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.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Fights with food establishments.
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.
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.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Christmas Cheer.
I would like to start off by saying that I am presently watching Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Thus, I am crying. I am crying so much that if I were writing with a pen on paper, the paper would be so soaked through my writing would barely be legible. That was hyperbole. This is, however, the saddest show ever, and if it doesn't make you feel like the most selfish person ever, and make you feel bad for ever complaining about anything in your life, then you are heartless and conscienceless. (Also, I watched "Precious" with Sister last night. Re-read the sentence immediately preceding the open parenthesis and replace "show" with "film.")
I have not written much of late, and I am sad to admit it is because I have been working a lot. "What's a lot?" you may ask. Well, I got home from work at 430am last Thursday morning, and then returned to work at 915am. I think that's a lot. I slept for almost 14 hours Thursday night. I think that's also a lot. You might recall my mentioning the Four Point Plan in my recent posts. The more time I've spent at work, the more time I've spent thinking about Point One. I am working on cover letters, talking to contacts, and re-working my resume. I am too superstitious to actually tell you about the move I'm hoping to make until my applications are out (Yes, I awoke yesterday morning and said, "rabbit," and I even contemplated saying it more than once since it was not just the first of the month, but the first of the year, too!), but I will keep you posted once I start making moves. Be excited. I am.
Moving on to Point Two: unfortunately, I was not selected in the NYC Half Marathon lottery. Rumors spread like wildfire that there was some kind of conspiracy against those living in NYC, so as to improve tourism and make New Yorkers sign up for other, less desirable half marathons in the area. I know about ten people who entered the lottery, and only one of them was accepted. He lives in New York City. But he's from Indiana. So maybe they felt bad. (Oh, come on, I'm joking.) Nevertheless, I am still committed to my fitness goals. Who are you, New York City, to tell me I can't run a half marathon!? No one, that's who. Hmm, I'm sure I'll sign up for another one someday. In the meantime, I'm just running for fun. Oh, and focusing on sculpting. To that end, I bought the Jillian Michaels 6-week abs DVD at Target today. Watch out.
Point Three is a bit different. Point Three involves doing fun things in the city so as to meet new fun people (and potentially find fun people to date). I started doing this (running the pool table at a local bar (and exaggerating) and concert-going, for starters), but there's more to be done. I'm thinking of joining a softball league in the spring (college throwbacks are always fantastic) and going to visit my Brooklyn friends (because who can resist making friends with/dating plaid-wearing hipsters (aka Brooklynites)?) So, yes, all is in order, and it's only day 2 of 2011. Am I a rock star, or what? Oh, that reminds me... happy new year!
By the way, remember last week's blizzard? I think New York City did a fabulous job cleaning the streets. I did not fall once, and that is certainly a feat. Kudos to you, Mr. Mayor, for saving hips left and right. Also, it was 50 degrees today. I think it's time to start talking about global warming again.
In other news, I finally finished reading "David Copperfield." What a fantastic piece of literature. Finishing a book you've been reading for months is a truly bittersweet moment. It's like cooking (or having someone else cook for you, in my case) something totally delicious, and having leftovers for days, and finally finishing them. It's so sad that something so great has come to an end, but you feel such a sense of accomplishment. (By the way, Sister, I threw out our leftovers from last week today - sorry!)
Sister came and visited me in the city for Christmas. It was super fun - we went to Small Asian Friend's parents' place for Christmas Eve (our presents were even under the tree!) and partook in quite a feast. We watched "Easy A, " which I recommend when you're up for a lighthearted outsider-in-high-school movie, with a raspy-voiced redheaded lead who is not Lindsay Lohan. Sister and I made the dreadful mistake of going up to see the tree at Rockefeller on Christmas Day. If you ever have the urge to do this, stop. You should probably go the day or two after Christmas, on a weekday where other people are at work. Christmas was like being at Disney World during public school vacation (without a friend/family member in a wheel chair who provided access to the front of lines). And at the end, you don't even get to ride anything. You just get to take a photo in front of the tree, with an inevitable head or two chopped off and fat face. We did, however, feel the Christmas spirit. While waiting in an enormous line at Starbucks for some peppermint hot chocolate and chai, we saw a homeless man walk into the store, go directly to the refrigerated area, take an orange smoothie, and leave. He did say "excuse me" to the people in front of us. However, he neglected to pay (he was, after all, homeless). The people in line, including Sister and I, ooohed and aaahed and noted how wrong that was, but not one of us told anyone working there what had just happened. I guess none of us wanted to be the guy who did that - on Christmas. Then we came home and watched hours of Veronica Mars. It was lovely.
Yesterday I joined the rest of the B Family for our New Years Day jaunt up to Woodbury Commons to seek out the sales and score lots of new stuff. Success! If you live in New York, and you buy things retail here in the city, I urge you to hop in the zipcar and take a day trip up to Central Valley to do it up right. Isn't one of your New Year's resolutions saving money? Well, there you go. And here's to a great start to 2011. Bring it on.
I have not written much of late, and I am sad to admit it is because I have been working a lot. "What's a lot?" you may ask. Well, I got home from work at 430am last Thursday morning, and then returned to work at 915am. I think that's a lot. I slept for almost 14 hours Thursday night. I think that's also a lot. You might recall my mentioning the Four Point Plan in my recent posts. The more time I've spent at work, the more time I've spent thinking about Point One. I am working on cover letters, talking to contacts, and re-working my resume. I am too superstitious to actually tell you about the move I'm hoping to make until my applications are out (Yes, I awoke yesterday morning and said, "rabbit," and I even contemplated saying it more than once since it was not just the first of the month, but the first of the year, too!), but I will keep you posted once I start making moves. Be excited. I am.
Moving on to Point Two: unfortunately, I was not selected in the NYC Half Marathon lottery. Rumors spread like wildfire that there was some kind of conspiracy against those living in NYC, so as to improve tourism and make New Yorkers sign up for other, less desirable half marathons in the area. I know about ten people who entered the lottery, and only one of them was accepted. He lives in New York City. But he's from Indiana. So maybe they felt bad. (Oh, come on, I'm joking.) Nevertheless, I am still committed to my fitness goals. Who are you, New York City, to tell me I can't run a half marathon!? No one, that's who. Hmm, I'm sure I'll sign up for another one someday. In the meantime, I'm just running for fun. Oh, and focusing on sculpting. To that end, I bought the Jillian Michaels 6-week abs DVD at Target today. Watch out.
Point Three is a bit different. Point Three involves doing fun things in the city so as to meet new fun people (and potentially find fun people to date). I started doing this (running the pool table at a local bar (and exaggerating) and concert-going, for starters), but there's more to be done. I'm thinking of joining a softball league in the spring (college throwbacks are always fantastic) and going to visit my Brooklyn friends (because who can resist making friends with/dating plaid-wearing hipsters (aka Brooklynites)?) So, yes, all is in order, and it's only day 2 of 2011. Am I a rock star, or what? Oh, that reminds me... happy new year!
By the way, remember last week's blizzard? I think New York City did a fabulous job cleaning the streets. I did not fall once, and that is certainly a feat. Kudos to you, Mr. Mayor, for saving hips left and right. Also, it was 50 degrees today. I think it's time to start talking about global warming again.
In other news, I finally finished reading "David Copperfield." What a fantastic piece of literature. Finishing a book you've been reading for months is a truly bittersweet moment. It's like cooking (or having someone else cook for you, in my case) something totally delicious, and having leftovers for days, and finally finishing them. It's so sad that something so great has come to an end, but you feel such a sense of accomplishment. (By the way, Sister, I threw out our leftovers from last week today - sorry!)
Sister came and visited me in the city for Christmas. It was super fun - we went to Small Asian Friend's parents' place for Christmas Eve (our presents were even under the tree!) and partook in quite a feast. We watched "Easy A, " which I recommend when you're up for a lighthearted outsider-in-high-school movie, with a raspy-voiced redheaded lead who is not Lindsay Lohan. Sister and I made the dreadful mistake of going up to see the tree at Rockefeller on Christmas Day. If you ever have the urge to do this, stop. You should probably go the day or two after Christmas, on a weekday where other people are at work. Christmas was like being at Disney World during public school vacation (without a friend/family member in a wheel chair who provided access to the front of lines). And at the end, you don't even get to ride anything. You just get to take a photo in front of the tree, with an inevitable head or two chopped off and fat face. We did, however, feel the Christmas spirit. While waiting in an enormous line at Starbucks for some peppermint hot chocolate and chai, we saw a homeless man walk into the store, go directly to the refrigerated area, take an orange smoothie, and leave. He did say "excuse me" to the people in front of us. However, he neglected to pay (he was, after all, homeless). The people in line, including Sister and I, ooohed and aaahed and noted how wrong that was, but not one of us told anyone working there what had just happened. I guess none of us wanted to be the guy who did that - on Christmas. Then we came home and watched hours of Veronica Mars. It was lovely.
Yesterday I joined the rest of the B Family for our New Years Day jaunt up to Woodbury Commons to seek out the sales and score lots of new stuff. Success! If you live in New York, and you buy things retail here in the city, I urge you to hop in the zipcar and take a day trip up to Central Valley to do it up right. Isn't one of your New Year's resolutions saving money? Well, there you go. And here's to a great start to 2011. Bring it on.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
You Give Me Fever.
You know when you're on the subway, packed in way too tightly on your morning commute, and since you hear the people around you sniffling, you keep your gloves on while holding the pole? You know when you glance around you and try to determine the best position to put your face so those pesky germs won't jump from the snifflers onto you? And then, after all the precautions, and all the hand sanitizer and breathing through your nose (those nose hairs are supposed to filter out germs, right?), you see it all go to waste in the course of a half-second, when the man standing next to you sneezes right onto your face? I know you know what I'm talking about. It can be Mister Business Suit standing over there reading his Wall Street Journal just as easily as it can be Mister Camo Pants Hanging Off His Butt rocking out to his ipod. (I should note here that it could also be that woman in my office who has been coughing for a week straight and touching MY copy machine, MY elevator buttons, and MY water cooler, but I don't want to blame her.) Whomever it was, I am now paying the price for going out in public without my breathing mask. Lesson learned.
Tonight I noticed something that made coming home from work at 930pm on a Wednesday much more tolerable than it otherwise would have been. I saw Christmas lights on balconies. The city looks so pretty outside a cab window when there are Christmas lights on balconies. (By the way, doesn't that sound like the beginning of a terrific song? "Colored lights on bal-co-nies, eager kids say "Santa, please" - these are just a few of my favorite Christmas mem-o-ries..." Okay, fine, so I'll stick to writing heartfelt rock ballads and acoustic rants instead of Christmas carols.) Thank you, Christian folk of Manhattan, for making me loathe leaving the office late on a Wednesday night a tad less.
I was in Boston this past weekend, walking up the street to Small Asian Friend's apartment, wearing my super cool white knit winter hat (if you have seen me at all this winter, you know the one) when something noteworthy occurred. I give you permission to laugh as I recount the (what Small Asian Friend has termed) "Beth Luck" which befell me. As we walked under a tree (which was decorated so delightfully for Christmas, I should add), I suddenly felt something drop onto the side of my hat. I glanced up, hoping to see a rogue squirrel knocking forgotten acorns off the tree above me. Instead, I just saw a barren tree, devoid of any such furry animal friends. I put my hand to my hat and felt the gooey goodness seep deep into my fingers. I turned to Small Asian Friend and said, "I hope a bird didn't just poo on my hat." She looked at me surprised, as she had not been similarly doused with gooey goodness and had not noticed my skeptical glance above. As I pulled my hand from my hat to inspect the damage, I saw the goo was not the white-brown birds are notorious for leaving on unsuspecting pedestrians for "good luck." No, my goo was brown. Red-brown, even. The poo of a sick bird? Tree sap? Small Asian Friend suggested I smell the goo. This sounded reasonable, so I smelled the goo, and you know what it smelled like? Pancakes! With maple syrup. As it turns out, I was sapped by a tree. I think that's a Boston thing. Could you imagine pedestrians in New York being sapped by trees? At least when a bird poos on a New Yorker, the New Yorker can get all irate and attempt to kick the nearest bird, while cursing and spitting. But who can get mad at a tree? Not this lady, I'll say that.
I'll leave you with this final note: I have decided to become the first big Jewish country music sensation. Have you ever heard of a Jewish country star? Don't laugh at me. Not for this, anyway. Why should that be so impossible to imagine? When I was in 6th grade, I did a rendition of Leann Rimes's cover of "You Light Up My Life" for my chorus class's MAD Day (which, redundantly, means Music Appreciation Day Day). I even used my country twang that I picked up while watching "Hey Dude" reruns. You know what my music teacher said? She said I was BETTER than Leann Rimes. I wonder where that music teacher is now. I'd love to have her represent me when I make my first country demo. Just wait for it. Five years from now I'll be saying "I told you so."
Tonight I noticed something that made coming home from work at 930pm on a Wednesday much more tolerable than it otherwise would have been. I saw Christmas lights on balconies. The city looks so pretty outside a cab window when there are Christmas lights on balconies. (By the way, doesn't that sound like the beginning of a terrific song? "Colored lights on bal-co-nies, eager kids say "Santa, please" - these are just a few of my favorite Christmas mem-o-ries..." Okay, fine, so I'll stick to writing heartfelt rock ballads and acoustic rants instead of Christmas carols.) Thank you, Christian folk of Manhattan, for making me loathe leaving the office late on a Wednesday night a tad less.
I was in Boston this past weekend, walking up the street to Small Asian Friend's apartment, wearing my super cool white knit winter hat (if you have seen me at all this winter, you know the one) when something noteworthy occurred. I give you permission to laugh as I recount the (what Small Asian Friend has termed) "Beth Luck" which befell me. As we walked under a tree (which was decorated so delightfully for Christmas, I should add), I suddenly felt something drop onto the side of my hat. I glanced up, hoping to see a rogue squirrel knocking forgotten acorns off the tree above me. Instead, I just saw a barren tree, devoid of any such furry animal friends. I put my hand to my hat and felt the gooey goodness seep deep into my fingers. I turned to Small Asian Friend and said, "I hope a bird didn't just poo on my hat." She looked at me surprised, as she had not been similarly doused with gooey goodness and had not noticed my skeptical glance above. As I pulled my hand from my hat to inspect the damage, I saw the goo was not the white-brown birds are notorious for leaving on unsuspecting pedestrians for "good luck." No, my goo was brown. Red-brown, even. The poo of a sick bird? Tree sap? Small Asian Friend suggested I smell the goo. This sounded reasonable, so I smelled the goo, and you know what it smelled like? Pancakes! With maple syrup. As it turns out, I was sapped by a tree. I think that's a Boston thing. Could you imagine pedestrians in New York being sapped by trees? At least when a bird poos on a New Yorker, the New Yorker can get all irate and attempt to kick the nearest bird, while cursing and spitting. But who can get mad at a tree? Not this lady, I'll say that.
I'll leave you with this final note: I have decided to become the first big Jewish country music sensation. Have you ever heard of a Jewish country star? Don't laugh at me. Not for this, anyway. Why should that be so impossible to imagine? When I was in 6th grade, I did a rendition of Leann Rimes's cover of "You Light Up My Life" for my chorus class's MAD Day (which, redundantly, means Music Appreciation Day Day). I even used my country twang that I picked up while watching "Hey Dude" reruns. You know what my music teacher said? She said I was BETTER than Leann Rimes. I wonder where that music teacher is now. I'd love to have her represent me when I make my first country demo. Just wait for it. Five years from now I'll be saying "I told you so."
Sunday, November 28, 2010
'Tis the season.
Whoever created vacations is the greatest person ever. I've had many a winter break, summer vacation, spring break, and the like in my life. But never before have I had the pure joy and relaxation that comes from choosing my own vacation days and taking an entire week off from work. I ignored my blackberry like a pro. I enjoyed running outside during the day on a weekday. I got hooked on a new (old) tv show (Veronica Mars). And I even accompanied Sister to a few law school classes. Ah, memories. Sister showed me a great time in Vermont. We saw the new HP (after driving over an hour and crossing state lines to get to a theater with more than one showing per night), cooked meals (and baked!), watched glee, worked out (though after my one trip to the Vermont Law gym, I decided I had encountered a few spider webs too many and resigned myself to a Tae Bo DVD in Sister's apartment and running through the rolling hills for the rest of my week's workouts), and began our Hanukkah shopping. Oh, glorious days!
After nearly a week in Vermont, Sister, Sister's friend Z, and I piled into Otto (oh, so good to drive Otto again!) and headed south to Boston for some QT with The Famous Auntie Bevy, Gramps, and the rest of the gang. Oh, and Mother, Pops, and Brother met us down there, too. The standard Thanksgiving fare did not disappoint, and we headed back to TFAB's house for a bit more food and a photo album viewing session. There's nothing like being around family - people who have known me my whole life, who have seen (and still loved me) when I had a black eye, who have stood by me when my tastes evolved from special order grilled cheese sandwiches to sushi, and who never cease to ask me whether I have found "anyone special" - to make me feel warm, fuzzy, and ready to listen to a John Mayer album while burning a vanilla lavender scented candle. I jest; my days of listening to John Mayer albums in their entirety have long since passed.
I mentioned my Four Point Plan in my last post. Point One, as you now know, is figuring out my next career move. A week with sister up at VLS helped me power through Point One and get a hold on where I think I need to be in order to "move on up." (And no, I don't mean up the chain to partnership. Why anyone would want to do that to herself is completely lost on me.) My goal is happiness (corny, yes), and I am on my way to starting down that yellow brick road. Check back in for more on Point One in the next few months. For now, knowing there's a way out makes going to work each morning much easier. Point Two is kicking up the fitness level. So far, so good. I even bought some $2.99 Billy Blanks Tae Bo DVDs on Black Friday! Now I just need to figure out how best to move my couch out of the way so I actually have enough room in front of my tv to do the workouts. The joys of NYC apartment living. More on Points Three and Four another time.
Now that Thanksgiving is over, the Christmas spirit is all around. In fact, as I write this, I am watching/listening to Martina McBride sing "O Holy Night" on the CMA Country Christmas special on abc. It's pretty fantastic. My office building has erected in its lobby the most massive Christmas tree I've ever seen indoors. I wonder if they keep the lights on all the time (and if so, whether the firm's Green Committee is going to do anything about the electricity overload). (As a side green note, I forgot to mention earlier that Sister's law school building has composting toilets. Yes, that's right, rather than being flushed and washed out to sea, your business drops down two stories into a contraption that converts it into fertilizer. Don't tell me you don't think that's absolutely genius.) The holiday season brings out the subway Christmas carolers. Now, I am a huge fan of subway musicians (when they are talented, I mean), but adding Christmas songs into the mix makes me stop and turn off my ipod every time. It takes me back to my days of singing gospel in college. What a blast. I wish I could give all the (talented) subway Christmas carolers money. But I can't. So instead, I give my extra change to those people dressed as Santa, ringing Salvation Army bells next to a bucket. I think that's fair. Oh, and a message to those (talented) subway Christmas carolers reading this: go audition for American Idol! If it can happen for J. K. Rowling and Jewel, it can happen for anyone. (And maybe one day it'll happen for me!)
Before I trot off to bed, I am allowing myself a shameless plug: with only 26 days of holiday shopping left, check out the senioritis designs and find something delightful for your loved (or even liked) ones! http://www.etsy.com/shop/senioritis Enjoy!
Monday, November 8, 2010
Off to the races.
I started to write a post about Halloween. I wrote about the craziness of Halloween in New York City - the way New Yorkers become incredibly outgoing, fun-loving people, talking to any stranger in the street, and making friends left and right. People in my building smiled when I walked into the lobby and commented on my (rather clever) Amelia Earhart costume. I started to write this post, but then. Then two weeks passed, and I decided it's too late to post about Halloween. So I won't. Check out facebook for costume photos.
Moving on.
I signed up for my first half marathon last week. Well, I entered the lottery, so I will train for the next few months, with the hope that I am given the grand opportunity of running my very first half marathon in March. And if I am not given said opportunity, I will just be in kick-ass shape, so I guess it's a win-win situation. I was totally inspired by my co-worker slash friend, Nittany J, who ran the ING NYC marathon a few weeks ago. I went out on Marathon Sunday, donning my Nike dunks and some leggings, ready to show off if I needed to. I met up with Co-Worker A and some others and did a bit of cheering. I caught up with Nittany J around mile 18 and joined in the race for about a mile. Wow, what a rush! Aaaand, I don't mean to brag, but Nittany J's stats indicated the mile I ran with her was her fastest mile of the 26.2. Wahoo!
Do you remember the book "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day"? I remember being read the book before I could read, then reading it on my own. It was around the same time in life when "Where the Wild Things Are" was huge. I don't recall the specifics, but it was probably something about a kid having a bad - like, really bad - day. Then he wakes up, and finds out it was all a dream. Or he goes to bed, wakes up the next morning, and everything is better. Whichever path the story takes, it's meant to teach the kiddies that things generally aren't as bad as you think they are; things get better; tomorrow's a new day; blah blah blah. Well, this week has been one of those weeks where every night I've gone to bed hoping I'll wake up in the morning and discover the few days before were just a dream. But unfortunately, that doesn't happen often in real life. In children's books and sitcom episodes, yes. In real life, not so much. I won't go into detail, but let's just say, Point Number One of my Four Point Plan (which those of you who see me regularly know about, and those who are reading this and don't even know me have never heard of) deserves some acceleration. Okay, I'll elaborate a bit.
Working at a big law firm has taught me several things. One thing is that my time doesn't matter. Wait, that's not right. My time spent doing things other than billing hours doesn't matter. Like when I email a partner a draft at 11am and request comments or approval to send it out, for an external deadline that night, and the partner ignores my 11am email, my follow-up 3pm email, and my further 6pm email. Oh, and the partner is working from home. Per usual. I call the partner at home at 615pm, and I get no answer and no voicemail. I am ready to leave the office, figuring if the partner doesn't care about it, why should I, when I receive a call from the partner asking why I was looking for the partner. I then work until 12am, when I send the revised draft out. Repeat. Daily. Not too fun, eh? But I will stop the sob story right there. My Four Point Plan, and several pep talks from my co-workers (not to mention, amazing chocolate chip banana bread and Hermione Granger, our newest associate on the hall), will get me through the tough week, right? Sure.
On to the Four Point Plan. Point Number One: think about (and I mean seriously think about) what I want to do when I grow up (career-wise) and how best to get that rolling. (See immediately preceding paragraph for why this Point has to be accelerated. See future posts for Points Two through Four.)
I feel like a fifth grader on the last day of school before Christmas vacation. Tomorrow is my last day of work for a whole week. Yes, I am taking an entire week off. Well, our office is "closed" Thursday and Friday. But yes, I am taking Monday through Wednesday off. I will see Sister. I will enjoy the late fall foliage of rural Vermont. I will spend a lovely weekend in the company of The Famous Auntie Bevy. I will stuff myself full of turkey and pumpkin deliciousness. I will go Black Friday shopping.
I guess tomorrow really is a new day.
Moving on.
I signed up for my first half marathon last week. Well, I entered the lottery, so I will train for the next few months, with the hope that I am given the grand opportunity of running my very first half marathon in March. And if I am not given said opportunity, I will just be in kick-ass shape, so I guess it's a win-win situation. I was totally inspired by my co-worker slash friend, Nittany J, who ran the ING NYC marathon a few weeks ago. I went out on Marathon Sunday, donning my Nike dunks and some leggings, ready to show off if I needed to. I met up with Co-Worker A and some others and did a bit of cheering. I caught up with Nittany J around mile 18 and joined in the race for about a mile. Wow, what a rush! Aaaand, I don't mean to brag, but Nittany J's stats indicated the mile I ran with her was her fastest mile of the 26.2. Wahoo!
Do you remember the book "Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day"? I remember being read the book before I could read, then reading it on my own. It was around the same time in life when "Where the Wild Things Are" was huge. I don't recall the specifics, but it was probably something about a kid having a bad - like, really bad - day. Then he wakes up, and finds out it was all a dream. Or he goes to bed, wakes up the next morning, and everything is better. Whichever path the story takes, it's meant to teach the kiddies that things generally aren't as bad as you think they are; things get better; tomorrow's a new day; blah blah blah. Well, this week has been one of those weeks where every night I've gone to bed hoping I'll wake up in the morning and discover the few days before were just a dream. But unfortunately, that doesn't happen often in real life. In children's books and sitcom episodes, yes. In real life, not so much. I won't go into detail, but let's just say, Point Number One of my Four Point Plan (which those of you who see me regularly know about, and those who are reading this and don't even know me have never heard of) deserves some acceleration. Okay, I'll elaborate a bit.
Working at a big law firm has taught me several things. One thing is that my time doesn't matter. Wait, that's not right. My time spent doing things other than billing hours doesn't matter. Like when I email a partner a draft at 11am and request comments or approval to send it out, for an external deadline that night, and the partner ignores my 11am email, my follow-up 3pm email, and my further 6pm email. Oh, and the partner is working from home. Per usual. I call the partner at home at 615pm, and I get no answer and no voicemail. I am ready to leave the office, figuring if the partner doesn't care about it, why should I, when I receive a call from the partner asking why I was looking for the partner. I then work until 12am, when I send the revised draft out. Repeat. Daily. Not too fun, eh? But I will stop the sob story right there. My Four Point Plan, and several pep talks from my co-workers (not to mention, amazing chocolate chip banana bread and Hermione Granger, our newest associate on the hall), will get me through the tough week, right? Sure.
On to the Four Point Plan. Point Number One: think about (and I mean seriously think about) what I want to do when I grow up (career-wise) and how best to get that rolling. (See immediately preceding paragraph for why this Point has to be accelerated. See future posts for Points Two through Four.)
I feel like a fifth grader on the last day of school before Christmas vacation. Tomorrow is my last day of work for a whole week. Yes, I am taking an entire week off. Well, our office is "closed" Thursday and Friday. But yes, I am taking Monday through Wednesday off. I will see Sister. I will enjoy the late fall foliage of rural Vermont. I will spend a lovely weekend in the company of The Famous Auntie Bevy. I will stuff myself full of turkey and pumpkin deliciousness. I will go Black Friday shopping.
I guess tomorrow really is a new day.
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