My particular brand of spring fever

In the past couple weeks I've been plagued by near-constant Vienna nostalgia accompanied by a solid dose of general Europe-missing. Combined with all the usual wishing for home and CM and the Bossy Cat, emotionally I've been a bit of a mess. This despite the fact that New York has been utterly gorgeous, springing into Spring with total abandon—outdoor seating popping up at every café, ballet flats appearing on the feet of every stylish Manhattan girl, park benches overflowing with canoodling couples. Leave it to me to be wishing I were somewhere else instead of enjoying it.

I thought I was alone in feeling this way, but when I made an offhand remark in an email to a friend that I was enjoying the weather but ready to go home, he wrote back, “Yes, this weather is inspiring spring-ish fever and nostalgia and all kinds of emotional things. I bet you're ready for being home.” YES! That was exactly what I was experiencing, wrapped up in one sentence by someone I don't even know all that well. So perhaps I'm not the only one… What say you, readers? Are you suffering from spring nostalgia these days?


I'm back home in Houston as of last night for a good long month off (yay!), and that seems to have assuaged the spring fever somewhat, although a large part of me is longing to whisk CM off on an impromptu tour of Europe. Seems to me that the only thing for it is to relive some of our oh so brief glory days, in the form of devoting this week's posts to sharing the rest of our wedding and perhaps a bit of our honeymoon. I hope you'll indulge me in a little walk down (recent-ish) memory lane. Blame it on springtime.


Stay tuned for a wedding post this evening!


Photo taken by me on June 5, 2011

It only took 11 years

I was 18 when I first fell in love with New York. I spent the summer here as an administrative intern at a theater company. By day I answered phones and read plays and organized the office and took on more responsibility. After hours I went out, all over the city with friends who were older, to bars where I never got carded or to plays where the seats were comped. The one piece of Manhattan advice that had stuck with me was to never ride the subway after 11pm, so most nights I could be found walking blocks and blocks home alone, or piling into a shared cab. Home was an "only in New York" sublet: a 4th-floor walk-up, 1-bedroom split in Midtown with a stranger who had to walk through my room every day in order to get to the bathroom or to the front door.

Nothing about the city got me down—not the heat, nor the prices, nor my sweltering cluttered apartment. I felt certain that I had found my destiny: to live and work (and play) in New York City. I started thinking maybe I should just stay. A great job opened up that hadn't been posted yet, and a contact got me an interview, and it went well, and I almost believed that it could happen. Real life was all messy and up in the air. I had just decided to take a leave of absence from college, take a year off, and transfer. I had sworn off singing altogether in favor of directing (the first time in what would become a pattern), and I was having trouble seeing my future clearly. Nothing had gone right or turned out like I planned, until my summer in New York, which was exactly what I had hoped for but better.

Of course I didn't get the job—I didn't have a college degree (duh). I left at the end of the summer as scheduled, and I figured out what I needed, and I moved on. Whenever I visited the city from time to time, I still felt like it was mine. I had my favorite restaurants, and my favorite streets, and I could navigate the subway system with relative ease. I always thought I'd end up here someday.

And then I started working here, for a couple months at a time, and I couldn't get that feeling back. Even though I was living the "glamorous" life I had pictured at 18, with a good job, and incredible friends, and enough money for a nice apartment and dinners out, New York left me cold. I couldn't picture making a life here in anything but a temporary way. It's hard to live here. It's expensive, and the weather is mostly terrible, and it's crowded, and it's dirty. Even for two months, I feel that, and it usually makes me want to go somewhere else.

It hit me last week that this time has been different, though. I can't quite put my finger on why it happened now and not before, whether it's subletting in a neighborhood I adore, or seeing friends more regularly, or finally feeling like I know how to do my job. I do know that in the week CM and I spent together here, I could see us here for real, sometime in the future. And seeing it gave me a glimpse of the same exhilaration I felt during that first summer here, all those years ago.

I think it might be love.

3/365

All that being said, though... can we please fast forward to Monday, when I'll be back home in Wien with my kitten and my CameraMan? New York will still be here when I get back.

Tschüß, 2010!

My New Year's Eve mood is leaning more toward nostalgic than celebratory. I'm actually feeling a bit sad to let go of this glorious year. It sounds absurdly hyperbolic to say that 2010 has been the best year of my life, so let's just say that 2011 has some big shoes to fill.


Highlights from the life of LMB in 2010:

I survived Tosca, Hamlet, Tosca again, Life is a Dream, Madame Butterfly, and La Fanciulla del West (hope I'm not jinxing anything—we've got 9 days left of this one). I was in a video on the New York Times website. For about 5 seconds, but still.

CameraMan got the most exciting email ever.

We got rid of most of our belongings in The Great Purge of 2010, first because we wanted to, and then because we had to.

We solidified incredible friendships and made a rich life in Houston. Then we moved. To another continent.

I started the Home on the Road feature. Then I neglected it. More to come in 2011, I promise.

We got engaged. It's a good story.

I crossed NINE items off my Bossy List: #67, #30, #42, #99, #21, #86, #84, #51, and #15. Thinking about topping that next year.

I spent a total of 165 days in the same city as CM. Definitely will be topping THAT next year.

I continued to write here, sometimes regularly, sometimes not. I even wrote several things that didn't make me cringe upon rereading them, including this, this, this, and this.


2011, you're going to have to work hard to top 2010, but I've got a good feeling about you.

Happy New Year, y'all.


Addio, 2009
Adieu, 2008

Light, more light

Tonight I went in to the District to visit my good friend MuseumGirl. We've been friends since we lived in neighboring dorm rooms during freshman year of college. Apropos of nothing, she had a totally crazy roommate that year who Stole. Her. Underwear. And wore it. I kid you not. Anyway, now she (my friend, not the insane roommate) is a total bigshot at the Smithsonian, where she has worked her way up from an unpaid internship to being very very important and leading many many things. We ate grilled fish and veggies in her backyard, sipped wine, and talked about all kinds of things: relationships, our jobs, getting older (she recently turned 30, and you already know all about my own existential crisis). I even got to meet the new man in her life.

It was a great night, and not only because I've had so little contact with humans besides CM since we got here. In a business where intense friendships spring up quickly and fade just as fast, reconnecting with people who have known me a long time is refreshing and restorative. It's been 8 years since we graduated college, and it's amazing to see where we've all ended up (at least for now). The Best Friend just finished her dissertation and can now be referred to as Dr. Best Friend. My Gay Husband is living the glamorous NYC life we all dream of (those of us who have watched too much SATC, that is). The Soprano from Wisconsin is singing just about everywhere that matters (she had a 2-year head start on the rest of us, but still). MuseumGirl is kicking a** and taking names at the center of the U.S. museum scene. And me? I'm moving to my favorite city in the world with the love of my life. I'd say we're all doing pretty well.

And that, my friends, is the Lawrence difference.

Addio, 2009

As always, the end of the year has snuck up on me. The whole idea of 2010 is absurd—it sounds like something out of a bad sci-fi flick: a boomy male voice saying "In the year 2010...the world has become a very different place." And yet, here we are, another year gone by, another decade passed (Somebody, somewhere (Hi, Mom) is dying to correct me and tell me that the next decade doesn't start until 2011. I KNOW). 2009 was a big year for me, as I tried to find my footing as an honest-to-goodness freelancer and attempted to decide, as ever, what I want to do with my life. I'm going to tentatively say that it was a good year. A lot happened, that's for sure.

A few highlights from the past year in the life of LMB:

I started a 365 photography project. 10 months later, I ended it.

I survived La Sonnambula, Brief Encounter, La Cenerentola, Faust, and Katya Kabanova. I made company debuts in 3 new places, including The Met.

I moved into a new apartment with CameraMan in February and bought the couch of our dreams. I was actually resident in the apartment for a total of 3 months.

I held a newborn baby for the first time. Then I held another one.

I lived in New York City, Chicago, and rural upstate New York. I contemplated moving to 2 of the 3. I went back to Houston instead.

I turned 28. It didn't make me feel older or wiser.

I saw some famous people and was star-struck. I sat next to this guy. I sang "Happy birthday" to this one and got kissed on both cheeks by him. I saw 2 of the 4 Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (one of whom read poetry out loud) and a never-nude at a Brooklyn bar and took a blurry picture of this guy in a midtown bar with an unmarked door.

I crossed off #96, #17, #1, and #72 on my list. I'll do better next year.

Do your worst, 2010.

Bonjour, 2009

Last New Year's Eve I drank too much. I was rooming with The New Oregonian, and CameraMan came over and mixed gin and tonics and we all watched The Big Lebowski and took a drink every time someone said "Dude." It didn't take long to feel tipsy. CM and I were feeling smug with the covert knowledge that earlier in the day, after several long discussions on the subject, we had decided to start dating. We didn't think it would last long (February 9, 2008 was the end date we had set, actually—we were expiration dating), so we weren't telling anyone else just yet. After the movie was over, we stumbled upstairs to a party, where I took huge numbers of dark blurry pictures and bonded with my co-workers in a series of deep conversations the details of which were a bit hazy come the next morning. Right before midnight, the balcony conveniently emptied, and CM and I shared a private kiss to ring in the new year. (Feel free to make retching sounds right about now.)

This year I didn't drink nearly so much, partly because we were driving to a party, and partly because we chose a different movie. I made fancy mac & cheese, The New Oregonian came over, CM mixed gin and tonics, and we all watched Superbad and took a drink every time someone said "McLovin" or mentioned any euphemism for the male genitalia. After the movie we drove to a party and chatted with our co-workers, and left well before 12, enduring the jeers of our friends, just so we could be at home alone by midnight. We got back to the apartment, uncorked a special bottle of champagne we got for our birthdays, and then we toasted and kissed just as the time-delayed ball dropped on TV.

The details didn't change all that much from last year to this one, but everything's completely different. There's something about the start of a new year that makes anything seem possible. 2009 feels full of excitement and promise, and I can't wait to see where I am next New Year's Eve.

I'm going to need to find a new drinking game by then.

Adieu, 2008

It seems impossible that 2008 is already coming to a close. It's been a big year in the life of Little Ms. Bossy, but it's gone by in a flash. 2009 is going to be an exciting year, I can already tell: debuts at at least 2 companies, a world premiere, finally moving my stuff out of storage, paying off my credit card debt, the Obamas moving into the White House, and lots of other excitement I haven't even imagined yet, I'm sure. But first, I'm taking a little time to be self-indulgent and re-reading all my posts from 2008. Here's what happened to me this year:

I learned how to run. Then I forgot how again.

I worked up the courage to write about my divorce.

I found out that I like video games. Probably too much.

I attempted to blog every day for a month. Twice.

I traveled. To Chicago. To California. To the Rodeo (at least it felt like traveling). A road trip through New Orleans to Wolf Trap. To Oregon. To Shenandoah National Park. To Central City, Colorado and Santa Fe, New Mexico. Back to California. And finally, to Vegas!

I survived Magic Flute, La Bohème, The Refuge, and Beatrice & Benedict. Also a 4-month long stretch of unemployment.

I made a couple big purchases. I bought an amazing new camera and learned to use it. Then I bought a beautiful new computer.

I made my Ultimate To-Do List and crossed off 9 out of 100. I started The Peer Pressure List as a weekly feature.

I survived a hurricane.

I celebrated my 27th birthday in style.

I helped elect Barack Obama. Then I got political, sort of.

2008, you pretty much rocked, but the time has come to say goodbye.

Bring it on, 2009.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

So good, in fact, that it's taken me an entire week to write about it (cut me some slack, will you—it's been a completely insane week at work and my computer is dying a slow, painful death). Now, I've had a lot of amazing birthdays. The Bossy Folks are unparalleled in birthday-party throwing. When I was a kid, every year we had a treasure hunt for the gift bags, complete with rhyming clues and clever puns. Mama Bossy always made my birthday cake from scratch, even ice cream cake. There were musical chairs, pumpkin carving, and fashion shows galore. Since childhood there have been some other pretty memorable ones, too, but this year's definitely took the (birthday) cake.

The birthday weekend started with a decadent dinner in the restaurant of a hotel I'm completely obsessed with. Heirloom tomato salad, pork tenderloin, white cheddar truffle mac & cheese, molten chocolate cake…yum. From my seat at the table I looked right out at the Mecom Fountains all lit up against the dark sky. Add to that a red rose, my new LBD, and killer (seriously) high heels and you've got a practically perfect night.

You could do a lot worse than working in opera on your birthday. Sure, you probably definitely won't have the day off, despite it being a Saturday. On the other hand, though, there's nothing quite like hearing "Happy birthday" sung to you by the incredible HGO Chorus and other assorted glitterati to make you glad you came to work on your birthday.

And then there was my present from CameraMan: a treetop canopy zipline tour!! This is pretty much an untoppable, bar-raising, gauntlet-throwing present. I've been talking about doing this for about 2 years, ever since I read about it in the Times, and the real thing was everything I'd hoped for and more. Zipping from tree to tree was exhilarating and lung-opening and just a teensy bit scary, and I loved every minute of it. Before the tour we even got a chance to eat delicious migas for breakfast and see a little of the Texas capitol building. Which was mainly exciting because, ummm…there were cannons there.

We zoomed back to Houston just in time to throw a joint birthday party (CM's big day was Friday). Practically everyone we know came (including The Wise Soprano who happened to be in town for a visit!) and almost all of them brought cheese, so you know it was a kick-a** party. I felt loved, happy, and safe all weekend (yes, even during when I was 50 feet above the ground). I got lovely birthday wishes, hugs, presents…and I got myself a little something, too.




Plus, I get to cross another item off my list. It's about time, huh?

20. Take a tree-top canopy zipline tour.

5 down, 95 to go.

A day to remember

Within 5 minutes of meeting Grandma Bossy, she will invariably ask you when your birthday is. She will then go through the extensive birthday calendar IN HER HEAD, and tell you who in her extended network of family and friends has the same birthday. Failing that, you will usually get at least 2 people whose birthdays surround yours. It's uncanny.

I don't have nearly her total recall when it comes to dates, but I do have a tendency to keep track of milestones (as you may have noticed), particularly in relationships. First date, first kiss, first everything. I even like to acknowledge them, not just yearly, but monthly, too: luniversaries.

Unfortunately, I have yet to figure out a way to turn off this habit when it comes to past relationships, and so today I am stuck remembering that this would have been my wedding anniversary. Starting this year, it's my noniversary. If I were as wise and grown-up as I pretend to be, I would probably draw some inspirational conclusion from the passing of the day. Something about every experience making me a stronger and better person, or about examining the mistakes in my past to guarantee I don't repeat them, or maybe even some cliché involving a door and a window. I'd like to wrap up that way, but mainly I'm just sad, and far too introspective. I'm worried that I will never be free of this baggage, that I'll never work up the courage to take the plunge again, that I'll never trust myself again with the word "forever." I'm worried.

To mark the occasion, I spent the morning at the zoo, and the afternoon weeping. Tomorrow it will be over, and I'll move on to another milestone: it's the Army Brat's birthday, all the way across the ocean in the Netherlands. I'm looking forward to the year that August 26 comes around and I realize I have completely passed my noniversary by without remembering.

And in case you're wondering, I share a birthday with Aunt Bossy, my hairdresser, and 2 coloratura sopranos (that I know of). Plus, approximately 40% of my friends' birthdays are within a 2-week radius of mine. What can I say, we Libras love the arts.

Oh, oh, those summer nights

I was only 18, but that didn't stop me. Nobody had carded me all summer. I'd ordered pitchers at dark dive bars, cocktails in swanky spots, and been given port on the house by the manager of a hip midtown restaurant. It didn't seem to matter what I wore or who I was with or what day of the week it was. Half the time my hair was in pigtail braids, making me look like a somewhat precocious 15-year-old. I didn't have a fake ID, but I didn't need one, because no one ever asked.

It was Sarah's 22nd birthday, and we were celebrating at a bar in the Village. I had gone home to primp a bit after work, and I was just heading out to catch the subway when Dan called to tell me that the bouncer was carding everybody who walked through the door, including Dan, who was 30 but looked older due to a swiftly receding hairline. As I started to panic that I would have to miss the party, Dan told me his crazyy plan. There are times when I wish I knew some people who weren't neurotic extroverted creative types, but this was not one of those times.

My heart was racing as I walked into the bar, but I masked my trepidation with the bitchiest expression I could muster. "Can I see your ID?" the bouncer asked, but I didn't even glance at him. Dan had been sitting near the door, and as he got to his feet, we started yelling at each other.

"Where were you?"
"Where was I? Where were you? I've been waiting for 30 minutes!"
"I've been at home! You said you would meet me there after work."
"I specifically said we would meet here. Why would I have gone home? It's totally out of my way!"
"I don't know why! I just know what you told me!"

And so on and so forth. The bar was small enough that nobody there was missing our display. The bouncer was studiously not looking in our direction, but the other patrons didn't have that kind of self-control. Finally, Dan said,

"Look, if you're going to be like this all night, maybe we should just leave."
"No, I'll be fine. Just get me a beer, and I'll get over it."

I sat down and Dan did as he was told while the entire bar breathed a collective sigh of relief. When he came back with my Corona, the bouncer looked over at him, being sure not to make any direct eye contact with me.

"She's 21, right?"
"Dude, she's my girlfriend. She's 25." (Neither of these statements was in any way true.)
"Cool."

God, I love this city.