "My favorite this" and "My favorite that". Oddly, my time is New York didn't yield too many favorite restaurants. I rarely had time for a normal dinner... It was a take-out lifestyle. By the time I go back, I'll have compiled a list of Foodie Must Haves.


Spending the weekend in Wise, North Carolina. If country folk say they're going to the country, this is it.

Love chub.

The goal is to not gain 40 lbs of relationship weight. It happens... it's almost expected. You're in love, you're comfortable, you eat, you relax. Coming from New York, where I walked a couple miles daily, just out of necessity, I'm even more susceptible to a huge gain.

KJ keeps me active. Sort of. He's super athletic but it doesn't rub off on me. I've debated joining a gym for a while. I really loathe memberships though. (Sidenote: Jessica Hishe's gym concept is brilliant). I went for a run 2 mornings ago. It was scenic, but I doubt the routine will stick. We're a "sporty" couple. weekdays at the pool, bowling on Saturday, horse races on Sunday. If only that burned 1000 calories/day.

I'm So Julia.

Me. And Julia Roberts. Going out on a limb for about a paragraph. As if this whole Raleigh situation isn't already a limb in the midst of hurricane season. (Wow, how quickly I digress.) My life, recently, draws such close parallels to the roles Julia Roberts has played. In no logical order at all:

• StepMom - all of it, literally.
• Charlie Wilson's War - ruthlessly steering negotiations that lead to wins (amongst a few losses).
• Pretty Woman - days with our loved ones, being taught how to select silverware from my place setting, as if I've never... eaten. Or, my resume being questioned, and my breeding, and my social security number 5 times backwards.
• Eat Pray Love - if the movie turns out to be anything like the book, it's dead on. Hiatus from corporate culture, on a mission to experience everything else. Everything. Seeing things for the 1st time.
  
• Mona Lisa Smile - ignoring doubts from friends, because really, I'm the one who has to live this life.
• Mystic Pizza - wishing now that I'd seen it...
  

That's just how I feel today. Tomorrow... I could be Queen Latifah.

Town and Country.

I need to face facts. I've always had the self imposed deadline: Job in Carolina by August. Well, Princess, it's mid-July and time to crack the whip. Mandatory Keena Time is on the agenda, because I've had less time for myself than I thought.

To kick off Keena Time, I'm reading The Two Mrs. Grenvilles (for daily dialogue beyond "Baby, I love you"), working on my freelance site, and researching opportunities. Watching more TV will be a good addition too. KJ's channels are arranged in the most complicated order, the opposite of user friendly, and the cause of frustrated tantrums. Hence, my references to pop culture are fewer these days. Ah, everything!

The distractions are abundant. The flea markets here give me the same "warm tinglies" that I feel when walking down Mott Street in New York. Gorgeous goods all around. So far, I've added some hot 2nd hand treasures to our home. Actually, the goal is to completely redecorate, unleashing this interior design spirit that was cooped up in tiny city apartments for way too long.

Gram and Bananagrams.

KJ's mom (who "popped in" for 3 days, bearing old family recipes and 64127537020 more reasons to love this family) introduced me to Bananagrams. Renewed love of long, obscure words. I played after a few glasses of wine. I wonder if its as fun when sober.

Bananas remind me of Pierre Hardy yellow and the Lanvin's Spring 10 show in Tokyo. I've been meaning to read an article on Alber Elbaz, in an old Vanity Fair of mine.

Land of the free, home of the brave.

I've spent a lot of time on the back porch, topless, with a magazine. It's secluded and relaxing.

Yesterday I discovered that we also have a front porch and it's pretty big. It wraps around the side of the house! To my defense, I've never entered our house through the front door. We also have a swinging bench on this porch and a flag pole where a huge American flag waves. I've been so oblivious. The details of co-habitation are becoming more apparent now that I have the big ideas down... examples:

• We run the dishwasher everyday.
• KJ likes to limit the bathroom toiletries on the countertop. That's a line that I fully intend to cross; women cultivate beautiful products and like to be surrounded by them. A tiny blue bottle of Anti-aging algae from Africa shouldn't be hidden under a sink.
• Mailmen here aren't required to wear uniforms when its 95+ degrees... and they're not rapists.
• There are 4 remote controls for the entertainment center and they don't live in 1 central location.
• I refuse to mix my laundry with his.
• KJ throws shoes (literally throws them) to move them or make space, even after I've explained that mine are delicate.
• We should try to go to bed at the same time, our relationship is far too new to start staggering bedtimes.
  
• The cleaning lady has been taking advantage of him.

Porches/rooftops/terraces are a luxury in the New York... the ultimate amenity. A costly feature reserved for a tiny percentage of city dwellers. Now... I have a front porch, a screened in back porch and a patio. Choices! Love.

That age-old decision, style or substance?

I'm having a hard time managing the gap between my new life and fashion, as the gap grows wider and I feel distant. Unpacking and organizing could be causing it. When I walk into my closet, I see items that I may never need again. That coupled with the fact that I used to see and touch some really beautiful things.

I should add, most of the restrictions I feel are self imposed. There's nothing wrong with a few sequins, some sheer, and a raccoon eye... I'm not looking to become a nanny.

Vanities.

I caught up on some blogs today... one naive "fashionista" writes: I don't chase men, I chase dreams.

Oh please. What happens when the two are one in the same?! And your needs and your wants collide? Let me know what you get here, little one.


That aside... On reading: Working in advertising, I had most magazines at my disposal. Vanity Fair would show up monthly, and while the cover was intriguing, I could never crack it. The voice was too sophisticated maybe. Now, I'm determined to read this freaking magazine, cover to cover... every issue. It's the kind of info and commentary that I want to have... handy. I saved the January 2010 issue, with Streep on the cover. I like her wisdom. And KJ got me the new August issue... I will get through these. (Here's hoping writing it will add some healthy pressure.) I love that I have time to read, and stretch, and rearrange furniture. More on the furniture soon.

Baby's and the deep end.

This neighborhood could be the headquarters for the League of Extraordinary Moms. If you're not a mom, what are you? Just a girl trying to mold herself an identity and crafting her next big move? Nope, you're just in the way, by Carolina standards.

I actually had to lie to 2 little girls at the pool, to avoid a messy situation. They were identical twins, maybe 4 years old, sassy in their matching purple bikinis. (At least for their sake I hope they were twins, with matching everything, I can taste the bitter resentment as it brews.)

Twin: Hi
Me: Hi!
Twin: Are u a mom?
Me: Yes I am.
Twin: Where's your honey? (By now, I'm used to this scary Southern term to describe one's significant other)
Me: He's over there. (I gesture off in the distance, they didn't care about the particulars.)
Twin: Where's your son? (Oh God.)
Me: He's over there. (I point towards a ton of kids swimming laps. Luckily these 2 appear to be colorblind and don't notice that there isn't even a slightly black looking kid for miles.)
Twin: Okay. (Satisfied and tossing all the "stranger danger" rules aside, they go on to explain that once they're big, and the floaties come off, they can venture beyond the booey and into the 4 feet.)

Note to self: don't hang out in the 2 feet again.

Relief is fleeting.

Now that I'm settling into my new diggs and taking time to "relax," it should be easier to reflect on my final days as a New Yorker. Not so easy actually. It's all a blur, an intoxicated mad dash. The days were full of: "You're really leaving?" "You're leaving when?!", "So this is it..." and even "I'll never forget you." As if North Carolina is light years away. Truth be told, I withheld my plans, from even my closest friends until the very last minute. There was a plan, but not as planned out as plans usually are and I didn't need any more pragmatists waving red flags in my face. Nevertheless, I'm here, with KJ, and beneath all the static in the background, we're finding our rhythm.

Goodbye's were special.

A cupcake from Ashley, The Grill at PB with Wang (who's 2 sentence rendition of my first encounter with KJ has to be told at our wedding) and a little Rio with allies from work.