Yesterday I felt the kind of jubilation I haven't felt in quite some time. I think it's the kind of jubilation we sang about in Ebony Singers back in college. (You know, the Jesus kind.) I received some stellar news (and it had nothing to do with the Knicks acquiring some phenom from Denver). Yesterday the deal I was working on died. Normally, such an occurrence might cause some frustration or even mild feelings of sadness. But finding out yesterday was one of the best moments of my life. (Okay, that's a huge exaggeration. But it was delightful.) Picture yourself as an associate at a law firm. Now picture yourself working until 2 or 3am for five days in a row. Over what would ordinarily be a 3-day weekend. (I totally understand if you can't picture yourself being/doing these awful things, as I could never picture myself being/doing them until now. And I am appalled.) NOW, imagine that after those five days, when you are tired of canceling plans and you are crossing your fingers and toes that you can go on the dates you have scheduled later this week and go to Boston for the weekend to see Small Asian Friend and others, you receive an email forwarded from the client that says "We have decided not to go through with this transaction." JOY! Pure joy! Nothing but joy! Well, if you have a really good imagination (or have ever taken acting classes where you learn to become the character - method acting or something like that), then you, too, feel my joy.
Moving on. I received another wonderful piece of news yesterday. We at Senioritis (i.e., Brother) designed a tshirt and entered said tshirt into a tshirt design contest. Yesterday we found out we were chosen as a quarter finalist (by whomever judges such things), and now the 8 remaining designs are to be judged by the public in an online poll. If we win, everyone running the Lincoln Tunnel 5k race on April 17 will be wearing our shirt! (And, we'll get an ipod. But the shirt part is way cooler.) SO, if you are a good friend or a loyal follower (or just someone who is trying to get me to like you), then you will go to this link: http://www.sonj.org/LawEnforcement/LincolnTunnel/Contest.php and vote for our design! (It is clearly the best one, so you shouldn't need me to tell you, but I will tell you anyway - it's the yellow one with Lincoln running. Apologies for the shameless self-promotion, but THANK YOU! Every vote counts, or something like that.
Oh, and while we're on the subject of Senioritis (and further self-promotion): we were in a photo shoot. For a magazine. (Yes, we are very hip.) A few weeks ago, Brother and I headed up to a very sweet loft studio space in Chelsea, donning our hipster best, and posed for photos to show "Inc." readers the brilliant minds behind Senioritis. We were interviewed, too. I thought about bringing along the cardboard cut out of Hermoine Granger which has graced the office for some time now and sticking Sister's face on it to make sure she got into the frame, but I decided it might look odd to ride the subway holding a life-size Hermoine. (Sister, we gave you a shout out, so hopefully you'll make it into the mag, too!)
A quick aside and nod to Harry Potter: last night I went to a bar that reminded me of how I pictured The Leaky Cauldron while reading the Harry Potter books back in the day (before the movies came along and told me how to picture The Leaky Cauldron). It's called Ninth Ward, and it's in the East Village. I recommend it for a drink or four (two-for-ones until 8pm!) if you find yourself in that 'hood. Oh, and the bathrooms have fun names. Okay, that's all I'll say.
And on that note, I'm off to the Knicks game (to see whatever this new guy's name is...gosh, these tickets are so wasted on me - sorry Knicks fans)!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Why I hate florists.
Sex and the City taught me that it's super hip and trendy to be a young single woman in New York. At least until I'm 35 or so. I haven't had a problem being single since moving back to New York. Bars and online sites are full of single 20- and 30-somethings (and Rhianna even made it cool to admit singledom in public). But when Valentine's Day rolls around, suddenly the rules all change. Every morning, I emerge from the subway near my office and am slapped in the face with a gigantic sign strategically placed in front of the local florist counting down the number of days until V-Day. Do they think the hundreds of subway riders walking up those stairs each morning won't notice the oversized hearts, roses, and other red and pink flowers cluttering the flower shop windows? Do we REALLY need a sign effectively saying "Just 10 more days until everyone around you gets to eat cheap chocolate and celebrate a day of love with another human while you sit at home with your netflix"? (Note I do not actually feel sad about being single. I just think spontaneous showings of love are way better than obligatory roses on an arbitrary date. But what do I know?).
I should also note that I am being judged by medical professionals for being single. I was at the dentist last week, explaining (and learning about) my occasional nighttime tooth grinding and jaw clenching (in times of stress, that is), when my (new) dentist asked if I have a significant other. I looked at him like he was crazy for asking such a thing at such a time, and answered "no, doctor, I do not have a significant other," and he looked slightly apologetic as he responded, "oh, well sometimes if there's someone else in the bed, the other person can hear the clicking of the jaw." I said, "oh, good to know." what I wanted to say was, "you asked if I have a significant other, not whether someone else sleeps in my bed from time to time!" Such totally different questions, but I refrained. I figured asking him about every tool he picked up and joking with the technician whenever my mouth was free of apparati was enough for him to have to handle during my first visit. There's always next time.
This morning I found a grey hair mixed in among my bangs. I had a haircut scheduled for today, and I knew I absolutely had to get rid of the grey before making my appearance at a new salon. I mean what would my new stylist (can I call her that even if all she did was a trim and blow dry?) say if I showed up for our first meeting with a grey hair? I feel like that'd be the equivalent of going to the dentist without brushing my teeth first. Such a person would be fodder for gossip the rest of the day. Anyhoo, I've heard that pulling out a grey hair makes three more grow in its place. That can't actually be true, right? I risked it. I guess now we'll just have to wait and see.
Have I mentioned that my Four Point Plan is going remarkably well? Well, it is. With a few minor setbacks, of course. For instance, I sent in two applications, both of which caused great joy and excitement, only to discover the next day that one of the positions had already been filled. (It was listed as available the day I submitted my application and then filled the next day, and I had a brief irrational moment of thinking I was the one filling the position, and I just hadn't been told yet. If that's the case, I still have not been told. I'm not holding my breath.) but there are lots more applications where that one came from (yeah!), and I have faith that I will soon(ish) be free of the golden handcuffs! Hurrah!
Tonight I dined with Small Asian Friend, Boston Brit, the Bride, and several others at this very cute, very delicious place in Brooklyn called Juliette. Go there. You won't regret it. Especially if you order the pear dessert. I think Brooklynites are my people. I already own so much flannel, I think I should probably just move there. But then when I think about the fact that men with beards don't exactly do it for me, I start to reconsider. But, oh! Independent coffee shops and hole in the wall restaurants and live music everywhere (oh my!). Now if only the city learned to plow the streets of Williamsburg as thoroughly as Wall Street, we'd be in business. Maybe someday.
I should also note that I am being judged by medical professionals for being single. I was at the dentist last week, explaining (and learning about) my occasional nighttime tooth grinding and jaw clenching (in times of stress, that is), when my (new) dentist asked if I have a significant other. I looked at him like he was crazy for asking such a thing at such a time, and answered "no, doctor, I do not have a significant other," and he looked slightly apologetic as he responded, "oh, well sometimes if there's someone else in the bed, the other person can hear the clicking of the jaw." I said, "oh, good to know." what I wanted to say was, "you asked if I have a significant other, not whether someone else sleeps in my bed from time to time!" Such totally different questions, but I refrained. I figured asking him about every tool he picked up and joking with the technician whenever my mouth was free of apparati was enough for him to have to handle during my first visit. There's always next time.
This morning I found a grey hair mixed in among my bangs. I had a haircut scheduled for today, and I knew I absolutely had to get rid of the grey before making my appearance at a new salon. I mean what would my new stylist (can I call her that even if all she did was a trim and blow dry?) say if I showed up for our first meeting with a grey hair? I feel like that'd be the equivalent of going to the dentist without brushing my teeth first. Such a person would be fodder for gossip the rest of the day. Anyhoo, I've heard that pulling out a grey hair makes three more grow in its place. That can't actually be true, right? I risked it. I guess now we'll just have to wait and see.
Have I mentioned that my Four Point Plan is going remarkably well? Well, it is. With a few minor setbacks, of course. For instance, I sent in two applications, both of which caused great joy and excitement, only to discover the next day that one of the positions had already been filled. (It was listed as available the day I submitted my application and then filled the next day, and I had a brief irrational moment of thinking I was the one filling the position, and I just hadn't been told yet. If that's the case, I still have not been told. I'm not holding my breath.) but there are lots more applications where that one came from (yeah!), and I have faith that I will soon(ish) be free of the golden handcuffs! Hurrah!
Tonight I dined with Small Asian Friend, Boston Brit, the Bride, and several others at this very cute, very delicious place in Brooklyn called Juliette. Go there. You won't regret it. Especially if you order the pear dessert. I think Brooklynites are my people. I already own so much flannel, I think I should probably just move there. But then when I think about the fact that men with beards don't exactly do it for me, I start to reconsider. But, oh! Independent coffee shops and hole in the wall restaurants and live music everywhere (oh my!). Now if only the city learned to plow the streets of Williamsburg as thoroughly as Wall Street, we'd be in business. Maybe someday.
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