Yeah, this one.

And it’s very old.

It’s falling-apart-old.

It was old when I got it in a vintage store in LA.

The strap has already broken off, so I replaced it with a strap from another purse that I love.

But that doesn’t help the fact that the leather stitching is undone in many places.

And since I was tired of having random things fall out of my purse, despite the fact that it wasn’t open, I safety pinned it.

See?

But before I came up with that  classy idea, my mom taped it for me.

With, um, packing tape.

Even classier, I think.

Is that even possible?

Anyway, one of my favorite exchanges with a stranger in NYC to date happened at the bank and involved this purse.

I was slowly walking out of the bank, having just made a deposit, and wasn’t quite looking where I was going, so almost ran into someone.

I looked up, said excuse me, and saw the man focused on my purse.

My taped together, jerry-rigged mismatched strap purse.

He looked at the purse a little longer, looked to me briefly, then back at the purse before he said:

“You have a hard time letting go, don’t you?”

I followed his gaze to my purse and couldn’t do anything but agree.

And, gosh, who needs therapy when one runs into strangers like that?

It’s hard work being that girl in the picture. Seven shows a week now, starting tonight.

Well, tonight was our first preview, anyway. And I have to admit that while I was putting on my makeup, I was pretty excited. To dance and sing and act and be on a stage again.

Okay, I was really excited.

There’s just something beautiful about bringing a story to life. Yes, even a story about murder and intrigue and sex and scandal. Even that. Because there’s satire and humor mixed all up in it and if you can see it, then you realize how ridiculous we all can be and it aides in giving us what’s called a reality check.

Oh, and here’s Ian. Well, and me. We dance together in All That Jazz. He’s fabulous; I’m lucky.

And also, I have a friend who tells me that he has a friend he wants me to meet. Yeah, like, meet meet. “Sure, I’ll meet him,” I said, “But, I’ll probably be, like, really weird when I do.”

“You are really weird, Jess,” so that’s perfect. Just be yourself,” he reassured me.

Ha, okay.

And because the internet allows us all to be layman stalkers, I found my friend’s friend’s (confusing enough for you?) resume online. It’s eleven pages. He’s brilliant. Like, PHD’s out the wazoo from ivy league schools brilliant.

“Mom, what am I even gonna say to this guy?” I asked while I, you know, just happened upon his resume after I may or may not have been conducting a google search that included his name.

“Well, he can’t know about everything…” she mused, though an eleven page resume would indicate otherwise. “Like, he probably doesn’t know much about deliverances.”

That’s the kind of advice you get when your mother’s a minister, I guess. To go on a blind date-type situation with a bonafide genius and talk to him about demonic spirits getting cast out of people. Awesome. Can I hear SECOND DATE?

Yeah, probably not.

“Or…dance, mom. He probably doesn’t know a lot about dancing.”

Which, let’s face it, is probably a bit safer of a subject than real-life Exorcist scenarios.

(that’s quite a line-up)

I KNOW JUST WHAT I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS!

It’s called a tenori-on (I linked it again, in case you didn’t catch the link the first time around. Nothing says subtle like ALL CAPS, is what I’ve learned). You can use it to make fat and sweet beats while playing live, friends. Oh my gosh. It’s technology, true, but I’d learn this technology, because I am a huge fan of fat, sweet beats. Plus, it’s not, like, the television at my parents’ house–something I still haven’t quite learned to master. But, believe me, if that thing made fat, sweet beats, I’d have mastered it a long time ago.

Today, a friend of mine from school randomly asked me to lunch. We haven’t seen each other in years. And we were sitting across from each other at this swank Thai restaurant in Brooklyn, when I said, “You know this is more than we ever talked to each other in all four years of college?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I was scared of you.”

“Scared! Why in the world were you scared of me?!”

“I knew you meant business and sh*t. You were always in class, working hard, and I’d show up late with my dreads all wild and my boom box on my shoulder. You don’t think that’s awkward?”

“No, your dreads were cool–I always thought that. Plus, I was a huge admirer of your sneakers. You had great sneakers.”

I looked down at his lime green treads and noticed that hadn’t changed at all.

“Well, I knew you were, like, from the Pennsylvania countryside…And I thought you were kind of Amish or something,” he confided.

“AMISH?!”

“Don’t get me wrong–I thought you were mad cool, I just was kind of scared of you.”

“Well, I think I missed out on getting to know some really cool people in college. I was pretty shy then,” I said.

“You’ve changed,” he acknowledged.

“I got my heart broken,” I agreed. “Plus–I’m not so scared anymore. Of hardly anything.”

“But you should be.”

“Okay, maybe I am–of relationships…”

“Like I said, you should be. That stuff’s scary.”

On a side note, so is the fact that he thought I was Amish…!

Tonight, I just sat and looked at the fountains at Columbus Circle for a while. I was lost in my thoughts when a stranger asked me to pose with him for a picture. It was kind of weird, but whatever. If that makes him happier in his life, then it certainly doesn’t hurt me to smile and sit next to him while his friend snaps a photo.

I thought about a lot of things without really even forming sentences in my head, if that makes any sense at all. I let myself feel. I had a weird conversation with my ex and then a good, kind conversation with my friend. I listened to After the Storm by Mumford and Sons and felt myself hovering in that place that reminds my eyes to cry and my heart to hope and my mind to remember and every ounce of me to feel and not regret and not look back and never stop looking around at this life, humbled and courageous and wide-eyed.

Like the girl that I was.

Like the woman that I am.

It’s nice to have some privacy, I guess.

Real real nice.

I had lunch with a close friend last week. His dad is dying. He’s flown home now to say good-bye. This is not fair. How can we eat salad and talk about saying good-bye to someone we love so much? Sometimes life asks too much, I think.

Also, the pain and mess of it all makes me believe harder in a God who redeems this shit. I’m sorry for saying shit. It’s just–that’s the contrast sometimes: God’s redemption vs. shit. Beauty and transcendence vying against the ugliness and depravity we face sometimes.

It’s not easy, and so I use words that cost something.

And now my mom is gonna have to explain to her friends that not only do I sometimes use curse words in my songs, but now I sometimes use curse words in my blog.

It’s a good thing she loves me so much.

Love is always a good thing. No matter what somebody does with it, it’s a good thing. This is how I know my life is not a waste; was never a waste; will never be a waste.

And this is why I still love; even though it makes the part when you have to say good-bye hurt too much.

Even then, I choose love.

It hurts and heals us; but more than anything, it redeems us.

I got all teary-eyed at the end of yoga tonight. My teacher is so kind and I love listening to what he says. Tonight he was reminding us about our relative self and our absolute self, and the difference between the two.

“We are all very aware of our relative self,” he told us. It’s what we look like, what we do, our personalities and things like that. It’s often what takes all of our attention–but it’s not all of us. There’s our absolute self, too. What’s eternal. Our spirit, our soul. The part of us that will never go away. We want to act in such a way to nurture our absolute self, as well as our relative self–since our absolute self will be with us forever, while our relative self is in flux.”

Oh Timothy the Yoga Instructor, thank you for that.
For reminding me about who I am, not just what I do or even what I look like.

Like I said, it made me cry a little. And it also put some stuff in perspective. Like my anxiety lately. It’s gonna work out. Life, I mean. And I’m eternal–and so beyond just what I do here on this earth. Like, that is not the only measuring stick we have, I mean.

So, the most random conversation I’ve ever had with my mom to date occurred yesterday while I was kneading dough.

Me: I love kneading dough; do you love to knead dough, mom?
…My mom thinks for a bit…
Mom: No. I love dogs.

And that was the end of that conversation. Though I did laugh about it when she left the room. It’s not like the two are mutually exclusive. Maybe it’s a stretch, but I’d say a heart has enough room in it to fit both the love of kneading dough and the love of dogs.

I’m pretty sure I manage to do it, at least.

I think my absolute self could stay up a while yet, but alas, my relative self is demanding that I sleep.

Relative wins out on this one, guys.

Which made me laugh very hard.
And might just become my new favorite quote.

*in case you are my mom, please realize I am not about to date a guy based on his jewelry. In fact, if you are my mom, you realize that I am not about to date any guy at all right now. Not until things are good inside my little heart, and I am thinking no amount of jewelry on a guy is going to make that happen sooner than it should.

white dress (with jacob on guitar)

And my friend Jacob accompanied me on the guitar, which was very very nice of him. It’s awesome to have such talented friends. And even better when they are kind.
He learned it and then we pressed record on garage band and voila!, there you have it.

And for people like my mom who like to read the lyrics, here you go:

I once wore a a white dress;
they said it made me look my best, they said it made me look my, look my best
I walked down that aisle;
they said it’d last for more than just a while,
it’d last more than just a while

I bought a small home;
it was nothing special, ‘cept that it was ours,
yeah, it was ours alone
I painted every wall;
I thought it was that simple
didn’t know the colors mattered not at all

but these plans, they change, yeah they fall down like the rain
ain’t nothing left to do, but let it wash right over you
and I sometimes see the clouds, they warn me of the storm
but sometimes I see nothing but the day that I was born
I was unsuspecting then of what things may come my way,
and now nothing much has changed since that day

I watched him walk away; I cried myself to sleep that night
cried myself awake the next day
I couldn’t walk alone, but my friends, they disagreed,
they said I’d stand, they said I’d fly, they said I’d fly

I’m gonna be honest, I was down today. Really down tonight. Walking in the rain down. Okay, that doesn’t actually always mean I’m down, cause I like to walk in the rain–but I was down while I was doing that this evening.

And then I called my mom. We talked for a while. Moms have a way of loving you back off the ledge. She loved me right into buying myself some dinner. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Pretty perfect. Yes, I thought so, anyway. Then I wandered into a store in Columbus Circle and happened to see this amazing denim jumper. I’ve been thinking of denim jumpers for quite some time now. And yes, I realize this might be weird: who thinks of denim jumpers? This girl, that’s who. So I tried it on. A guy was trying on a suit. No, don’t worry, we weren’t trying these things on together. But we were both in the part of the store with the big mirrors, so you can really see what you’re trying on. He said to get the jumper. “You look amazing in it,” he said. “You should buy it and then you should go have coffee with me.”

I smiled. I said I thought the jumper was too big and too expensive (both were true) and then he said that he was gonna wait outside and ask me to coffee again.

And he did. It was super casual. I was down and figured what the heck. That is probably not the best thing to figure; and I do not, as a general rule, live my life with that kind of figuring in mind. But I also figured that it’s probably gonna be interesting. And it was. I mean, it felt very…like somebody else’s life or something. And every once in a while, that’s kind of nice, you know? Especially when your own life has left you feeling down. Then he asked me to go to a jazz club. I like jazz clubs. We went. Then he put me in a cab and I came home. Oh, but not before he told me I look Eastern European. Of course.

But the thing is, I am not trying to date anybody right now. And now I have to tell this to a nice guy. And that’s why I don’t usually ever say yes to this kind of thing. But I was thinking maybe we could be friends. I am not sure if a lot of people are looking for friends, though. I am not exactly sure what everybody is looking for, but most people are probably not looking for the same thing as me.

But it was fun to talk to someone. It was fun to laugh. It was fun to step out of…this…for a second. Cause this has been hard. And he definitely made it clear that he thinks I am something special, which is kind of nice, actually.  I wonder what my therapist would say. She’d probably say it was good. That it means I am moving on or something. I think it’s weird. Life is weird. I never thought I’d be here. Not ever. And I don’t think here is gonna be a place where I go to coffee with random guys on a regular basis. I mean, I don’t mind hanging out and having fun–but when there’s an agenda behind it, and it’s not the same agenda that I have, it probably doesn’t work very well.

So right. Tonight was interesting. And not normal. Not for me, anyway. And, I know, I need to be careful. Being single is so so so weird. And a whole other kind of vulnerable from being not single, I think.

*all of these were shot by dirty sugar photography and shhhhhh! I’m not quite supposed to show them yet, cause nothing has been done to them in terms of editing and stuff.

but, anyway.

thoughts? faves? opinions?

these are just a few of them I have to choose from…so feel free to help me out.

My mom’s response, when we went through them? “Oh, these are so much better than your old creepy headshots!”

Creepy? Um, thanks. I mean, it’s not like I was wearing a blood smattered shirt, or anything.

My pop’s response? “You look really nice and mature, Jess.”

“Nobody wants to be told they look nice and mature, Bruce,” said my mom. “I think she looks whimsical and lovely.”

“Yeah,” said pop. “That’s what I meant.”

haha, okay.

In their defense, they were both very encouraging overall, and couldn’t say enough nice things.

But the nice things just aren’t as funny, which is why you don’t see them here.

But then I went on a long walk and the moon was quite generous, allowing me to see far into the night like that, and the snow is like grace. I have done absolutely nothing to make it appear, but there it is anyway, making life more beautiful.

But the mall. All that stuff is overwhelming to me. Though I must say, I do find a place for boots and dresses and sweater tights, especially. Oh, and almost anything that’s yellow.

And these girls sure do make it better.

No, not better–they make it amazing; they make anywhere amazing.
They are like music, those girls.

Which is something that I am grateful to do. Music, I mean. Whenever I wonder what it is that I am doing with my life, exactly, I break it down and try to look at the details. And then it’s hard not to feel grateful. Because I get to sing a lot. I get to dance. I get to teach the things that I love. And I get to share life with the kind of people who get into your heart and make it better.

I also get to snap.

Which is what my mom pictured me doing here, at our show this past Wednesday.

I actually have a pretty fierce snap. It’s probably what I am most proud of. Try not to be too jealous; I am sure you do something well, too.