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!
Monday, September 12, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Natural disasters take New York (and I take Lady Friend to dinner).
Today was the most gorgeous day ever. I haven't experienced a hurricane before (other than the one that knocked down the chimney at my parents' house when I was 5 years old), so I'm not sure if the day after a hurricane is usually the best weather of the entire year. But today was hands-down the best weather of 2011. The sky was what they call "sky blue," and there were no clouds in the sky. In fact, today's sky looked almost exactly like the pictures I used to draw of houses with neat landscaping and suns wearing sunglasses (my cleverness was obviously early onset), with trees blowing lightly in the wind, and stick figures wearing scarves. In honor of my old renderings, I wore a scarf today. (Yes, I sweat through it while walking seven avenues across town and seven avenues back, but it was obviously worth it just to feel the autumnal glow.) By the way, there was apparently an earthquake last week. Oh, and a hurricane, too. But enough on that.
I have billed a lot of hours recently. I was told (by a reputable source) that I (well, a deal I closed recently) made the firm one million dollars (that's $1,000,000.00 in number form). I don't mean to sound demanding, but shouldn't I get a cut of that million? I'll take something small like 10%. I'm about to pay a real estate broker 15% of my annual rent for helping me to find an apartment (i.e., getting a key from a management company and unlocking the door for me), so I clearly deserve at least 10% of the firm's earnings for drafting releases and gathering signature pages. I shouldn't complain, though, so I'm not going to. Instead, I'm going to tell you about the glorious feast Lady Friend and I had as a result of said million dollar deal. As I mentioned, I have worked a lot this month. I have been at the office till 1 or 2am fairly regularly, and I've returned by 10am each morning. I have eaten lunch at my desk and sat on pointless conference calls. I have cried (just once!) while at work out of exhaustion. My reward, however, for these torturous weeks was grand. The head of our group told me in passing that once the deal closes, I should go out for an expensive dinner ("don't bring me a receipt for anything less than a hundred dollars.") and bring him the bill. Wahoo! Lady Friend and I ate delicious food while getting dizzy at the spinning restaurant atop the Marriott Marquis, and I sent my $250 bill directly to said partner. (Sidenote: if any employers or bosses or workplace superiors are reading this, there's such a thing as patting people on the back for doing a good job. It makes said good job doer feel like a rock star. Think about it.)
Sister turned 23 this month. Happy birthday, Sister.
Other fun things that happened to me this month: (1) I got a real estate broker fired (she stood me up, so she deserved it); (2) I purchased 5 hip hop dance classes for JUST $25(!!) (and relatedly, watched Step Up 3); (3) I walked down the street on my way back to work from lunch, complaining about all the people standing outside in the nice weather, and wishing I could just stand around outside instead of going back to my office, and then, upon returning to my office, learned that these people had just evacuated their buildings following earthquake tremors felt in NYC; (4) I submitted an application for a new apartment (yay!); (5) I learned that my freezer (which has been part of my apartment for the past 2 years) has an ice maker in it (who knew that diagram in the freezer actually meant something?); and (6) I ran 9 miles (just 4.1 more, and I'm all ready for my half marathon in TWO weeks).
Shout out to Techie A and Techie E, for being great friends and taking a chance on this homeless girl following Mayor Bloomberg's evacuation orders. Your four walls and slowly deflating aerobed made me feel oh-so-safe while Irene had her way with downtown New York. I owe you big time.
I have billed a lot of hours recently. I was told (by a reputable source) that I (well, a deal I closed recently) made the firm one million dollars (that's $1,000,000.00 in number form). I don't mean to sound demanding, but shouldn't I get a cut of that million? I'll take something small like 10%. I'm about to pay a real estate broker 15% of my annual rent for helping me to find an apartment (i.e., getting a key from a management company and unlocking the door for me), so I clearly deserve at least 10% of the firm's earnings for drafting releases and gathering signature pages. I shouldn't complain, though, so I'm not going to. Instead, I'm going to tell you about the glorious feast Lady Friend and I had as a result of said million dollar deal. As I mentioned, I have worked a lot this month. I have been at the office till 1 or 2am fairly regularly, and I've returned by 10am each morning. I have eaten lunch at my desk and sat on pointless conference calls. I have cried (just once!) while at work out of exhaustion. My reward, however, for these torturous weeks was grand. The head of our group told me in passing that once the deal closes, I should go out for an expensive dinner ("don't bring me a receipt for anything less than a hundred dollars.") and bring him the bill. Wahoo! Lady Friend and I ate delicious food while getting dizzy at the spinning restaurant atop the Marriott Marquis, and I sent my $250 bill directly to said partner. (Sidenote: if any employers or bosses or workplace superiors are reading this, there's such a thing as patting people on the back for doing a good job. It makes said good job doer feel like a rock star. Think about it.)
Sister turned 23 this month. Happy birthday, Sister.
Other fun things that happened to me this month: (1) I got a real estate broker fired (she stood me up, so she deserved it); (2) I purchased 5 hip hop dance classes for JUST $25(!!) (and relatedly, watched Step Up 3); (3) I walked down the street on my way back to work from lunch, complaining about all the people standing outside in the nice weather, and wishing I could just stand around outside instead of going back to my office, and then, upon returning to my office, learned that these people had just evacuated their buildings following earthquake tremors felt in NYC; (4) I submitted an application for a new apartment (yay!); (5) I learned that my freezer (which has been part of my apartment for the past 2 years) has an ice maker in it (who knew that diagram in the freezer actually meant something?); and (6) I ran 9 miles (just 4.1 more, and I'm all ready for my half marathon in TWO weeks).
Shout out to Techie A and Techie E, for being great friends and taking a chance on this homeless girl following Mayor Bloomberg's evacuation orders. Your four walls and slowly deflating aerobed made me feel oh-so-safe while Irene had her way with downtown New York. I owe you big time.
Monday, July 25, 2011
I Just Want to Say: Gargling Salt Water
They just opened an amazing store across the street from my apartment. This is the kind of store you can go to every single day, and walk out of with a sizeable bag, feeling like you just bought something you absolutely need and could not have gone another day without. The store they opened across the street from my apartment is a brand-new, gorgeous (that's not an overstatement) Duane Reade. This Duane Reade has a smoothie bar and a nail salon in it. It has all the perks of a normal Duane Reade, mixed with all the glamor of the marble-lobbied Trump Building which houses it. Oh, and did I mention it's open 24 hours! How amazing! This new addition to my block is one of the (slowly amassing) reasons I will be sad to leave my 'hood come fall. Sidenote: when I was young(er) and living on Long Island, the radio stations my parents listened to would always play Duane Reade commercials, with that catchy little slogan: "Everywhere you go! Duane Reade!" I had never seen a Duane Reade in my life, so I (naturally) wondered where these people were going that they saw Duane Reades everywhere. I could not understand why a radio station that broadcast to the middle of Long Island would advertise that a place is everywhere you go, when it was actually nowhere I went and really served me no purpose for the first 24 years of my life. I thought that jingle would do better on Long Island for the Gap or Dunkin' Donuts or Wendys, or, in the later years, even Starbucks. But then I moved to the city and saw that Duane Reades are basically NYC-centric competition for CVS and Rite Aid. I never really had a preference among the three of them, but now that I live across the street from my very own 24-hour luxury Duane Reade, I don't think I'll be stepping foot inside a CVS anytime soon. It's the first thing I see when I step outside my door in the morning, and it's the last thing I see before entering the revolving door into my building at the end of the day. Now it really is "everywhere I go. (Duane Reade!)"
I recently read a book by Nora Ephron entitled, "I Remember Nothing." Small Asian Friend and Lady Friend both could tell you that this is an appropriate name for a book I would be reading. (Actually, they would tell you it's more appropriately the name of a book I should have written, since it describes me well.) While the book didn't make me "laugh out loud" in the same way Tina Fey's did, it made me smile on the subway a whole lot, and I found many of her self-announced quirks endearing (likely because I find I have many of those same quirks) and enjoyable to read about. I'm going to share a detail about one story in particular that made me smile on the subway (which probably made those around me on the subway somewhat uncomfortable). Nora talks in one chapter about chicken soup. The chapter's title is "I Just Want to Say: Chicken Soup." She names a few of her chapters in that manner, beginning with "I Just Want to Say:..." I like it a lot. Anyway, her chapter on chicken soup is one short paragraph long and talks about how she always has chicken soup when she feels a cold coming on and then inevitably gets the cold anyway. So, she questions, is it the chicken soup that causes the cold? I have often wondered the same thing about that old home remedy of gargling salt water when your throat begins to hurt. When I was a child, I got strep throat once or twice a year, and whenever I felt the beginnings of it, Pops would tell me to go gargle with salt water. I always did (the obedient child that I was), and I still always got strep throat. I decided to refuse to gargle for most of my older teenage years and throughout college because I realized I knew better than to listen to the parents and doctors who were obviously getting kickbacks from the salt industry. Last Friday, I felt the beginnings of a sore throat. Lady Friend and Pops both told me to gargle warm salt water to make it feel better. Outnumbered, I figured, fine, I'll gargle the damn salt water. Today I went to the doctor. I have strep throat. Nora Ephron and I clearly have more in common than our ability to forget things. That's all I'm saying.
I recently read a book by Nora Ephron entitled, "I Remember Nothing." Small Asian Friend and Lady Friend both could tell you that this is an appropriate name for a book I would be reading. (Actually, they would tell you it's more appropriately the name of a book I should have written, since it describes me well.) While the book didn't make me "laugh out loud" in the same way Tina Fey's did, it made me smile on the subway a whole lot, and I found many of her self-announced quirks endearing (likely because I find I have many of those same quirks) and enjoyable to read about. I'm going to share a detail about one story in particular that made me smile on the subway (which probably made those around me on the subway somewhat uncomfortable). Nora talks in one chapter about chicken soup. The chapter's title is "I Just Want to Say: Chicken Soup." She names a few of her chapters in that manner, beginning with "I Just Want to Say:..." I like it a lot. Anyway, her chapter on chicken soup is one short paragraph long and talks about how she always has chicken soup when she feels a cold coming on and then inevitably gets the cold anyway. So, she questions, is it the chicken soup that causes the cold? I have often wondered the same thing about that old home remedy of gargling salt water when your throat begins to hurt. When I was a child, I got strep throat once or twice a year, and whenever I felt the beginnings of it, Pops would tell me to go gargle with salt water. I always did (the obedient child that I was), and I still always got strep throat. I decided to refuse to gargle for most of my older teenage years and throughout college because I realized I knew better than to listen to the parents and doctors who were obviously getting kickbacks from the salt industry. Last Friday, I felt the beginnings of a sore throat. Lady Friend and Pops both told me to gargle warm salt water to make it feel better. Outnumbered, I figured, fine, I'll gargle the damn salt water. Today I went to the doctor. I have strep throat. Nora Ephron and I clearly have more in common than our ability to forget things. That's all I'm saying.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Happy Birthday to Me (and America) (in that order).
I am writing this post on a flight home from a glorious weekend (plus one day!) in Cape Cod. (Sidenote: should the appropriate preposition there be “on”? Or maybe it’s “at”? I don’t think one can be “in” a cape. In fact, I’m positive one cannot be “in” a cape – unless one has gotten oneself into a tangled mess with Clark Kent in a phone booth, but that’s obviously not the type of cape I’m talking about -- and that’s not fun for either party. Okay, fine, I will just forget it and carry on.) Boston Brit and her family welcomed me out to the Cape for a terrific weekend of all things non-work-related. I slept as late as I wanted every morning, went for longish hilly runs, ate delicious food with more people at one table than when my entire department eats lunch together (dinner parties are fun!), and paid more than I pay Starbucks every morning for a much more flavorful and refreshing iced soy chai than Starbucks will ever be able to make (at least that’s what I told myself while paying $4.50 for a small plastic cup filled most of the way with ice – but yay for small business!).
Boston Brit is one of the best people ever to go on a vacation with (to her own house on the Cape). She is one of those people who needs to plan out her entire day before she goes to sleep the night before, but she is willing to do pretty much anything you suggest. You want to walk all the way to the one store in town to get your chai after she has just returned from a 20 mile bike ride? Boston Brit says, "sure!" You want to laze on the back porch all afternoon reading the most amazing book that has ever graced your finger tips (shout out to Tina Fey!)? Boston Brit says, "no problem!" It's pretty fantastic. So, yes, my weekend was (as I mentioned earlier) glorious.
Allow me to rewind a week and return to the weekend of my birth date. To celebrate the coming of my twenty-eighth year, I did what all New Yorkers do on their birthdays: I went to brunch with friends. (Note that New Yorkers tend to do this every weekend, not just on their birthdays, but they absolutely do it on their birthdays, whereas sometimes they will not do it on a given weekend day. Thank you for allowing me to clarify.) We went to Kitchenette, which I highly recommend if you are from the South or like big portions and biscuits (i.e., if you are from the South). The weekend also happened to be Pride weekend in NYC, and Lady Friend and I attended several Pride events including a reading of celebrity memoirs by celebrities (not those celebrities whose memoirs were involved) that really made me laugh out loud. We were confused, however, by the fact that this particular reading of celebrity memoirs was advertised as a special Pride edition. At first we thought it would be memoirs of gay celebrities. But the first reading was from The Situation's memoir (sidenote: has he even been famous long enough for him to have a memoir? That seems very silly.), so we decided that was not the way the classification worked. Then we thought perhaps the celebrity readers were all gay, but we googled the woman who plays the mother on Burn Notice (good show - check it out), who read several of the excerpts, and found out she wasn't gay, so we were very confused. We decided, in the end, that the chosen memoirs must have come from celebrities who stereotypically appeal to gay people (read: gay men). Streisand, Elizabeth Taylor, Cher, and Burt Reynolds all made appearances. Pride edition or no Pride edition, it was still a hoot.
Let's get back to my birthday. And birthday surprises. And the fact that if you know me at all, you know that I don't often purchase things for myself. I do an awful lot of talking about things I want and looking at things in stores and going back and forth as to whether to get a particular thing and leaving stores empty-handed. So, it should not be shocking to hear (read) that Lady Friend has heard (heard) me talk about lots of things I want. Like a yoga mat bag. And a running belt (not a dorky one; a small one that's nifty and spandex). And a new yoga mat. And the Tina Fey book, "Bossypants." (Shout out to Tina Fey!) All of these things are things I have wanted for quite some time and never bought for myself. Lady Friend (who is terrifically thoughtful, by the way) purchased each of these items for me in anticipation of my birthday and planned on surprising me with them during the weekend. The Thursday before my birthday, we went to Woodbury Commons, where I stumbled upon a Lululemon yoga mat bag for just $29! Of course I had to get it! I emerged from the store and found Lady Friend visibly upset. I hounded her to find out what was wrong, and she told me she had purchased a yoga mat bag for my birthday. GAH! The one I had bought was (obviously) final sale! And so began my ruining all of her surprises. A close call with a yoga mat, followed by a rant about how this one brand of running belts (which is nowhere to be found in Manhattan's running stores) is clearly superior to all other brands of exactly the same running belt, and the kicker, when I received her final gift (which was actually a surprise and very much something I wanted (shout out to Tina Fey!)) only to then open the gift my sister had mailed to me earlier in the week and find the exact same book. Sigh. I am not a bad person. I am just a difficult person to surprise. (Shout out to Lady Friend!)
In other news, I actually met people in my building today (well, on the rooftop). I am tempted to look back at all of my posts over the past two years and count the number of times I have mentioned other people in my building (I'll guess 3) and the number of times I've mentioned any interaction with such people other than a negative one (I'll guess 0, unless I count an interaction with Juan, the best doorman ever). But my interaction with these two guys was very positive. So I guess there's still hope for FiDi. Too bad I'm moving out in September. That reminds me- anyone who knows of a great deal on a one bedroom in any neighborhood of Manhattan other than the upper east side or any (non-scary) neighborhood of Brooklyn, let me know (if you haven't already taken it for yourself)!
Before I go, I will leave you with one more thought. Here's my thought. Actually, it's more of a question. Can someone please tell me when it became acceptable/fashionable for young otherwise normal looking women to wear high waisted shorts? I don't understand. I thought we were a generation of low rise to just under the belly button, no? Please, women of Manhattan, look at yourselves in the mirror before leaving the house. That's all I ask.
Boston Brit is one of the best people ever to go on a vacation with (to her own house on the Cape). She is one of those people who needs to plan out her entire day before she goes to sleep the night before, but she is willing to do pretty much anything you suggest. You want to walk all the way to the one store in town to get your chai after she has just returned from a 20 mile bike ride? Boston Brit says, "sure!" You want to laze on the back porch all afternoon reading the most amazing book that has ever graced your finger tips (shout out to Tina Fey!)? Boston Brit says, "no problem!" It's pretty fantastic. So, yes, my weekend was (as I mentioned earlier) glorious.
Allow me to rewind a week and return to the weekend of my birth date. To celebrate the coming of my twenty-eighth year, I did what all New Yorkers do on their birthdays: I went to brunch with friends. (Note that New Yorkers tend to do this every weekend, not just on their birthdays, but they absolutely do it on their birthdays, whereas sometimes they will not do it on a given weekend day. Thank you for allowing me to clarify.) We went to Kitchenette, which I highly recommend if you are from the South or like big portions and biscuits (i.e., if you are from the South). The weekend also happened to be Pride weekend in NYC, and Lady Friend and I attended several Pride events including a reading of celebrity memoirs by celebrities (not those celebrities whose memoirs were involved) that really made me laugh out loud. We were confused, however, by the fact that this particular reading of celebrity memoirs was advertised as a special Pride edition. At first we thought it would be memoirs of gay celebrities. But the first reading was from The Situation's memoir (sidenote: has he even been famous long enough for him to have a memoir? That seems very silly.), so we decided that was not the way the classification worked. Then we thought perhaps the celebrity readers were all gay, but we googled the woman who plays the mother on Burn Notice (good show - check it out), who read several of the excerpts, and found out she wasn't gay, so we were very confused. We decided, in the end, that the chosen memoirs must have come from celebrities who stereotypically appeal to gay people (read: gay men). Streisand, Elizabeth Taylor, Cher, and Burt Reynolds all made appearances. Pride edition or no Pride edition, it was still a hoot.
Let's get back to my birthday. And birthday surprises. And the fact that if you know me at all, you know that I don't often purchase things for myself. I do an awful lot of talking about things I want and looking at things in stores and going back and forth as to whether to get a particular thing and leaving stores empty-handed. So, it should not be shocking to hear (read) that Lady Friend has heard (heard) me talk about lots of things I want. Like a yoga mat bag. And a running belt (not a dorky one; a small one that's nifty and spandex). And a new yoga mat. And the Tina Fey book, "Bossypants." (Shout out to Tina Fey!) All of these things are things I have wanted for quite some time and never bought for myself. Lady Friend (who is terrifically thoughtful, by the way) purchased each of these items for me in anticipation of my birthday and planned on surprising me with them during the weekend. The Thursday before my birthday, we went to Woodbury Commons, where I stumbled upon a Lululemon yoga mat bag for just $29! Of course I had to get it! I emerged from the store and found Lady Friend visibly upset. I hounded her to find out what was wrong, and she told me she had purchased a yoga mat bag for my birthday. GAH! The one I had bought was (obviously) final sale! And so began my ruining all of her surprises. A close call with a yoga mat, followed by a rant about how this one brand of running belts (which is nowhere to be found in Manhattan's running stores) is clearly superior to all other brands of exactly the same running belt, and the kicker, when I received her final gift (which was actually a surprise and very much something I wanted (shout out to Tina Fey!)) only to then open the gift my sister had mailed to me earlier in the week and find the exact same book. Sigh. I am not a bad person. I am just a difficult person to surprise. (Shout out to Lady Friend!)
In other news, I actually met people in my building today (well, on the rooftop). I am tempted to look back at all of my posts over the past two years and count the number of times I have mentioned other people in my building (I'll guess 3) and the number of times I've mentioned any interaction with such people other than a negative one (I'll guess 0, unless I count an interaction with Juan, the best doorman ever). But my interaction with these two guys was very positive. So I guess there's still hope for FiDi. Too bad I'm moving out in September. That reminds me- anyone who knows of a great deal on a one bedroom in any neighborhood of Manhattan other than the upper east side or any (non-scary) neighborhood of Brooklyn, let me know (if you haven't already taken it for yourself)!
Before I go, I will leave you with one more thought. Here's my thought. Actually, it's more of a question. Can someone please tell me when it became acceptable/fashionable for young otherwise normal looking women to wear high waisted shorts? I don't understand. I thought we were a generation of low rise to just under the belly button, no? Please, women of Manhattan, look at yourselves in the mirror before leaving the house. That's all I ask.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Yeah, yeah, another month without a blog post. I know. Believe me, I know. Let's move on and just be happy that we're here together once again.
Happy May! Yes, there's only one more day left in this glorious month, but May was a happy month for me, so here's hoping yours was, too. (Alright, I think that's enough effusive cheer for one post.)
So I am currently on vacation (wahoo!). Unfortunately, I return to work tomorrow (antithesis of wahoo!). But it's actually cool because the summer associates have joined the ranks at work so now I have people who, though probably not younger than me, are lower on the food chain, whom I can order around and send out for my coffee. Seriously. Summer associates are the best thing to ever happen to law firms. (I wouldn't really treat them like that, don't worry. I don't even drink coffee. Chai, on the other hand...) But I'm actually excited to meet them. Even though our office manager thinks she has a sense of humor and sat a summer associate with the same name as me in the office next door to mine. (She will obviously have to change her name, as there's only room for one of us on the 20th floor. Don't even start.)
So, yes, I'm on vacation. I just returned from the west coast, and it was a total blast. I didn't make it out to LA this time (don't worry, UCLA folks, I'll be out there in late June); rather, I was up in those rainier lands known as Seattle and Portland. Sister had two weeks between sessions and met me out in Seattle after spending a week ice fishing in Alaska. She lived in an igloo all week, so I'm sure she welcomed our retro chic hotel in Seattle (and its four walls made of solid material - yes, I know ice is the solid form of water, but that's besides the point). We spent three days in Seattle, checking out all the sights (i.e., buying clothes we don't need at Nordstrom Rack), dining on the finest northwest delicacies (the best sushi roll ever - crab meat, fuji apples, and jalapenos - amazing!), and hanging with the dreaded (that's dreaded because they had dread-locks) locals at this hilariously eclectic (in terms of clientele) outdoor bar while mosquitoes ate my flesh. Good times all around. Then we swept down to Portland for a quick peak (where we conveniently also stayed one block away from a Nordstrom Rack- way to go, Sister- fine choices of hotels in both locations). I liked Seattle better, and Sister like Portland better, and those preferences suit us just fine. Perhaps one day I'll be a government lawyer in Seattle while she fights for clean waterways (or something like that) in Portland. And our kids will be friends. And we'll all pose for J. Crew-inspired photo shoots. And life will be perfect. Yes, I think that sounds highly feasible.
I need to backtrack for a moment to tell you about the hilarity that preceded my west coast adventure. This pre-adventure was my five year college reunion, and hilarity is a completely accurate description. Small Asian Friend and I drove up to Wes Friday night and met up with some now Townie Friends who showed us their newly purchased homestead (which was really nice, I might add) and dined with us. We made our way to campus, where we checked in and retrieved our keys to our dorm rooms. Yes, you read that correctly: we stayed in dorm rooms. Well, to be totally frank, we stayed in one dorm room. We had a child cot for Boston Brit, but she opted out of reunion weekend (don't worry, Boston Brit, I'm no longer upset about this- just sad that you missed out), so Small Asian Friend pushed it into my room and slept on it for the few hours of the wee morning she slept each night we were there. We did all the usual things Wes students do: played squash, went to Friendly's and Mortenson's (yes, we like our ice cream), hit up a house party or two, avoided attending graduation, and purchased Wes gear (as if we didn't buy enough during our four years there and the five years since) for our friends and families. But wow, what a great time. I saw my high school boyfriend (who happened to also be my year at Wes), my freshman year roomie, my only other friend from my freshman year dorm, and my backyard-sharing neighbors from senior year. Granted, I already knew what most of these people were doing from facebook (thanks again, Mark Zuckerberg), but it was nice to see them in person (so as to not feel like a crazy internet stalker).
In other news, this weekend was my Lady Friend's birthday. (Yes, I have a Lady Friend. She's wonderful. Thank you, Four Point Plan - success!) We did all the things one should do with one's Lady Friend in New York City during one's Lady Friend's birthday weekend: we strolled across the Brooklyn Bridge (despite the grossly hot sticky weather); we sat on a bench in Central Park and looked out at the water (while swatting away bugs and avoiding getting sick off the scent of horse poo); and we had a delicious dinner with her best friend in the 'Burg (after arriving at the original restaurant we had planned to meet at and finding it closed for renovations). But despite all that, it was actually a success and a great birthday (so said Lady Friend). So I will now pat myself on the back.
And now it's back to the usual Sunday night routine of catching up on my dvr and hoping to avoid the dreaded (this time not meaning dread-locked individuals) start to the work week.
Happy May! Yes, there's only one more day left in this glorious month, but May was a happy month for me, so here's hoping yours was, too. (Alright, I think that's enough effusive cheer for one post.)
So I am currently on vacation (wahoo!). Unfortunately, I return to work tomorrow (antithesis of wahoo!). But it's actually cool because the summer associates have joined the ranks at work so now I have people who, though probably not younger than me, are lower on the food chain, whom I can order around and send out for my coffee. Seriously. Summer associates are the best thing to ever happen to law firms. (I wouldn't really treat them like that, don't worry. I don't even drink coffee. Chai, on the other hand...) But I'm actually excited to meet them. Even though our office manager thinks she has a sense of humor and sat a summer associate with the same name as me in the office next door to mine. (She will obviously have to change her name, as there's only room for one of us on the 20th floor. Don't even start.)
So, yes, I'm on vacation. I just returned from the west coast, and it was a total blast. I didn't make it out to LA this time (don't worry, UCLA folks, I'll be out there in late June); rather, I was up in those rainier lands known as Seattle and Portland. Sister had two weeks between sessions and met me out in Seattle after spending a week ice fishing in Alaska. She lived in an igloo all week, so I'm sure she welcomed our retro chic hotel in Seattle (and its four walls made of solid material - yes, I know ice is the solid form of water, but that's besides the point). We spent three days in Seattle, checking out all the sights (i.e., buying clothes we don't need at Nordstrom Rack), dining on the finest northwest delicacies (the best sushi roll ever - crab meat, fuji apples, and jalapenos - amazing!), and hanging with the dreaded (that's dreaded because they had dread-locks) locals at this hilariously eclectic (in terms of clientele) outdoor bar while mosquitoes ate my flesh. Good times all around. Then we swept down to Portland for a quick peak (where we conveniently also stayed one block away from a Nordstrom Rack- way to go, Sister- fine choices of hotels in both locations). I liked Seattle better, and Sister like Portland better, and those preferences suit us just fine. Perhaps one day I'll be a government lawyer in Seattle while she fights for clean waterways (or something like that) in Portland. And our kids will be friends. And we'll all pose for J. Crew-inspired photo shoots. And life will be perfect. Yes, I think that sounds highly feasible.
I need to backtrack for a moment to tell you about the hilarity that preceded my west coast adventure. This pre-adventure was my five year college reunion, and hilarity is a completely accurate description. Small Asian Friend and I drove up to Wes Friday night and met up with some now Townie Friends who showed us their newly purchased homestead (which was really nice, I might add) and dined with us. We made our way to campus, where we checked in and retrieved our keys to our dorm rooms. Yes, you read that correctly: we stayed in dorm rooms. Well, to be totally frank, we stayed in one dorm room. We had a child cot for Boston Brit, but she opted out of reunion weekend (don't worry, Boston Brit, I'm no longer upset about this- just sad that you missed out), so Small Asian Friend pushed it into my room and slept on it for the few hours of the wee morning she slept each night we were there. We did all the usual things Wes students do: played squash, went to Friendly's and Mortenson's (yes, we like our ice cream), hit up a house party or two, avoided attending graduation, and purchased Wes gear (as if we didn't buy enough during our four years there and the five years since) for our friends and families. But wow, what a great time. I saw my high school boyfriend (who happened to also be my year at Wes), my freshman year roomie, my only other friend from my freshman year dorm, and my backyard-sharing neighbors from senior year. Granted, I already knew what most of these people were doing from facebook (thanks again, Mark Zuckerberg), but it was nice to see them in person (so as to not feel like a crazy internet stalker).
In other news, this weekend was my Lady Friend's birthday. (Yes, I have a Lady Friend. She's wonderful. Thank you, Four Point Plan - success!) We did all the things one should do with one's Lady Friend in New York City during one's Lady Friend's birthday weekend: we strolled across the Brooklyn Bridge (despite the grossly hot sticky weather); we sat on a bench in Central Park and looked out at the water (while swatting away bugs and avoiding getting sick off the scent of horse poo); and we had a delicious dinner with her best friend in the 'Burg (after arriving at the original restaurant we had planned to meet at and finding it closed for renovations). But despite all that, it was actually a success and a great birthday (so said Lady Friend). So I will now pat myself on the back.
And now it's back to the usual Sunday night routine of catching up on my dvr and hoping to avoid the dreaded (this time not meaning dread-locked individuals) start to the work week.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Ok, so I took a longer hiatus than anticipated. I was basically boycotting all forms of communication following Pia being ousted from American Idol. (Ok, that's only partly true. I just boycotted blogging - only because I had to let this marinate before writing a rant for the whole world to see.) I actually think America has no ears. Or no fingers (with which to dial a telephone and vote for Pia). Seriously, America. Who are you? I barely recognize you right now. I don't even want to look at you. I'm done.
Since we last spoke (or since I last wrote at you), lots has happened. My firm's softball season started, and we won our first game! We are officially undefeated. We didn't just win - we actually demolished the other team. I felt kind of bad because we are a-hole corporate lawyers, and the other side was a non-profit (you know, people whose souls have not been stolen from them) doing good things for the world. But who am I to go easy on others who can't keep up with my (and my team's) athletic prowess? I mean, that's just not how you play the game. No one wants pity. People want competitiveness, and I give people what they want (in this context, at least). Our season opener was on the one day April has seen where it broke 60 degrees. It was glorious - I left work at 5pm, changed into shorts, a t-shirt, and my hot red cleats (go Wes), and breathed in that amazing dirt smell. Wait, no, was it dirt? No, I definitely didn't smell dirt. Did I mention my game was on 4/20? Right. It was THAT smell. I have a suggestion for all you members of the NYPD reading this. Next year, if you're low on summonses on 4/20, go watch a softball game in Central Park. I promise you'll find what you're looking for.
Now, the big news: I had jury duty earlier this month. (Shout out to my new friend NR from Utah!) I was called for service at the supreme court building downtown, and it was a terrific respite from work. I know most people hate jury duty, but I found it to be an excellent way to learn about New Yorkers. I spent the first day sitting in a large room, watching Verinoca Mars episodes, and waiting for my name to be called. I crossed my fingers hoping for a criminal trial. A big one. Like the mobster one. Or like the one in Legally Blonde. It was a slow day, so the clerk (or administrative guy- whatever he's called) who sat at the front of the room tried his hand at a bit of stand up. He was actually pretty good. I'm thinking about writing a letter to the state court thanking it for presenting potential jurors with such a great man for entertainment. You may have had to be there to appreciate these gems, but check it: At the end of the first day, the man stood at the front of the room and said, "So, if you have any non-pornographic magazines piling up at home that you'd like to share with your fellow jurors, feel free to bring them in tomorrow." (I thought about asking whether anime was acceptable, but decided against it. (Note, I do not actually own anime publications. Just so you know.)) I also chuckled at the end of the second day, when our comedian was saying goodbye to those chosen for juries to begin on the next Monday and warned: "Have a great weekend. Don't flee the country or get arrested between now and Monday. Stay out of trouble." What a great guy. I did not get to experience the joy of serving on a jury. I did, however, sit through voir dire. There were 18 of us in the room. Two lawyers asked all kinds of questions, but only to the first 8 people. Then they asked the same questions to the next 8 people. The last two of us obviously bonded over the fact that we were young, female, and clearly serving no purpose in the room. Good times. I learned that most New Yorkers (if jury selection pools are an accurate representation of New Yorkers, and I believe they are) have way more interesting jobs than I do. I sat in a room with an engineer who designs Starbucks stores around New York - how cool is that!? I was tempted to ask if she could hook me up, but she was dismissed before I had a chance. Apparently, the plaintiff's attorney in this slip-and-fall case didn't think an engineer for a corporate giant would be sympathetic to his client's complaint that the defendant had not complied with sidewalk safety codes. Ah, well.
Now that it's mid-April, I am thoroughly ready for summer. If only the weather would catch up with me. Come on, global warming! (Just kidding- global warming is a serious issue, and I should not be egging it on.) To get in the spirit, next weekend, Nittany J and some others and I are running a 5k for penguins at the Bronx Zoo. Seriously. And then the next day, I'll be back up in the Boogie Down to watch the Yanks kick some serious Canadian booty. Yay for summer (or early spring, which really feels like winter). I know you were concerned, so I am happy to report that I'm holding fast to my previously mentioned desire to run a half marathon. This week, Small Asian Friend and I entered the lottery for the Nike Women's (Half) Marathon in SF! I've wanted to run this race since I lived in LA. It combines so many amazing things - Nike, SF, Tiffany dog tag necklaces, music, and running outside. Pure joy. Please do me a favor and dedicate your 11:11 wishes this week to my successful lottery pick. I thank you.
Cheers to chocolate covered matzah and Easter bunnies.
Since we last spoke (or since I last wrote at you), lots has happened. My firm's softball season started, and we won our first game! We are officially undefeated. We didn't just win - we actually demolished the other team. I felt kind of bad because we are a-hole corporate lawyers, and the other side was a non-profit (you know, people whose souls have not been stolen from them) doing good things for the world. But who am I to go easy on others who can't keep up with my (and my team's) athletic prowess? I mean, that's just not how you play the game. No one wants pity. People want competitiveness, and I give people what they want (in this context, at least). Our season opener was on the one day April has seen where it broke 60 degrees. It was glorious - I left work at 5pm, changed into shorts, a t-shirt, and my hot red cleats (go Wes), and breathed in that amazing dirt smell. Wait, no, was it dirt? No, I definitely didn't smell dirt. Did I mention my game was on 4/20? Right. It was THAT smell. I have a suggestion for all you members of the NYPD reading this. Next year, if you're low on summonses on 4/20, go watch a softball game in Central Park. I promise you'll find what you're looking for.
Now, the big news: I had jury duty earlier this month. (Shout out to my new friend NR from Utah!) I was called for service at the supreme court building downtown, and it was a terrific respite from work. I know most people hate jury duty, but I found it to be an excellent way to learn about New Yorkers. I spent the first day sitting in a large room, watching Verinoca Mars episodes, and waiting for my name to be called. I crossed my fingers hoping for a criminal trial. A big one. Like the mobster one. Or like the one in Legally Blonde. It was a slow day, so the clerk (or administrative guy- whatever he's called) who sat at the front of the room tried his hand at a bit of stand up. He was actually pretty good. I'm thinking about writing a letter to the state court thanking it for presenting potential jurors with such a great man for entertainment. You may have had to be there to appreciate these gems, but check it: At the end of the first day, the man stood at the front of the room and said, "So, if you have any non-pornographic magazines piling up at home that you'd like to share with your fellow jurors, feel free to bring them in tomorrow." (I thought about asking whether anime was acceptable, but decided against it. (Note, I do not actually own anime publications. Just so you know.)) I also chuckled at the end of the second day, when our comedian was saying goodbye to those chosen for juries to begin on the next Monday and warned: "Have a great weekend. Don't flee the country or get arrested between now and Monday. Stay out of trouble." What a great guy. I did not get to experience the joy of serving on a jury. I did, however, sit through voir dire. There were 18 of us in the room. Two lawyers asked all kinds of questions, but only to the first 8 people. Then they asked the same questions to the next 8 people. The last two of us obviously bonded over the fact that we were young, female, and clearly serving no purpose in the room. Good times. I learned that most New Yorkers (if jury selection pools are an accurate representation of New Yorkers, and I believe they are) have way more interesting jobs than I do. I sat in a room with an engineer who designs Starbucks stores around New York - how cool is that!? I was tempted to ask if she could hook me up, but she was dismissed before I had a chance. Apparently, the plaintiff's attorney in this slip-and-fall case didn't think an engineer for a corporate giant would be sympathetic to his client's complaint that the defendant had not complied with sidewalk safety codes. Ah, well.
Now that it's mid-April, I am thoroughly ready for summer. If only the weather would catch up with me. Come on, global warming! (Just kidding- global warming is a serious issue, and I should not be egging it on.) To get in the spirit, next weekend, Nittany J and some others and I are running a 5k for penguins at the Bronx Zoo. Seriously. And then the next day, I'll be back up in the Boogie Down to watch the Yanks kick some serious Canadian booty. Yay for summer (or early spring, which really feels like winter). I know you were concerned, so I am happy to report that I'm holding fast to my previously mentioned desire to run a half marathon. This week, Small Asian Friend and I entered the lottery for the Nike Women's (Half) Marathon in SF! I've wanted to run this race since I lived in LA. It combines so many amazing things - Nike, SF, Tiffany dog tag necklaces, music, and running outside. Pure joy. Please do me a favor and dedicate your 11:11 wishes this week to my successful lottery pick. I thank you.
Cheers to chocolate covered matzah and Easter bunnies.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Beware, the Ides of March.
March is supposed to go in like a lion and out like a lamb, right? Well, I think my March has it backwards. Things started off super smoothly this month. I was scheduled for a week in Vermont with Sister and the rest of the B clan during the first full week of the month. I was sailing through a fairly quiet week at work, and there were developments on the romance front about which I was pretty stoked. Yup, March came in purring (or making whatever sound a lamb makes) like a perfect little angel. I won't go into detail, but suffice it to say that my March road has become a bit bumpier than I anticipated a few weeks ago. It's cool, though - it's nothing my Ke$ha pandora station and a few nights of $2 margaritas can't pick me up from. Onwards and upwards, I say..
Now that that's out of the way, let's rewind to my week in Vermont. I jetted up to Burlington and met Sister for some relaxation (read: hours and hours of Veronica Mars episodes) before hitting the slopes later in the week. A brief word of advice: don't fly with a gigantic hangover. Especially when a 400 pound man is sitting next to you eating snacks (loudly). It's not pleasant. What IS pleasant is strapping on a pair of crisp white goggles and wearing cushiony high socks while looking totally bad ass on a snow board. Oh yes I did. I tore it up on the magic carpet hill. Until Brother and Sister convinced me to ride the ski lift with them. Brother and Sister are actually bad ass on snow boards. I just look bad ass (until I start tumbling all over the place and find myself somehow wrapped around the fence of a nearby condo). But I think looking bad ass is half the battle, no? Okay, maybe it's a third of the battle. I knew things were going quickly down hill (ha) when we got to the top of the lift and I took out Brother and Sister in one fluid motion. (Sorry, sibs!) They recovered a bit better than I did, and it took them about half the time to make it down the mountain that it took me. But, man, it was great fun. Oh, and I have never been more grateful to be wearing a helmet in my entire life. Snowboarding (even poorly) is so terrific, I might even retire skiing for good. That'll depend, though, on whether I can remember what a toe turn means when I show up next year. Here's hoping.
I'm sitting on my couch watching American Idol as I write this post. And I have to say, I think they should just fast forward the entire competition and have America vote off 5 or 6 people tonight. Pia is clearly the best girl. Hands down. Way down. She's flawless in her performance, gorgeous, poised, and ready for super stardom. So if a girl wins and it's not Pia, then America has no ears. That's the only logical conclusion to be drawn. The guys are a bit trickier because their styles vary so much. Paul is pretty fantastic with his Ray LaMontagne voice and his crazy chicken dance. And Casey's self-deprecating humor is enjoyable, but I really want him to shave his beard and cut his hair. Is that so much to ask? He makes us look at him every week; he should make that experience a pleasant (word of the day?) one for all of us. However, he just sang Smells Like Teen Spirit, so I have to give him props for that, even though it in no way shows off his voice. The country dude looks like a mix between George W Bush and Howdy Doody, and I can't think about anything else when he's singing. Oh, there's also the rocker guy who wears a tail coming out of his jeans. He's pretty sweet. But he wears a tail. So basically, Pia should win. Also, they're singing songs from the year they were born, and there are WAY too many kids on here who were born in the 90's. They shouldn't do this theme anymore if the contestants are going to be so young. I think it alienates the audience. One more thing: Pia should win.
In other news, tomorrow is St. Patty's Day. So I should go pick out my green outfit. Cheers to drinking work lunches!
Now that that's out of the way, let's rewind to my week in Vermont. I jetted up to Burlington and met Sister for some relaxation (read: hours and hours of Veronica Mars episodes) before hitting the slopes later in the week. A brief word of advice: don't fly with a gigantic hangover. Especially when a 400 pound man is sitting next to you eating snacks (loudly). It's not pleasant. What IS pleasant is strapping on a pair of crisp white goggles and wearing cushiony high socks while looking totally bad ass on a snow board. Oh yes I did. I tore it up on the magic carpet hill. Until Brother and Sister convinced me to ride the ski lift with them. Brother and Sister are actually bad ass on snow boards. I just look bad ass (until I start tumbling all over the place and find myself somehow wrapped around the fence of a nearby condo). But I think looking bad ass is half the battle, no? Okay, maybe it's a third of the battle. I knew things were going quickly down hill (ha) when we got to the top of the lift and I took out Brother and Sister in one fluid motion. (Sorry, sibs!) They recovered a bit better than I did, and it took them about half the time to make it down the mountain that it took me. But, man, it was great fun. Oh, and I have never been more grateful to be wearing a helmet in my entire life. Snowboarding (even poorly) is so terrific, I might even retire skiing for good. That'll depend, though, on whether I can remember what a toe turn means when I show up next year. Here's hoping.
I'm sitting on my couch watching American Idol as I write this post. And I have to say, I think they should just fast forward the entire competition and have America vote off 5 or 6 people tonight. Pia is clearly the best girl. Hands down. Way down. She's flawless in her performance, gorgeous, poised, and ready for super stardom. So if a girl wins and it's not Pia, then America has no ears. That's the only logical conclusion to be drawn. The guys are a bit trickier because their styles vary so much. Paul is pretty fantastic with his Ray LaMontagne voice and his crazy chicken dance. And Casey's self-deprecating humor is enjoyable, but I really want him to shave his beard and cut his hair. Is that so much to ask? He makes us look at him every week; he should make that experience a pleasant (word of the day?) one for all of us. However, he just sang Smells Like Teen Spirit, so I have to give him props for that, even though it in no way shows off his voice. The country dude looks like a mix between George W Bush and Howdy Doody, and I can't think about anything else when he's singing. Oh, there's also the rocker guy who wears a tail coming out of his jeans. He's pretty sweet. But he wears a tail. So basically, Pia should win. Also, they're singing songs from the year they were born, and there are WAY too many kids on here who were born in the 90's. They shouldn't do this theme anymore if the contestants are going to be so young. I think it alienates the audience. One more thing: Pia should win.
In other news, tomorrow is St. Patty's Day. So I should go pick out my green outfit. Cheers to drinking work lunches!
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