Having a hard time getting it up for the blog these days. February 21, 2008

I had a chat with myself recently, in the shower. I told myself that it was okay to not post every day, to not post every detail. Okay to maybe not want feedback. Okay to feel less inclined to read other blogs and leave comments. Okay to think that maybe I’ve outgrown Clink, just a bit. And - somewhere between the shampoo and the shaving - I realized that it was okay to take a step back.

And so I have.

I’ve still been writing - I started a public blog and I’m also writing for a website that is paying me real, actual dollars. To, like, type words. On a screen. In my own voice.

I know. I’m shocked too.

I just don’t feel the need to dissect my life anymore. Not because it’s perfect (see: starting a fight with M while driving back from the Hamptons because his phone was off; it wasn’t even about his phone being off, it was about me needing attention because he’s been so fucking busy lately and hi, I’m High Maintenance, nice to meet you), but because it’s…full.

A friend of a friend recently told me - after about four drinks - that she thinks I have everything.

I told her that, of course, I don’t.

But I do think I have enough.

And at least for right now, having enough means that I don’t need the blog nearly as often. That’s actually a nice feeling, to be honest. The blog was a bit of a crutch for so long, but now I feel like I’m fully healed. Like I can stand on my own.

Of course - because I am the universe’s most favoritest plaything - this could all go to shit tomorrow and I’ll be back to needing a place to exhale, to release some thoughts, to get some feedback.

In the meantime, let’s consider this a little hiatus.

But, before I go, thank you to the thousands of you who have been supportive and withheld judgment, who have read and commented or read and not commented, who have made me feel less crazy, who have made me feel more loved. The universe may like to fuck with me, but not even the universe could deny me some kick ass freaders.

You know you’re going to visit Molly when… February 8, 2008

…half of your suitcase is filled with shoes.

Dear Rhode Island, You will never be the same. Sorry bout that. Love, Clink.

A Big Fat Wedding Post January 28, 2008

There will be no more references to the post below. Part of me feels like I made a mistake even putting it on the blog. But another part of me is all it’s my blog, I can post whatever the hell I want, I can abstain from posting whatever the hell I want, I don’t owe anybody anything.

I especially don’t owe a damn thing to someone who wrote nasty things about me and that includes a link to her blog.

Quite frankly, she doesn’t deserve the traffic.

So, um, moving on.

I drove out to New Jersey on Saturday to be a productive bride.

Tangent: M should really take away my keys to his car. While in the parking lot at Starbucks, I accidentally hit a barrier and now M’s front license plate is mangled. While backing out of a parking spot at the bridal salon, I hit the pole of a stop sign. I apparently have reverted back to driving like I did when I was seventeen and would try and make secret deals with the town mechanic to fix my car and not tell my dad.

Anyway, the bridesmaids dresses have been chosen. At one point, there were fifteen of us in a dressing room, debating the merits of a champagne sash versus a sand sash to go with a chocolate brown dress and everyone was kind of looking at me to make a decision and if I haven’t told you already, decisions are not my strong point.

So I did what any responsible, mature bride would do: I kicked everyone except for my mother out of the room and I started to tear up.

My mother, being my mother, rolled her eyes and said something along the lines of “Clinky, just pick a damn color.”

And I did. Chocolate brown dress with a champagne sash it is. (The reverse of what is in this photo, though my sister will be wearing this exact combination since she’s the maid of honor.)

I also had a consultation with my florist, during which a very bizarre exchange occurred.

I was speaking with the assistant at the shop, giving her the relevant information (date of the wedding, how many people in the bridal party, etc). She told me about her own wedding, which was a small backyard affair.

“Sometimes I think that’s the way to go,” I admitted.

“Yeah, well, with your last name you can’t really do that. I mean, the wedding is kind of a glamorous business meeting for your dad, you know? A chance for him to show off.”

I was pretty taken aback. One of my bridesmaids was with me and she piped up. “Actually, I don’t think that’s it at all, thanks.”

I wanted to tell Little Miss Florist Shop Assistant that, while my parents are paying for some of the wedding, M and I are taking on a lot of the expenses on our own (including the fucking flowers). That she clearly doesn’t know my father if that’s what she thinks of him. That she really shouldn’t judge people that she only thinks she knows (cough, cough, COUGH).

Ahem.

As Molly, Peter and M have all said - people are going to judge no matter what. Their perceptions may be off, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I just have to let it roll off my back; paying attention to it just feeds the beast.

It’s a good life lesson for me, actually. I can’t spend my life fighting back against the snarky bloggers and Florist Assistants of the world. They don’t matter. However, being who I am - no matter what - does.

Bitches be running their mouths. January 24, 2008

Title courtesy of Peter.

I don’t like every blog that I come across.

(Shock, awe, I know.)

And I don’t expect everyone to like my blog either.

(More shock, more awe, etc.)

But I also don’t ever feel the need to publicly tear another blogger down for being who they are.

Blogging at its best can be a really great community of kick ass people supporting one another.

Blogging at its worst can be me, sitting at my desk, reading the comments of a post wherein a blogger got engaged and her readers begged her not to become me.

And then the blogger herself said they had permission to kick her ass if she did.

It hurts, slightly. But I’m a politician’s daughter and I’m also Greek - I’m tough. I can take it. I stand by both my blog and my writing.

And I can also remind myself that you know what? It feels pretty fucking good to be me.

Even on my worst, disordered eating, Crazy-filled, stressed-the-fuck-out day.

So please, fellow blogger who probably wouldn’t hate me in real life, don’t become me. I have a feeling there’s only room for one of me in this world anyway.

Update: Someone just alerted me that she previously wrote an entire post about me (and, also, my commenters). Aww. Honey. I’m not that interesting, really. Move along.

Words of wisdom that rang especially true after what I read about myself. From a Julia Allison reader. I adore Julia, and she’s someone who knows a thing or two about being judged unfairly:

“ And thank you too, for staunchly standing by the idea that cynicism and sarcasm are not synonyms for intelligence. New York needs a rebellion against the pseudo-hipster passing-as-culture movement, and methinks you’re the one to lead it.”

Competition. Specifically, how I feel about it. January 21, 2008

I am not, nor have I ever been, a competitive person.

In fact, competition is one of those things that makes me kind of feel like vomiting, right up there with seeing a dead rat stuck to a glue trap on a New York City sidewalk and the thought of M cheating on me.

You see, I’ve was nominated for three Twentysomething Blogger Awards: Best Big Blog, Most Interesting and Most Encouraging.

Of course, in true Clink fashion, I had to make a big dramatic deal (mostly to Peter and Molly) about how I hate competition and I especially hate competition when it comes to blogging, which should be a safe space to be yourself without being a popularity contest.

I love blogging now, when I have a readership that never fails to amaze me and I loved it then, when I got exactly zero comments and five hits a day, mostly by accident. I would do it no matter what. While I’m thrilled that I was nominated for something I’m so passionate about, the thought of there being a “winner” and “losers” makes me break out in hives.

Truthfully, writing is subjective. I learned that in college when one of my professors thought I would be the Next Big Thing and another one didn’t understand why my short stories didn’t have a beginning, middle and satisfying conclusion. Blogging is especially subjective in that you could respect someone’s writing but not be particularly interested in the content or vice versa.

So, I chose to withdraw from the competition.

I know, I know, dramatic. But that doesn’t mean I don’t support the awards - I do, just for other people. Trust me, I’m not sitting here with a “NO AWARDS! DOWN WITH AWARDS!” poster attached to a stick, occasionally getting off my ass to do a few laps around my bedroom (that would mean, um, actually having to leave my bed on this glorious day off and yeah, no.) I just know what’s right for me and I know what’s not and I made a decision based on that.

Not that, you know, any of you were wondering but I felt the need to get it off my chest.

There. That’s better.

And now I’m going to go enjoy my day off (first time I’ve ever had this day off since I started working in 2003) and:

-seduce M, who is currently sleeping peacefully next to me

-work out

-read more coverage of the GIANTS and HOW THEY ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL

-try not to think about the fact that my fiance is a Pats fan

-eat brunch and see a movie and shop with my girlfriends

-finish The Nine (highly recommended book about the Supreme Court for Supreme Dorks like me)

-do a little dance every once in a while because I still can’t get over the fact that I’m not at work today

Hello out there. January 11, 2008

I’m curious, but afraid to ask.

I see you guys, though. I wonder about you.

I forgot my Sitemeter login (typical) so I really only have the numbers that WordPress provides. I don’t know where you live, I don’t know how long you stayed, I don’t know anything except that you came and maybe where you came from.

Delurking Day was yesterday, by order of the Blog Gods, and of course I missed it because I was too busy staring at my navel (”woe is me, I have a shitty relationship with food”; you know the drill by now) but I would love it if you’d delurk today and say hi.

Or ‘hi Clink, that sweater you’re wearing is really cute!’ Because I’m questioning my choice of outfit and I could use some validation. (’Hi Clink, you’re needy!’)

Really, I just want to know who you are. Where you’re from. Maybe a random thing about you (I love learning random things about people which, in and of itself, is a random thing about me).

I’ll go first: Before I go to bed each night, I check about five times that the doors are locked and that the oven is off (note: I rarely use my oven; there really is no need to check it) and that no one is hiding behind the shower curtain or under the bed (the bed is full of stuff I no longer wear, a Cindy Crawford workout VHS and shoe boxes. For a person to hide under there they would have to be, oh, two inches tall). I guess that’s more, um, obsessive compulsive than it is “random” but hey, bonus fact: I’ve also never been that good at taking direction.

Update:

Dear Blogging Gods,

Thank you for bestowing upon me the best readers ever - both those who comment regularly and those who prefer to read from afar.

I must’ve been really good in a past life, eh?

Yours,

Clink

No really: you guys rock. Thank you for pulling back the curtain and allowing me a glimpse of what part of the world you’re from, what random thing makes up a piece of who you are. And if you haven’t commented yet, feel free to do so. I’ve read every. single. one.

There’s one comment in particular that I’d like to highlight. It’s from Katherine, and she made me look at blogging in a whole new light:

“I write/study/think about women’s blogging as a form of self-portraiture and artistic production in this “new” place of internet spectatorship. You write for your reasons and we all watch for ours. The interesting part is how it all comes together in this flickering in the window on our screen. Thanks for the portrait that you “paint” for us here.”

Guest blogging. January 3, 2008

Today, I’m hanging out over at Molly’s place.

She’s currently in Las Vegas. It’s okay to be jealous, I am too. (But not too jealous - I hear it’s only 50 degrees out there. The Vegas that resides in my head is always 90 degrees and sunny. At least, it better be for my bachelorette party.)

Happy holidays, lovelies. December 21, 2007

So, I’ll probably be posting over the next week or so because, well, I have time off between Christmas and the new year and there are only so many episodes of Gilmore Girls I can watch on DVD before I get depressed that Stars Hollow is not real.

But I want to take this opportunity to wish you all the happiest of holidays, whatever you might be celebrating.

You all have been so much more than just readers over the past year - you’ve been my therapists, my cheerleaders and my friends. My life is enhanced by both this blog and the blogging community.

And if we knew each other in real life, I’d totally make you some spiked eggnog and Greek melt-in-your-mouth cookies because you rock.

I’m really looking forward to the end of today, to the start of 12 days of freedom (like the 12 days of Christmas, only better).

I’m especially looking forward to:

-My little sister coming into the city tomorrow to celebrate her rockstar LSAT score by getting drunk with me. Because isn’t that how lawyers usually celebrate things? By drinking? Might as well start her early.

-Actually having a conversation with M. (Also, sex.)

-Just being in my parents house - the huge kitchen with dual ovens so I can bake to my little heart’s content, the gorgeous Christmas tree painstakingly decorated by my father, the holiday music piped into every room, my Yiayia (Greek for grandma) and her adorableness (also, her cooking), poring over wedding magazines with my mom and aunts, watching college basketball with my dad and brother, sleeping in my childhood bed and smiling to myself thinking of M, sleeping just two floors below.

-Christmas itself and my loud Greek family whom I wouldn’t trade for the world. Also, food. Because hi, I haven’t told you but I am currently on a diet and Christmas is my one day to indulge and WHO THE HELL STARTS A DIET DURING THE HOLIDAYS?

-Seeing my friends from high school. Getting drunk with my friends from high school.

-Sitting on my couch. A lot.

Again, happy holidays y’all. May your days be merry and bright.

I leave you with a Christmas photo from many years ago (I know, I know, anonymous blog and whatnot but whatever. It’s Christmas. I’m feeling particularly giving):

I’m the blonde. My sister refused to smile for the camera (my little brother? Not even born). My parents sent the Christmas card out like this because they thought it was hilarious.

You know what I find hilarious? The matching outfits. Seriously, parents?

Indie Bloggers December 13, 2007

I’m published over on Indie Bloggers today.

I submitted a post from Such Great Heights (some of my older readers may be familiar with it) mainly because I am a wuss. I wanted to test the waters with something non-fiction, something that had already gotten past the “is this crap or not?” test for the blog.

But soon, I’m going to start submitting fiction. Fiction that I’m way too bite-my-nails-until-they’re-stubs nervous about to post on this here site.

And I encourage you all to do the same. Not just fiction, but anything that you’re proud of - that post that made you want to kiss the damn screen. Maybe something that you’re a bit nervous to post on your personal blog. A certain piece that has been languishing in your drafts folder - you know it’s good but something is keeping you from publishing it.

Take a risk. Trust me, if I can do it (I mean, I never even let M read my writing and even submitting to IB took much encouragement from my #1 fan Molly), you can too.

I can’t wait to see your stuff over there.

Truth. November 18, 2007

I haven’t cheated on M.

Or committed a felony (though, really, if I were to commit a felony it would probably be shoplifting because momma would love a pair of Christian Louboutins).

Or anything else you might be thinking.

I know the timing was a bit suspicious - I had just posted about seeing my ex-boyfriend (verdict: he looks better than ever, his waif of a new girlfriend shot daggers - nay, samurai swords at me all night, it was a wee bit uncomfortable for a while, sangria made it all better) and then I went all cryptic with “I don’t have the guts to publish something” and I apologize for that.

M and I are fine, even if I did find myself - for about 1/300th of a second - thinking about how the Ex has great lips and it was nice to kiss those for five years, in spite of everything.

No, it’s something else: I’ve been thinking about quitting the blog.

There. I said it. I feel better now.

Also, I’m not going to. I should put that out there right away because I don’t want this post to come off as some transparent ploy to run up the comments. That’s not what this is; I just want to be honest. (Hence, I have turned the comments off.)

So, yeah, not going to quit, but definitely thought about it. Have been thinking about it for a while, actually.

I mean, yes, about once a month I’ll get a nasty email or a “wow, you’re so materialistic/crazy/annoying” comment and the sting of the judgment will prompt a “I don’t want to do this anymore” reaction, if only for a moment.

Lately, it’s been different. Lately, it’s been a nagging feeling. Lately, my finger has hovered over the “delete this blog” button.

I’m just feeling…uninspired lately. And full of self-doubt. And worried that M feels a bit closed off from this “blog world” that I retreat to with my laptop. Also, anxious that I won’t be able to sustain posts now that my career trajectory has been clicked to overdrive.

I started to have a meltdown and then I began to convince myself that I could walk away. That I should walk away. That I could still read blogs and comment and feel part of the community without actually being part of the community.

My logic, often enough, leaves a lot to be desired.

The truth is, I would miss it so much.

I would miss you so much.

Also, I would probably have to get a therapist and therapists are expensive.

I don’t know why I’m even writing this post. I probably should’ve just started posting again, blamed my brief absence on being busy and let it be.

But - and this is what it all comes down to, really - I can’t clear my head unless I empty my thoughts. The whole time I was debating whether or not to delete the blog because I’ve outgrown it and I’m busy and maybe it’s not so necessary anymore, I kept wanting to write a post about it because I knew that writing a post - getting it out of my head and into the world - would’ve helped.

Don’t think the irony is lost on me.

It’s just overwhelming sometimes to think that there’s two plus years of my history here. That anyone, anywhere can just click on a month and year and know how I got engaged or what my apartment looks like. I’ve never been a private person but, as the landscape changes, as the blog grows, it makes me want to put up a wall and stay safe inside.

Except, I really wouldn’t be the person I am today without this blog. I would still probably suffer from unhealthy jealousy. I would still feel like the only person who feels a certain way, without the comments and emails reassuring me that others ‘get it’. I would almost certainly not be writing with any sort of consistency.

Oh god. I’m rambling. I’m even boring myself and for that I apologize. It does feel good to get it out there, though, to admit that I have my doubts about myself and my writing and what the hell I’m doing sending my innermost thoughts out into the universe to be read by almost no one I’ve met in real life.

I have my doubts, yes, and I almost let them get the best of me. But I talked myself out of being a coward and I’m still here. Hopefully for a long time.