Change Anything Change Everything

I don't think I can wait for the New Year. I need a change now. Somehow, that's easier to say than do.

See, I don't want to change just anything; I want to change EVERYTHING. Absolutely everything. It occurred to me that I want to start living my life the way I want to live my life. Doesn't that sound utterly absurd? Like, what other way would I live my life? Well, around other people for one, and my wallet for another. And then there's the lack of time to do half the stuff I need to, not to mention what I would like to. I know I'm not alone in that. But, is that what really hinders us from living how we really want, or is that the easy excuse? Perhaps a little of both? I don't know. It just seems a shame that I have let those things stand in my way. But, no longer.

I suppose it was easy to let work or a tight budget restrict me. Some might even cite that as being responsible. I think what I haven't realized, now that I'm back working at home and not for a nut-job boss, is that I have the time I need to do what I should do for the life I want to have. There isn't a rush anymore. Sure, there are hours to put in, work to do and deadlines to meet, but I no longer have to look around to see what I need to avoid. I can just look at what's in front of me. How novel! And isn't it asinine that this just occurred to me? I know. I baffle myself sometimes. Whatever. At least the notion made its way through my thick skull and I can finally do something about it. Though, I might wait for Monday to set this change in motion. I'm too stoned on Midol to deal with it now.

Under the Gunn

I so want Tim Gunn to come over, throw back a few stems of champers with me and get medieval on my wardrobe. I just can't bring myself to do it. I need him to help me be totally brutal with what I'm holding on to, and then take me shopping. And, by that, I mean pick it out and pay for it. I want the whole personal shopper experience and a Bravo/Tim discount. While I am far from a media whore, and do have a healthy reluctance to living on video (damn that YouTube), I'd totally put myself out there for a compact closet that is completely fabulous. Tim doesn't fluff around. If it ain't soul-stirring, that sheath is the frock out of there.

What a great day that would be. Tim and I would get giddy on the Veuve (though, he or Bravo, seems to prefer the Taitt) and have the sedan take us over to Bloomies (though, I would beg for Barney's, Saks and NM...come on, he's footing the bill, right?). We'd have the staff scrambling to fill rolling racks full of Tim's basic ten. Tim's a hard man to please. But his shrewd eye is impeccable.

In spite of my protestations, we'd end up lunching at The Ivy, though, I kind of figured Tim would be more the Polo Lounge type. After lunch, and more stems, we'd be adventurous and head Downtown. Catch up with Jeffrey and Santino. While their designs are fabulous, Tim and I agree that they don't go with the classic story of my new wardrobe. Therefore, off we go to visit Karl. Tim gets that I need to push the Chanelvelope. And a dash of Prada never hurt a girl (except in her pony pocketbook, but, remember, Tim's footing the bill). Then, quick stop in Manhattan to visit Marc. He does classic avec edge so well.

That's a lot of shopping for two people. Even if one of them is Gunn. We'd finish up on the deck at Shutters, sipping more champers, spooning out caviar, sharing a hearty chuckle as the sun sets into the Pacific. [Insert glass clink here.]

Instead, it'll just be me, some Hefty bags and a ruthless demeanor. Champers at the end if I'm good and brutal, though.

Spokesperson/Translator Wanted Full-Time

I never thought I would actually want to be like Sarah Palin, but I do. I know. You must be shocked. I totally am. But, I started thinking: Wouldn't it be great to have a spokesperson following me around to translate? Someone paid to take the foot out of my mouth and give it a pedicure. Where do I get one?! How much do they cost?!

I mean, that's better than a housekeeper or a personal trainer. I would live with dust bunnies and thimples if I could have someone smoothing all the feathers I tend to ruffle. I could just blurt away and not have to worry about the consequences. The Spokesperson/Translator would make everything better. I imagine it would go a little something like this:

POLITICS

ME: I think you are a friggin' idiot for saying something like that.

SPOKESPERSON/TRANSLATOR: What Ms. Miller actually meant was that you are a unique thinker with an interesting perspective. She finds that quite impressive.

ME: Seriously. You should get a refund from your college.

SP/T: With your impressive mind, the institution of higher learning that you attended must be honored to have you as an alum. They should set up a scholarship in your name.

ME: Douche.

SP/T: Weren't you the one to stop The Bridge to Nowhere?


SOCIAL GATHERINGS (Within 5 minutes of arriving.)

ME: South Park nailed Scientology. Like, who really buys the whole Xenu thing? Why not believe in the Easter Bunny? At least he's the kind of guy to bring chocolate.

RANDOM FRIEND'S FRIEND: I'm a Scientologist.

ME: Travolta, is that you?

SP/T: Mr. Travolta, let me assure you that Ms. Miller appreciates religious freedom and embraces diversity. Her comments were pertaining to the level of artistry, creativity and tongue-in-cheek humor of the show that, at times, boarders on genius. And, you have to admit, the whole Tom Cruise/closet thing was pretty well done. M&Ms?


WORKPLACE

ME: You know, if you just read the email and answered the questions I put in there -- in English so basic that it barely qualifies as first-grade level -- this whole process would go a lot quicker.

SP/T: Ms. Miller enjoys collaborating with you and hopes the working relationship will be long-term.


Imagine all the vodka-soaked debates a Spokesperson/Translator could repair. The relationships that would be saved. The verbal equivalents of floral arrangements sent to colleagues you insulted without even meaning to, let alone the ones you did intend to affront. This could be the greatest accessory ever invented; to always look good, even when you sound like an utter moron. I would pay just about any price for that. But, if we don't start paying attention to the policies instead of the spin, it's surely going to cost us all.

Overdrawn

I've always been a girl who dreamt big. After all, it's free. I like anything at a discount. I make the most of free. So, my dreams are epic. Limitless. But they do come with a bit of a cost.

While I am a dreamer, I'm not a fantasist. My dreams are reality based. I don't expect to meet an exotic (and truly handsome) prince from a little known European monarchy who will whisk me away, make me his queen and we'll live in the well-heated castle (replete with a moat) in a happily-ever-after manner. No. But I have often said I intend to be William's Wallace Simpson. Oh, come on. Stranger things have happened.

I'd like to win the lottery. But I only play the $50,000 jackpot. Better odds. Name kept out of the paper. And my real goal is to just pay off my bills. I don't need a McMansion.

The dream I have for my life is a simple one. I get to live on my own terms. Make a decent living doing what I love. Have a great guy to share it with. Sure, there are additional perks I'd indulge in, like multiple homes. But, even in my dreams, they are modest. A place in LA near the water (which I have now with rent control). Perhaps a pied-á-terre in Manhattan. A flat in Dublin. Something quaint in Tuscany. I'd rent those out when I'm not there, of course. Like I said, reality based. Rental income is nothing to sniff at.

I don't want a big, fancy car. I love my Ghetta. She'll soon be nine. I think if I got another car it would be a Jetta or a Rabbit or a Mini. Although, the Audi turbo wagon is kind of nice. My dream wardrobe just consists of the basics. Something comfortable and right for every occasion. But I wouldn't mind having Grace Kelly's wardrobe from "Rear Window". We need an Edith Head revival. I wonder if the Gap could pull that off?

A simple life for me would truly be a dream. Funnily enough, getting to that simplicity has been a challenge. While I'm living life mostly on my own terms, there is a price to that. The stubbornness grows with time. I don't hold myself open to a "Plan B". I've invested too much in my aspirations to turn back now. I find myself mentally pacing, holding breath, gritting my teeth as I wait for an answer. What I've long ago planted and nurtured is due to finally bloom. However, I've been waiting an awfully, awfully long time for that. When one gets close to seeing something come to fruition, one's patience is spent. Overdrawn, in fact. Optimism turns into bullheaded agitation. Irritation sets it. Then a pit in one's stomach grows. Please, don't tell me we are back to square one. Not again.

These aren't failures or set backs, just par for the course in a creative field. A path that doesn't come with a map or signposts to let you know you are nearing your destination. Because, when it happens, it really does come overnight. Or, after lunch. Years and years of work culminate into a moment of success. Perhaps a mention in a trade. A blurb on the internet. A Twitter post (or five, since they are small). Until then, there are merely blips and hope and opportunities that come one's way. Blip. Blip. Blip.

So I sit in a patience deficit. Blue from holding breath. Cramped from crossing fingers. Blind from staring at the BlackBerry. Waiting for the call or email to come so I know, one way or another, what move to make next. It's not the end of the line. Not a brick wall or hurdle, just another step. Whether it's forward or back or lateral has yet to be determined. I need the BlackBerry to vibrate in order to know that. One thing is for certain, though: At the end of the day I can always count on my friends. Their love and support and patience comes in surplus.

Playing With Potential

One of the more enjoyable things one can do on a Sunday is have brunch with a good friend, maybe consume a few more calories than necessary, perhaps have a cocktail or two (or three, which is okay because we were walking), and then wander up and down the boulevard imagining what's next. Wonder how close we are to actually having it all. And we would indeed have it all. Why not? Fantasies are free.

There's a heap of potential out there just waiting to be seized. You can see it in the open expanse of a loft space. Within the four walls of that house for sale. In a shop window. The smile that stands out on a face in the crowd. Once you start, you begin to see it everywhere. You can't help but consider what you would do if your dream actually came true. If money were no object. If time wasn't something that ran so short, compressing everything everyday. If you could finally afford that maid. The personal chef. The personal trainer. And how nice it would be to actually have your own personal assistant.

Hours can be spent doing this. It's an enjoyable game. And daydreams as an adult seem to have a bit more power to them. They aren't merely an exercise of the imagination, but a plotting of the future. Phrases change from If or When to How. How can I make this happen? How quickly can I get it done? How great will it be when it's finally achieved?!?

Yesterday, my friend and I bought a house, started a few restaurants, opened a boutique and leased office space (I even threw in a few items for my wardrobe). The potential out there was palpable. Of course, more than a few of our plans required a windfall to make them real. A lotto win would come in quite handy, or a group of investors would do. Personally, I long for a generous benefactor. No, not a sugar daddy. I'm not that kind of girl. But, I think it would be nice for someone to take me on as their favorite charity. Be my very own NEA. It would be fabulous if we hit one of those jackpots. But, we knew it's down to us to take all that raw potential and mold it into exactly what we want. Somehow, we convinced ourselves that the DIY way was even more exciting than winning the lottery or a kindly benefactor picking up the tab. That was probably the third drink talking.