I just got home from an interview to be a nanny for a girl whose mother was quick to label her as “difficult.”

“How would you feel if you tried to talk to her or get her to do something and she said no.” the mother asked nervously, adding, “She can be really… intense.” The mother made a point of explaining this, as if it might be a deal-breaker.

It's fine.

I tried to picture myself at age ten. Loud, precocious and quickly labeled as “oversensitive.” I remember my life in vivid color and detail with full conversations still sitting in my mind, in tact. I could do anything, I believed. I had this plan to publish my first novel by the age of 10 and then take over the world.

That year I had some tumultuous situations at school and at home . It wasn’t uncommon for me to cry over one thing or another- someone in my class punched me once, and I was reduced to tears. Another day this boy deliberately crushed a diorama I’d spent a week making and then waved one of the smashed clay pieces defiantly in my face. Later that year another boy blew pencil shavings in my eye at the pencil sharpener, and that same week, my parents had a fight and my mother threatened to move out, leaving us for two days.

Looking back I feel like I’d probably cry at any of these situations as an adult. Umm… especially that diorama thing! But seriously, if I had to describe myself with five adjectives, emotional would definitely make the list. I acknowledge that. I do.

Why then, does my emotional state constantly weigh on my mind as something I need to “keep in check.”  I had a conversation the other night about my disdain for letting people see me show excess amount of emotion.

So, when did it stop being okay to show emotion?  It probably didn’t happen all at once, but I remember when my tendency to show my feelings first came to my attention.

When I was ten, a bright-eyed, well-adjusted (popular) blonde girl from my class, Tina, was assigned to have a “talk” with me during a class period.  (The teacher was concerned that I’d been crying too much.) We walked around the empty play-yard with only an aide standing across the way, also keeping an eye on the parking lot.

“You know, my grandma passed away two years ago,” Tina told me. “And I was sad for a long time.” Tina talked about how she used to cry over her grandmother’s passing, but then she started to move on and she didn’t feel upset anymore.

I stared at her blankly.

“Do you feel any better?” Tina asked, and I nodded, not knowing how to react. I felt fine- and then I felt a bit awkward, noticing Tina’s eyes drilling into me with concern.

“I’m fine,” I told her.  And I was.

Tina nodded her approval and everyone moved on.  I cried less. And no one even needed to ask if I was okay, but if they did, I knew the correct answer.

Gradually, though, I made it my mantra- calling on those two little words as a default- particularly when they weren’t true.

They led me through several situations, where I gritted my teeth and told no anything other than “I’m fine.”

Even in my late twenties I catch myself falling back on what I know and expecting to be warded off at the slightest hint of vulnerability. “I’m fine,” I say, no matter what is really going on.

I can’t help but look back and see how I would have been spared from several negative ongoing situations if I hadn’t felt it necessary to be “fine” in the public eye. I’d go into it, but I also prefer not to be seen as bitter as well.

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If it’s true you should write what you know, I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.  It occurred to me that I perhaps don’t understand as much about myself as I’d assumed.  Exhibit A: The preposterous wave of emotion that flooded over me when I recently found myself knee-deep in grad school materials. As it happens, the job I “fell into” thanks to the referral of a dear friend has become something so important to me, that the idea of abandoning it in the continued pursuit of what I’d originally aspired for feels incredibly unnerving and almost nonsensical.

My most recent writing exists as a testament to my personal pursuit of happiness and it seems silly to move forward on such a project without a clear vision of exactly what I’m after.  What do I want to be happy?  Moreover, what do I  need?

In all honesty, I do want to be a doctor.  Med school is all I’ve thought of for so long, though, and it seems that in the interim, the pool of alternate possibilities I’ve stifled is now bubbling over for attention.  What of my family?  Deep down, am I still that timid prep schooler trudging along towards law school like Daddy’s little girl ought to do?  Every year for as long as I can remember, at least one academic instructor has suggested I consider writing as a career, yet I stubbornly refuse, in earnest chase of something my own.

The first school season since my graduation is already in full swing and I feel somewhat misplaced when left alone, with only gravity for direction.

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Mijo enjoys naps, belly rubs, and extra treats.

I’m starting to notice a distinct split in my social circle – those with babies, and those with pets they treat quite similarly to babies, which includes me. I’ve always had a variety of pets growing up – cats, dogs, fish, lizards, ferrets, hamsters; you name it; I’m just an animal lover. And really, allergies aside, what’s not to love?

You can custom choose your “pet baby.” Any breed, size, or gender you want is yours. Pick a dog you can hike with or one to throw in your purse when you’re out and about. Get a fish for your cubicle, or like me, a kitten (or two) to curl up on the couch with after work. For the choister generation, pets can provide the perfect balance of responsibility and freedom until we’re ready for the real thing.

There are several reasons I’m enjoying my time as a kitten mommy, aside from my obvious lack of husband (power to the single parents!) Kids are expensive! I work for a nonprofit, and after bills, I don’t make much of a profit either. Luckily my cats seem to enjoy kibble and water daily, and are more enthusiastic than you would think about playing with free things such as plastic bags and the occasional set of toes.

Of course there’s also the personal freedom. I can leave them snoozing on the couch as I head off to work, and eight hours later, well, they’re still snoozing on the couch; it’s a tough life they have. I’m free to work, run errands, and see friends without worrying about a babysitter. I can curse in front of them, or at them (window screens are not for climbing, you beasts!), there are no Elmo DVD’s to drive me nuts, and if they’re hungry at two a.m., well, they just have to wait til I get up at seven. I hear that doesn’t work as well with human babies. I also don’t have to worry about being responsible for adequately teaching them to function in society. Thank God. Have you ever tried to teach a cat anything? After two years I’m still working on, “The couch is not a scratching post.”  Not to say they’re starved for attention. In fact, I’m looking around for my furry babies before I even kick off my work shoes every day.  There really isn’t much better after a long day at work than to grab a book, lay by a sunny window, and scratch the ears of a purring kitten and unwind. Sometimes they can be even better than a person when I’m sick or upset or overtired – they are content to sit with me and just BE, no fighting, no unsolicited advice, just love.

And it’s the same for all the pet owners I know – we chit chat about their odd behavior, trade funny pictures, and are convinced our pets are the cutest and smartest (but mine really are, though). We’re great pet owners, and I’m pretty sure we’ll make excellent parents one day, just not today. So if that makes me a cat lady, so be it.

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I have been wearing my grumpy face all day.

This is obviously not by choice. I generally tend to over-smile, whether to express happiness, gratitude, or just mask any awkwardness or discomfort. But as a small oral surgery temporarily impaired the ease of flashing my pearly whites, I find that I seem to give off a pessimistic impression to everyone I meet.

I never realized how much negative energy is reciprocated when one fails to smile, but from just a day and a half of relaxing my face muscles I noticed a dramatic difference from others. When someone makes a joke and I retaliate with a stiff facial reply, that person tenses up and submits to terse responses. I even try to explain that I can’t do more than purse my lips without feeling my stitches gripping the gums inside of my mouth, but my correspondent never actually allows another comical pun to slip into the conversation. The ladies at the cash registers try to avoid eye contact. Kids stare intensely at the ground. My mother seems anxious and concerned since she cannot separate my dispirited appearance from my level of discomfort, even if I tell her that I am feeling absolutely fine.  When I try to say something funny or put people at ease, those in my company are confused by my deadpan expression and, after a polite guffaw, either find an excuse to walk away or busy themselves with other distractions.

In our society, facial feedback has become an imperative way of interacting with others. People read the curled lips or wrinkled frowns as interpretive measures and react correspondingly, whether they choose to affably chatter away or steer clear of any further talks. Even though people know my regular state, I have noticed that they are more inclined to avoid conversation rather than trust my straight-faced “I would smile now if I could!” excuse.

I can’t wait until I am completely healed. The recovery may be a tad painful, and the restrictive diet is frustrating, but more than anything, I just want my smile back.

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Over the past two days my world has fallen apart.  Here I was, ready to graduate a semester early (after having transferred twice AND planning on taking a full time internship for the spring semester!), on my path to one of two great (and different) career paths.  I had all of my notebooks in order, class planning in order, life in order.

Then I had to start telling people to get a good look at my face because my head is going to explode any second now.

Rolling right along. The world was my oyster. Until it wasn’t.  I had to order a new laptop after a fan replacement gone awry (on top of the great hard drive swipe of 2010).  After paying an extra $40 for two day shipping so I’ll have it all set up and ready by the time I head back to school, it still hadn’t arrived. I figured, “of course it hasn’t! It’s because of the weekend!” But part of me was unsettled by the lack of arrival.

So I called my brother who got the shipment confirmation after he ordered it for me.  Apparently, they had to build it from scratch for me after I requested something be added (apparently it’s too difficult for HP to have a laptop with webcams built in these days), so it wasn’t going to ship until the 7^th. Which means it would get to New York on the 9^th. And then be shipped to Boston and arrive on the 11^th.  Mind you, I needed it before the 5^th.

A+ downer.

Now one of my professors (who, despite having a common last name, insists she be called by her self-chosen elfish first name) changes which book we’ll need for class. The most expensive textbook I purchased has been rendered useless less than a week before classes start. Forcing students to purchase the book at the campus bookstore for a bazillion dollars (added to the outlandish cost of the handbook for the class that can only be purchased on campus and is mostly comprised of loose leaf).

But it doesn’t end there. We’re just beginning, really.

Imagine my horror when I found out that junior/senior seminar classes in cinema are only taught in the spring. “So taking it in the spring,” you say.  False. Hopes and dreams going down the toilet. I had everything set up perfectly.  Having transferred twice and ending up at a school that prides itself in its five year program, you’d think I’d probably be graduation in five and a half years.  Wrong again. I had everything in order to graduate in three years, but will make it three and a half for a full internship that will surely push me up the ladder to success.

The internship must be in the spring. I’m taking classes this fall and would just graduate early if I left the internship for fall. So now what? Graduate the year early (well, in August after summer classes)? Graduate in the full four years isn’t really an option either.  There’s no undergraduate part time program, so I’d need to hold a full course load. I love fluff electives as much as the next person, but it’s really a waste of time. My university doesn’t even have a graduate program to jump straight into from my major (not that I planned on getting a masters anyway).

Then my cell phone like, ran out of internet for the month. I thought it was weird that I wasn’t getting many email, but once I saw that twitter hadn’t refreshed in twelve hours, I knew something was wrong.

Followed by being unable to make a professional email account for myself.  My school email will expire upon graduation, and the one I’ve been using since the sixth grade hardly seems appropriate for potential employers to see. But the tried and true formula of “first name. last name @ gmail.com” won’t work for me.  Even if I spell “Katharine,” have someone spell it back to me, then spell it to them again, then write it down underlining the second ‘A’ while pointing out that it’s definitely not an ‘E,’ it will be spelled wrong.  I’d never get any emails. “K.Vatter” was taken already too.

And then it turned out I’d have to special order the PaperMate pens I like because they’re not sold in stores anymore (I don’t know why, either)

So long dreams of being the next Joan Rivers. Farewell back up plan to be the next Brian Kinney or Don Draper. All this time I’ve spent carefully networking and learning and rooting myself into the cleverest of all plans was for moot.

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In the days of yore, women were looked at as meek and mild-mannered creatures, who were taught to always mind their P’s and Q’s. They were always cognizant of who was in their company, and were expected to maintain an image of elegance and grace.

Well, in 2010 that’s been pretty much shot to sh*t.

In today’s egalitarian, post-glass-ceiling, going-dutch-on-first-dates society in which we live, the idea that girls are supposed to be immune to curse words seems a little outdated, right?

I happen to curse a little too freely these days, a fact that my mom so kindly points out to me on a semi-regular basis. But can you really blame me? After four years spent living amongst my peers, with no adults to keep my linguistics in check, I’ve developed an unfortunate habit of dropping an f-bomb or two mid-sentence.

I won’t say that I’m not embarrassed by it: there have definitely been times when I’ve been engaged in casual conversation with a gentleman suitor, dropped a bomb or two, and immediately felt regret. Am I presenting the best version of myself? Is this how I actually speak now or can I be tamed?

I’ve received conflicting reports about the relative attractiveness/unattractiveness of crass women. One friend–let’s call him Philip–said that he was turned off by girls who were overtly crass. “Dudes don’t like that,” he said, ever so eloquently.

But then I asked another amigo–his name is, shall we say, Trevor–and he took the flip-side. He said he didn’t mind a girl who was a bit low brow at times, “because I’m a little low brow most times.” That’s taking egalitarianism to a new level. However, says Trevor, “I think it can get so bad that it would turn me off. But that’d be a level that would turn me off if it were a guy behaving that way.”

I’d hardly call this sampling statistically significant. Yet, it was interesting to see how attitudes toward this topic varied among two guys, who most women would deem “good looking”, who attended the same university and are generally intelligent.

I guess what really matters is how comfortable you feel about your penchant for inappropriate language. The jury’s still out for me. But until I come to a decision, I’ll be primping in the powder room. My hair’s a f*cking mess.

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If I have so many choices, than why the hell does this box feel like it’s getting smaller and smaller?

It’s time to bust out.

If you’re anything like me, you are a 20-something female that has an incessant need to feed your creative passions. Unfortunately for you, the things you love just don’t seem to mesh well with your job description. Personally and professionally, there is a gap—a gap that’s leaving much to be desired. Something is missing, but you’re not really quite sure of how to fix it.

You have bills to pay, but you’re tired of your completely unfulfilling job that pays them. You feel stuck. Trapped. So what do you do? Do you put your passions on the backburner lest make them hobbies? Or, do you bypass momentary stability to take a chance on what you love?

Choices do not exist without chances and vice versa. When making a choice, one is inevitably taking a risk, or a chance on the decision made. Opportunities are not just given to us, but created by us. Although it is difficult to find the time to create opportunities in an area of interest when daunting over car insurance and rent money, it’s not impossible.

Maybe there’s a class you’d like to take, an area of curiosity you’d like to explore, or a city you’d like to move to. I am here to tell you, you are not choice-less.  Maybe it’s time you stop muddying up every excuse “why” and start asking, “why not?”Have you ever even given yourself the chance to discover what you love? Or maybe the things that you love have changed. Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe it’s time for a change.

It’s cliché but life is not a destination, it’s a journey, and the journey is yours for the taking. The only thing that’s standing between you and your dreams is some degree of fear and uncertainty. Spin your fear into determination. If you want something badly enough for yourself, you can make it happen. I know because I did it.

Storytime.

I was always the girl who had it all figured out. I declared my major early and headed strongly in that direction, never taking the time to explore other areas that I excelled in or enjoyed. Fast forward a few years and I’m in graduate school—unsure and uncertain, though my pride would never let it show. It took a series of complicated and unfortunate circumstances for me to get a wake-up call, but when I did, a beautiful thing happened—I became very brave. I stopped trying to prove myself to everyone else, and concentrated solely on the things that inspired me. It blows my mind to think of how dark situations can yield so much light. I realized how short life is and how utterly devastating it would be to spend my days dissatisfied and unhappy. So I did something about it.

I dropped out of graduate school and moved home. I spent the following months freelance writing and pursuing my personal interests while still working two jobs. On my days off I’d drive almost 3 hours to New York City to meet with head hunters, pass out my resume, and apply for internships and jobs. I also reenrolled in graduate school for Communications with specializations in Public Relations and Journalism. The point is, I worked my ass off—and it paid off.

Stability is useless without happiness. Follow your dreams. It won’t happen overnight. You won’t get instant gratification. It will take time, effort, and dedication. You are going to meet obstacles and setbacks. It’s not going to be an easy road. There will be a lot of people telling you that you can’t do it, but you can, and the only person that needs to believe in you, is YOU. It was Walt Disney who said, “If you can dream it, you can do it.”  I couldn’t agree more.

Make the choice to take a chance. Baby steps! Any step! Take a step—YOU DESERVE IT.

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Approaching my final year in college, I can’t help but feel the jitters coming on. It’s not just any other year, but the FINAL year (hopefully). I’ve been gathering up books, stalking teachers for early syllabuses and of course, shopping for new kicks and clothes. I‘m excited to be busy and it has nothing to do with sitting in all summer watching Tom & Jerry as I hurt the planet with my a/c. I got so nervous last night, I was having a hard time breathing but I found out it wasn’t nerves but a moldy piece of watermelon was sitting in front of the a/c which was blowing in my face (mold makes me sick). But as I write this at school (I’m here three day’s early!) I’m getting this feeling of letting go, mostly all the stupid things I’ve done (and will do). What I am happy is I know it will be a struggle for jobs when I graduate but I am like SpongeBob when he says, ‘I’M READY! I’M READY!’.  Things seem less important and my eagerness to learn is higher than ever before. What I am worried about is throwing up in class because of anxiety or farting in the library when I get frustrated using the copy machine, but I guess it will be amusing at the moment but the beauty of time is, it fades.

My whole school experience (from Kindergarten to now) can only be described as driving in a seemingly endless tunnel. You start somewhere and it’s dark and scary, then you keep moving on and the road gets a little smoother. Half way you get the hang of things but you turn on your radio and get distracted.  If your lucky enough to be in a good tunnel (unlike the Big Dig in Boston), you can expect the tunnel is fool proof unless you mess it up yourself. Then in college, you see the light at the end of the tunnel and on graduation, you embrace it. Some people can’t handle the light, like it’s blinding but I know I can because I plan on failing, a lot. No one gets it right the first time or always has a smooth drive, or else we wouldn’t need car insurance.

So as I think about it, the jitters might not be about school but after that, the unknown.

I have to admit, the unknown jitters are exciting.

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SUMMER IS ALMOST OVER! Good grief. I can’t even believe it’s almost Labor Day. You know what that means….less and less time to justify eating Ice Cream to beat the heat! Granted, the list I have below are of artisanal ice cream places I’ve been reading about. Perhaps they’re not that great—but their flavors sound amazing!

Guerrilla Ice Cream:

The first time I heard about Guerrilla Ice Cream—they were churning out a bacon and onion flavor for three days back in June. Exactly. Their zany flavors are inspired by global political movements—such as their Chai Masala topped with candied fennel that’s inspired by the Red Corridor in India. Find them at the Hester Street Fair on Saturday, and the Fulton Stall Market on Sundays! The last day to catch them is on September 11^th!

Je & Jo:

All their homemade ice cream is paired with cookie dough. I’m sold. Example: Honey grapefruit ice cream with pecan sandie cookie dough. Featured in old-fashioned cups, these flavors are sold on tricycles at various festivals —on Sunday they’re at the GreenFlea Market. Check out their locations on Twitter: https://twitter.com/jeandjoicecream

Benfaremo – The Lemon Ice King of Corona:

This location has been famous for their Italian Ices for the past sixty years—which is all the more reason to visit them before summer ends! They even have peanut butter Italian ice. The store is on 52-02 108^th street in Corona.

Phinizy and Phebe

Goat Cheese Caramel. Coconut Key Lime Pie. Maple Bacon Pecan. Caramel Brownie BOOM! Need I say more? Follow them on Twitter to find their locations at http://twitter.com/phinandphebes.

Big Gay Ice Cream Truck

This is probably one of the only ice cream trucks that uses exotic toppings such as wasabi pea dust, cayenne pepper, or olive oil. The most entertaining thing? Their Salty Pimp: Vanilla ice cream, topped with Dulce De Leche, sea salt—then dipped in chocolate. SOLD! Check out their website for locations at www.biggayicecreamtruck.com. The last day listed is on September 3^rd! Hurry!

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Granted—the prices might be more than you’re willing to pay for. The New York Times wrote a recent article discussing whether or not the price tags were worth the flavors. Check it out here. You might save more money than I will. If you do decide to pound the pavement for these places like I most probably will, good luck!

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Loving every part of ourselves is easier said than done.   I recently saw the film, “Eat Pray Love” and it brought something very important to my attention.  Not only the importance of self love, but also the importance of saying screw what others think, I’m going to be happy right now in this moment with my body.

Julia Roberts is in Italy at one of the best pizza places in Naples.  She is enjoying every bite she is taking, while her friend is not.  She asks what’s wrong.  Her friend explains that she can’t eat anymore because she has already gained ten pounds.  Roberts looks at her and asks if a man has ever asked her to leave because she was too repulsive to look at.  The woman quietly giggled and said no.

The point being, women constantly criticize, torture, and neglect themselves in the hopes of what?  Fitting an ideal mold set by no one in particular except a glossy piece of paper staring back at them from a Target checkout aisle.  That’s a piece of paper, something without a heart beat or brain that knows nothing about us…yet we want to do everything it “says.”

There is no reason that perfectly beautiful, healthy women should be making themselves cry because their stomach doesn’t feel like cement.  Of course, one shouldn’t let themselves become unhealthily heavy, but being a little bit soft is very feminine and very sexy.  My butt is never going to be small, it just isn’t, no matter how many lunges I do, and you know what?  I get many, many compliments from men and women about my butt.  I accept it.  The secret I have found, is to casually exercise and eat anything I want, but in moderation.  Life tastes too good to say no!

There is too much fun to be had in life to be obsessed with having “the perfect body.”  There is no one “perfect body.”  We are all perfect to someone.  If you are born with an incredibly high metabolism, and are naturally lean with rock hard abs that is beautiful.  Remember that is only one opinion of what beauty is out of thousands.  Each of us are someone’s opinion and all of our beauty needs to exist in this world. Be fit, be healthy, but don’t be chasing a piece of paper…your happiness is more important than that.

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