Confessions Of A Splenda Stealer

I’m a very detail-oriented person. For example, when CP comes home from band practice, I ask him questions such as, “How was practice? What did the other guys do this weekend? Are you guys working on any covers?” Of course, that last question always gets the same answer: “No spoilers!” but I ask it anyway. Why? Because I’m fascinated with details. I want to know what was discussed, the tone in which it was discussed, and what that person was wearing while the discussion took place. I’m also a very visual person.

Perhaps this is why I have an obsession with eye glasses. As I’ve gotten older, I find that my sense of style has come into its own–and it’s all about the details. That, and my conscious decision to not buy too much black clothing and lead to me unconsciously buying more gray.

This is definitely a plight not shared by anyone who was ever sent home with a note from the school nurse after a vision screening, but I can’t help myself.

Stupid less than perfect vision, yet not enough to need glasses. Yes, I’m aware of how ridiculous this sounds. I take a little comfort knowing that my obsession isn’t far enough advanced that I would go so far as to wear prescription-free glasses. Yet, I probably try on my sister’s and boyfriend’s glasses too many times. They are very patient.

But…if I could wear glasses…it would be these:

If I could, I’d also add that effortlessly messy chic hair that all French women seem to possess to the cart. How do they do that?! The way her fringe is a little too long and slightly flips over her glasses in a way that’s playful, yet sexy…yet another detail I covet.

I’m going to say something that’s not in the least bit original. Ready for it?

…

My favorite season is autumn.

Yes, I know. I share the same sentiment with about 95% of your friends on Facebook who have made that same declaration the subject of at least one status message over the past few weeks, or, the name of a photo album. But, I bet you don’t know the true reason why I personally take delight in this season.

Yes, I do love pumpkins, candy corns, mums, the idea of apple picking (not the action), and scary movies playing around the clock on cable. Oh yeah–it’s also my birthday season, and boy do I love presents. But no, that’s not the reason either.

It’s the days when the warm glow of candles and lamps light up your home at 2:30 in the afternoon because it’s so gray outside.

Here is the thing you may not know about me–I LOVE overcast skies; bonus points for the promise of rain.

I know this may not be the popular answer, but it’s just…there’s something seemingly quieter about these days. Just like the hush that follows after newly fallen snow, gray days have a calming effect. Especially in NYC, these days are the true days off, at least, to me. For someone who’s mind is always going a mile a minute, cloudy days help me take everything in stride–everything moves a little slower. Even when I’m out and about, it’s only on gray days when I somehow manage to make the calmness I feel when cozying up at home, portable. It’s as if I can bring this comfort along with me, in an imaginary “to-go” cup.

And then of course, I fret over autumn going by too fast.

amazing photo by red zed, here

In NYC, you are immediately flagged as a tourist for looking up at the perty buildings. If you ever want to appreciate the urban landscape, you have to be a little more discreet. Or just Google it.

But for me, if you catch me looking up, I’m only admiring the industrial landscape–namely, the water towers.

Ugly, yet intriguing. Kind of like my obsession with pugs.

Once you notice one, you notice them all, silently perched above us. Pudgy and rickety, they represent design from another age. But even more interestingly, many of these water towers aren’t quite the relics they appear to be; many are quite new and actively supply water to high-rises.

They are commonly misunderstood structures, and perhaps, that’s what I like most about them.

FOMO |fo · mo| noun

a condition in which the victim experiences a fear of missing out, ie, he or she can’t be happy doing nothing

For a long time, Lynsey could not spend a Friday night at home because she had a severe case of FOMO.

After moving to NYC (ok, Hoboken) in 2007, I experienced a severe case of FOMO. I attributed it to living so close to the city—never again would I have to endure local NJTransit train rides to meet up with friends on a Saturday night, only to have to be plagued with the decision between calling it a night early to race back to Penn Station, or ordering another vodka soda and crashing on a friend’s futon. (Or catching the last train out for the night, falling asleep, and missing my stop.) Everything finally felt within reach and I no longer had to live life according to the NJ Coastline schedule.

But looking back, I can see that my FOMO was a special case. Instead of fearing that I’d miss out on social festivities, it was a fear of missing out on NYC. On days I didn’t have active plans, I would fret if I wasn’t out, hitting the pavement to explore a new neighborhood in Manhattan.

Cut to 5 years later, living on the other side of the city, and I find my FOMO easing up. Could it be that I’m almost 29 (!) and my party pooper tendencies are starting to sprout like little gray hairs I’ve also started to find? OR, does it have something to do with the fact that Manhattan and I have reached a place of comfort—we know that neither one of us isn’t going to die if we go a day without being together.

It might also have to do with Astoria being a pretty rad place to live…