bird by bird

"You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair--the sense that you can never completely put on the page what's in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page ." - On Writing , Stephen King

Route to work

Ok so I have this cool, talented photographer friend named TB who made this beautiful video of her friend today. Yeah, today, she just whipped this up right quick. I think it would be SO cool to be able to say that about something I create someday. "I just whipped this up." Anyway, I'll surely be posting more of her stuff because I'm OBSESSED with it (it's my new word. Deal with it). Seven Day Fool from Taylor Jayne Ballantyne on Vimeo . Here's her Vimeo profile for more cool vids:  http://vimeo.com/tjphotography

There is a column in the Style Section of the Sunday Times that I am OBSESSED with (I claim to be obsessed with a lot of things, I'm realizing. I need a new word...) Anyway, LS introduced me to Modern Love  a few years ago with an article that even though I can't recall the specifics I'm guessing had something to do with being single... go figure. I've been an avid reader ever since, excitedly waiting for a new story to laugh or cry with over a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats each Sunday. My favorite thing about Modern Love is that each essay is true and is written by someone who is real and honest and probably hurt and yet still alive. And the interpretation of "modern love" goes beyond romantic relationships (luckily, so I have a shot at relating). Ok so that's like 3 favorite things, but it's just SO good. I have a now not-so-secret fantasy of submitting an essay myself, so I've been doing some major research to figure out how to keep my story fr

(FYI, I totally googled "three year old birthday" for this photo. I have no idea who this kid is.)  This is what my blog would look like if it was in person form because today is "Bird by Bird's" THIRD BIRTHDAY!!! (Except it would probably have brown hair and be wearing a cool vintage band t-shirt or something..) What started out as a writing project to help pull me out of the 2008 dumps ended up becoming this thing that I have fallen in love with doing! I have 835 blog posts, 57 followers, and over 18,000 hits, and even more than that, I have this amazing outlet that has allowed me to vent, reflect, create, explain, contemplate, and share. A LOT has happened in three years, but my motto (taken from the other AL- Anne Lamott) to take each day one day at a time, bird by bird, has helped me get through some mornings, days, and nights when I felt like it was all a little too much. This blog has been with me (and those I love) through moves, jobs, relationship

Get a cup of coffee and get cozy. This is a LONG one.. I had high hopes for writing a kick-ass year review in the end of December when I was home nursing my wisdom teeth craters, but I instead I watched a ton of holiday shows and drolled on the couch for three days straight. Then when I came back to NYC, gal pals TBK and CS came for the best New Year's Eve I could imagine and we galavanted around the city for the long weekend. Then I started back at work as a full-time hated nanny for three little nanny-haters. Hence, my deep contemplation and analysis of my past year has been pushed back once again, and I've decided that instead of writing a reflection of 2011, I am going to look back on my first full year in New York City. 1 year ago today. That's right folks, today is my city-versary! I'm One New York year old!! THE START: I moved to New York City on January 26th, 2011 during the worst blizzard of NYC's winter. My flight into La Guardia was the last to l

The very first thing another human being said to me this morning was: "I hate you, Amanda." It occurred to me later that a lot of mornings begin this way. Actually, most mornings. Let me explain: I wake up at 5:45am every day in order to be at work (aka the house where I nanny) by 7:00am. I have a key, and when I get into the house, it is my responsibility to wake everyone up. I have come to realize that the only thing worse than being woken up at 7:00am is being the person who has to do the waking up. (Talk about shooting the messenger). I try to be gentle and comforting because I am not a morning person either, so I can totally relate to the kids when they want to stay in their warm beds. I walk into the boys' rooms, sit on their bed, rub their backs, and whisper into their ears, "Good morning sunshine." It's at this point, when they open their eyes, turn their faces toward me and say, "I hate you, Amanda." I am not exaggerating . This hap

I live in New York City, but sometimes I forget. Every once in a while, I find myself on the other side of the island looking out toward the Manhattan skyline in complete awe that this giant, glowing planet of a city is where I live. It's like when I'm in it, I do my thing and forget that I'm doing my thing in the greatest city in the world. That's kind of a big deal, and when I realize it every couple of months or so, I get totally freaked out. This feeling that I experience of exhilaration and sheer terror is like being pushed on a swing when you're a kid. You keep asking to be pushed more and more, and then at some point, someone pushes you so high that the chains of the swing aren't tight anymore and your stomach drops and you suddenly wish you hadn't asked to be pushed so high. You feel like you're going to fall or throw up or die. You want to get off.  That's how I felt the other night at 2:30am as I took a $35 cab ride over the Brooklyn Bri

I work from 7am-5pm Monday-Friday. That's 50 hours (in NYC time, so it's really more), and I am constantly exhausted . Usually after work I go directly home, immediately put on sweatpants, promptly turn on NBC Nightly News, and veg for the remainder of night. Friday nights are no exception. Usually I'm perfectly content being a total city sloth, but every once and a while I take a good, long look at myself in my mirror and see the bookmark that I have taped to the bottom that says, "YOU ARE HERE." I promised to NEVER be a girl who takes pictures of herself in her mirror, and then I did this. But it's ok; I'm just being ironic. My mirror, mirror on the walls screams at me: WAKE UP. YOU LIVE IN NEW YORK EFFIN' CITY. GET OUT OF YOUR APARTMENT AND GO DO SOMETHING. So this week, in spite of real January temps, I did just that. I woke up, got out of my apartment, and did something. Here's what I did: On Wednesday, roomie HK and I ventured ou

When I was a teacher at Zoni, the only time my students were engaged was when I was telling them stories (about life in South Dakota, adventures weekend nannying the twins, and all the times I locked myself out of my apartment). The second I would start talking about present perfect progressive verb tenses or idioms related to education, their eyes would gloss over again, but for those few minutes when I would digress into a story about how I once stole a library book, I had them . For 6 months I may have been completely ineffective in drilling proper uses of modals into their international brains, but they laughed at my jokes (most of the time), listened to my stories, and this kept me going. Now that I am a nanny, the only time the kids are listening to me is when I'm telling them stories (about three aliens on the planet of Manhattania who run out of electric lemonade and go on a interplanetary search, ending on a South Dakota dairy farm). I'm constantly calling their

Do you have any idea how many times a day I have to report whether or not someone has pooped?! Seriously, I have never in my life paid so much attention to bowel movements. With the responsibility of a dog, a baby, and a four-year-old with some serious digestive issues, it's hard to keep all this shit straight! These are the kinds of texts that I have to send on a daily basis. 8:45am: JT pooped. 10:00am: Took Charlie the dog out. She didn't poop. 3:30pm: JJ pooped his pants again. Said he didn't feel it. 4:30pmt: JT finally pooped. It was darkish green. 7:00pm: Took Charlie the dog out again, she did poop, it was runny. By the end of the day, I am pooped.

"A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song." --Maya Angelou

I woke up with a headache but also with the memory of a nice dream about a handsome man. I looked out the window and.. snow. Nice, light, falling, fluffy white stuff falling from the sky at a leisurely pace as if the flakes were collectively and in tiny little voices saying, "No rush. We have all day." I threw on my new, virgin snow boots and multiple layers of warm clothes and headed down the stairs, down the hill, and down the street to the corner deli for a breakfast sandwich and a glimpse of my Harlem neighborhood temporarily dressed in white. I came back up the street, up the hill, and up the stairs to my apartment where I popped a sudafed, poured a giant cup of coffee, and perched myself in my eating-room-turned-writing-room for the rest of the morning. I listened to Feist and had a fb chat with Uncle Ed. I listened to Etta James and filled out my renewal lease form. I listened to the song "Betty Davis Eyes" because I remembered the line about New York snow. I

I am OBSESSED with this song (this week), and I'm pissed that there isn't a better video on YouTube. (This one is especially weird at the beginning). But it's such a lovely little tune, that I felt blogger's obligation to share! Listen, enjoy, and download on iTunes because the recorded version is great. (Or email me, and I'll send it to you).

Fellow writing enthusiast and SDPost contact is trying to write a book, and thanks to the amazing invention of Kickstarter, he's SO close to making his goal!! I'm passing on this link in the hopes that: 1. You'll donate a little to the cause 2. You'll check out Kickstarter and all the cool projects that you can help be a part of funding 3. When you see his book published, you can know how it all started http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/scottdavidmeyer/a-travel-hacking-guide-to-norway/posts/162910?ref=email&show_token=21444a790dc920c5 If you aren't familiar with Kickstarter, the person or organization raising money has a deadline, and if the goal isn't met by that date, none of the money is collected/distributed. It looks like Scott only has a couple of days and is so close to getting funded. Help a bro out!! Ps You may be seeing a funding plea from your truly at some point :) I'll keep you posted!

I thought of this when I was at the gym today.. Thank GOD that God sent us a Tina Fey at the same time he sent us a Kim Kardashian. I think it kinda evens out.

A reoccurring conversation that I have literally had no less than 50 times since moving to New York City: Person: So are you from New York? Me: No, I moved here a year ago. I'm from South Dakota, actually. P: South Dakota?! (pauses in brief contemplation) I don't think I've ever met anyone from South Dakota. M: Yeah... I get that a lot. P: What's South Dakota known for? That mountain with the president faces? M: Yeah... that's Mount Rushmore. P: Wow, so is it really cold in North Dakota? M: Well, I'm from South Dakota, not North Dakota. There's a big difference. And yeah, it's pretty cold.  P: What's the difference between North and South Dakota? M: South Dakota is cold, flat, and has a small population. North Dakota is even colder, flatter, and has an even smaller population. Also, we have Mount Rushmore. P: (awkward laughing) Cool. M: Cool. Sometimes I like to throw in a tid bit about the corn palace or the fact that there are more

Remember when I used to complain about how LOUD it is outside my bedroom window every night?! Well, somewhere between then and now, with the help of thick, dark curtains, and my air purifier that I call hurricane Katrina, I have learned to sleep through whatever NYC is getting into outside my bedroom window. Last night, on a whim, I decide not to close my thick, dark curtains (because I just bought some cute new panels at Ikea. Adorable; I'll show you), and not to turn on hurricane Katrina (because my roomie's gone for the weekend, and I have an irrational fear of being robbed). So I'm deep in don't-have-to-work-Monday slumber when I wake up to flashing lights and breaking glass and chainsaw noises coming through my windows. Also, I was very hot in my flannel pj's. I look out the window and see seven fire trucks outside on my street. SEVEN. I freak out at first because I'm sweating and OMG IS MY BUILDING ON FIRE?!? It's not, but El Chory Deli across the st

For months I had been having the same internal debate. Should I stick with what I know and love and trust, or should I adapt to the modern world around me? Books books or electronic books? This was my question.  The holidays were fast approaching causing me to sit down and decide what kind of reader I wanted to be. Did I want to be the authentic, Belle-from-Beauty-and-the-Beast kind of reader with floor to ceiling bookcases and a hunchback-like posture caused by carrying heavy books with me every where I go? Or did I want to be a sleek, sophisticated reader who slides a Kindle or Nook in and out of my designer bag as I'm waiting for the train? I just couldn't decide! So I didn't decide. I got a Nook for Christmas.  And seven paperbacks. 

I am a sucker for anything with a bird on it. I'm so transparent. How embarrassing.. P.S. Portlandia= effing hilarious

This movie isn't great, and I don't really like this actress because she plays a total B on 27 Dresses (a movie that hits a lit-tle too close to home, but that's a whole other story...). ANYWAY, I love love love this scene of this movie and really, the whole idea of it. I wish I was instilled with such wisdom by my cab drivers. Usually they just honk their horn aggressively and question me when I ask to go to Harlem (also another story...) ANYWAY, here's the clip: Mainly just watch the first two minutes, but the rest is great for other reasons. I love the molecule part. So true. Now go get yourself loved.

This morning I ran to the bank to deposit some mola, and I remembered the Nine West Outlet store that is across the street. I walk past it on my way to the grocery store every week, but I've never gone in; so today I did. And the most amazing thing happened. I should have prefaced this post with a short explanation of my anti-Cinderella, no-glass-slipper-for-me curse.. the curse of huge feet. I'm not going to say what size of shoe I wear because I am that self-conscious about it. But whatever size you are thinking about in your head, add three. That's my shoe size. Not only does it stop all the princes that are constantly stopping at my door asking me to squeeze into a 'regular-sized' glass slipper, but it's damn hard to find shoes to wear.. anywhere (not just to the ball). Renting bowling shoes and ice skates are both pretty humiliating experiences as well. It's my burden to bare in life, and I have sadly accepted it. Cut back to when I'm opening

Whenever I post videos, I try to pin point my favorite line, but this song just has too many good ones!! See what I mean?! Also, for some reason, this video reminds me of the Sims.

Science, snakes, and boys: all things that I don't understand/am afraid of. This makes my job of nannying  three little boys who LOVE science and snakes particularly challenging. I am so sick of reading about and playing with sharks, fighter jets, snakes, spiders, trains, and astronauts that I could puke. Can't we just play dress up and drink imaginary tea and dance?! The answer to this, is no. We cannot.  Luckily, the boys and I have been able to find a small plot of common ground with my man, Shel Silverstein. Even though his books aren't heavily illustrated, are in black and white, and contain no scientific data whatsoever, the boys fall into a coma-like trance when I begin reciting the kid-friendly poetry. And I do, too. Here's a poem I read this week that I loved so much I took a picture with my phone. The boys didn't understand the poignancy of the poem, but that's ok; I don't understand half the shit they like to read. 

It has recently come to my attention that I have a draft problem. I have SO MANY drafts of blog posts, but I forget/neglect to post them for one reason or another!! So today is the day. I'm going to post a random assortment of blog drafts that have been hiding out in cyberspace for the past 6 months as a part of an ever growing effort to be more ballsy (which is a real word, according to spellcheck) about putting my stuff out there. Baby steps, baby. A sad day turned OK. Actually, I don't really remember what happened after this. Surely, there was no Char Bar :( Re-reading this really made me miss my Asians.  Wow, I sound like such a BABY!! I'm happy to report that my mental breakdowns are a lot less intense and frequent these days. And if I ever have a house party, I'm totally stealing the lightbulb idea. Dank. (also, the date on this one is wrong..) EH, do you remember this?? I miss being miserably hot and sticky with you in a stinky, crowded city.

Plucked from Pinterest> Kate Spade NY

I saw the movie Rabbit Hole recently (which is not at all funny like I was mistakenly lead to believe by an interview on Oprah!), and in the film, two characters who have both lost their sons are talking about the possibility of the pain ever going away.  Becca : Does it ever go away? Nat : No, I don't think it does. Not for me, it hasn't - has gone on for eleven years. But it changes though. Becca : How? Nat : I don't know... the weight of it, I guess. At some point, it becomes bearable. It turns into something that you can crawl out from under and... carry around like a brick in your pocket. And you... you even forget it, for a while. But then you reach in for whatever reason and - there it is. Oh right, that. Which could be aweful - not all the time. It's kinda... [deep breath] Nat : not that you'd like it exactly, but it's what you've got instead of your son. So, you carry it around. And uh... it doesn't go away. Which is... Becca : Which is

A beautiful, fast, overwhelming, perfect depiction of my first year in New York City. New York City - In One Year from J. Adam Giese on Vimeo .

Spray paint art in SOHO

I had the BEST conversation last night with new NYC friends TB, a super chill, open, and hilarious photographer and her cousin SS, a page at NBC who is from Alabama and has a small crush on her cousin.   I LOVE THEM BOTH! I went over to TB's UWS apartment with cheese pizza and vodka after a long-ass day of nannying, and we put Jenny Lewis on pandora and got all girl-talk while sitting on T's hardwood floor. We talked guidos, disappointing grandmothers, heartbreak, Italian family traditions of drunk santas, smoking after a good work out, walks of shame, and much, much more. We broke for a chip and cheese dip break and got back into stories of our loves, loves lost, and the great responsibility/privilege of the artist. We talked about creative projects in our futures, and T gave me one of the best "If you want to be a writer, be a writer" pep talks I have heard in a very long time. So I'm GONNA. I'm going to tell people that I'm a writer (because I am on

Ok since I SUCK at blogging these past couple of months.. I decided to really put the pressure on and make writing a full-fledged 2012 new year's resolution. My biggest issue with blogging lately hasn't been lack of material but instead TO MUCH material. Where do I begin?! So I've decided to start with 140-characters. That's right people, I'm on Twitter. It feels weird to say, and I'm unclear about the verbage associated with this social media site. Do I twitter? Do I tweet? Did I twaught? It's confusing. Also, no matter how many times people try to explain to me what # means, I'm certain that I will never understand. That being said, I'm going to try to keep up with Twitter more regularly than I have been doing with my blog, and I hope to use it as a springboard for some larger writing projects. Ooorr, I'll just keep my three followers updated on whether or not my nanny kids still hate me (and as of today, yes, they do). For quick updates on m

photography + words + NYC postcards + a beautiful sentiment = 1:30