Poor Bathroom Etiquette Irks Me.

Last week I was in the ladies' room at work, washing my hands before heading back to my office, when I witnessed an incident illustrative of a disgusting, disturbing and downright offensive trend of office behavior that violates even the most liberal of sensibilities. I'm sure you have many guesses as to what appalling thing I encountered in the loo, but I assure you whatever guess you have hazarded is incorrect. (I am glad, however, that you have enjoyed the interactive portion of this post.) Allow me to elaborate.

I was standing at the vanity looking at myself (critically) in the mirror when a partner who sits on my floor walked into the ladies' room. We exchanged smiles as we do when we see each other around the office (and all the while I know she is just barely able to keep herself from wrinkling her nose in distaste as she looks my outfit (black jeans, a v-neck t-shirt, a cardigan, and bracelets halfway to my elbow -- at least I'm wearing heels!) up and down and compares it to her own (business dress, matching business suit jacket, and pearls). I notice she is carrying a stack of papers as she walks into the stall. My eyes are glued to the mirror as she closes the stall door, and I panic, thinking, "where is she planning to put those papers while she does her business!?" And then she goes ahead and does it. This beautifully dressed, totally put-together partner puts her stack of papers on the bathroom floor. GAH!

When I was in fourth grade, my elementary school's gym teacher asked me to be in the school play (Annie) because I could do cartwheels across the stage of the cafe-gym-itorium without falling off. The bad thing about doing a play in a cafe-gym-itorium as a fourth grader is that you have to complete your costume changes in a regular old bathroom rather than a dressing room. During one such costume change I was so preoccupied with getting my foot in the hole of my leotard that I missed placing my foot back on my shoes and instead placed my poor bare foot on the bathroom floor. I jumped because it was cold and because even as a fourth grader I knew it was gross to touch the floor of a public bathroom. A few days later, a wart appeared on my foot, and I am still convinced that said wart appeared because my foot touched the bathroom floor.

I relate this anecdote not to tell you about my humble beginnings as a stage performer (they were humble, indeed), but rather to show the danger of touching the floor of a public bathroom. I have no doubt that touching papers that have touched a public bathroom floor are just as bad as setting your bare foot on such a floor, and I now fear for the health and safety of my co-workers. Allow me a public service announcement: next time you are walking towards the restroom with some work-related item in your hand, please (please!) put said item aside before entering the stall. Place it by the sink. Put it on top of the paper towel dispenser. Leave it on the floor in the hallway. Just don't put it somewhere that you'll have to touch it again before washing your hands. Because that's just not sanitary. And an unsanitary office is not a fun place.

13.1 Miles. Done and done.

So, I don't mean to brag, but...I ran a half marathon. That's right. 13.1 miles. In one day. Without stopping. Thank you, Hal Higdon, for providing the best half marathon training program a girl could hope for. And thank you, Sister, for actually sticking to Mr. Higdon's training plan, so you were well positioned to yell at me to keep going and stop being a baby as you sprinted up each hill and then turned around to look in disgust as I barely remained upright. (Note, the previous sentence was only a slight exaggeration.) I look forward to actually training for my next half marathon. Sister, you are a total rock star. My apologies for holding you back. I salute you, and I can't wait to do it again.

As you may know, the aforementioned half marathon was in Vermont. As you may also know, Irene hit Vermont just a bit harder than she hit New York City. We all saw the news footage of that beautiful old covered bridge being torn apart and carried down the river. I'm here to tell you that the news wasn't lying to you (even if it was just The Today Show, and not the real news). Lady Friend and I navigated the detours (and the detours to the detours, following last week's rain), with what I wish I could call grace. I am happy to report I cried only once (and it was the perfect moment, as you will see). As we searched for our mountaintop hotel the night before the race, Lady Friend and I drove past a red light with a barely legible sign placed next to it which read "STOP ON RED. ONE LANE ROAD AHEAD. UP TO 18 MINUTE WAIT." As we drove past, I started to read the sign, then yelled, "Stop!!" Startled, Lady Friend kept going, but yelled at me, "What!? Why?" And as I saw the rest of the sign light up, I yelled once again, "Stop, stop!! Red!!" (Obviously, full sentences and the entirety of the English language escaped me.) I shed a tear or two (or seventeen) as the car came to a stop (did I mention our phones had had no service for the past hour?) The light turned green, and we started along a rocky road along the river. We saw houses with only half the structure remaining, and debris everywhere. We came to the end of the one lane road and breathed a sigh of relief before coming to another sign that said "Road closed." Naturally, there was no arrow or "detour this way" sign accompanying the sign. Finally (and by the grace of some higher being), my phone started to vibrate- Sister! She had just made the arduous journey from her small Vermont town south to the mountaintop hotel and helped us navigate our way over there, through the unmarked detours. I have never before been so happy to reach a parking lot in my life.

Sister, you were my savior twice this weekend. Gracias! (Note my use of Spanish here, in anticipation of your upcoming trip to Sevilla.)

Oh! Have I mentioned my new apartment? I'm moving next week! Crazy. Yes, I'm moving to the Upper East Side. Yes, I have spent much of my time since moving to Manhattan dissing the Upper East Side. Yes, I am still moving there. BUT my new studio (with an alcove!) is huge (if I am remembering my apartment viewing properly...), AND I can walk home from work. Now all I have to do is pack up my entire apartment in the next week...while I'm in Austin. (Oops.) Here we go, ACL!