After nearly a week of vacation, I have to go back to work tomorrow. What a bummer. At least planning vacation to end in the middle of a week means only returning to three days of work before another (hopefully work-free) weekend. (Fingers crossed.) So I spent the past five days getting my cider on in Boston with Small Asian Friend et al. and loving every moment of it. I welcomed the glorious game of squash back into my life with open arms (and only had to lie about my address twice in order to gain entry into the prestigious(?) Cambridge Athletic Club's pristine white courts). I walked the snowy sidewalks of Newbury, eagerly listening for "paahk the caah" references and watching small children climb out of car doors atop icy mini mountains of snow. I successfully broke in my new knee high boots (muchas gracias to Pops for waterproofing them last week), downloaded and then lost lots of apps for my newly purchased ipad (whee!), and refrained from firing up a microwave for the entire five-day span (note that this does not mean we cooked; we ordered in, went out, and skipped meals...thanks, Small Asian Friend, for starving me, and thus slimming my waistline). We also spent two hours in Sephora. Smelling perfume, then coffee beans, then a different perfume, then coffee beans...and on and on. Small Asian Friend finally decided on two new scents and then proceeded to talk about how good she smelled for the next day or so. (Oh wait, maybe that was me. Anyway...)
I experienced my first Pats game (using the word "experienced" loosely - as I spent most of the time flagging down our waitress, playing with phones that are smarter than mine, and pointing out sweat stains on the football players' behinds) in a real-life Boston sports bar, with real-life Pats fans booing and cheering in unison. The slightly sketchy older man standing with his back to me, with his hand down the back of his pants while watching the game gave the entire experience a very authentic feel. Oh, and I think the Jets won. Good times, indeed.
So I bought an ipad. And I think it's terrific. Truly terrific. Netflix, faceinhole, seamlessweb, fbook, and all kinds of goodies are just one click away! I've made great use of the streaming Netflix, 3G ghcat, and email "sent from my ipad." But I have yet to use that whole ereader function. Call me old fashioned, but I love books. I love the way they smell; I love the cracking sound they make when you open them for the first time. I even love folding over the top corner of a page to keep my place, or the bottom corner to mark a page I want to go back to and visit again. I hear that ebooks have many features that simulate actual book reading, but I'm skeptical. I guess now that I have this nifty device (which, incidentally, I am using to write this), I should probably give it a try. Who knows with these things? Maybe it'll even be 3D, and my corner folding self will love it. I'll keep you posted.
I believe I have mentioned what Small Asian Friend has termed "Beth Luck" before. This weekend, we decided to shorten it to "Bluck" to make it catchier and sound like something fun and interesting, rather than the quality of finding myself in strange and compromising situations that other people somehow manage to avoid. Anyhoo, allow me the pleasure of relaying a few of these bluck-y experiences I've encountered in the past few weeks. Here we go. A few weeks ago, I was supposed to work late. As I sat at my desk drafting letters (yawn) and rocking out to Pandora, the fire alarm began to sound. Usually, the fire alarm goes off for a few seconds, and then a muffled voice comes over the loudspeaker saying, "Attention. This is the fire marshal. This is just a test. This is just a test." This time, no such voice appeared. The alarm just kept going. And going. And going. After about a minute, I wandered over into my neighbor's office and asked her whether perhaps we should go investigate. We walked down the hall and reached a fairly potent burnt food (or burnt something) smell. There's not much more disconcerting when a fire alarm is going off than smelling something burning. My anxiety (which I like to keep safely suppressed) began to surface. We gathered the few remaining on our floor and walked towards the staircase and fire phone. Someone lifted the fire phone receiver and tried to call down to the front desk for instructions. No one responded. My anxiety level increased once more. We stood near the staircase, smelling the smell, waiting for instructions, when a man who works for the building entered the floor. We asked him whether we should evacuate, and he said he was looking into it. I got the urge to yell at him. What the h!? "Looking into it"!? I want to evacuate! He told us he was trying to find where the smell (slash fire?) was coming from. Meanwhile, the alarm was still going off. I edged closer to the door to the stairwell. I felt whether it was hot (a nod to my Hills East fire safety awareness training), and it was not. Suddenly, a flock of firemen, in full gear, carrying axes, emerged from the elevator bank. I took one look at them (noticed their rugged attractiveness) and made the executive decision that we were evacuating. Twenty floors later, I was safe (and shaking) in the building lobby. I decided working late that night was just not meant to be.
Later that same night, I found myself in Brooklyn. As I left the last location of the evening, in an area of Brooklyn completely foreign to me, I started down the street in search of a cab. (As a sidenote: cabbies need to learn that people in Brooklyn need rides, too. Please! Come pick me up in Brooklyn!) I had just started my walk down the street when a man called out to me, "Miss! Are you walking this way?" (pointing in the direction I had planned to walk). I responded yes, and he said, "Don't cross the street. Walk on this side. There was just a shooting up there." A shooting!? Ok, Beth, hide your insane and desperate fear. Play it cool. "Oh, really?" Nicely done. "Yes, so walk on this side of the street with me. Here, walk on the inside of the sidewalk." Hmm, is this man trying to save my life or make me trust him so he can mug me or otherwise have his way with me? Well, now that I've chosen to walk next to him instead of crossing the street and getting caught in the crossfire (gang war, I decided, was responsible for the supposed shooting I just missed), I guess my future is up to him. "So, how long have you lived in this neighborhood?" he asked. Do I tell him I don't live in the neighborhood and that I'm just trying to find my way home after making a nervous fool of myself at the end of an otherwise enjoyable first date? Or do I lie and make myself sound like a streetsmart lady whose knowledge of the neighborhood and men like him exudes from my every move? Obviously, I lie. "Not too long." We walk in silence. I wonder how fast I can run in my new knee high boots, and whether the ice on the ground will help my flight or slow me down. I scan the road for cabs. I see none. I see one! It passes me. I yell "TAXI!" I have never before yelled "taxi." In fact, I think it's silly when people yell for cabs in movies. No one does that in real life. The cab is stopped at a red light. A mound of snow stands between the cab and me. I begin to climb the mini mountain, and the light turns green. The cab starts to pull away, and I yell for it again. This time, my savior slash creepy companion whistles for the cab to stop. Glory - it stops! He calls "Good luck!" after me, and I have never been more grateful in my life. Sigh. It's good to be alive. (That was very dramatic. My apologies.)
If you've seen me out and about in rainy weather, you may know that I have the best umbrella known to man. Its spongey rubbery handle resembles a stress ball and keeps my hand from cramping up while weilding an umbrella through the windy streets of New York. Unfortunately, someone else noticed my lovely umbrella and its unique physique (ha). That someone stole my umbrella today. Right out from under my eyes. I dined at a midtown eatery, and upon entering (sopping wet yoga mat, umbrella, and shoulder bag in tow), I was greeted by a hostess who said she would take my umbrella. I am generally wary of giving up my umbrella since it is the best thing ever, but I acquiesced to her request and gave it up. I figured, we're in a neighborhood spot, with office dwellers escaping into the rain for a quick bite. They don't look like predatory thieving types. After my meal, I went over to the umbrella holder to collect it, and in its place I found a dinky little black piece of crap from Jones New York. I could have strangled the small woman who made me place my umbrella into the vicious hands of a fellow diner. But I was with company. She told me she remembered my umbrella "with the soft grip." She said she took it and put it in the umbrella holder. I said, "so it's your fault, huh?" And I could see the tears building in her eyes. I felt bad. So I gave her my number and told her to call me if some good samaritan returns my umbrella. I acknowledge this will not happen. I will now be toting around an extremely unfashionable Hogan Lovells umbrella. And I am very sad about it. On our way back from lunch, my lunch date and I saw a man lying on the sidewalk, attempting to retrieve an iphone dropped through the sidewalk grate, using a stick with something sticky at the end (gum?). My lunch date said to me, "well, at least he's having a worse day than you." So, so true. Thank you, lunch date, for such wise words.
I just found out I missed my firm's first soccer game of the season tonight. Whoops. Well, I'm technically still on vacation until tomorrow morning. This is going to be ridiculous. If you've never watched a bunch of lawyers trying to do athletic activity, you should. It's like taking the least athletic population around and weeding out the most athletic few of those. Like when I taught basketball at a performing arts camp. I'm 5'3". And I can't shoot. My basketball skills are lacking. Yet, I was still able to "teach" a bunch of artsy fartsy kids how to play. I'm laughing just thinking about it. I'm going to have to fish out my old diadora sneakers. At least I'll be the best dressed soccer player in the league!
PS - Is this the longest post ever? Possibly. If you've made it this far, you get a prize. Well done.
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