This is the second to last post on I Pretty Much Hate Everything.
The last post will be a link to my new blog.

So, why am I walking away from here?

I've been blogging here for 6 1/2 years. I have met so many amazing people because of it, and had so many amazing opportunities.
Blogging has seen me through and supported me through so many things- miscarriage, pregnancy, illness, death- just to name a few. I don't regret blogging. It's just that I have evolved, and I feel like my blog hasn't. The thing I hear the most when I meet someone through blogging is that the title of my blog does not suit me. It's such a small part of who I am.

I like to complain, but it is not a quality I admire about myself. It's not what I want to be remembered for. And here comes the cheesy part- it's not the example I want to set for my daughter. Also, I have a pretty good life- and it's time I started acting grateful.

I am still me. I'm still cynical. I'm still generally disappointed with the human race. However, I'm learning to be appreciative of what I have, and to enjoy the little things.

There's also the issue of writing. I am not a writer. Never have been. I have never kept a journal. When I'm working through something I don't have a desire to write about it. Writing isn't cathartic for me, it's a chore. And when you develop an audience (whether it's 10 people or 10 million people) you start to feel an obligation to deliver something to them. I don't need any more pressure or obligation.

I'm really excited about the new blog. It will have a different feel than this one. There will be much less writing (although, there may be the occasional long-winded post), and a lot more images. There will be photographs, design ideas and inspiration, maybe some recipes, and a focus on how I'm striving to live a simpler, happier, healthier life. It's called Shifting Life.

I know some people will be disappointed. Some will think I've lost my "edge".

But, for those of you who have read between the lines on this blog, and have seen that there's more to me than someone who likes to complain a lot, I hope you'll come along and follow me on my journey.

Posted by torrie at 10:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (27)

Remember this entry?

Well, we have a problem.

Last November, when Willa was first diagnosed with Cold Induced Urticaria we weren't sure what to expect. We gave her medicine almost every night for months. The medicine made it more manageable. If it wasn't too cold Willa could even play outside for a few minutes. But, it was a constant concern.
She had hives all the way through May. Basically, if it was 55 degrees or less, she got hives.
They never really seemed to bother her though. Occasionally she would tug at her ears, but that's it. The summer was great because I spent three months never having to worry about the urticaria. We had a couple of instances where Willa went swimming in a relatively cold pool, and she didn't get any hives. I stupidly took that to mean her urticaria was getting better. I convinced myself that it was getting better, that it wasn't a big deal.

Then, a few weeks ago it was 55 degrees and cloudy outside. I took Willa and Dexter on a long walk. About halfway through the walk Willa started to get some hives. I headed home, but we were about 20-30 minutes away at that point. Willa started to cry and and pull at her hands which were now swollen and covered in hives. She kept saying "Mommy, it hurts!" I was helpless.
Here are some pictures:

I was completely traumatized. Completely.

I had to deal with the reality- Willa has Urticaria. She might outgrow it, but that usually happens after 5-7 years. She's only had it for a year. She might never outgrow it.

We can't live in Manhattan where you have to walk everywhere.

Urticaria is rarely life-threatening, but there is something instinctual that happens when I see my kid swollen and covered in hives- I feel like I must fix it.

I can't fix this.

After that traumatizing episode I completely freaked out. I told my husband that we should move to California. In my usual psychotic fashion I started researching towns in California.

For a few weeks I was spending my time applying to pre-schools in Manhattan, while simultaneously looking at pre-schools in California. I was driving myself insane. I had to cover all the bases. I didn't really want to move to California. I mean, if I could convince all of my friends and family to move there, I totally would, but our entire life is on the East coast.

I was praying fro a miracle.

So finally, my husband and I had a long talk.

We both finally said the words "We can't move to Manhattan."

And I was relieved and heartbroken all at once.

And then we decided we would compromise. We aren't moving to Manhattan. We aren't moving to California. We are staying in the town where we have lived for the past year and a half.

Here is how I feel about that:

As much as I am a mature, responsible adult, I still have childish fantasies. I wanted to live in Manhattan. I wanted to hang out with my friends all the time. But this isn't an episode of Friends. Perhaps I am mourning the loss of my fantasy instead of the reality. Sure, if I lived in Manhattan I probably would have seen my friends more often, but not that much more often. They all work a ton. And who's to say that a bunch of them won't move out to the suburbs too.

The town and the area we live in is fantastic for kids. There's no denying that.

True, I wrote before about how I felt like I didn't fit in here, but maybe I need to make more of an effort. Maybe I need to go to some of the vegetarian meetups in the area so I can meet other like-minded people. Also, the mother's helper has only been here a few times, but already I can see what a huge impact having a little help can have on me. I think that if I have a little help, and spend a little time on myself, I'll be much happier.

I still hate that my husband works 10-12 hours a day and then spends another 2 hours a day commuting, but we have to do what's best for our kid.

At least here I can take her from the house to the car, and from the car to the library, or the Y, or the store, etc. As opposed to Manhattan where you have to walk everywhere.

And as much as we were willing to spend extra money to live in Manhattan, it makes so much more sense financially to stay here. To not have to constantly worry about money will be nice.

I must admit, it's always been great being able to say I grew up in Manhattan. There's something special about it. I wanted that for Willa too.

I still have doubts about whether or not we should be staying here. I don't like the idea of my kid having to take medicine every day for 6 months out of the year. Plus, I HATE the cold. I wouldn't mind living in a place that's warm. However, our whole support system is here, and we don't think it makes sense to start a new life on the other side of the country when there's a possibility that Willa might outgrow this in a few years. We want Willa to grow up surrounded by her Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and Grandparents.

The weird thing about all of this is that I have absolutely no resentment towards Willa. I would do anything for her. She's getting so big, but she's still so small and fragile. I must protect her. And the only way I can sleep at night is if I know I'm doing what's best for her.

This is what's best.

I am trying my hardest to make the best of this situation. To be excited about the prospect of living in a bigger place, of not having to deal with all of the Manhattan school drama (I will write a post about that one day), of enjoying nature.

Manhattan is my home. It always will be. But maybe it is/was my childhood home. Maybe it's time for me to stop clinging to my childhood. Maybe this new town can be my grownup home. Maybe I just need to give it a chance.

Posted by torrie at 09:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (21)

In December 2005, my father, mother, and husband chipped in and bought me my first "real" camera, the Nikon D70.

It was my father's idea. My father and I had our issues, but he was very supportive of my photography. He was genuinely excited for me.

It was because of the D70 that I got the attention of the advertising firm who was working on Nikon's new ad campaign. In August of 2006, right before I got pregnant with Willa, I was chosen to be one of the lucky few who was featured in the ad campaign and given Nikon's new camera, the D80.

Since then, I have had the luxury of having two great cameras

A few weeks ago someone very close to me called to ask me my advice-
Long story short- His wife is a makeup artist. His line of work has practically dried up since the recession hit. They are struggling to pay their bills. They have one child and another on the way. His wife works with a lot of models, actors, and musicians. He started to shoot some head shots for these people with his dinky point and shoot. He wanted to know if there was a decent camera he could get for cheap, so that he could perhaps actually make some money.

I gave him my camera.

In the weeks between me telling him I would give him the camera, and the time when I would actually see him in person to give him the camera, I started to have some anxiety.

I try very hard not to think about my father all the time. Maybe that's not the healthy thing to do, but it's what helps me deal. It's been two years since he died, and I'm losing pieces of him. If I let myself think about him too much then I lose sleep.

That camera is a piece of him. It is a symbol of his belief in me. And I never really thought about it until I was about to give it away.

As I was packing up the camera and it's supplies to give to its new owner, I felt like someone was sitting on my chest.

The time came for me to hand it over, and the minute I saw the look on his face, I was at peace.

As I watched him play with the camera, and shake his head in awe, I remembered what it felt like when I first held that camera. How unbelievably happy and excited I was. The potential that that camera stands for.

It is a gift to be able to make someone so happy. it is a gift to be able to give someone something they deserve.

My anxiety has completely faded and is now replaced by joy.

I hope my father felt the same joy when he gave me that camera.

Posted by torrie at 07:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

A little background-
In 1985 I became a huge Mets fan. In 1986 they won the World Series because of THIS.
I wish every 10 year old's team could win the World Series. It was awesome. I've been a hard-core Mets fan ever since.

So, my birthday is tomorrow, and I'm really not thrilled about it, but my friends insisted on celebrating with me. So yesterday, we had some of our best friends over, and we had a great time.
Two of our friends, Goldner and Rachel, who are hard-core Yankees fans, and yet, have always been supportive of my love of the Mets, gave me the most amazing present- a picture of the moment Mookie Wilson (who my cat is named after) hit the ball between Bill Buckner's legs, signed by both Wilson and Buckner.
I, of course, burst into tears.

Here's the video of me receiving the present:

Posted by torrie at 10:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Recently, a lot of bloggers have been talking about this article in the New York Times.
If you can't access the article, the basic premise is a mother who fights with her children's school about cupcakes and junk food being served. She even went as far as to steal some sprinkles and syrup off a table at a function that was serving ice cream. Now, while I do think this mother's tactics are extreme, I must admit that part of me sympathizes with her.

We are vegetarian. We raise our daughter vegetarian. Our daughter is fed mostly organic food.
A vegetarian diet has been shown to extend your life, lower the risk for almost every type of cancer, lower the risk of heart disease, keep cholesterol levels in check, prevent and/or cure type 2 diabetes, etc, etc.
It also is one of the easiest ways to positively impact the environment.
And yet, we constantly get made fun of. We are called "hippies". We are asked where we get our protein from (such an annoying, uneducated question). People roll their eyes at us.
If you know me in real life, you know that I'm not preachy about my vegetarianism. If someone wants to Talk to me about it, I gladly answer questions. I rarely talk about it on this blog because it tends to draw the crazies out of the woodwork, but this article opened up a flood of emotions for me.

The same thing happened to me a few months ago when I was reading a parenting magazine and there was a list- "Ten things NOT to feel guilty about" and one of the things was "Feeding your niece, little miss organic. her first twinkie."

Like feeding your kid organic foods is "wacky".

For us, it's not just about vegetarianism either, it's about eating healthy.
Our daughter is only given healthy food 99% of the time. Our belief (in addition to wanting her to be healthy) was that if we only give her healthy food, if she goes through a picky phase (which she has) at least what's she's eating is still healthy. We pretty much steer clear of foods packaged for kids (I think it's so sad that the food packaged for kids is usually the worst for them).
However, I also know that if we make something taboo, then Willa will likely be drawn to it, so we let her try things. At a birthday party several months ago there was ice cream cake. Willa was very excited about it and asked to try it. I let her. She took two bites and then went back to eating her melon.
That is typically what happens- she sees something that looks exciting, like a cupcake, and she takes one or two bites and then goes back to eating her healthy food. I love that she doesn't have a taste for these things. I love that at a Halloween party she was playing with candy corn because she didn't realize it was edible.
At the same time, I don't want her to miss out on experiencing special treats, or baking with her mother (especially since baking with my mother is what ultimately made me go to culinary school), so occasionally I bake something like banana bread, or (recently) oatmeal cookies. I make healthy versions, but the idea is still the same. However, Willa still mostly refuses them. She'd rather eat as much cantaloupe as she can get her hands on.
I don't think feeding my child a healthy diet is obsessive or unrealistic. I'm trying to set her up for a life time of healthy eating. She's only 25 months old. She has plenty of time to eat junk and sweets. She will still have the opportunity to live on cereal and pizza when she goes to college. I'm sure once she starts going to school and hanging out with other kids she'll start eating more unhealthy food, but I feel like while we have control we need to instill healthy eating habits.
I am a vegetarian, but I don't have a great diet. I'm the pickiest eater I know. I hate that about myself.
Both of my parents had HORRIBLE diets. Mostly processed, refined carbs, tons of butter on everything, tons of sugar, never anything exotic or spicy. Add that to the fact that they got divorced when I was two. My dad only saw me a few times a year, so he didn't want to be the bad guy, so he never made me try anything. My mom hated her strict upbringing where she was forced to eat things she did't like. She didn't want to do that to me, so she never insisted I try anything either. Growing up I lived on sugary cereal, and fruit roll-ups, and when I did eat something healthy, like strawberries, I would put sugar on them. Now, as an adult I struggle every day with my diet. I have to force myself to eat healthy things. I have no taste for them. If it was up to me, and was healthy, and had no impact on the environment, I would exist on Cap'n Crunch and bagels with cream cheese. I DREAD my daughter being like me. I have fought to make sure she's not.

I think a lot of parents are feeding their kids unhealthy things for several reasons:

1) It's easier. I understand that, I really do. But, feeding your kids healthy food is not that much more work (you cut up some fruit or vegetables instead of opening a package), and the benefits are worth it. It is OK to be lazy about doing the laundry, or scrubbing the toilet, but it is not, in my opinion, OK to be lazy about something that impacts your child's health.
2) "I ate it when I was a kid, and I'm fine." I hate this excuse. Don't you want better for your child? Don't you want the BEST for your child?
3) People are uneducated. People do more research when they buy a car then they do when they have a child. People might argue that it's easier for me because I went to culinary school and was certified in nutrition, but the reality is 90% of what I know about nutrition I taught myself.
4) They want to eat unhealthy things too. It's kind of hard to tell your kid to eat their healthy food if you're sitting their eating crap. Having Willa has forced me to eat healthier, so I can lead by example.

Everywhere I go I'm fighting the battle to steer my kid in the direction of healthy food. That's why I can commiserate with the mom in the article. In a few years Willa will be spending the majority of her awake time at school. It would be nice if she wasn't constantly bombarded with junk.
I admit that a large part of why we picked the preschool Willa will start attending in the fall, is because they serve fruits and vegetables from the farmers market for snack instead of goldfish crackers or apple sauce (with high fructose corn syrup).

I really hate that because I feed my kid a healthy diet I'm viewed as an extremist, or uptight. (And here's the part where I'm sure a lot of commenters will jump down my throat) I think that a lot of people crack jokes or make fun of people who feed their kids a healthy diet because it makes them examine what they are feeding their own kids.

It's almost as if my action of feeding my kid healthy food is automatically viewed as me judging those that don't. That's not the case at all. I'm just, like most parents, trying to do what I think is best for my child.

I think the woman featured in the article could be more constructive about the way she deals with things, but I must admit, I'd probably rather have my kid go to her house for a playdate.

Now, if you'll excuse me, my kid is asking me for a banana.

*If you're interested, a few months back I wrote an article for Alphamom about getting your kids to eat healthy.

Posted by torrie at 07:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (35)

Today, we leave for Boston for my husband's medical school reunion. We'll be there for 4 nights.
I'm actually really excited. We haven't been back for 3 years.

I lived in Boston for 5 years, and for two years before that I spent a lot of time there when the husband and I were first dating. I spent my entire time in Boston lamenting the fact that it wasn't New York. And then, about 5 minutes after I moved back to New York, I missed Boston. I never appreciated it while I was there. I am an asshole.

Months ago, when I started looking for hotel rooms for this trip, I realized that I should have booked something a year ago. You see, Harvard has all of its undergrad and grad school graduations and reunions THE SAME WEEK. ALL OF THEM. So, hotels are hard to come by. I'm pretty sure my mother-in-law reserved a room for my husband's Harvard undergrad graduation when he was a freshman. I wish I was kidding. Trying to find a hotel that could accommodate all of us (me, the husband, Willa, my mom, and Dexter) was nearly impossible. I actually found a couple of options, but it became abundantly clear (even after several internet friends tried to help) that we were going to have to pay over $2,500 PLUS the cost of a rental car (we can't all fit in our regular car).

Then, one day after I was literally CRYING because I was so frustrated, I got an amazing email from someone who reads this blog. She said she house sits for a couple who have a HUGE house right outside of Harvard Square. They are both Harvard grads and they would love for us to stay in their house. FOR FREE. No, really. The big huge house. With the big kitchen that we are welcome to use. And feel free to bring Dexter. SERIOUSLY.
Plus, I've spoken to the woman who sent us the email several times and she seems super cool, so I can't wait to meet her. (Hi Aimee!)

The moral of the story is this: sometimes the internet can suck, like, really SUCK. but sometimes it can be so awesome that you want to make out with it. Aimee, you've been warned.

Posted by torrie at 07:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

My husband, age 3:

Willa, 20 months:

Sorry I've been MIA.
Life has been crazy busy lately. Perhaps someday soon, I'll write all about it.
But right now, I'm trying to figure out what role I want the internet to play in my life.

Posted by torrie at 09:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Manic.

I pretty much still feel the same way today.

Posted by torrie at 09:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Instead of spending Willa's nap doing something productive, I went through all of my pictures on Flickr, and put together slide shows of each of the last 4 years.
There are certainly a lot of moments and people dear to us who weren't captured. These are not my "best" pictures- some are unflattering, some are blurry, etc., but they are the pictures that most accurately depict that year.

2005 was about me recovering from career ending shoulder surgery, tons of physical therapy, finding out my dad's cancer had metastasized, a major back injury, and my husband's internship.

In 2006 I was pregnant 3 times (!!!), had two miscarriages, landed an ad campaign with Nikon, Turned 30, had my pictures in The New York Times, traveled a bunch, and had the enjoyable part of my pregnancy with Willa.

2007 was perhaps the most important year I've ever had. I had a very rough pregnancy and was bed ridden for months, Willa was born, my husband became chief resident, and my father passed away.

2008 has been interesting. Willa was modeling, my husband turned 30, finished his residency, and started his fellowship. We moved, my pictures were published in a book, I re injured my shoulder, Obama became president elect, and Willa was diagnosed with Urticaria.

Posted by torrie at 07:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

I was driving the other day and I heard Bob Seger's We've Got Tonight on the radio. It reminded me of that episode of the Wonder Years where Winnie is being mean to Kevin ,and hanging out with the older kids, and then she gets in to a bad car accident.

Warning- if you watch this clip you might burst in to tears- I did.

It got me thinking about all of the amazing moments from the TV shows I used to watch.

Some are funny, like this scene from friends:

Some are sad scenes, like the episode of Little House on the Prairie when Mary goes blind and she's screaming "Pa? I can't see you Pa!" (I can't find a clip of that one.)

Whether or not I like to admit it, television has been a huge part of my life.

Different shows remind me of different parts of my life.

I get all nostalgic and teary when I think about it.

What are some of you favorite scenes/episodes from TV shows past?

Posted by torrie at 01:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

I used to be thin.

Wear a bikini, walk around naked, clothes looked cute on me, THIN.

Now, NOT SO MUCH.

When I was 23 I moved to Boston to be with my husband, who went to college and medical school there.
I had been a pastry chef for 4 years. I worked long hours. It was VERY physical. And, I would often go for hours on end without eating. Such was life in the culinary industry.
I was thin and muscular.

When I moved to Boston I got a job managing a cafe/chocolate shop. They were famous for their hot chocolate. I had a hot chocolate for breakfast every morning (I made it with soy milk because I thought I was being healthy, but I didn't take into account soy milk's fat content). For lunch I often had a bagel with egg salad.

Between that and eating the typical college food that I was surrounded by, I gained between 10-15 lbs that year. The freshman 15, at age 23.

Because I had been so slim to begin with, the extra weight by no means made me fat, it just made me average.

The next year the stress started. I wish I was one of those people who can't eat when they were stressed out, but I am the opposite- food is comfort.

In 2000, my beloved grandmother died. A few months later September 11th happened (it had a HUGE impact on me, but that's another post). Two months later my now husband then boyfriend asked me to marry him.
During the next six years- my father was diagnosed with melanoma, and had two surgeries to remove the growth in his cheek. We got married. My father had two shoulder surgeries, prostate surgery, and spine surgery. Someone very close to us (sorry-can't mention who) was diagnosed with lung cancer, had two surgeries to remove tumors, and had chemo. We moved to NYC. I had career ending shoulder surgery. My father was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma, which resulted in two years of treatment, and eventually his death. Someone else close to us (who also wishes to remain nameless) was diagnosed with congestive heart failure (on the SAME DAY I found out about my dad's cancer spreading), had a hip replaced, had prostate surgery, and has had pneumonia several times. I ruptured a disk in my back, I lost two pregnancies. My mother passed out while driving and was hospitalized. I had a horrible pregnancy that finally resulted in a healthy baby. We moved to the suburbs. I re-injured my shoulder.

Stress, stress stress. Eat, eat, eat.

Right before I had Willa I went to a trainer for three months. My BMI was in the high end of healthy.
I gained a respectable 35 lbs. when I was pregnant.
I lost all of the pregnancy weight by the time Willa was 4 months old- taking care of a newborn and your dying father=very busy and no time to eat.

So, I had lost all of the weight, but my body looked so different. Everything was distributed differently.
I always had an hourglass figure. I always had a sizable ass and hips, but now I have a belly.
My entire wardrobe revolved around my old figure. I have no idea how to dress now.

I feel like I'm in a stranger's body.

Then we moved out of Manhattan- the city of walking.

The move was so stressful. It's so hard to get anything done with a toddler around. My husband's job is not what he expected- he's working a lot more. I rarely get a break.
And I've been in so much pain lately.

I want a cookie.

So I've had a few cookies.

And since we've moved I've gained about 8 pounds. I am the heaviest I've ever been (with the exception of being pregnant). My BMI is 26.35.

I am miserable.

This isn't about how much I weigh, or what size jeans I wear- it's about how I feel.

I feel like crap. I feel depressed. I'm tired. I'm not sleeping well.

I hate my body. My husband tried to talk to me while I was in the shower the other day, and I made him leave. I don't want my own husband to see me naked. That is sad.

This summer my kid missed out on swimming in a pool because I didn't want to put a bathing suit on. So, the way I feel about my body is keeping me from doing things with my child. That is unacceptable.

Now, here's the problem:

I can't cut back on calories. Let me explain-

I've never been a big eater. I spent years working in the culinary industry, rarely stopping to eat. I've totally screwed up my metabolism. When I keep track of my daily calories they are usually between 1,200 and 1,500. Not enough.
I actually think I need to eat MORE to lose weight so my metabolism can reset itself.
I also need to eat better. Here's what my diet looks like now- carbs, carbs, carbs. I go entire days without eating a single vegetable. And I'm a VEGETARIAN.
Now, I just need to figure out how to make the time to eat healthy. Taking care of a toddler does not afford me the time to prepare a lot of meals. I often just eat a handful of crackers until my kid is napping and I can have a proper meal.

The other part of the problem- lack of exercise.

First, I have a lot of physical issues that prevent me from doing a lot of things.
For instance, the last time I took a yoga class I had to sit half the class out because of my shoulder.
I really should have my exercise supervised by a trainer or a physical therapist, but I can't afford either.

Second, time. I have none of it.

At least 5 mornings a week I take Dexter for a walk while pushing Willa in the stroller. I walk briskly for about a half an hour for about 2 miles. Now, this hurts my shoulder, but if I'm going to get healthy I need to make sacrifices, and I realize that with my physical issues I'm going to have to deal with pain.

Other than the morning walk I'm not getting much exercise. I try to go to yoga, but I can't take a lot of the classes because of my limitations, and the husband is rarely home during the time they have classes that I can actually take, so I end up only going about twice a month.

I've thought about exercise videos, but I am concerned that I really should be supervised when I'm exercising, and to be honest, I hate exercise videos.

My husband doesn't get home until about 7pm, at which point I am exhausted and it's time for me to make dinner. If he gets home earlier I try to go for a walk, but that's rare.

I think the Wii Fit would be great for me, but I just can't afford it.

I really want to be healthy, I just don't know how to find the time.

I don't have unrealistic expectations. I don't expect to look like a celebrity.
I just don't want to dread getting dressed every day.
I want to feel strong.
I want to set a healthy example for my daughter. Show her that eating healthy and exercising should be a part of life.

I just want to feel comfortable in my own skin.

I just want to feel like me again.

Posted by torrie at 12:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

So, after an MRI and several X-Rays my doctor has determined that I have adhesive capsulitis.

I wasn't exactly surprised, but I'm really upset about it.

I've been having joint and spine problems since I was 9 years old. No medical professional has ever been able to tell me why. There is no name for my disorder. It's just lots of problems with my joints and spine- loose joints- which caused me to have shoulder surgery almost 4 years ago, bursitis and tendinitis in my shoulders and hips, deteriorating meniscus in my knee, carpal tunnel syndrome, and 5 (at last count) herniated discs.

I'm used to being in pain every day. But, I always held out hope that I would find something to "fix" me. I thought if I did enough yoga, or acupuncture, or massage, or stretching, that I would be cured. I'm all for putting up a fight, but this latest diagnosis has made me realize that I can not be cured.
I will struggle with this for the rest of my life.

That's really hard for me to accept.

I'm only 32 years old, and I'm already in so much pain. The doctors marvel at how my body acts like it is twice its age. (Adhesive capsulitis is rarely seen in people under 50.) What will I be like when I'm 62, or 82? The thought terrifies me.

Do you know how heartbreaking it is to have a doctor look you in the eye and tell you that you will be in pain every day for the rest of your life?

Every day tasks that most people, myself included, take for granted have become a struggle. brushing my dog, doing the dishes, putting my hair in a ponytail, driving, making dinner- these are all things that cause me considerable pain. I can't go bowling, swim laps, play pool, play darts, or go white water rafting.

It hurts every time I pick up my child.

That has been the hardest part of all of this for me- it is keeping me from being the mother that I want to be. Instead of enjoying every minute with my daughter, I'm counting the minutes until my husband gets home so I can have a break.
Being in pain makes EVERYTHING harder. What is a quick trip to the store for most people is a huge undertaking for me- carry kid down stairs- load kid into car seat- drive- open back of car (we have an SUV and the back is really hard to open and close.)- wrestle stroller out of car- lift kid out car seat- buckle kid into stroller- close back of car-push stroller- open back of car- put shopping bags in back of car- unbuckle kid- put kid in car seat- fold up stroller- put stroller in back of car- close back of car- drive- open back of car- get kid out of car seat- pick up shopping bags- close back of car- try to balance kid and shopping bags while walking up front steps and opening door. It all hurts.

Pain shatters your hopes and dreams. It takes the fun out of everything. It makes life more frustrating. It leaves little room for patience.

Pain is robbing me of enjoying my child. I'm so angry.

My husband has been so amazing through all of this. He's so supportive. It must be so hard/ frustrating for such a young, vibrant, active guy to be married to a woman who can't do anything.
His fellowship is not what we thought it would be. He is working so much more. A minimum of 60 hours a week. He's working 7 out of 13 weekends. He's working this weekend, which means I won't really get a break until next weekend.
It's been really hard. We can't afford a babysitter. He leaves for work at 6am and comes home at around 7pm. Then he gives Willa a bath and puts her to bed. He eats dinner and them does the dishes or whatever other chores need to be done. 2 out of the last 5 weeks have been spent on night float. This means he leaves for work at 7pm, works all night, gets home between 9-10am and sleeps all day. Those weeks have been really hard for me- I get no break at all. Whenever he gets a day of the week off (usually because he was working all night) he watches Willa while I get an acupuncture treatment. If he's around on the weekends there are a ton of chores to do.
Both of us rarely get a break. I feel really bad for him. I feel like he really deserves a break, but so do I.
He has ten more months until he is done with his fellowship. Ten more months until his salary increases so we can hire some help. I'm counting the days.

The most important treatment for adhesive capsulitis is lots of physical therapy.
We really don't know what to do about this.
I should be going to PT 2-3 times a week, but I have no one to watch Willa, and we can't afford to hire a babysitter. My mother comes and stays with us every once in a while for a week or two, but that's not enough.
For now I'm going to do some research and see what exercises I can do at home.

Flare ups of adhesive capsulitis last 1-3 years. 40-60% of sufferers have some permanent loss of mobility.

I know that there are people who have it much worse than me, and that I should be grateful, but it's really hard to look on the bright side when you are in constant pain.
I have become Debbie Downer.
I'm no fun at all.
I try to put on a brave face- to grit my teeth and smile through the pain, but it's becoming increasingly difficult and I'm tired.

Posted by torrie at 09:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Today is the one year anniversary of my father's death.

I can't believe it's been a year. Similar to the way I feel about Willa's birth, part of me feels like my father's death was just yesterday, and part of me feels like it was ages ago.

Sometimes I forget and say "my father is" instead of "my father was".

The hardest part for me has been realizing that there are questions I have that will never be answered. Why did he do that? What was he thinking?
I'm not very skilled at letting go.

I realized that, as with every other uncomfortable situation in my life, I have been dealing with my dad's death by not dealing with it at all. I am the queen of avoidance.
And, in doing so, I have kept Willa's grandfather from her.
I should be talking about him with her. Telling her his likes and dislikes. Showing her pictures.
But, I'm not, because it hurts. That is not fair, and I vow to do better from here on out.

I might be hurt, but I am a mother first. I need to put my daughter's feeling's before mine.

And maybe, if I'm lucky, it will help me heal.

For those who are interested here is my father's obituary in the New York Times.

Posted by torrie at 09:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

I've been thinking a lot lately about whether or not we should try to have another baby.

I have so many mixed feeling about it.

I have a ton of medical issues to consider. Will my body be able to handle another pregnancy?
I keep telling myself that maybe if I lost some weight and REALLY got in shape that my body might be better equipped to handle pregnancy. But, I was in fairly good shape when I got pregnant with Willa. I had been working out with a trainer for about 4 months before I got pregnant. And, I might have been 10-15 pounds over-weight, but I was still relatively small. Plus, Willa was a small baby (6.6 lbs and 19 inches), and I gained the appropriate amount of weight (35lbs.), and I still had trouble carrying her.
What if I had another horrible pregnancy again where I was bed ridden for months, except this time I had to take care of a pre-schooler too?

And what if I have to go through losing a pregnancy again?
That was so difficult, and both times it took me quite a while to get back on my feet.
How will I be able to lay around and cry and eat massive amounts of chocolate if I have to take care of my kid. On second thought, maybe it would be easier to deal with. Having Willa around when my dad died somehow helped me.

I need to make sure that if I do decide to try for another baby, that I'm doing it for the right reasons. Not because I missed out on enjoying pregnancy- nobody fawning over me- no babymoon- no wearing cute maternity clothes- no shopping for baby things- because I was confined to bed. And not because I miss having a baby around, because THEY GROW UP.

The amazing feeling you get when your kid smiles, or laughs, or gives you a hug is addictive. I have to remind myself of how hard it is. I also have to be honest with myself- I don't handle stress well. It takes its toll on me physically and mentally. I'm also not good at letting people help me. So, if I had another kid I'd have to deal with all of that stress-the sleepless nights, the exhaustion, etc., and I'm honestly not sure if I want to go through that again.

Having a second child is, I would imagine, so much different than having one child, because now you have to take care of a newborn AND make sure you are paying enough attention to your older child. I'm sure I would drive myself crazy trying to be the perfect mother.

My life is crazy right now. I hardly have any time for myself, and I am constantly overwhelmed. My husband and I rarely go out, and I've never spent a night apart from Willa. Does it make sense then, when Willa is more independent, and going to preschool, and our lives are finally getting easier, to try to have another baby?

Here's another strange reason I'm hesitant to try for another- I've always had a feeling that I was going to have twins. Most people don't know this, but we're pretty sure my pregnancy with Willa was originally twins. My HCG levels were high. I had a feeling that I was pregnant with twins. When I had my first ultrasound there was something else in there that my doctor couldn't identify. And then when Willa was born we discovered that she had two placentas fused together. My doctor thinks that I was, in fact pregnant with twins and that the other baby was absorbed. Maybe this explains why Willa is extra awesome.
I'm afraid that if I get pregnant again that it will be with twins, and I don't know if my body could handle that.

With all that said-

I have a brother and two sisters. We are VERY different. We are not as close as most siblings.
BUT, my father's illness brought my brother and I together. We gained mutual respect for each other. And I can't imagine going through the weeks surrounding my father's death without him.
Julie wrote a post about this topic, and her words are much more eloquent than mine could ever be.
Having a sibling makes you feel less alone in the world. Shouldn't we try to give Willa that gift?

Having Willa has been the best experience of my life. Shouldn't I do it again? Won't all of the pain and stress be worth it? The cynical side of me wonders if I shouldn't temp fate- Willa is so fantastic that I couldn't possibly have another equally fantastic child- or could I?

Posted by torrie at 10:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

Today I am sad. I was sitting here listening to Willa playing with my mother in the other room- she was giggling and having a great time. I was thinking back to when she was smaller- just a few months old- there was a word I would say and she would instantly giggle. I can't remember what the word was.

Willa is just a little over a year and I'm already forgetting the little details.
I curse myself for not writing everything down. I curse my laziness.

I just feel like life is flying by, and I wish it would slow down. I'm not living life to the fullest. I'm not savoring the small moments.

My kid is waving to everyone. And taking steps. And saying new words every day. I feel like I was just pregnant yesterday.

I feel like I'm going to blink and it's going to be her first day of kindergarten. And then I'm going to blink again and she's going to be going to the prom.

Life is flying by and I don't feel like I'm doing a good enough job of documenting it.

I think the move is making me sentimental.

Also, yesterday would have been my dad's 71st birthday.

I hope the stress I am feeling now doesn't crush me.

Posted by torrie at 11:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

So, BIG news.

We are moving out of Manhattan.

Yes, we are THAT couple. The one who has a baby and then flees to the suburbs. My "cool" factor was already lower than most humans and now it is hovering in dangerous territory.

This decision was not made lightly. There was much thought and consideration and many conversations.

Here's a list of reasons we are leaving Manhattan:

1) We can't afford to live here anymore. We were already struggling financially and we found out that between rent and parking our expenses were going to go up about $1,000 a month next year. As much as I enjoy sleeping with strangers I do not enjoy standing on a street corner when it is cold or raining, so the obvious solution was; MOVE SOMEWHERE CHEAPER. (And sleep with strangers for free.)

2) We don't take advantage of what this city has to offer therefore making the higher prices we pay for everything even more ridiculous.
We're vegetarian and I'm the pickiest eater on the planet, so we aren't sampling all of the amazing restaurants in Manhattan. We can't afford to go to concerts and shows. And we aren't the bar/club types.

3) Our neighborhood is isolating.
We live on Manhattan's Upper East Side. The nearest subway stop is about a 20 minute walk from us. Central park is about a half an hour walk away. We hardly travel outside our neighborhood and as much as I love the neighborhood feel of the Upper East Side most of the interesting stuff in the city is NOT UP HERE. I might feel differently if we lived in a different neighborhood. And we certainly can't drive anywhere in the city because there are approximately 700 parking spaces for 7,000 cars in this city.

4) Dexter hardly ever gets to go to the park. Like I said above, we live about a half an hour from Central Park. Dogs are only allowed off the leash there before 9 am. Willa doesn't wake up until about 8am. Plus, if it's warm out, by the time we get there Dexter is already worn out. There is a dog run about a half a mile from us, but it is basically just a slab of cement fenced in. We bring Dexter there and he just stands there and stares at us like "You expect me to run around ON THIS?" Whenever we drive out to the suburbs and he sees grass he immediately throws his body onto it and rolls around like I do when I see a pile of money. This breaks my heart.

5) When I was young the city was fun and exciting. Now that I'm old and crotchety the city has become annoying. All the PEOPLE. SO MANY PEOPLE. YES, YES THE BUILDINGS ARE REALLY TALL NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY. And the SMELLS. And the NOISE. I'm sick of all of it.

6) Then there are the MANY MANY inconveniences. Not being able to buy more groceries than you can carry. Having to walk Dexter in the rain and snow and having to pay someone to walk him on nights that my husband is working. The elevators never working. NO TARGET. The list goes on and on.

Here's a list of reasons why we are so excited to be moving:

1) Our new place is AWESOME. It's not fancy. No granite or crown moldings, BUT there's 300 square feet more than we have now! And a second bathroom! (We can poop in unison!) And a basement! (Storage!) And OUR OWN WASHER AND DRYER! AND A GARAGE! And street parking! And- I don't know if you can handle this- A BACKYARD! (Fenced in!)

2) We will be living within walking distance of the train. NO JOKE- it will actually take us less time to get to Grand Central Station from the new place than from where we live now.

3) We will also be living within walking distance of our new awesome quaint little town.

4) I get to garden! I can't wait!

5) When we want to go outside we just open the door AND STEP OUTSIDE. Going outside will no longer be a huge production. Also, if it's raining or snowing or the husband is working I can just open the door and let Dexter out in the backyard.

6) There are two great parks where everyone takes their dogs within a five minute drive from our new place. There's also a nature preserve a few minutes away.

7) Trees. Grass. Flowers. FRESH AIR. Ahhhhhh.

8) Two words: KIDDIE POOL.

9) No elevators.

10) We are a ten minute drive from Whole Foods, Target!, and MANY other stores.

Now don't get me wrong- I'm terrified. Manhattan is my home.
When we had to move out of Manhattan when I was 14 I was devastated. I was obsessed with living in Manhattan. When I finally got to move back here 4 years ago I was elated. But, now I'm realizing that I'm not 14 anymore and I want different things. There are definitely things I will miss about Manhattan. There are days when we walk through Central Park and go to a cafe and I'm in love with this city. But, most days I'm just annoyed. When I see Willa's reaction when she sees plants, and birds, and butterflies, I know I'm making the right decision.

So Manhattan, it's not you, IT'S ME.

Posted by torrie at 06:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (33)

When I was little I thought using a tampon was insane.

I'm not sticking something in there.

I should also add that I was afraid of penises. My, how things have changed.

Anyway, like I was saying, I never thought I would shove a foreign object up my hoo-ha.

Then, the day after my 14th birthday, I got my period.

So, my mom bought me some maxi pads. I HATED them. They kept sticking to me. And jamming into my butt. And they made a crinkly sound when I walked. I was miserable.

I think I made it maybe a grand total of five hours before I asked my mom for a tampon.

After a couple of tries I inserted the tampon, and there has been no turning back.

It amazes me that I can walk around with a tampon in and not even feel it- I can even go swimming, and yet there are still people who choose to wear pads. This makes about as much sense to me as people who still use a bar of soap to wash themselves. *

(* I understand that there are a few of you who are very heavy bleeders and can't wear tampons, so please don't send me emails.)

What does this have to do with breastfeeding?

Well, when I was young I also thought I would NEVER breastfeed.

I thought it was weird. And gross.

Then I grew up and became a hippie.
And I everywhere I went I either read or heard that breastfeeding was the best thing you could do for your baby's health.
So, I decided when I had a baby I would try. I figured that even if I could breastfeed for a week that would be an accomplishment.
Then Willa was born and five minutes later she was on my breast. And it wasn't weird. Or gross. It felt very natural. And it felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.

Now, I'm not saying it was easy. We struggled. Big time. On the second morning of Willa's life I stood in the bathroom at the hospital and cried because I felt like a failure. It took three lactation consultants and six weeks before the breastfeeding went smoothly. I look back on that time and I can't believe I made it through. If you had told me when Willa was born that it would be six weeks before we got breastfeeding down-six weeks of bloody nipples and pumping around the clock- I would have thought that I couldn't do it. But, I never gave up because I knew it was the best thing for Willa.
And here we are. Six months later. We are pros at breastfeeding. I'm so glad it worked out. It's so convenient. I don't have to worry about bringing bottles with me everywhere or mixing formula. If my kid is hungry I just whip out a boob.
Another bonus to breastfeeding that people hardly talk about? No period.
I haven't gotten my period since August 18th, 2006.
It is awesome.

(Do you like how I just brought this post full circle? That, my friends, takes talent.)

Posted by torrie at 11:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (35)

My father is the featured obituary in today's New York Times.
Here's the article.

There's also an article in one of the North Carolina newspapers.
Here's the article.
(This link is no longer active)

I'll continue to update as more articles come out.

Posted by torrie at 03:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Boots
Spaghetti
Pachuchki
Kid
Sunshine
Ass (pronounced Aahs)
Ass Bed (Don't ask)
AB
Story
Inventory
Tor
Fiat
Jasmine
Betty Crocker
Mama

Posted by torrie at 06:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

There is a crib in the next room.
And a changing table.
And little tiny baby clothes.
And lots of other baby related gear.

I am 34 weeks and 1 day pregnant.

I just read that if the baby was born today she would have a 99% chance of survival.

I feel her moving all the time and it is awesome.

On July 4th it will be the 10 year anniversary of when I met my husband.
I would say that within six months of meeting him I knew I wanted to have a baby with him.

Now, here we are.

I think we might actually have this baby.

I can't wait to meet her.

Posted by torrie at 01:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

*Warning*- if you or someone you love has been a victim of sexual abuse this might be a very difficult post to read.

So, there are so many things that go on in my life that I can't talk about here. Mostly because there are some insanely private people in my family and I don't want to start a war. It can been quite frustrating at times.
The reason I haven't mentioned what I'm about to tell you before was for legal reasons. Those legal reasons have since been resolved, so now I am free to talk about it.

First, I need to give you some background-
My dad had three kids with his first wife- one boy and two girls. My dad divorced his first wife when she started to go crazy, REALLY crazy, and refused to get help.
Fast forward to the present-
Both of my sisters have two kids. My sister Lisa has a twenty year old boy and an eight year old girl. My sister Kim has two girls ages seven and eight.
My dad's first wife, Paula has been with the same guy, Paul, for about thirty years now. They live close to my sisters and would babysit their kids.
Paul beat the shit out of my sister Lisa when she was a teenager, and has hit Paula many times.
See, if that was me I never would have let them near my kids, but it's amazing how forgiving people can be of family.
Anyway, about a year ago, my sister Kim was in the bathroom getting her girls ready for bed when her youngest asked her to help her wipe, to which my sister replied "you are a big girl, you don't need help wiping" and my niece said "Poppy (Paul) helps me do it."
This led to a conversation which ended with my niece saying that "poppy kissed her on her pee-pee and then he played with his pee-pee and white stuff came out".

The next few weeks were horrible.
We found out that Paul had been molesting all three of my nieces.
My sister and my nieces had several meetings with police and child protective services (Who all concluded, that without a doubt, the girls had been molested).
My father was devastated, to say the least.
He was battling terminal cancer, and now this.
Also, he couldn't even go be with my sister because he had to be in New York for his cancer treatment.

As if all of this wasn't bad enough, Paula, my sisters' mother, decided to stand by her husband (who, it is worth noting, admitted to the police that he had "kissed them on their labias") instead of standing by her children and her grandchildren.
Over night my sisters lost their mother and their step-father and my sister Kim had to deal with constant questions from her two girls about where Grandma and Poppy were.
My sister Lisa remains in denial about the whole thing and refuses to admit that her daughter was molested.

Over the course of the past year while we waited for Paul's trial (which kept getting delayed because our legal system likes to protect criminals) my sister Kim's two children had a ton of therapy.
During this therapy, which was at a state run facility that specializes in treating abused children, it was drilled into my nieces heads that this was not their fault, and that they did nothing wrong.
And yet, as the trial was approaching, and everyone was preparing the girls for the witness stand Kim's youngest daughter said "Mommy, can't we just say we're sorry?"
When I heard that my heart broke into a million pieces.
Even after months of therapy, these girls still thought they did something wrong. They thought they were the reason Grandma and Poppy didn't come to visit anymore.
And I wonder if, even after years of therapy, they will ever TRULY not feel guilty.

Paul finally stood trial.
My dad sat in the courtroom and watched his ex-wife get on the stand on lie through her teeth.
But, the evidence (the girls' testimony, state experts testimony, and Paul's confession) was overwhelming and Paul will be spending the rest of his life in jail.
You know what they do to child molesters in jail, don't you? I can only hope he suffers.

With the birth of my own child impending, I wonder if I will be able to protect her from something like this.
I mean, my sisters thought they were protecting their children by having family members watch them, and look what happened.

I once heard a quote that went something like this:
"Having a child is like having your heart walking around outside your body."

I haven't even met my child yet, but I'm starting to realize that that might be a very accurate description.

Posted by torrie at 08:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (31)

If you don't read Sarah Brown's blog you are missing out on some of the most clever writing on the internet.

She's also the creator of bershon.

Posted by torrie at 12:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Today is my last day in my twenties.

In my twenties I have:

- Met, fell in love with, and married my husband.
- Graduated from culinary school, worked my way up to executive pastry chef, and won a gold medal at a culinary competition
- Had three surgeries, including a career ending shoulder surgery.
- Adopted Dexter, Mookie, and Itsy.
- Lost my beloved Grandmother.
- Had two of my photographs published in The New York Times.
- Made many great friends.
- Left my comfort zone and moved to a new city.
- Been pregnant twice and lost both pregnancies.
- Found out my father has terminal cancer.
- Started eating better.
- Gained 27 pounds.
- Lost 8 of those pounds.
- Discovered and fell in love with the internet.
- Read too many books to count.
- Had LOTS of sex.
- Learned a lot about myself.
- Stopped letting people walk all over me.
- Became a brunette.
- Almost come to terms with my nose.
- Learned a lot about myself.

It's funny; I use to think I needed to accomplish everything by the time I turned 30. Now that 30 is here, in some ways, I feel like my life is just beginning.

I'm excited to see what's in store for my thirties.

Posted by torrie at 11:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (21)

The summer I turned fourteen was a turbulent time.
My mother was divorcing my stepfather. He had started to get a little wacky- showering with his undershirt on for example- and it was the straw that broke the camel's back of an already strained marriage.
So, we left our three bedroom, doorman apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side for Queens and a small one bedroom apartment.
Queens was right over the bridge from Manhattan, but a world apart.
Not only was I going through puberty (I got my period for the first time that summer), which is awkward enough on its own, but I went from an all girls private school to a public junior high school where most of the students had known each other since kindergarten.
I was a foreigner invading their territory. I had taken French (they didn't even OFFER French at this school- just Spanish), I didn't wear Champion sweatshirts, and I didn't know what Z Cavariccis were.
I was lost.

We rented our apartment from a 40- something Greek couple. We lived on the first floor, they lived on the second floor.
They had a daughter who was a year older than me. Her name was Veronika. She was the complete opposite of me. Tall (I didn't even reach five feet until I was fourteen), she had long dark hair (mine was blonde), and she had boobs (I was flat chested until I was 18). I was fascinated with her.
She went to Catholic school (I was a Jew). She rolled her school uniform skirt up as high as it would go (I had NO style and wore acid washed jeans and Keds). She was everything I wasn't, and I worshiped her for it.

We became fast friends.

Veronika was the stereotypical Catholic school girl.
She lied to her very strict Greek parents, she smoked cigarettes, and there's no better way to say this- she was a slut.
She was a skirt rolling, hair flipping, giggling, master. And all of the (men and) boys joined me in my worship.

One of my favorite stories that sums up her slutiness is this-
Veronika's parents wanted her to get an after school job.
She worked in a local bagel shop owned by a man 20 years older than her.
She started having an affair with him.
One day when she got home after a long day of "work", the kind of work that she could have used kneepads for, her mother asked her what the white stuff on her shirt was.
I froze in terror. I thought I was about to witness Veronika's mother's discovery that her little girl was blowing the much older Bagel King. Instead, without missing a beat Veronika said "It's cream cheese, mom".
I was stunned by her ability to lie to her parents' faces, something I could never do. I was a good girl. I never lied to my mother, not for fear of consequences, but for fear of losing my mother's trust. I would lose sleep and get a stomach ache if I thought I might be disappointing my mother.
I also had never done more than kiss a boy. I was afraid of the penis (what if it didn't like me?). Veronika was in a completely different league than me.
I secretly envied her lack of morals.

I spent almost all of my free time that year hanging out with Veronika. I was the Robin to her Batman. It was an unusual role for me, I was usually the leader, but I was desperate to make friends and fit it even if it meant playing the supporting role.

Veronika was never a good friend, but that didn't matter to me- my Manhattan friends had started to drift away from me (they couldn't be seen with someone who lived in Queens!), and almost everyone at school hated me. So, I happily stood on the sidelines and watched Veronika, smoke, drink, sneak out of the house, and fool around with any man she could get her hands on.

I think it is a testament to my mother's amazing parenting skills that she never told me I couldn't hang out with Veronika. She thought that if she did, it would only make me want to spend more time with her. My mother was right. I was a good kid, but I was still a teenager. So, my mother kept her mouth shut, and when Veronika would get into trouble my mother would help her out. Veronika's father was abusive, and my mother's father had been abusive, so she felt sorry for her.

So, without any opposition on the home front I continued to follow Veronika around like a dutiful puppy dog. And she gave me nothing in return. She repeatedly took advantage of me and our friendship. I let her.

The summer that I turned 16 our financial situation improved and my mother and I moved to a big three bedroom apartment.

I had made a new group of friends who were honest and trustworthy. They were good people. But, I tried to continue my friendship with Veronika. I was really bad at breaking ties with someone, and I guess I was waiting for a return on all of the time and energy I had invested in our friendship.

One night, shortly after I moved to the new apartment, Veronika invited me to go out with her, her brother (who was a year younger than me), and some of her "friends". She wanted to go to a club in Astoria, Queens. Astoria was in the same borough that I lived in, but it was a foreign land to me.
The club Veronika brought me to had a sign on the front door "MUST BE 25 YEARS OLD TO ENTER". I thought she was crazy. I looked like I was twelve. I had been to some dance clubs where you had to be 18 to get in, but this was another story. How the hell were we going to get in? But Veronika, wearing a low cut top, did some expert giggling and hair flipping at the guy manning the front door, and the next thing I knew, I was inside.
The moment I stepped inside I felt uncomfortable. There were sleazy older men everywhere, looking at me like I was a piece of fresh meat. My skin was crawling and I was itching to get out of there. I begged Veronika to leave, but knew she wouldn't leave until SHE wanted to leave. Finally, after about 45 of the most uncomfortable minutes of my life, Veronika decided we should leave because they didn't have any dancing.
We stepped outside, but unfortunately my discomfort didn't improve much- It was late, I was in a strange place, and the streets were pretty empty. We started walking. Veronika's brother and a few of her friends were drunk. A car passed us and the occupants shouted lewd remarks at us. The couple of years I had spent in Queens taught me that the people in the car were more than likely gang members, to keep my mouth shut, and keep walking.
Apparently Veronika's brother, even though he grew up in Queens, thought it would be a good idea to stand in the middle of the street, raise his arms in the air, and curse at the guys in the car.
With in the blink of an eye the car had backed down the street towards us, the car doors flew open, and the guys threw Veronika's brother up against a wall and put a gun to his head.

I don't know what happened next, because a cab was driving down the street, and I hopped in and never looked back.

I never spoke to Veronika again. The gun was the last straw. I didn't care anymore how cool she was or how un-cool I was. She had put me in dangerous and uncomfortable situations too many times.

I don't regret the time I spent with her. It taught me to want more out of my friendships.

I still think about Veronika sometimes. Wonder where she is or what she's doing with her life. Did she go to college? Is she married? Does she have kids?
I also wonder what would have happened if that cab hadn't been driving down that street at that moment.

It's funny how you can care so much about someone who never cared about you.

Posted by torrie at 11:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)