First Person Singular by Wendy Braitman

Don’t Covet Your Neighbor’s Canapés

Do you know people who inhabit charmed lives? With their perfect cars, lovers, pets, bed linens, friends, books being-made-into-movie deals, families of origin, appetizers, vacation homes and flower arrangements, they breeze through the day-to-day, while most of us are exhausted and demoralized. They don’t seem to break a sweat. When I’m reeking envy, William, my wise therapist friend, tells me, “Don’t compare your insides to someone else’s outside.” Fair enough. Maybe on closer examination, these charmed lives really suck. But still, they make it look so easy.

(Image: Pusher Woman by Mel Kadel, whose work is featured in 2TheWall until March 2.)

What To Wear To a Check-Up

I have “white coat” syndrome. Just walking into a doctor’s office sends my pulse through the roof. I’m sure some nasty disease is waiting to reveal itself during a routine visit. So it took me 3 years to make an appointment with an internist, and as it turns out, he’s pretty cute. He told me to call him Mike. On command, I opened my mouth and said, “aaaaah,” he checked my vitals and gave me a Tetanus shot. When the exam was over, I reached for my clothes and Mike said, “I knew you were healthy as soon as I saw your shoes.” (I’d worn Salomon trail runners and a comfy T-shirt that day.) “Don’t get me wrong,” I answered. “I love girlie shoes. I didn’t feel like wasting them on a  doctor.”

(Image: Lady in Satin, 2009, by Andrea Michaelsson of Btoy.)

I Don’t Do Windows

My mother was downright adorable. She kept our house spotless and organized (including closets and drawers) worked a hard day at the office, prepared 3-course meals for the family, held hands with my father, and loved pretty clothes.

Me? I do not even own an iron.

Answered Prayers?

Somewhere along the line, I got tired of pleading for things that didn’t get delivered. (Though Obama did become President, and I prayed for that.) And yet, I started to notice that the very act of praying, took me beyond my grievances, and became its own reward, as I felt more connected to community, the world at large, and on a really good day, the cosmos.

Image: Ignored Prayers, 2010, by David Choe.

When You Don’t Inherit the High Heel Gene

I must’ve misplaced my woman’s manual:

1. How to wear high heels for a long evening, without regretting it in the morning?
2. How to apply concealer without looking like you’re wearing concealer?
3. How to keep polish on fingernails for more than a day without chipping?
4. How to stay warm in a sleeveless dress on a wintry day, especially in California, where no one likes to turn on the heat?
5. How to blow-dry hair, and not end up looking like your mother (or maybe that’s my mother)?
6. How to act like you don’t want it when you really do?

(Image: Nailpolish, 2009, by Elad Lassry)

Cooking with the Naked Chef

I’m having a crowd for dinner tonight. Chili, cornbread, and lemon bars for dessert. Feeding loved ones is a way I get to nurture, apart from massaging my dog’s ears and keeping her butt clean. Since I didn’t have a lot of prep time, I turned to Jamie Oliver, the Naked Chef, whose recipes are easy, swift and guaranteed. Oliver is also a prominent activist and educator. Check out his inspiring TED video, in which he talks about how eating right can change the world.

Recipe: Chili Con Carne by Jamie Oliver (from Happy Days with the Naked Chef)
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When No Means No

I have a problem with authority, which is why through the years, I’ve been far happier as a boss than an employee. Some might say this attitude has had an impact on my being single, but hey, Angela Merkel, Chancellor of Germany, has a husband (in fact, she’s had 2). Yet when it comes to a 50-75% discount on designer clothes, I can learn to behave.

Sign from the Barneys Warehouse Sale in New York, going on now through February 28th.

Homage To My Hips

The distinguished poet Lucille Clifton died this week.

Homage to My Hips

these hips are big hips.
they need space to
move around in.
they don’t fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don’t like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top!

by Lucille Clifton, Good Woman. 1987

What To Do When You’re Not Dating, Part 2

What do I have to show for six months on Match.com? Bubkes. Even still, I’m so busy –

1. getting through all ten Best Picture nominations before the Oscars on March 7. (If you haven’t seen The Hurt Locker and Avatar, try to catch them on the big screen.)
2. watching videos from the TED conference.
3. preparing 2009 taxes. (Actually, I haven’t gotten to this one yet.)
4. reading short stories by J.D. Salinger, because his writing is as brilliant and accessible as the tributes suggest.
5. making chicken and beef stock from scratch, having been humbled by Mark Bittman who writes The Minimalist, a down-to-earth column for the Times, in which he urges home cooks to clean their kitchen shelves of boullion cubes and canned stock.

(bubkes: Yiddish for nada, zilch, nothing.)

Does Facebook Know If We’re Happy?

Valentines Day was a piece of cake, or more precisely, a chicken pot pie, which I made from an Ina Garten recipe for friends who were coming to dinner. The midday weather was spectacular, and while my dough was resting in the fridge, I took Rose for a stroll in the park, and afterwards, we all watched the Olympics on TV. In other words, I felt happy. That is, until I stumbled onto Facebook’s Relationships and Happiness page, and their Gross National Happiness Index, which measures happiness based on the positive or negative words people use in their status updates. What a ludicrous barometer. “Just as expected,” FB writes, “people who are in a relationship or marriage do seem to be happier than everyone else.”

I will NOT let social media ruin my buzz. Let’s get the expert, Bella DePaulo, on the case.