The Benefit of Mom on Facebook.com

I just got off the phone with my mother who has recently joined Facebook. She has eight friends and has already blocked seeing my sister's status updates because they can be COLORFUL, shall we say.
Today she told me she saw pictures from [event withheld] and [people withheld] looked like the banjo players from Deliverance. I've never seen this movie, but luckily I found the clip online:

I guess this is a very vague post if you can't see the original pictures, but I hadn't laughed that hard in awhile because the truth can sometimes be hilarious, as they say. My mom's a funny lady.

Day 2 of Training: Completed!

I did it. I ran 3 miles on my lunch break with my runner person. I feel good; I think I'm still sweating, but that's OK. Last night was stretch and strengthening with yoga. The yoga teacher wore orthopedic shoes during the whole class. She moves at my speed, that one. Also, a fire alarm was going off during our "meditation time" at the end of class. Chi: Unharnessed.
I did a little more stretching and strengthening on my walk over to the gym, too. Only this time, it was because a rather large, elderly woman tripped and fell in the middle of a crosswalk on Madison Avenue. Usually, I'd laugh my head off, step over her and continue laughing, but we're at the tail end of the giving season so I tried to help her up.
It was difficult, but not because she was of above average weight. She was wearing a disgusting floor-length fur coat (for shame!) which was VERY slippery and slick from the lubricated souls of murdered animals. I tried to grip her arm, but it was so gross and sliding all around. She just kept saying, "Ohhh, help! Help me up!" Jesus, lady, I'm trying! I wanted to tell her that she should walk more like me: without a fur coat and with your head down at all times. Looking people in the eye and making human connections is very hazardous.
Tomorrow: 2 mile run or cross training.

Impending Doom

So, yes, a half marathon. That's 13.1 miles. That's a little more than three times the distance I've ever ran in my entire life. Sit with that for a moment. Are you scared? Because I'm scared.
The race is on March 21st, but let's not call it a race. Let's call it an impending accomplishment. I can do this, right? I find out on January 6th if I even have a slot in the "impending accomplishment" (sidenote: after googling "impending" to make sure I'm using the word correctly, the first suggested drop down is "impending doom" - gulp).
After I - ahem - win the lottery, I get to pay $90 to run until I can't feel my lower extremities. I've already been warned that my toe nails are going to be doing some strange things over the next few months (!!) of training.
But, let's back up. A few weeks ago my dear friend and lifelong member of Team That's What She Said emailed me asking if I wanted to sign up for the lottery with another member of Team TWSS. I hesitated, but thought this would be a great reason to get in shape and have a goal to work towards. When I went to sign up, the site asks a very obnoxious question: "What is your projected finish time?" And, really, what do I know about running times? I selected 4.5 hours - seems reasonable, right? Well, I get a pop-up that says, "For the safety of you and the other runners, you must complete this race in under 3 hours and 30 minutes". Shoot. Not looking good so far.
Tonight is the first day until the end of my life, er, of the rest of my life. I'm following this training program, so expect to hear very loud whining from across the New York Metropolitan area on every Sunday until March 21st. I think it's very cruel to make me run 3 miles on day TWO of the training, but we'll get there guys. Also, I've decided that whether or not I'm accepted, I'm still going to train.
Luckily, I have the support of two wonderful friends, the new running shoes from Santa Claus and various running outfits to pull sweat away from my body. Did I ever mention that during a 5K, I sweat so much that my iPod stopped working? Yes, it was tucked in between the two sports bras I have to wear - not the best safe-keeping place - but still, pretty gross.

Holiday Lessons

I learned a lot yesterday on Christmas. The only lesson I feel comfortable sharing right now is that commercials really work, especially on my sister. As I type this, I'm wearing one of my (favorite) gifts from her: a hot pink Snuggie. She also bought a Bump-It for her best friend and a Pedi Paws for our family cat - the poor thing has already lost two nails as a result.

Related: If I can fit into the child-sized version of a Snuggie, does that mean I don't have to diet or train for that half-marathon I signed up for?

Question

Say you know a diabetic. Say this diabetic may or may not be related to you. Is it "recommended" to eat or drink 7 (full-sized) powdered donuts, a quart of chocolate milk, a medium Coke, medium French fries and two chocolate fudge sundaes from McDonald's and another bowl of ice cream with a few more cans of full-sugar soda in about 6 hours?

Really, this is a rhetorical question, but isn't that horrifying?

Frightened Rabbit

One of the most treasured bands in my iTunes, Frightened Rabbit, only has one album. They have a new single that is so beautiful. I admit that one of the reasons I love them is their Scottish accent. I'm really fascinated that most foreign accents disappear when people are singing, but not this band. I love (non-United States based) accents so much.
Please to enjoy:

Their next album doesn't release until March 2010, coincidentally the same month I may be participating in the NYC half-marathon (I entered the lottery today). So, I'll be very happy to at least have some beautiful music to listen to during my last moments on Earth before running 13 miles.

Thanksgiving

I've just spent the two days on detox from Thanksgiving. It was a good time, don't get me wrong, but it's nice to sit in silence for a few days after being around extended family. The highs were, of course, spending time with my brother. Our drive up had NO traffic, which was amazing. (Not amazing? Me accidentally taking the wrong exit for the Mass Pike with a 16 mile detour. Oops!) And, we even did our bi-annual stop at Friendly's where we ate disgusting (read: amazing) sandwiches with BBQ-drenched fried chicken, bacon and cheese on fried bread. (Although, my body was definitely rejecting the honey BBQ delight; I could feel it in my throat for a few hours. And, yes, that's also what she said.) We both "ran" the 5K Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning. I'm proud of my brother for running the whole thing, even though he's been sore ever since. That's what happens when you never exercise and your diet consists of Centrum Silver (it's on sale!) and Spaghetti-O's.
Another high was seeing a friend of mine from college on Friday night. We went out in Portsmouth, NH to a brewery. We didn't stay there too long as it got really crowded with bros. By then, I guess you could call it a BRO-ery – ha! (Please click here.) Besides the bros, there was also a girl who was negotiating with the bartender about putting more vodka in the TWO vodka cranberries she had ordered for herself. Part of the negotiation process involved leaning over me, too. But, sadly for her, it didn't work. Unrelated: is anyone else REALLY excited about the Jersey Shore House TV show that starts this week on MTV?
On actual Thanksgiving, my aunt and uncle had some friends for dinner along with my grandma. When they arrived we were in the middle of watching a photo DVD which had pictures of my parents before they were married, my grandparents when they were younger, me when I was adorable, me when I most definitely was not (light-washed jeans, hairsprayed bangs and braces? AT THE SAME TIME?!) I figured when their friends arrived, my uncle would turn off the DVD, but no such luck. They had to sit through quite a bit of the 45 minute DVD, poor things. At this point in the slideshow I had, um, gone through my developmental stage. So, there was one picture of my sister and I where I was wearing a V-neck dress and leaning over. My grandmother then blows up my spot and says, "Wow, look at that crease!" Thanks, grammie! That's the closest thing to a compliment I've gotten from her, and it was all about my boobies.
Overall, it was a good break, but I'm always happy to be back home in my now supremely-organized apartment.

Reason #24,895 I Love My Roommate

My roommate - a performer/real estate agent - sends me text messages like: "I just rented the apt upstairs to a 28 year old single nerdy guy! He’s cute and tall and makes 100,000 a year. Hehe. Thought u might like to know about our new neighbor."

She always has her nerd-feelers out there for me.

Nesting

I'm either seven months pregnant or just getting ready for the upcoming "hermit" season because I spent (almost) the whole weekend organizing my apartment.
I hadn't cleaned my room in over a month and it was bad. I even took a picture as a "before", but was so disgusted by how I was living that I couldn't bring myself to post it. As a Virgo, I'm supposed to love living in an orderly way, which is true in the common areas of my apartment, but definitely not in my room. I was living out of a laundry bag, and since everything in there was clean, I HAD to put the dirty clothes on the floor. For weeks I was walking on top of my clothes, including a bridesmaid dress that I ripped off as soon as I got home from the wedding last weekend (mostly to get out of the worst invention in the world - a strapless bra - as quickly as possible).
When I was done with my organizing, I had filled an entire duffel bag full of clothes that I'll be donating. Not just a small duffel bag either, but a gigantic one - one that I fit inside (as I've confirmed. It was a lonely weekend, I needed to be entertained somehow). I took everything out of my dressers and re-organized them. I took everything out of my wall o' bookshelves and reworked it. I pulled all of my shoes out of the closet and placed the shoes I never wear towards the back, shoes I feel guilty for never wearing towards the front and the shoes I always wear, on top of those.
This was not enough. By Sunday I organized all of my spices, which included creating a make-shift shelf to put the spices I use most (garlic, cumin, oregano) up front and the ones I use the least toward the back (nutmeg, curry, chicken seasoning (?)). Then, with everything organized there, I decided I needed to bake for the upcoming Thanksgiving trip to northern Massachusetts. I made a pumpkin chocolate chip loaf. While that was baking, I cleaned out all the flour/sugar jars and cabinet above the oven. Did my roommate need to hold onto that white chocolate Easter bunny still? Probably not, as it's been there for at least the last year and half I've lived there. How about that maple syrup that expired in 2007? Nah.
When the loaf was done (and deliciously un-poisoned, as one should always check), I made apple turnovers. Then jalapeno corn bread. Then dinner.
After dinner, I knit for a few hours before I fell asleep listening to Tracy Morgan's audio book (which I highly recommend!).
So while I could have found more exciting things to do this weekend, I'm really happy that I spent the time cleaning, organizing and knitting because I'm going to be gone for a lot of December (traveling for work/going home for the holidays for an ungodly amount of time).

Moving Day: Update!

The day I helped my friend move, I met another friend of hers who lives right across the street from her new apartment. He helped transport some of her "goods". We realized that we work for companies that are related to each other, so we've been emailing for business and friend purposes. He sent me a box of goodies yesterday that he just had "lying around" the office. I want to work in an office that has these items just hanging out:

Star Trek shoes by AIRWALK
Star Trek "Warp Speed" Clock The complete I Love Lucy Series, which is my FAVORITE show ever. I already own this, so this may make its way to an online retailer!

And, not pictured, the entire Beverly Hills, 90210 series which I promptly put in my bag and took home last night to watch! He also sent some America's Next Top Model gear (which had me smizing!) and the entire Twin Peaks collection. I will gladly port around 10 pogo dicks to have such a great present show up in my office again!

Moving Day

When I moved back to New York from Los Angeles in 2007, I decided to drive my car east. It was my boyfriend at the time's idea, so we could drive to see his family in Queens and drive to see my relatives in Northern Massachusetts. Well, we broke up two years ago, but I've still held onto that car. I'd like to get rid of it, but until then, I'll use it for the powers of good including: Target, the beach, visiting relatives and helping friends move.
A few weeks ago, I drove into the Lower East Side to help a friend move to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I hate driving in Manhattan. As a pretty nervous person to begin with, it really stresses me out. But, my friend promised me a burger and sweet potato fries, so I overcame.
The friend I helped move was someone I used to work with at my first job out of college. I love her because she has this amazing life outside of work, which seems to be rare in the corporate world. This "amazing life outside of work" includes writing musicals, painting and even reviewing sex toys for a Web site.
When I got to her apartment, I amazingly found a parking space and went upstairs to help her grab some stuff. I went for this large black Tupperware because I figured I could pile stuff on top and minimize the number of trips. As soon as I grabbed it, she said, "Careful, that's filled with sex toys." I'm not entirely prude, but I do get teased quite a bit for not wanting to talk about sex very much. It was a little awkward.
It got even more awkward when I grabbed some steel bars and heard, "Oh, that's my sex swing." Even more awkward still, when grabbing a pole with the top half covered in a black trash bag and feeling something squishy at the covered end. What could that be? A pogo dick.
That sent me a little over the edge because I had been trying to manipulate the "object" to get it to fit into my car. I didn't realize the object was a rubber penis.
I don't know if I'll ever have a more unique moving experience, or a more delicious burger that I know I earned.

Psyche, Blogspot.

I was just playing.

So long, Blogspot.

I went to Boston a few weeks ago, and met up with my friend Carleton and his adorable girlfriend, Sarah. They both have tumblrs which I read and admire. I can't think of enough things to post here (which may mean I shouldn't have a blog at all), but I've decided to give tumblr a shot.

So, here we go: http://literating.tumblr.com/

Anybody?

School Daze

I've been in an elementary school twice in the last two days.
The first time was last night for an event put on by Found Magazine. My friend at work had been helping the creator, Davy Rothbart, order books for his events and it turns out they’re both from Ann Arbor, MI. He put her on the list plus one. At the end of the event, we went up on stage to introduce ourselves to Davy. He asked if we wanted to go out later with him and friends, so we ended up going for drinks at Niagara on the Lower East Side.
Within seconds of showing up at the bar, we found Davy and one of his friends introduced himself to us. “Hi, I’m Steve,” he said. I don’t remember what I said, but in my head it went like this: Holy shit, you’re Steve Buscemi and you’re gripping my hand.
We were also introduced to the guy who heads up the New York side of Found, James. The world being small and all, I’ve met James before. We met two years ago when I was on an awful date - not with James. It was a blind date in every sense of the word. The guy had gone to a Dan Deacon concert the night before and his glasses were smashed during the dancing. He said, “I THINK you’re attractive, but I can’t really see you.” Anyway, we were walking down the street together, he bumped into James, who is his neighbor, and the three of us went to the now-defunct comedy show Invite Them Up at Raffifi.
After awhile we left Niagara and went to some bar with a pool table. I played pool with a guy named Scorpion, I believe. But, I realized it was 3:30 am and I knew I had to go home because I had to volunteer this morning to play team sports with kids at the elementary school down the street from my apartment. I woke up at 9 am (I may or may not have been a little drunk still), looked in the mirror and it was ROUGH.
I didn’t take my make-up off before I went to bed and had mascara everywhere, I woke up in the same shirt I was wearing yesterday and at some point in the night, my friend grabbed a pen and wrote “I Love U” on my chest (to which I replied via pen: Don’t go chasing H2O-falls) and it wouldn’t come off. So, my second time in an elementary school in two days wasn’t my finest. I just really hope when we started playing tag, dodgeball and basketball, I didn’t smell like booze.

Subway Boyfriend

Guess who I saw again this morning? That's right, Subway Boyfriend. And, his facial hair has once again reminded me of the month we're in: Moustache May - the most wonderful time of year. I didn't meet my goal of talking to him by the close of 2008, but maybe this is my year ... OUR year.

Phoeni-X Files

For the last few days, I've been in Phoenix, Arizona for work. My parents flew out from Los Angeles and stayed with me in my (never going to be big enough) hotel room. I can safely say I will never move there, but the scenery was beautiful. The weather was really hot, about 98 degrees, but at least it was dry heat. Here are some scenic shots from a day trip to Sedona, Arizona:
Here is the best part, besides, of course, seeing my family. In Sedona, there are a LOT of psychics and vortexes (vortices?). According to fact (read: Google), the vortexes in Sedona are not created from wind or water, but spiraling spiritual energy. My source says, "It is not easily explained ... it must be experienced." Well, go no further than Ye Olde UFO Store. Apparel:

"What's Probed in Sedona, Stays in Sedona."

Oh, hi.

Wheelz.

Quit HOGging the Supplies (Get it?)

Last night, I went to the two Rite Aids in my neighborhood to buy a little hand sanitizer as ammo to the Swine Flu everyone is freaking out about. They were completely out. The Rite Aid downstairs at my job in Rockefeller Center was out, too.
They were also sold out of face masks and a lot of their hand soap. I'm trying not to get worried about this, but the first U.S. outbreaks were at the same high school my ex-boyfriend and two of my close friends went to in Queens. I live in Queens, therefore, I probably have Swine Flu (although hard to tell when my allergies are raging right now, too).
This morning on the train into work, I saw a woman who was breathing into a pink hand towel. Last night I walked home and passed a big group of people wearing face masks. I went on a date with a guy on Monday and he offered me hand sanitizer within the first few minutes of seeing each other. Everyone else is making me feel like I should worry more. Kind of like my mom's worries when I first got my driver's license: "It's not you I'm worried about, it's the other drivers!"

Anticlimactic Car Accident Post

This weekend I went to Newburyport, Mass. where my aunt, uncle and grammie live. If you live in the Northeast you know how beautiful the weather was this weekend; if you don’t live in the Northeast, well, the weather was beautiful.
On Saturday, my aunt, brother, grammie and I went to Salisbury Beach to sit outside for a little while and bask in the sun and watch boats putter about where the Merrimack River meets the Atlantic Ocean. On the drive back from the beach to my aunt and uncle’s house, we were rear-ended pretty hard. My grandmother was wearing a pink Boston Red Sox hat that flew off her head and I screamed loudly because I do not deal well with surprises – like, not even a little bit. I’ve had freak-outs so bad that I’ve needed to be slapped.
Thankfully, we were only going about 15 miles per hour, at most, and everyone is ok for the most part. The girl who hit us accidentally accelerated when she was trying to break in order to tend to her toddler son in the backseat. That was her first mistake. Her second was not driving with a license. Her third was not having up-to-date insurance, and her last mistake was being British (U-S-A! U-S-A!).
We called the cops to make it all official, and really, there’s not much to this story except I definitely have a sore neck and was a little shaken up. So, feel sorry for me, ok?

No Use For a Musto

I saw Michael Musto on the street yet again. He was wearing socks and sandals and walking his bike down Sixth Avenue.
I think he’s a lot like that pop punk band No Use For a Name. In high school, I listened to Bjork, Radiohead, anyone who would be performing at Lillith Fair, and a few ska bands. My first concert was for the band Save Ferris, with No Use For a Name opening. I despise pop punk music, but growing up in Southern California it was difficult to avoid – much like No Use For a Name. I’ve seen that band more times than I ever wanted (read: once was too many), and all because I was there to see someone else and they were opening.
So, Michael Musto, I never really want to see you, yet you keep popping up over and over.

Team: That's What She Said

Saturday I ran a 4-mile race with a few of my girlfriends. Our team name? That’s What She Said.
I woke up and had to be on the subway by 8 a.m. Even though it was early, it was filled to the brim (That’s What She Said). Soon, I was riding it with my friend (TWSS). You know, because we live in the same neighborhood.
Outside it was starting to get really warm. I was feeling warm, too (TWSS). We met up with a few other friends in Central Park. Another friend decided to lead us in a group stretch (TWSS). I’ve never felt more limber (TWSS)! It was definitely important for us to stretch because who knew how long we’d be going for (TWSS).
The park was so crowded with lots of athletes ready to run! With a scream and whistle, we were getting off (TWSS) on our start – not before we had a group cheer, of course. All of us did it at a different pace (TWSS).
There were so many curves and ups and downs (TWSS). Halfway through, my hip really started to hurt; I guess I wasn’t used to all that movement (TWSS)!
As much as we would have liked to, we couldn’t finish together (TWSS). But, wow, what a great time!

The Best Word I've Used in Scrabble To Date

YETI: Only 7 points, but what a feeling.

Can't Spell Panic Without an "Eye"

Sometimes I wear glasses, but most of the time I walk around semi-blind because I refuse to wear contacts. The idea of sticking my fingers in and around my eyes completely disgusts me. I’ve never tried before, but the other day I got a glimpse of what it would be like.
You know when you buy new clothes/accessories, one of the first things you do is remove the price tag? Well, there are two types of people in this world: those who like Neil Diamond and those who don’t, and those who rip price tags off and those who use scissors. I’m the latter and the former.
I bought a hair clip from H&M and was fixing to put my hair up and just ripped the tag. Something malfunctioned and a tiny piece of plastic flew right into my left eye. I screamed – a lot – and looked in the mirror trying to find the piece of plastic. It was stuck UNDER my eye lid. I could SEE it under my eyelid when it was closed. Continuing to scream and say “Oh no” over and over again with visions of eye patches and parrots on my shoulder running through my head, I had to dig around my eye and find the piece of plastic. This struggle lasted at least two minutes, but felt like 30 hours. Both my eyes were revolting, tearing, stinging and I finally found the plastic and vowed never to have contacts because I’m sure the experience is exactly the same thing.

9021-Oh-My-God, who are you?

Last night, I had the pleasure of going to a book party for Tori Spelling’s new release, Mommywood.
The party was at a restaurant near Central Park, and I went with a few friends from work. Within seconds of showing up outside the place, a car pulled up and Project Runway’s Christian Siriano (!!) emerged.
Once inside, I saw another familiar face that I just couldn’t place. It was this guy who was walking around in really tight spandex pants and ladies footwear. He was wearing insanely dark eyeliner a la Jared Leto, and it was driving me crazy – who IS that guy?
A colleague with very few, if any, social anxieties - unlike me - grabbed him as he walked by and said, “Who are you? You are fabulous!” He thanked her, continued walking as she shouted, “You better come back!” Later, and after he didn’t find us again, the guest of honor arrived and we walked closer to be within proximity to one of my television heroes – high school virgin cum clothing designer Donna Martin.
There’s not much to say about her except she is very thin, and prettier in person. She was filming for her reality show, but didn’t mingle or anything like that. Bored within a few seconds of spotting her, my friend and I found the mystery dude and started talking to him about him.
After a few minutes, and still not any closer to figuring out who he was, I asked why I should know him. He said, “Oh, I’m in a band.” No, that wasn’t it. I just nodded and went back to talking to my friend and his friend, a model (Who I asked if he was gay because I’d want to set him up with my boss. He’s not. Apparently, I was into asking really gauche questions that night!). Mystery dude walked away shortly thereafter and I asked his friend, “Really, where have I seen your friend?” He answered and neurons made connections, cosmos aligned, tectonic plates converged and I exclaimed, “Oh my God! That’s it!” He was a coach on the MTV Made series for “I Want to Be Made into a Rock Star”.
It was sad on a few levels: a) he was a Made coach b) he was ashamed to admit it c) I got so excited that the mystery was solved d) I watch Made.
This is him. This is his amazing video.
Overall, it was a fun night with lots of – what I consider - “A” list celebrities in attendance.

From the Embarassment Files: Item #876

I'm finally ready to talk about it.
The flight back from Florida's work trip was uneventful. I had some light conversation about the book I'm reading, did some work and Su Doku puzzles from my complimentary USA Today the hotel left me. While the flight was uneventful, walking from the gate to the baggage claim certainly was not.
You know when people get into car accidents and sometimes a passenger who is asleep in the back is the least injured because their body just goes limp? Well, I was so exhausted after busy days filled with IMPORTANT meetings and late nights getting nutty in the "hospitality suite" with co-workers that as I was walking with my boss from the plane - probably gesticulating wildly about something - I completely barreled into this guy who was standing in the middle of the walkway typing away on his Blackberry.
He came out of nowhere, I swear.
I couldn’t stop my body so I just sort of melted into his suitcase and fell; I was splayed across the walkway at LaGuardia Airport. Of course my boss and I were laughing so hard that I could barely stand; I didn’t hurt myself (or so I thought), but all I could do was tell the guy I was sorry for beating up his suitcase. I’m such an embarrassment when I’m tired.
Of course, when we were back in the office my boss thought it would be funny to tell co-workers about my fall, so I spent a few days recreating the event and laughing over the tears. I'm not sure if it was the original fall or one of my many "dramatizations" about the fall, but my left hand's thumb has been killing me.

Waiter, There's a Baby Leg on My Beach

I went down to Ft. Lauderdale, Fla. for a few days for a work conference; it was so nice to be outside without a jacket and scarf for a few days.

A colleague and I went for a walk on the beach together, with the warm water splashing over our toes. We had to weave in and out of piles of jellyfish that were brightest blue I'd see outside of a box of crayons. Then, we had to avoid another hazard, a baby leg:

As The Driven Snow

Last night I found out I'm 85 percent pure.
I went to a book release party with my friend Anne for this title, The Purity Test. Everyone who participated received an answer sheet with spaces to check "yes" or "no" for forty questions.
Every ten questions we answered we were asked to tally our percentage of purity. For questions 1-10: 70 percent pure; questions 11-20: 90 percent; 21-30: 90 percent; 31-40: 90 percent.
What is my reward for "saying no" all those years to snorting cocaine off a stripper's rear end, not having my first kiss until I was 17 years old (seriously) and being the purest girl at the bar?
Hello Kitty stickers and bright pink cocktail napkins with a quote from Grey's Anatomy. Because, after all, "We're adults ... when did that happen? And how do we make it stop?"

A Day in the Life of my Finances

Me: Hi, I haven't received my 1099 tax form from the bank yet. I thought those were being mailed out a few weeks ago and I'd like to start my taxes.
Customer Service Representative from my bank: Sure, let me just check your account.
Me: ...
CS Rep: Hmm.
Me: ...
CS Rep: That's strange.
Me: You're making me a little nervous.
CS Rep: Well, it seems there wasn't much activity in your account in 2008. We typically don't send 1099 forms out if there isn't much activity and/or there is less than $10 in savings.
Me (being judged by customer service representative): Oh, I see.
CS Rep (smugly): Is there anything else I can help you with?
Me: You know, I did just put a few thousand in there.
CS Rep: Mmm ...
Me: Bitch.
CS Rep: What was that?
Me: Nothing, have a great day!

Grandma-rnier

I have very cheap hand soap in my bathroom that I think smells like tequila. Last night, I had a friend over for dinner and after washing her hands she said, "This soap smells like my Nana." I'm just saying.

Somebody to Love

Last night for Valentine's Day I went on a date with myself. I had a few invitations to be out and about, but decided to stay home for a few reasons: 1) I was out until 2 am the previous night with my newly-engaged, finalist in the best couple contest friends "celebrating" 2) I went to brunch VERY early at Sullivan Diner and had french toast with a SIDE of toast and more coffee and water than the waiter was comfortable with and then walked uptown window shopping/flea marketing with a friend and finally 3) because I had two awesome movies from Netflix, Queen Under Review: The Freddie Mercury Story and The Last Waltz, the Martin Scorsese documentary on The Band's last concert.
This may not seem like the most exciting thing to do on the Hallmark Holiday, but it was perfect. The Last Waltz is highly-recommended. The Band was friends with some of the most amazing musical artists of their time, and some of my personal favorites: Neil Young, Van Morrison (who does NOT match his voice at all - hello purple suede glittered outfit!), Muddy Waters and Bob Dylan, to name a few.
The Freddie Mercury Story was amazing for a whole other set of reasons. Queen is definitely one of my favorite bands, but I didn't know much about them. Last summer I was shocked to find out that my aunt and uncle (who are in their 60s) had NEVER heard of them before. I always thought they were comparable in popularity to U2 or Coldplay (who my aunt LOVES) today. I burned them all the music from Queen I had, and my uncle's response? "Hm, I thought they wrote this music for baseball games!"
My favorite part of the documentary was when they were discussing Freddie Mercury's sexuality. One of the talking heads said, "It became abundantly obvious he was homosexual when he grew his moustache." Wait, what? Now, I'm not here to judge anyone - including the intelligence of the British who have given us such brilliance as English muffins - but, it wasn't obvious when he was dancing around in a bare-chested unitard? Or how about the music video where he wore a black, leather mini-skirt. No?
But before you pity me (hopefully you don't), my night wasn't without a little steamy action. When the guy who delivered my supper showed up, I realized that after I gave him a pretty generous tip and went back inside my apartment, my shirt was pulled down revealing a significant portion of my right boob. Nice.
Happy Valentine's Day!

College Bands

In high school, a lot of my friends were in the band. I used to play the violin when I was younger, but there was no place for me to wear a bad uniform and travel to competitions.
I've always been really impressed with my musical friends, and have a whole new respect for them joining a traditionally unpopular social group in high school, some in even still in college.
Over the last few days there have been two amazing performances from college bands backing up two of my favorite bands: Beirut and Radiohead.
Friday night I went to the Brooklyn Academy of Music to see Beirut perform. They're such a talented band, and midway through their performance they used a backing band: the Vassar College orchestra. The show was incredible, they played a lot of new stuff and good Lord, the lead singer is a babe. I think more men screamed out "you're so hot!" than women did.
That same night they performed on Letterman, and used some of the orchestra in that performance as well:

And, on last night's Grammy's Radiohead gave an amazing performance with USC's marching band. In case you didn't see it, here it is (feel free to skip over Gwenyth Paltrow until she rightly calls them the "utterly brilliant Radiohead"):

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

As you know, I've been dying my hair since I was 18. That stuff's expensive, even when buying my "Medium Golden Mahogany Brown Chocolate Caramel" Garnier from the drug store.
I have to dye my hair just about every three weeks, and each box is $8.49. So, every year I spend $147.16 on hair dye (a leap year: $149.99!) Before I buy a new box of dye I will check every pharmacy in my neighborhood - CVS, Rite Aid, Duane Reade - to see if any of the places have my shade on sale.
In my neighborhood there are two Rite Aids within a block of each other, and I've always wondered why. Until now. (Actually, that's not true, I usually save one Rite Aid to purchase all my "embarrassing" products from: toilet paper, lady products, etc. so there was ONE good reason already)
Being so broke right now, I was thrilled to discover that it was on sale at Rite Aid this week for 50% off, but only one per customer with coupon. I was with a friend of mine, and the poor guy, I made him buy me a box of hair dye at each Rite Aid so I'd end up with four boxes to carry me through the beginning of May.
There's no point to this, really, except I've learned this weekend who my true friends are and the lengths they'll go to keep me looking somewhat youthful.

Happy Birthday, Maggie!

Anyone who reads this may have noticed a few links to the right of here. You see them? Well, click on the one that says Keegan Gross Family. Or, hey, just click here.
Today is Mama Keegan Gross' birthday. I've know Maggie since 8th grade, when I wore khaki overalls and white Keds and she wore mostly black. In fact, I think I lovingly (?) signed her yearbook asking her if she started her witch clan yet.
Maggie is a smart, beautiful and funny girl who always has perfect hair. She's also married to my brother's best friend, Josh. In high school, Josh would yell to me on campus, "Brian's Little Sister!" He may or may not know my real name. They're a lot of fun, and also parents to the cutest child alive in the history of cutest children.
Here's proof:

(I have friends who (from a safe distance) are obsessed with this baby, never having met said child. You know who you are.)

So, Happy Birthday Maggie! I hope you have a relaxing day, and take some time away from studying for the bar exam to enjoy your wonderful family and your special day!

Everybody Dance Now

All day yesterday I was still sore from my night with the trainer, but I decided to power through with a Power Dance class at NYSC.
It took a lot of motivation because it was snowing horizontally on the walk to the gym - and I had a hole in my boot. I didn't know what to expect when I got there, but heard that it might be tough because sometimes the classes rotate in fours where they work on one dance routine every four weeks.
When I lined up for the class, I saw some people that looked like professional dancers. (I know what professional dancers look like because I own "Center Stage" and "Save the Last Dance" on DVD.) I even saw a guy that was wearing real dance shoes and what appeared to be the bottom half of a figure-skating costume - he wasn't hiding ANY secrets.
Before the class started, I was talking with another girl who had never taken the class before so we made a pact to stay together, and to keep going back week after week. The (male) instructor walked in wearing a circa early '90s Janet Jackson tour T-shirt and some very tight yoga pants. He said hello to a lot of the dancers who had been taking his class for awhile, some for as long as four years. He said, "Hi guys! Hi newbies! Just to let you know, I won't be dancing with you tonight because I just had a face lift and lipo the other day - don't want to pop a stitch!"
We started stretching, doing crunches, going through the positions of ballet (thanks again, Center Stage!).
I had so much fun in the class, I'm still on the high. I forgot how much I love to dance, learn routines and be sassy in front of a mirror. Plus, we danced to the best songs in the world.

What Am I Supposed To Do About My Legs?

Remember that scene in Who Framed Roger Rabbit when Judge Doom gets steamrolled, and they find out he's a 'toon? He's trying to stand up and walk, but he's all wobbly and can't get his balance.
Well, that's what I feel like today ... only a lot worse.
A few weeks ago, I went to take a yoga class at New York Sports Club and the teacher was a few minutes late. A NYSC employee came into the class, took our information and we would all receive a free session with a personal trainer as an apology.
Last night was the session. I met with the trainer right after work, wearing a shirt I got after participating in a 4-mile running race to let him know I was a serious athlete.
We talked for a few minutes about eating habits, drinking habits, his successes and failures as well as mine. I refused to get on the scale, but agreed to do the body fat/BMI calculation. The good news: I'm about average. The bad news: The session didn't end there.
He started me out with jumping jacks, resting (and by resting, he meant running in place), doing high knee kicks, "resting", jumping in place, etc. I was winded, but I felt pretty good. Then, he had me do at least 50 squats which was a poor decision on his part.
After the squats, I had to do reverse squats - starting out on the floor and standing up over and over and ... I started to get that familiar feeling I had two summers ago on that hot subway platform. I thought I was going to faint again or vomit.
NYSC also made an ill-informed decision to use a polka-dot pattern on their floor which subsequently was creating one of those 3D images - only, I couldn't see the sailboat, I just saw the floor coming to meet my face.
I didn't think the trainer could do much damage in an hour session, so I didn't plan ahead and bring a rubber band to pull my hair back. I just had my usual hairstyle of pieces of hair pinned everywhere with bobby pins. By the end of the session there were bobby pins strewn EVERYWHERE. But, we weren't done yet.
After lifting weights for 30 minutes (!!), he gave me my evaluation (yikes), what I need to work on (everything) and asked if I wanted to sign up to meet with him again (no way). He was really nice, and completely understood that financially I couldn't do it and said if he saw me at the gym again he'd work out with me, which was kind - even if it was a total lie.
The worst part of the night, though, was getting home. Walking up and down stairs for the subway, standing for more than 2 minutes and having the energy to make a healthy dinner. Also, I bought some hand soap last week that for some reason smells like tequila. We all know my history with the drink, so smelling that after almost vomiting on my trainer was enough to send me to bed early.

Random Photos: Take 1

I have had pictures in my camera since the summer of 2007; it's time to start downloading ... AND sharing!

Green toilet paper!

From the Smithsonian in D.C.

What happens when you order a bagel with cream cheese in Queens? A bagel with a melted piece of cheddar.

Sad.

Autumn in New York.

Back on the farm

I took a day off from work today and, at 3:45 pm, I have yet to leave my couch. I've been watching television all day. Now, I'm flipping between Tool Academy (amazing) and Date My Mom (only because there was nothing interesting on PBS, of course). As this is my first time watching this show (read: not at all), I should explain the premise. Instead of going on dates with a girl his own age, the male contestant goes on dates with the daughter's mom to choose his later date, hence, Date My Mom. They always interview the mother and daughter before they go on their date, where it's their chance to say something corny like, "It's 2009, this boy's mine". Well, this one daughter looks at the camera and says, "This guy better be hung like a horse to get through THESE barn doors." ... um ... well ... (...) (...) I ...
I'm just letting you all know this is happening while you're hard at work, or watching Citizen Kane or reading the Collected Stories of Nabokav.

Outlook Not So Good

Next Monday night I set up my first appointment with a therapist. Nothing too dramatic to address on the Internet (I'm fine, I'm FINE, ok?), I've just never talked to a neutral party about any issues before. My work gives eight free sessions: you locate a doctor, get an authorization number and confirm your appointment.
Now, I'm a VERY organized person. I love post-it notes, file folders and label makers. I use my Outlook calendar for work and social appointments, in addition to my cell phone and a datebook I have with me at all times.
After a very stressful week working a gift fair for work, I came into the office with a full voicemail box and one message from my soon-to-be therapist. "Ah, yes, please call us back regarding your February 2nd appointment with [name redacted]." I called back immediately - as a very organized and "together" person would - and they had the nerve to tell me I never phoned them back to confirm my appointment.
I thoroughly explained to them all the steps I had taken to make the date (including my appointment confirmation number!) and it didn't matter to them. "Could you come in at lunchtime?" "I don't take lunches," I said. "How about February 9th? Could you come in at lunch then?" "I don't TAKE lunches!" I said, losing my patience. "Well, we will call you on February 3rd to confirm if [name redacted] can meet with you after work on February 9th." This is where I lose it.
I'm so tired that I just start crying on the phone, "You mean I have to call you to confirm if I MIGHT have an appointment and I had a confirmation number written in two places for my originally-confirmed appointment?"
I'm really hoping my new therapist isn't exercising some radical form of tough-love therapy. Don't you think the last thing you want to do to someone who needs to make an appointment with a professional is make them cry?

My Chi: Unharnessed

I've been taking yoga classes lately as a part of the "New Year, New Me/Operation Hot Bridesmaid" campaign. The New Year, New Me part is to work on being calm and dealing with my stress/seasonal depression in a productive way, rather than shutting everyone out of my life except Ben and Jerry. The Operation Hot Bridesmaid is pretty self-explanatory. If you need some help, I'm going to be a bridesmaid in my friends' wedding in November and I'd like to be "hot" for lots of reasons I won't be listing here.
Last night I had plans to meet a friend of mine - who is also on a fitness quest - for a yoga class at the New York Sports Club at 49th and Broadway. I left work, headed to the gym in below-freezing temperatures, changed and went to the front desk to ask where the yoga studio is.
He looked confused (which wasn't initially alarming, NYSC employees are a different breed of dimness) and said, "There's no yoga class tonight." Ever eager to take all the blame on myself, I apologized for wasting his time, went into the locker room, got my stuff and headed back out into the cold. I walked a few blocks north to the NYSC at 52nd and Broadway and asked if there was a yoga class tonight. Of course not.
I asked the employee, at 5:43 pm, if he wouldn't mind checking on his computer to see where the 5:45 pm Vinyasa Yoga class was being held.
"What, like on the Internet?" he asked.
Apparently my focus and centering challenges decided to begin before I hit the mats with the class. Desperately trying to steady my eyes from rolling, I waited "patiently" as it took him, no joke, five minutes (with joke, 23 HOURS) to figure it out.
"Your class is at 49th and Broadway," he drooled.
On the verge of frozen tears, I walked back to the original destination, re-locked up my stuff and huffed my way downstairs to the studio. I couldn't concentrate during the whole class because A) I was still upset about what just happened B) it was incredibly hot in the studio and C) the woman next to me was breathing SO loud that I wanted to leave, buy her some nasal spray and throw it at her head. Ommmmm.
I tried to let it all go, but the universe was very persistent. I got home to make dinner (a balanced egg whites with light English muffin!) and the crumb tray on my toaster decided to empty all over my kitchen like it had just sneezed. I vacuumed it up and moved on. Ommmmm. After dinner I realized it was finally time to put the last of my Christmas decorations away (what?) and took down this bright pink tinsel tree I had on top of my cabinets in the kitchen. When I was taking it down, an ornament dislodged and shattered all over the kitchen floor. I vacuumed again. Ommmmm.
I'm a student in progress right now, but I definitely need to work on exercising more patience and ALWAYS doubting a NYSC employee.

Zombies 101

When I was in Chicago for work, I got to spend some time with my friend Ed who used to live in New York, but moved to Chicago this summer. Ed teaches at a local Chicago college, and next semester he gets to teach a pop culture class. When we were talking about what he's going to lecture about, he mentioned he wanted to teach one class about the popularity of vampires and their impact on pop culture. “Wait, wait, wait … that’s lame,” I said. "You HAVE to teach a course on Zombies."
My interest in the undead started when my brother gave me his copy of World War Z to read. Unlike the copy of Underworld by Don Delillo I've been borrowing for about four years now, I read World War Z in a few sittings.
Ed and I ended up talking at length about Zombies and their eventual uprising. Where we should be when it – not if – happens. I am so jealous that he’s getting paid to talk about this and other things that are important to me, like US Weekly and my new favorite show, Tool Academy, on VH-1.

Please see below for my suggested syllabus.
Suggested Reading:
World War Z by Max Brooks
The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks

Web Reference:
http://zombiebloggers.blogspot.com/

Audio Visual:
short length:

Zombie-American Chapter One by Ed Helms

>Zombie American Chapter 2
Zombie American Chapter 3

feature length:
Shaun of the Dead
Dawn of the Dead

For keeping all your courses and appointments at hand:
Zombie Pin-Up Calendar

We Want You!

Today is my first day back in the office after many days of traveling to Atlanta, Dallas and finally, Chicago. I came back to work today (two hours late, whoops!) with a full voicemail box. One of the messages was from a recruiter in the "Chicagoland area" who wanted to talk to me about a Vice President of Sales position she is looking to "network".
This is the first recruiter call I've received, but man, they clearly don't know who they're leaving messages for. Yes, my title at work includes the word, "manager" in it, but it is preceded by "assistant". No, "to the" is not in between "assistant" and "manager" either.
Having just been in Chicago while it was negative 8 degrees and I had a hole in my boot; I'm not itching to move there. Nonetheless, I was flattered.