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.

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.

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!

The deal that died.

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)!

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.

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.

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.