Fever Dreams

Still sick. And, now, I may not be able to run in the half marathon I've been training for for the last 3 months. I saw a new doctor yesterday, despite my prejudice about medicinal practices in Queens. I assumed any doctor in Queens was kind of going to be like Dr. Nick from the Simpsons. I was only half right. The most suspect part about the office was a framed (I'm assuming, not original) Van Gogh painting that was labeled as a Monet.

What drove me to the doctor was a "Type A" fever dream I had this weekend. For the last few nights, I've been waking up in the middle of night covered in sweat (ew). This weekend, I woke up next to a tidy pile of pillows according to size, and then on top of that my sweatshirt and the shirt I was wearing folded like I'd been working at the Gap for years (sorry for the n00d imagery).

This isn't the first time for weird, sick dream behavior: I've fallen out of bed and woken up on the floor and I've jumped out of bed and screamed at my ex-boyfriend like he was an intruder - fun for everyone!

The doctor, a fellow runner person, prescribed me some pretty heavy medications to try and have me in fighting shape for Sunday. The least I hope for is to not wake up with my closet organized by color, or me alphabetizing the contents of my apartment building's trash in another sweaty fit.

I'm With Stupid

I found out why today exercise is bad for you (read: me). With all the concentration on my running, I've stopped using my brain. After running 3.5 miles on my lunch break (!!), I was rushing back to work and thought I'd forgotten my running shoes in the locker room. They weren't in my gym bag, just my soaking wet clothes and my shower flip-flops.
I took out my phone to call my runner person to see if she could grab them for me and give them to me at book club tonight (I read!). It was then that I realized, on my way back to the gym, that I was wearing the running shoes the whole time. I'm so stupid.

p.s. I "won" the lottery and now I HAVE to keep training

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.

I Now Pronounce You Embarrassed and Unrecognized

This weekend my mom was visiting the East Coast. She flew into Philadelphia to see my brother, see Amish country, shop The Christmas Tree Shops, but mostly she was here to attend the wedding of one of her best friend's daughters.
After work on Friday, I drove up to Connecticut from New York to meet my brother and mom at the hotel near the location of the wedding. My brother and I have always been confused why we're invited to the events of our mom's friends, mostly because we don't know any of their "kids" as well as I think their parents wished we did. While all the kids are lovely and accommodating, we're sure they don't want us at their weddings either.
My parents, brother and I were all born in the same town in Connecticut. My mom's best friends and their children were also born in that same town. The difference between us and them is that they've lived there their entire lives, while my family (with sister added in West Springfield, Mass.) has moved seven times removed from our roots.
Last summer we went to another one of these functions, meeting many people we didn't think we'd see again.
Well.
In order to be helpful, my brother and I went over to the wedding site early and set up where we could, as there was another wedding wrapping up minutes before the next was to begin. There was nothing for us to do except not look forward to the next five hours of our lives.
With arms crossed, we talked away the time and eventually people started to show up. A guy walked up to us and said, "Hey, I think I met you at another one of these things last year."
I said, "Oh, yeah, [mom's friend's daughter's] wedding ..."
Then my brother says, "Who are you again?"
"I'm the groom."
Ouch.
"I'm going to leave you guys alone now."
Wow.
The best part, outside of the WORST kind of embarrassment, was his best man snickering in the back at my brother's mistake. To be fair, I was seconds away from asking this guy the same question, but saw that he was wearing a tuxedo. Thank you, context clues.
After shot-gunning a few drinks to ease the tension, my brother and I ran into another wedding guest: the son of one of my mom's best friends. He walked right up to my brother, shook his hand and said, "[Brother], how's it goin'?" I extended my hand and said, "Hey! How have you been?" The amount of dead space in the gaze returned my way could only be explained by Carl Sagan. He had absolutely no idea who I was. Meanwhile, a few feet away from the awkward exchange was a photo collage including a picture of us STANDING WITHIN INCHES OF EACH OTHER. (Ok, the picture was taken when I was four years old, in a kiddie pool, also known as the first and last time I wore a bikini. Whatever.)
Suffice to say, my mother assured us we would never have to attend another event of people we didn't know, and who clearly did not know us.

Down of living in New York City

There are so many different languages in Queens, you can't learn them all. I wish I knew Greek so I could dicepher the words to go along with all five of the obscene gestures two young Greek gentlemen were doing on the subway this morning.