long weekend

I did a marathon yesterday.

No, not a runner's marathon, the 4400 marathon. That's right, from 9am to 8pm I sat my booty on the couch and watched the whole series. Breaking to watch Live 8 during commercials.

Please do not be alarmed, I have an obsessive personality. How else could I watch three seasons of Alias in just under two weeks? Oh, yeah I was home recovering from surgery. But still, that much focus in a short period of time is totally a Rockstar trait.

So back to my marathon. Totally hooked to the show now. It has some weak points, like overplaying the whole scully-mulder theme, but the plot and storylines are solid enough to keep me coming back for more.

I did not go out last night, watched Live Flesh by Pedro Almodovar, who also did The Truth About My Mother, Talk to Her, blah blah blah, amazing director. Film was pretty damn good too, except because stupid Netflix described it as a thriller I kept waiting to be scared, or on the edge of my seat, or something. It is an awesome movie, but thriller it was not.

Now I'm off to go wait in line for Shakespeare in the Park tickets. The play this year is As You Like It, I love his comedies. Don't know if anyone famous is in it, but will find out tonight. Lata!

dating limbo

I was a late bloomer. My boobs may have developed when I was twelve, but I didn't even start to like boys until I was fourteen. Boy, then I hit the ground running. I was boy crazy, which was accelerated by the fact I went to an all girls high school. What you can't have, yada yada.

After my first date at sixteen, I was a dating like gangbusters - going out with anyone who looked my way. I remember dating a twenty-eight year old carnie when I was eighteen whose idea of a good date was us hanging in my car (he didn't have one) while he drank a six-pack of Budweiser mini cans. Because they were glamorous.

Going to an engineering college that was 75% male was like heaven. Also one of the reasons why I chose that college. After a year I left for a less expensive school, but staying in engineering maintained the ratio boon.

Soon enough it occurred to me that I did not have to go out with any guy who asked me out. Even more important, dating someone just for kicks was not worth the effort of having to break up. The two-hour breakup talk after dating a guy for two weeks sank that last nail in my casual dating coffin. Too much effort being involved in dating casually, I quit cold turkey.

When I say I stopped, boy did I ever. I didn't date for two years. Didn't really matter, I had starting working at a place that doubled as my social life. Every night we all went out for drinks, either at the bar next door or at a buddy's apartment. They were way fun years, so filled with drinks and laughter I never wanted more.

Then I met the Ex, and he won me over. Just by being him. We fell in love, moved in together. After two years we broke up. It was hard, but was made easier for me by my moving to NYC. Nothing to get your mind off an old love than a new one.

Since being in New York I have been in dating limbo. I have had a couple dates here and there, but for being here almost five years it is pretty scarce. Sure, I have tons of reasons: Too busy with two jobs, too busy making friends, too busy being sick, too busy training to run races.

Blah blah blah. Not actually being in a relationship for five years says something. Chicken? Yeah, a little. Really, the biggest hang-up? I just haven’t seemed to care.

I used to long to be with that special someone, my dream guy, the person who would be "the one." I would concentrate and send mental vibes out to the universe, in an effort to connect telepathically with my imaginary man. I believed - In romance. In love. In a future as half of a whole.

Somehow that idea just is gone. Without that glint in my eye I just can't motivate to meet new men. When I meet a guy instead of thinking maybe, I recognize things that I don't like. I suppose it is easier to just never give anyone a chance.

Why am I thinking about this? My circle of friends is changing again, and I am longing for some stability. Someone who is close to me, and stays close to me. Who I can count on, and who can count on me. Someone who does not move away, get married, or stop hanging out.

Don’t get me wrong - I love change, and totally understand the necessity of it as well. In my own weird way it is me growing hope again of being able to find that someone special. Growing tired of passing fancies.

The million-dollar question: Now what the heck am I going to do about it?

help who?

Live aid is coming again, and I'm not sure why. This time it is called Live 8, though.

Do you remember the first time around? I do. Something about world hunger, starvation in Ethiopia. Lots of bands over a couple of days.

It is happening again, spread all over the world. I have been keeping myself somewhat in the know because Spaghetti has to work the Philly portion. Mod Fab kindly lists all the bands and where they are playing which has kept me in the loop as well.

I even have browsed CNN, which has all kinds of explanations and ruminations, but I still just don't get it.

I was kind of young the first time around, I did not go to any of the concerts and did not donate money. I don't know if I am interested in watching the event this time around, we'll see if they can snag me and any of my moola. I tend to funnel my donations, what few of them I am able to do, toward NPR.

It is rather curious that there is no major network coverage. MTV affiliates and AOL, but no free stuff. I know only a quarter of american homes have computers, I wonder what the percentage of people who have cable could be.

relax

This past Friday I had a first; I went to a spa for a full body massage. I thought it would be a nice idea to treat myself. It had been a stressful first week after my promotion.

I show up to the day spa for my appointment, am led into a small room that just barely fit the table, and am instructed to take off my clothes and get under the towel.

So far this is pretty much what I expected. At least, from what I have seen in movies and TV.

Maria, the message therapist, comes in and introduces herself. Do I want soft, medium or hard? If the room gets too cold, let her know. Got it, good.

Candles burning, soft musak playing, she turns down the towel a bit, starts rubbing my back and..... my ass. Wait - am I being violated? No. But I am rather surprised with the amount of ass rubbing involved in massage. Ironically I am more uptight at first from the intimacy that Maria and I are sharing than when I came into the spa. Okay, breathe, get past the buttocks rubbing.

Relax, inhale, exhale. Okay, I'm cool, stress is going away.

Crap, I have to fart. Don't do it, it's a small room and this woman is bent over my ass. Must. Hold. It. In. Oh, and the clenching promotes more ass rubbing. Moment passes, I can relax.

Suddenly my often inhibited bowels are not feeling so inhibited. Great, as regular function sometimes I don't have to crap for days, and now the grumbling and cramping begins. Seems all the rubbing has stimulated my lazy colon.

Lord god is it almost over? Please please move on to my legs already! Whew, she moves to my legs.

The rest of the massage goes off without a hitch. She does my legs, I turn over, she does my legs more, my arms, my shoulders...and done. I thank Maria, tip her, pay and leave very rubbery and smelling of vanilla.

I don't think I am a spa kinda gal. I may have changed a lot, but I'll still take a Guinness over a massage.

lobster

I went to the jersey shore over the weekend with my friends, it was restful and pleasant.

We hit the beach yesterday, which is such a pleasure. Being from Michigan I have spent a lot of time by water, but this whole ocean thing is still a novelty to me. As is the concept of spending the day at the beach. I hated the Detroit public beaches, so seldom frequented them. If I got around to tanning, it would be by someone's pool and only for an hour or so. As for property on the lake - water sports and drinking.

My girlfriends are experienced at this beach thing, we went prepared for the whole day. Umbrella, beach chairs, towels, snacks, lunch, lots of water. Oh - and sunscreen. Lots of sunscreen. I am, after all, a pale irish girl. And a nocturnal one at that. I decided to live dangerously and use SPF 4, opting for umbrella shade when the time came.

Five hours into sun time I noticed some pink on my arms. My back was feeling hot. I covered up. Subsequently four hours later, I became a lobster. Remember the coppertone ads with the dog pulling down the baby bikini bottoms? With that burn line? Yeah. I am solid red all over my body with a very very definite set of tan/burn lines. I AM BURNT. And it hurts.

On the bright side I wore a bikini for the first time in years, and my tummy and almost invisible scar looked fabulous. So now I'm burnt, but fabulous. Red is one of my favorites colors, at least.

my latest crush

Okay, so I currently have mad love for Peter Sarsgaard.

Yes, he is handsome, but not in your Hollywood actor way. He does not have a six-pack, does not get botox, has no over-done tan. I am into Mr Sarsgaard because of the roles he plays, the movies he is in. I mean, here is a small sample - Garden State, Shattered Glass, Kinsey - wow. Not only are these terrific films, but also the roles he plays are complex and beautiful.

I don't know how much control or influence an actor has in finding really good roles to play. You can turn something down, but how do you scout them out? The drive for substance over income always impresses me, and the depth of these roles mixed with the skill he touts when filling them blows me away.

Always the love for the geeks.

What sucks he is dating Maggie Gyllenhaal, talk about steep competition. I have seen her in passing here in NYC, and she is gorgeous. Not to mention she picks some pretty great roles too. I mean, have you seen Secretary? Pretty steep competition.

I wonder if they started dating after having an initial discussion about having two A's in their last names. Yes, in my mind I actually believe that their first ever conversation revolved around funky Slavic spelling rules. Why? Because if I was to meet them I totally can see myself having a half hour discussion with them about it. Really. I can imagine the whole dialogue, of which I will thankfully spare you.

Also in my mind I don't believe I am insane, just quirky. My mind is a vast and fantastical place. :)

well

I must be the most suggestible person ever. On Six Feet Under David and Keith are searching for a surrogate mother. I start thinking to myself "ooh, that would be a good way to pay for grad school."

Okay, it took me less than five minutes to decide not to look into it. But I really considered it. Heh.

camera one, camera two

It is all about perspective.

Funny how when you've got something on your mind, every movie and TV show focuses on the same issue. I'm a big fan of Queer as Folk, and good ole' Brian is having a problem coming to terms with how our roles in life change. As much as you feel you stay the same, people change, or as you change people look at you differently. Over the weekend I read The Devil Wears Prada, where a girl discovers that giving up her life in the short term to win a better future in fact puts her future in peril.

I love all the experiences I have had in my life. One of the things I love most is being the kind of person who has had all of those experiences. I had fun on Friday, and then the rest of the weekend I have spent on the couch in hiding, living vicariously through fiction. This much media consumption is not so new to me, I have always been a reader and a movie lover. What is different is I could not stop thinking that I was dreading my current choice in life. My new job.

It only took about forty hours, but suddenly at I looked at my situation in a whole new way. Why, for heaven's sake, would I be dreading becoming a full-fledged manager? I am great with people. I love change, I adore challenge. If anything, I am better at working with people that I am at working with systems.

My whole reluctance boils down to a conversation that came up with my promotion. I have heard it before, but this last time it really stuck in my craw. I was told that I couldn’t be fun anymore, that it is lonely at the top and now I am there. That I have to watch everything I do, everything I say. I have to become a machine. A robot. An automaton.

There is something you have to realize. At work, I hold back a lot now. Yes, I do it to protect my superiors, I suppose in some ways I do it to protect myself. But mainly it is because my words hold more weight now; a casual comment could really hurt someone's feelings. Friendly conversations are kept PC, and I try to be encouraging. Work related conversations are very carefully planned out, even rehearsed in some instances. I have put a lot of thought and effort into who I am at work.

But I cannot become a new person. Even more importantly, I don't want to.

When people meet me, they always guess my age to be within three years of theirs. My boss likes me because she thinks she is like me. Most people see themselves in me, and therefore also like me. I enjoy relating to them. Thus, by nature, my boss thinks that my easiest road to success is to be a clone of her, which she honestly believes is not a leap.

My newest challenge is to prove that I, rockstar, can be a manager. If they felt they could promote me and then change me, it is unreasonable. The beauty is, my boss is flawed, mainly in the social area. It should not be too hard to prove my competence.

I did not move to New York to become someone different, to fit into someone else's mold. No wonder I have been feeling so weird about this promotion. I have not felt this much pressure to conform in four and a half years.

Fortunately I have thirty years of experience in recognizing my individuality as a blessing.

good stuff

I have spent today recovering from yesterday's twelve hour drinkfest. One outside bar (Rudy's, of course), two garden parties (one involving work schmoozing) and a friendly gathering at a girlfriend's house. That makes for a long day and a lot of beer. Going to three venues in one day that occur outside is rather unheard of in this city. It was refreshing, and fun to do. A different taste of adventure in this burg.

The best part of today? This book:


Honestly book publishing is nowhere near as kooky as magazine publishing, but we do have our moments. I can't stop reading this thing. Which is good, it is getting me ready for the Harry Potter readfest to come in under a month.

full circle

When I started working for my company four and a half years ago, I directly reported to two people. One wanted to be my mother, and the other wanted to be my drill sergeant. It was hard moving to NYC, having two new and different jobs, learning so much so quickly. Challenging, yes, stressful, definitely.

The drill sergeant was hard to work for; she was definitely not a people person. She worked me so hard that after five months in her employ I was a crying hysterical mess. The day I wrote my resignation letter I got offered a better position in the department, completely by chance. I took the job in a heartbeat.

In the throws of reacting to the drill sergeant, I swore that I would prove to her that she was flawed, that I was so good that one day I would be her boss. And then she'd suffer. Oh yeah. Revenge loomed in my mind. I could not wait until the day that I would treat her like she had treated me. To this day she is the only person ever to tell me that I was dumb and had no common sense. People may think as me as being boisterous, inclined to drink, even flighty. But though all of that my intelligence has never been in doubt.

Four years later, I am now her boss. It did not take me as long as one would have thought. But revenge is the last thing on my mind. That is the beautiful irony. In order to do my job well, I need to support her and watch her back. I need to help her, nurture her, and show her how to stop being a drill sergeant to the rest of the world.

She still treats people as badly as she used to treat me, so I have my work cut out for me. Every ounce of angst and anger I felt to her has to be now turned into compassion and understanding. Life is funny that way, or at least mine is. No matter what I do, I come back to having to forgive those who have wronged me and help them in turn. Maybe my recognition of that fact is why I have been so successful. At the very least it is how I am able to be a happy person, always in good spirits. My conscience is clear.

Next week, Monday, my promotion is announced. For now I am proud and excited, and will spend the whole weekend celebrating. Yay for publishing half day Fridays!!

you win some, you lose some

Sadly I lost the lottery. No NYC marathon for me this year. This means I am definitely not signing up for the half marathon in central park in August. Who needs to run that long in that kind of heat?

While I still will run my nine races this year to qualify for the marathon next year, my training will not be anywhere as intesive in the upcoming months. Thus, get my booty in gear and study to get into grad school! Thanks to the promotion I'll be fiscally able to take a few classes, buy some books, get some serious coffee house study time in.

Oh, and maybe get a little travelling in there too. Rockstar will finally get her passport!!!!

something corporate

I'm in shock. I got promoted three months ahead of schedule. Yes, I'm excited. Yes, I'm flattered. Yes, I'm totally stressed about the challenges to come.

It is funny, I want the money, but do I really want the job? The money will lead me to financial freedom so I can pursue my goal of higher education. I always say anything worth having is worth working for. I suppose my dreams qualify as worth having.

Tomorrow I find out if I make the lottery for this year's marathon. If I'm training for the marathon I don't know if I'll have the time or energy to study for graduate school.

Maybe I'll pay off my debt, then totally regress to bartending to give myself time to take the classes I'll need for medical school. That sounds like a pretty good plan. It could be the panic talking, but I have plenty of time to work that out.

Well, if the stress gets to be too much at least I can drink the expensive stuff now.

brush with celebrity

The world was all aquiver for the past week, in anticipation of the verdict to the Michael Jackson trial. Yes, I was curious to see what would happen. This curiosity abated with the word "acquittal". What more do I need to know? How much money was spent on this trial that could have been used to catch other criminals? Or teach a kid to read? Or find a cure for AIDS?

There is probably a slew of reasons as to why this whole charade is so exceptionally newsworthy, not a small part due to the fact that jacko is probably one of the most famous people alive, if not the most famous. A kid in Thailand may not know who George Bush is, but by god they can hum the tune to “Thriller.”

I got to meet Michael Jackson once. I spent two hours with him, as a matter of fact. As his waitress.

Fresh off the metaphorical boat to NYC, I was working two jobs, publishing assistant by day and server at a swanky restaurant by night. The wait staff had a mix of experience, newbies like me who had been on the island for five months, and a score of actors who had been slinging drinks in between gigs for years. Imagine my surprise when I go into work and found out that I was to be the lucky person to wait on MJ and his production crew. They were in town to record his last album.

They were late; they had to lose the paparazzi on the way to the restaurant. He came in, his foot in a cast and wearing the facemask. Once in the banquet room the mask came off and the party of six relaxed a bit.

Michael Jackson was very pleasant, polite, and subdued. He ordered vegetable broth and orange soda. The rest of his party ate and drank like kings - on his dime. They whole meal they pandered for his attention, trying to engage him in conversation. I have to admit, he did his best to comply.

There was definitely something off about him. It was like there was a heavy fog surrounding him, emitting this weird "please, just let me be" vibe. You could sense that he was so tired of always having to give something to everyone. Really, every single person who met him wanted to be acknowledged, noticed, touched. I realized the greatest service I could give to him was to let him alone as much as possible.

I felt profoundly sorry for him. You could just tell that fame had scarred him so deeply there was probably no recourse. He would have to be completely un-famous for at least twenty years to even regain a semblance of normality. This man did not just give the world music, dance, and culture. He gave the world his life and his sanity. Was it worth it? Especially when the world turns on him, so cold, so predatory waiting to see him go to jail?

I really hope the jury was right. All reason argues they are not, but why should I start believing the media now?

ha cha cha

Wow, running in humidity sucks. Yesterday morning it was seventy degrees, but very very humid. It made the race a lot harder to run, but overall it went well. I was slower than the last one, but every race I learn more about my capabilities, and I love every bit of it.

I find out this week if I'm in the marathon this year. Oh, the anticipation.

The beer garden yesterday was phenomenal. I got there with RFW at two, and did not get home until one thirty am. We got to meet Bacon's parents, and they were delightful. They are from the Detroit area, so I ended up drunk dialing my dad so they could ask him if he remembers the name of some club that was popular in the sixties.

Am I the only person in the world that drunk dials their parents? They are the only people I call after tipping back a couple. Last time I did it, I called to find out if the Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior. It did, in case you didn't know.

Of the long day of drinking and hijinks, my favorite had to be at the very end. As the last of us were leaving, I stopped to say something to this kinda hot Irish guy that I had done a jig with earlier. I stopped and asked him to tell my friends about the jig, but all he could say was: "You - I would sleep with you for....for....nothing!!"

The sentiment I think was nice, however flawed the delivery. Reminds me of the time I went to the Hesitation Lounge in Michigan, and one of the patrons thought I was so attractive and classy that he told me "You could be a high class hooker. No, really! Like two or three hundred bucks a pop!"

I may mock, but a compliment is a compliment, after all. :)

so much potential

Tomorrow should be a good day.

First I run the Circle of Friends 10K with Spaghetti and CT. I am amazed that I get so much pleasure from an activity that requires me to wake up earlier on a day off than on a regular workday.

Then potential plans to brunch with CT at The Eatery (mmmmmm chocolate and banana stuffed french toast) post race.

Topped off with a spectacular sunny afternoon into evening at the Astoria Beer Garden. Chock full of friends, and I think a "surprise" fix up. Someone dropped a mention of a friend being invited whom I would like. Because he likes bands like.....Weezer.

Yes, that does mean he has potential.

So now I am off to bed in an attempt to get to sleep early. Always an issue.

aha!!

Some people (namely my sister) got very frustrated when I got obsessively analytical about the rules of dating>.

Just to save face, I am not the only one out there. The length of http://nondatinglife.blogspot.com/2005/06/part-nineteen-pay-up.html">this post vindicates me, as obviously someone else out there puts as much thought and reasoning into this kind of thing as I do.

Of course, the fact that he has to explain in this detail means that there are people out there who follow no protocols.

Ah, dating. Always an adventure.

weezer has competition

I just caught the Foo Fighters performance on the MTV movie awards. Boy did they rock. I forgot how much they rule. Right after this blog I will have to buy their new album.

Even better, my friend Spaghetti will be interviewing them this Saturday after we run our 10K and before we head out to the beer garden. It is prep for their "24 hours of Foo" show that will air on MTV2 this weekend. Maybe she can get them to come out to the beer garden with us?

It would not be that hard to rock the drummer, Taylor Hawkins' world. He is quite the hottie. I love Dave Grohl, but he's married. I don't do the marrieds.

ARGH! I left the TV on after the show and saw part of the Britney and Kevin show. My brain hurts, must go purge with literature.

more on fairy tales

There is not so much on the telly, so I decided to scroll through my free on demand channels. The only movie I haven't seen? The Prince and Me.

See, now your esteem of me went down a notch. Great.

I have to tell you though; the movie had a couple of interesting points. (At this juncture I have to warn you if you have not seen and want to maintain any element of surprise, stop reading here.)

First of all, the Julia Stiles character is the last of her girlfriends in college to remain unattached and unengaged. She has big plans to go to med school and join doctors without borders. And no man no how is going to sway her goals. She even feels profoundly disappointed that her friends have abandoned their dreams to go and get hitched.

The last sentiment I don't necessarily agree with, but having such noble goals for herself, I forgive her.

So she falls in love with some guy who she later finds out is a prince. She at some point chases him home to Denmark, is proposed to, wins over the royal family and general public, gets ready to become queen.

Best part of the movie? When she realizes that as much as she wants to change to be with this man she loves, she is who she is and needs to follow her own path to medical school. Sad? Yes. Awesome in that she realizes that she cannot give up her identity and meld into another person in hopes to get used to it someday.

Did some sappy movie just say you gotta define the Cinderella story for yourself? Some marketed pulp romance?? My my my.

Thing is, the movie should have ended there. Stupid movie moguls said, "wait! The American public needs a happy ending! Let's tack on a two minute segment at the end."

If it is two minutes that could even be stretching it.

Julia graduates, is happy and ready to go to med school. But hold on, the prince/king is there! Basically tells her that he loves her and only her, and will wait to be with her. Wait through her med school, her career, whatever it takes. They embrace, movie over. Good guys win, the masses can go home happy.

Jerks. Sellouts. The romantics could have imagined the last part on their own.

I guess it comes down to how you define an ending as being happy, doesn't it?

back from hiatus

I didn't really go anywhere, just didn't blog for a bit. Not that I didn't think of a million things to blog about. And then promptly forgot them all. I like to keep my brain free and clear of clutter, you know.

It seems I have been given a summer intern. Sadly I am no longer in a position to corrupt him. There are bummers to responsibility. Instead I have to do my best to give him all the boring work without actually boring him. Who says my job doesn't have challenges?

This past weekend I attended my first Long Island wedding. My girlfriends had to rent a car and a hotel room, since there is not enough public transit out there. Turns out there is quite a bit of food involved in weddings on LI. The cocktail hour does not have just cheese and veggies; it had a whole hot buffet. Fortunately my proclivity towards free alcohol kept me from eating too much. Nothing much of interest happened. The promised single policemen/firemen at the wedding (the groom is a NY policeman) all brought dates. No one puked, no one fell over, so it was a fun wedding and uneventful.

My friend who got married, the bride, is 27, as are most of the friends who I was accompanied by at the wedding. This is the beginning of the long line of weddings for most of them, and therefore being one of the first was perceived as SO MUCH FUN. Now, I have been to quite a few weddings, and their excitement got me thinking about all of them. Do I have a favorite?

How can you have a favorite anything? As with everything in life, the sum of so many small parts makes up the whole.

Some of my favorite wedding moments (the order is completely random as I recall them):

- Making Paul's brother do shots at Paul and Julie's wedding.

- Kimmy, fully decked out in wedding dress dancing to Front 242.

- The ENTIRE party of over 300(?) guests getting up to dance at Dev and Vim's wedding. Never seen that happen before or since.

- Me driving like speedracer to get to Kirk and Alit's wedding "on time", which I had been mislead about.

- Getting hit by the bridal bouquet at Sue and Jim's wedding, watching it hit the floor, making eye contact with the woman next to me, looking at the bouquet, looking back at each other, and her agreeing to pick it up since she's divorced. Whew!

- Discovering the Copa Cabana at Karen and Dave's wedding, while seeing Paul being the most drunk that I have ever seen him. What did he keep saying that day? He had some catch phrase...

- Taking pictures of the men’s room urinals using the table camera at Dev and Vim's wedding.

- Breaking into Paul's house after Paul and Julie's wedding and making good use of the pool table.

- The fact that at cousin Steve and Mo's wedding not just Steve's dad made a toast, but the two Cooney uncles (including my dad) had to as well. And Irish men do not do short toasts.

- Watching all the men stockpile drinks at Dev and Vim's wedding because the bar was not open the entire time, and then get totally trashed due to said stockpiling.

- Making the all time biggest foot in mouth of my life saying to one groom at the wedding end, "I don't care what anyone says; I believe you two will be happy together."

take me back

The latest fashion trend to catch my eye?

Oh yeah, the polo shirt with the upturned collar. It's baaaaaaack.

I am alternately horrified/entertained whenever I see it, depending on my mood. I have seen at least four guys in the last 24 hours sporting the recycled look. I'd say they were all fresh out of college, too.

Thinking back, I do not think I really ever was a preppy. I think I had one polo shirt once, yellow. Never did I turn up the collar, however. If I recall correctly, it was because turning up your collar made you a preppie which made you a snob, and where I may have many faults that has never been one of them. It is interesting to see the collar now just being a collar.

just face it

No matter how hard I try, I just don't like brussels sprouts.

take it slow

Had a fantabulous run in Central Park with Bacon. Enjoyed it so much decided to do my long run in Central park today. Two concurrent days in central park a long run does not make, unfortunately. Seems the five miles of hills wore me out yesterday, I had to stop today after just six. I wanted to go eight, then said what the heck is my rush the marathon is in November got god's sake!

Stopped at Whole Foods Market on the way back home, residence of all things gourmet. Somehow I was able to resist the double chocolate pecan brownies and go for a bag of cherries. Amazing willpower, I tell ya.

Due to sorry state of my finances, will spend another evening at home. I could paint another wall, but nah.

cry me a river

No, I am not depressed. I just have watched a slew of movies and cried at every one.

Started yesterday afternoon with Crash. Wow, such an incredible film, so much ugliness in this world. With just a hint of hope.

Came home after the movie, watched oscar nominatedFinding Neverland, which REALLY got the waterworks going. Sob, sob, red puffy eyes. At this point decided meeting sailors was not likely as red rimmed gunky eyes do not attract the opposite sex well.

Decided to watch Uptown Girlson demand, please forgive me. I cannot stand Brittney Murphy, yet who was crying at the end? Yep. Must have been that Dakota Fanning. Damn child actors.

Finally rounded out the day watching Raising Helen starring Kate Hudson and yummy John Corbett. As much as I never want to be put in the position of inheriting three children, losing my corporate job and moving to queens, I cried due to sentimentality and not empathy.

I did not know I had it in me. My eyes are swollen red tomatoes. Fortunately I feel purged, washed clean with my salty tears.

Now I am off to run the upper loop with my friend Bacon. Harlem Hill awaits, oh, the challenge.

memorial day

Yes, it is fleet week.

It seems my new apartment is located smack dab in sailor central. You can't walk five feet without running into yet another gaggle of uniformed men.

This may shape up to be quite a fun weekend.

dreaming

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday. Drinking a triple espresso drink before speed training is not so good. Pushing the high heart rate with a high level of caffeine? Counter productive, unfortunately. I had to cut my training short, dammit.

To top it off I had kooky dreams last night. I dreamed I went back to Detroit for the holidays. I went and saw a concert, visited with the family, chastised my brother cruelly for some minor failing. And then my ex showed up. We were uncomfortable, but anticipating something. Then I told him that I had been waiting for him to come back to me, had remained single anticipating a future together again. We were getting back together. It felt strange but familiar, like that first push on the pedal of a bike when you have been off for so long. It feels like you are off balance, but you know you will regain it, it is something you know.

I woke up so sad, and really confused. Is my subconscious telling me that I have been avoiding dating because somewhere deep down I am expecting to be with him? All this time I've been feeling it is just my fear of intimacy. I had it before I dated the ex, so it was not anything new. This has me thinking, though.

While I mull this all over, I have one thing to say. Did anyone see the last five minutes of the season finale of Alias??????? WHAT THE HELL IS J.J. ABRAHMS TRYING TO DO TO ME????? My heart really can't take this. Oh, wait, yes it can, I just can't do an espresso beverage at the same time.

god's will

Is to have me caffeinated - you do realize that. I just went to starbucks for a small beverage, a "tall", if you will. They gave me a "venti". Just because.

This means two things. One, I'll probably work out a bit longer than I had anticipated at the gym tonight. Two, an energized blog entry.

Earlier today I was walking down a hallway at work and noticed a Sopranos poster on a co-worker's wall. A big one.

What does it mean when you put a poster on your wall? I would think it is meant to symbolize that you are a fan. Simple enough. With a show like this, however, what are you really a fan of? Yes, the show is really entertaining, smart, and well put together. But when you come down to it, it glorifies a terrible life. Every good intention and aspiration is twisted by greed and crime in that show, really.

I had this roommate once who loved the godfather movies because of the family values. Yes, family values. C'mon, doesn't the guy shoot his brother in the second movie? Aren't they killing and betraying each other constantly in the name of "the business"??

Seeing the very large poster for some reason automatically made me think that this girl was a fan of organized crime. I almost stopped to ask, really.

Nothing that you display at work is one-dimensional. If you put up the picture of the clash, let’s say, you want to represent yourself as being somewhat anti-establishment. Or if you put up a picture of fairies, that you are a frilly kind of person. Or if you display pictures of you ex-lovers with their eyes cut out, that you are a serial killer.

On display I have posters of: The Complete Shakespeare bound edition book, Winnie the Pooh and friends, the world map, Apple products, I then have postcards on my peg board of: Rosie the Riveter, Ani Difranco, Starbucks, the wave, a Rockwell painting, some other postcard from the Met, and a Weezer calendar. My office says, intellectual, diverse, with a sprinkling of subculture.

I’m not sure what my co-worker is trying to say about her with the poster. But I can tell you this - I'm thinking that maybe I'd better stay on her good side.

early to bed, early to rise

Believe it or not, I got my sorry butt out of bed yesterday morning to run the 10K. As I am not an early riser, this in itself was a challenge. It was not too hard; I hit the snooze once and then at the second alarm jumped out of bed full of the adrenaline associated with getting to run my second race.

As I sipped on my sugar free red bull, the subway train was full of other runners, mostly women. They looked pretty healthy, but I think I fit in the same category. I have my super duper special outdoors wicking fabric running outfit to wear on such occasions. For some reason it feels easier to act the part if you look the part. At least in my reality.

Found Spaghetti by the registration tent, paid my money and got my number. She kept her mp3 player on, and informed me there was going to be no talking during the race as she needed to conserve her breath. She is asthmatic, so that is totally reasonable. My job was to keep her motivated after mile four, and her job was to help pace me to run slower and learn to save myself for the distance.

During the race she definitely was laboring to breathe more than I, and she worked much harder to maintain her target heart rate. She has a heart rate monitor programmed with her highs, lows, and target rates. I felt I could go a little faster, but wanted to work more on pacing for long runs.

I decided a little after mile five to break away in a sprint. Unfortunately I thought we were closer to the finish line than we were, and I not only ran out of gas and hit the wall, but started to feel nauseous. I powered through it, Spaghetti ended up catching up with me, and we finished the race.

Our pace per mile ended up being 10:34, which is pretty much what my goal was, yet still left me rather disappointed. Spaghetti was pleased, as it was faster than she had expected to go, but I wanted to match my first race pace of 9:55 at the very least, if not beat it.

Overall the entire experience was exhilarating. It was a beautiful 55 degrees, cool enough not to overheat, with mostly clear skies in a stunning spring setting. The park was lush; I could feel all of the fresh oxygen entering my lungs. The smell of green, of the occasional flower bed, invigorated me. Around mile four it started to sprinkle for a bit, just enough to feel refreshing.

We were so happy with the experience we had to extend it and go out to brunch. We went to the Eatery on 9th ave and I had the fantabulous blueberry pecan waffle topped with fresh berries, rum raisin ice cream and vanilla syrup. I replaced every one of the six hundred calories I burned off and then some.

The next race will be the Circle of Friends 10K. I think I'll work on being able to pace myself, so I do not have to rely on Spaghetti and can go faster. It's all about consistency.

logic

Last night I went out for drinks with my softball buddies. During the time of inebriation, one of my friends, Spaghetti, calls to let me know she just signed up for a 10K. I, being drunk, miss the actual race name but assume it is the one scheduled for next month, the Circle of Friends 10K, that we have discussed in the past. I tell her I am 100% in, you can count on me!!

Seems she was talking about the Healthy Kidney 10K THIS SUNDAY.

Yeah, that is what everyone does; they get drunk and schedule long distance races. Good planning, Rockstar!

All the same, I am really excited about and looking forward to the run. This will be my second ever timed race, and doing with a friend will be pretty darn cool, methinks. My goal is to keep up with her pace of a 10:30 mile.

media

Wow, listening to "I'm a Slave 4 U" by Brittney on the headphones is a whole new experience. I feel so dirty.

Just got my tix to see Episode III tonight. Oh, the anticipation!!

the fun girl, part one

I am known as a fun girl.

How do I know? When I walk into a room, people cheer. They say to me, "I'm so glad you are here", or "You have been missed". They ask me to come out more often, have a beer, hang out.

I am not the only fun person that I know, or of my friends. In fact, my best friend in the city is another fun girl.

What is a fun girl? A girl who puts you at ease. Who you enjoy talking to. Who makes you laugh, who lets you cry. She listens to you because she really wants to know. She enjoys your company because you are you. And you are special, unique. There will be no uncomfortable silences, no awkward moments, just laughter. She is the unofficial social chair of any group.

There are many good points to being a fun girl. You get a lot of positive affirmation because people feel good having you around, and want you around more. They invite you out; compliment you, thank you for coming.

I do not act how I do for the benefits. They are nice, don't get me wrong. I just enjoy people, I enjoy life. It rather seems to bounce back.

There are plenty of downsides to being the fun girl. Yin and Yang, people. There is balance in this life. The down side I will save for another day.

As a fun girl, I expect to be replaceable. I have been in many places where my charm loses its novelty, and a new person comes in to woo the masses.

Every now and then I am proven otherwise.

Last year I missed the entire softball season due to my health issues. Damn hernia. I played with the team tonight. It was so much fun! The most shocking thing to me was that even though my second base spot was gone, *my* spot was not. The old teammates were so happy to have me back, and even the new ones who played last year said they felt like they missed out because I was not around.

It is nice to be made to feel irreplaceable. Really, is there anything better than that?

expert

Wanna hear something great? If anyone searches the web on Rivers Cuomo - how to meet him, how to pronounce his name, etc - They get a link to my blog.

A couple of posts and I am crazy stalker girl! Woo hoo!

the great equalizer

A friend of mine was excited to receive her new driver's license the other day. She gladly took it out to show me the new and improved picture. Nice. It got me to thinking about my ID. Let's see, it expires in 2005....uh oh, we are in 2005!

When I lived in Michigan, this kind of thing would not have passed without notice. First of all, I drove, so paranoia of getting a ticket wins. Secondly, when they card you at bars in Michigan they notice the expiration date and will not let you drink if it is expired.

During lunch today I made my trek to "License Express", the fast track to renewing my ID. Fast track my ass. The ticket calling system is much more efficient, but there still were 30 people waiting ahead of me. I had to sit there for forty five minutes just to fork over some cash for a new piece of plastic.

While I was waiting, I noticed sitting across to me was a familiar face. An actor. I don't know his name, and in the movies I have seen him in he gets about twenty lines tops. Character actor, kind of young, attractive, plays dumb guys. Seeing him there got me to thinking.

Everyone needs a license, don't they? Or most famous people, at least. We know jacko gets driven, but don't most other celebrities get around on their own? They have to drive those twenty cars they bought, after all.

Thinking about Brittney Spears waiting in line at a DMV made the wait just that much easier to bear. Ooh, or JLo. In heels. Bwa ha ha.

sick

I am sick.

Again.

Powering through, at work anyway. I want to go a whole month without taking a sick day, call me crazy.

I got home from work at 5:30, went to bed, got up for two hours to eat some veggies, and back to bed.

Feeling a little better, but still an uphill climb. C'mon immune system, do your thing!!

weekend

It was a good weekend.

Friday night saw Kung Fu Hustle. Stephen Chow is truly a visionary. If you have not seen this movie you are really missing out. It balances action, humor, mysticism, and morality beautifully. All with kick ass special effects. I feel fortunate as a person for seeing the movie.

Saturday was a bachelorette party for a friend. No strippers, but a four bar bar crawl from nine pm until four am. That is a lot of alcohol. I saw lots of guys, but only talked to one that had potential. He ended up to be kind of boring so nothing to come of it. It was nice to be out on the town and flirt. Like Weezer says, I don't want to be a nomad anymore.

Which would lead to my today, recovery. There was a street fair right around the corner from me, so as part of my hangover cure I ate and ate and ate. I have guilt for potential pounds put on, will have to work out extra hard this week to prevent the weight game.

A lot happened over the weekend to spark some existential dilemmas for me, I have to digest and then will blog.

lesson learned

So last night I drank a red bull at 8:30. When I got home from the concert at 10:30 and was still wide awake, I figured that a good idea to bring me back down was to drink some wine. At 1:00 am when the red bull wore off I was one drunk bastard.

Made for a very hard day at work, let me tell you. I was still drunk when I woke up this morning.

Oh, the horror.

As you may have derived already, Rivers did not spot me in the audience last night and whisk me away. It did cross my mind that I may have to become a rock star in order to meet him, but I'll leave that as a last resort. I did send my resume to the Google contact, so there is hope yet.

My hangover wore off around 4:00, so I got some solid work done until about 7:00 and then hit the gym. Tempo run night. It went well, but I am beat. Must get some rest.

notes

for the record:

1) I was ID'd for beer today - in broad daylight. Am 33, wrinkle cream officially works.

2) Drinking a red bull before a concert is not a good idea. Soncert lasts an hour and a half, red bull six hours. Think, simple math here.

3) I am Rivers Cuomo's dream woman. Really. How long I could handle someone as reticent as him? Oh, yeah, forever. His talent makes up for the lack of socialization, what can I say.

4) Did I mention red bull lasts longer than a concert? Still typing....

unlimited potential

Today is a good day.

I am eagerly awaiting my introduction to live Weezer. Tonight, I see them in concert for the first time ever. I can see it now; Rivers Cuomo will be on stage, mid-set, and say:
"Is Rockstar here? The one who writes Ignorance is Bliss blog? You have a backstage pass waiting for you."

At first I'm shocked, and then I'm nervous, but I know deep down inside I'm ready for any situation.

I go backstage, meet the band. Rivers is shy at first, as he is known to be. But I have a secret weapon. I know that he analyses popular music on his laptop - in Excel. I AM THE QUEEN OF EXCEL. What do you think I do for a living, anyway? Helloooo, manager of reporting and analysis!

So we look at a few of the models, and the ice is broken. Next thing Rivers is asking me to hang out with them on tour. You know I would say yes in a heartbeat. I quit my job and become the soul mate of Rivers Cuomo. Done and done.

What if this plan falls through? Oh, I have a backup. As I mentioned earlier, today is a good day.

My phone rang earlier, it was an ex-roommate. She had bumped into an old college friend, from her rowing team. Seems this old friend works for Google.

If you do not know this already, I am an uber geek. I dream of working two places - Apple and Google.

My ex-roomie knows this of me, mentions my passion. Her old chum mentions that they will be hiring soon, and to have my resume sent to her SO SHE CAN PASS IT TO HR PERSONALLY.

I know I'm writing in caps a lot, but you gotta understand, it is just that kind of day.

Rarely do I pass on resumes anymore, I need to know the person to do that at this point. Yet this college buddy of a friend is still in the pass on stage - my good fortune!

Did you know Google has replaced Microsoft for employing the geniuses? I heard it on NPR today, and you know to me their word is gold. How cool would that be to work around geniuses all the time? It will be high school all over again. I was the "dumbest" of the honors program. Just meant really that I was the only kid in the honors program who didn't study and happened to be drinking already. What can I say, I was bussed to school, grew up in a rough neighborhood. Oh, and I'm Irish. Alcohol is in my blood.

So plan one, life with Rivers. Plan two, life with Google. I like them apples. In the meantime, I have had three beers in forty minutes to pre-game for the concert. If your liver can process one alcoholic drink an hour, how fast can your stomach process a beer? What is the saturation point for my blood vs. my stomach? Right now I have an hour and twenty minutes of beer left in my system. Time for red bull.

Side note - I have decided I do not use the word "quixotic" nearly enough.

quixotic P Pronunciation Key (kwk-stk) also quix·ot·i·cal (--kl)
adj.
Caught up in the romance of noble deeds and the pursuit of unreachable goals; idealistic without regard to practicality.

Drunk blogging is fun.

joy

Stop, pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Run, do not walk. Buy this album:


IT IS AWESOME.

And I am seeing them tomorrow night. Live. In a small venue that is standing room only. I am all a-twitter.

dear harry fans

Not only is the next book coming out July 16th - but the next movie is in November! Call it the year of Harry Potter, huzzah!



Check out the teaser trailer. It is kind of neat to see the hogwarts crew growing up. Ah, youth...

nocturne

Today was one of those days when you wake up but you don't hit pause on the dream. I was conscious, and the plot rolled on. The strangeness of this phenomenon was exacerbated by the familiarity of the scenario, the feeling that this was something I had dreamed many times before.

Was it a dream about Weezer? No.

A dream about Vin Diesel? No.

It was a dream with me in the middle of a Dawn of the Dead movie, zombies everywhere. I'm holed up in a church with some survivors, trying to help other non-zombies in, but losing a lot of people in the effort. The whole scenario is just like in the movie. Friends becoming zombies, first and second defenses failing, efforts to regain ground, so on and so on.

This was vaguely disturbing to wake up to. Even more so in that I could not stop thinking about it even after I awoke. The screenplay just kept going as I ate breakfast, took a shower, got dressed. I was finally able to stop the train of thought when I settled into my daily meditation.

Everyone has bad dreams, and scary movies can cause or be a large part of them. I am more unsettled with how familiar the whole thing seemed. It is weird to have a recurring dream and not even realize that you have one at all.

I think I'll play Disney tunes as I fall asleep tonight - a natural garlic for vampire dreams.

fetish

Should I really be this excited about having cleaned my windows????

think

One of the funny things about living in new York - In Michigan, when I would get a bug bite, I would scratch and forget about it. Now I worry that it might be a tic. How gross is that? The last thing I need is to get lyme's disease. Fortunately there seems to be nothing connected to me, so I'm in the clear.

I went to my Mecca last night - the Apple Store in SOHO. *sigh* My drool did not short-circuit any of the equipment, so that was a relief. I was there to hear the author of "Everything Bad is Good For You", Stephen Johnson. I wanted validation that sitting on my ass watching countess hours of Alias was good for me. And I definitely got it.

His theories are interesting, but I have not yet decided if I agree with him. The basis of his hypothesis is that modern day TV shows and video games are exceptionally complex, multi-layered, and stimulating, causing the modern viewer/participant to engage in a regular basis in elaborate and creative problem resolutions and thought processes. He had terrific examples that very deftly demonstrated the advancements in media. Thing is, I don't necessarily believe that his examples proved increased intelligence.

When I was young, I was taught to increase my reading speed and maintain my comprehension with this projector like system that would literally highlight four or five words at a time in a sentence at a predetermined speed. With practice I could read pretty darn fast, and retain information. My cousin, who is blind, listens to audio books quite often, but speeds up the feed to where someone like me hearing it sounds like a foreign language. With any media as you become more accustomed to the medium you can add more to it.

Thus, as our society watches more TV and plays more games, our tolerance grows and to engage us more must be added. We started with Mr. Rogers Neighborhood and now have graduated to multi-plot storylines like Sopranos.

Mr. Johnson's argument might then be that these skills will transfer over to everyday living. Does life imitate art or art imitate life?

I need to read the book to see if he has any examples as to how these skills translate. Ironic that the very media he is using to communicate this is in his own theory remedial. I consider myself to be very smart, smarter than say 80% of the population. I attribute that knowledge and wisdom to the fact that I read voraciously as a child.

I remember my father telling me the library rule was that you could only borrow as many books as you were years old. So I borrowed 12, and read them in two weeks. Then borrowed another 12, and so on.

Reading that much taught me how to think, how to observe, how to absorb and internalize information. It was like strength training for my brain. The question must then follow - what came first, the chicken or the egg? Nature or nurture? Am I smart because I read so much or did I read so much because I was smart?

Of course, I learned to read from Sesame Street. Point taken.

laying low

Inspiration comes and inspiration goes, today I was just plain blah. I could not motivate to save my life. Makes for a long, boring workday.

On the upside, I discovered a new daily read, Rosie O'Donnell's Blog. At first it is hard to read, very disconjointed, unpunctuated, uncapitalized - strange format. Thing is, once you get past the weird setup, it is brilliant. Inspirational, even. You can see why she has been so successful in life.

As a person who cannot stand Oprah or Dr Phil, I recommend Rosie as an alternative.

work

Well, I just fired one of my two direct reports. Sucks. No, he was not able to do the job. Yes, I gave him tons and tons of chances.

Other people I know let their direct reports get by with all kinds of errors, cover for them and whatnot. My bosses actually rate me on my ability not to do that. Why there is so much more pressure on me as compared to others in my dept, I am not exactly sure.

Excuses excuses, I'm just sad that I had to let someone go.

fanatic

Last night I did cardio for an hour and a half.

An hour. And a half.

I was a bit tired afterwards.

This drive to work so hard at the gym, I believe it is fed by my lack of drive at the job. I still work really hard, put in extra hours and all. But I just don't have any goals left to achieve there. I make the money I need to get by, and sure as all out have enough responsibility now. So I funnel all that driven energy into the gym.

Obviously I have a lot of energy.

Also, I have started meditating in the mornings again. I used to do this every day back when I thought I had Crohns and could control it by keeping my stress levels down. Now I just want to find that balance I had once.

The question is - how long can I live in an unfulfilling day job and sustain it with fanatical hobby action? Maybe until the marathon. That will be four and a half hours of cardio.

follow through

I am great at setting goals. I am terrific at setting milestones and deadlines. I am an inspiration in starting a new project.

Finishing? Not so much.

Do any of you remember latch hook? I can remember being about eight working on a latch hook tom n jerry rug. My mom finished it for me.

One time, when living in Detroit, I decided to fix my broken electric laundry dryer myself. I took it apart, replaced the heating coil (and only shocked myself twice in the process, I needed no hair gel for a week), and left the dryer spread over the cellar floor in pieces.

It took me nine years to get a Bachelors Degree.

About a month ago I decided while waiting for my calf to heal, I would paint my living room to occupy my time. That one wall I painted looks great.

My current unfinished project? Phone tag with HB. I did not call him back after last Wednesday night, figured since he was out of town for the weekend he was busy. He left me a voicemail tonight, and I still have not called him back.

Don't worry, I will call him tomorrow, it just seems that for some reason it is taking some effort for me to get the gumption up. I like to blame it on the fact I hate to talk on the phone, but I guess it is more like cold feet.

Once and a while I do actually complete a goal. Say, like moving to NYC. She can be taught!

rivalries

Never will I forget my ACT score. It is burned into my memory forever. Not necessarily because it was a good score, but because of who else got that same magic number as me.

I am a middle child. I have a brother older by one year, a younger sister by four. My sister was like my mascot (growing up), but my brother and I were neck in neck for leadership. He once told me that he thought I was older until he went to kindergarten. That's how bossy I was, even then.

Growing up, whenever something needed to be taken care of in my mother's absence, it was assigned to me. In many ways that made me proud, but also I resented my brother for his freedom from responsibility. I can clearly remember being six, my mother having to go to the hospital for a couple of days to get her gall bladder removed, when I was put in charge of cleaning the fishbowl. There were no jobs imparted to my brother, just to me. This chore of course involved the very complicated maneuver of running fresh water into the fishbowl and letting the old water spill out of the top. As I started to do this, I felt badly for poor Swim and Swam (hey, I was six, what names did you expect?) because the water was so cold. So I turned on the hot water. Hot water and goldfish do not mix.

We gave Swim and Swam a proper funeral burial, and I cried and cried for what I had done. I so dreaded telling my mother how I had failed, what I had done. On the other hand, I considered that if my brother, with his infinite extra year of wisdom had taken care of this duty, would their deaths have been avoided? I don't know - but for years I was upset that it was me who had been left in charge. Obviously, as I'm 33 and still telling this story.

It was never made clear to me how strong of a sibling rivalry I felt toward my brother was - at least until I took my ACT. I can remember the day that I got my results very clearly. Opening the envelope, nervous, excited, and curious. Scanning, reading, interpreting. I got a 30! I started jumping up and down and screaming. And then I realized why I was so excited, exactly what thought was running through my head. That I was as smart as my brother, who had gotten a 30 the previous year - he did not beat me.

I halted mid-jump. Did I really care that much? How could I care? My parents by no means ever compared us to each other. They never pulled the why can't you be like games. We had both gotten good scores in school all of our lives, done well for ourselves.

It is a mystery that although I can't understand, still exists. The paths our lives are so different, our successes as diverse as they come. My brother is married with three wonderful children. He owns a home, has a terrific group of friends and a strong religious support network. I have moved to New York, live the "glamorous" professional single life, having worked my way up to a position of responsibility for a major publisher. My brother super family man, me super sassy girl.

My mother informed me yesterday that my brother got a new job, involving a base salary bump and an increased commission rate. Even as I am happy for him, I can feel that evil green monster wondering if he is making more than me now...

Ah, sibling rivalry.

rules of the game

Now that I have an impending dating situation I realized I need to review dating culture and customs. Problem is, I feel like the whole thing is a foreign lifestyle that I know nothing about. I feel like Nell of the dating world. I try to say "pass the salt please" and it comes out "aaaauuuuuuuuuurrrrrlllll". Not good.

For example, historically whenever I have gone on dates, I offer to split the check. Just because it seems silly and outdated to have a guy pick up the tab. If I went out with friends we would split the tab, why not with someone who could potentially be your best friend? This person just may be seeing you naked soon, after all. So all my life I thought this was okay, but read recently in moo cow's blog that basically in doing this I have signaled the nix on dating. Who knew? Thank god for blogs, I learn so much.

So now the question is, what other customs do I break that may send the wrong message? HB and I have been playing phone tag, and I figured with this next round (me calling him) I would suggest a date and time to go out next week. Is that too forward? Am I breaking date protocols? Do I have to wait until he suggests something?

I won't even get onto who makes the move for the fist kiss, one dilemma at a time, thank you very much!

be careful what you wish for...

you just might get it.

So I was thinking about getting a new job - and a potential called me. Note - THEY recruited ME from my online resume. For a Senior position. Sadly I hear the company is doing badly, not a good time to take them up on their offer. Still, nice to be wanted. If they are doing as badly as they hear, not worth the time for me to fenagle off for an interview.

I was thinking the other day that I may just feel like a boyfriend, and here I am playing a very comfortable non-confrontational game of phone tag with someone who seems to have potential. I got some more dish about him tonight, and it seems he really is my type. Fun, outgoing, adventurous, responsible, good times mixed with good sense. Who woulda thunk it? At least, that's what one of the original fix up queens of my life says. The source of information is a cause for suspicion maybe, but I don't think there was a set up in mind, HB was just invited to the party by chance.

People say there is power in prayer, and I believe them. Not because I believe there is a higher power checking their messages, but because thought can turn into will or energy and then deed. When I was younger I used to meditate every day on positive images of myself. I wanted to be successful, confident, attractive, strong, so I willed myself to be those things every day. I can honestly say that now i have succeeded in those goals, and I belive the most important reason why is because I willed them into being. If you hear something often enough, you tend to believe it, regarless of the source.

So recently my mantra has been new job, get a boyfirend, go to grad school. Seems I'd beter get my school skills in order, something is bound to happen soon.

off the hook

Today I got off the hook in so many ways.

I stayed home sick today, unintentionally avoiding some potential work drama, of which I am actually afraid to blog about fearing legal repercussions. Let's just say I did not have to ice down my emotions to deal with a situation.

I called HB back (thanks to coaching from the best ever Connecticut Jen, thank you!) and got his voicemail - left cheery and long message about meeting up next week. Tomorrow night I have a very important and fun engagement that I cannot miss, even for a date. Although yes I still am intrigued and want to go on one. Would you believe that being home sick and watching too much cable that Jane Eyre discouraged me and Sex in the City encouraged me? Is that prophetic that the concept of romance intimidates me these days? New York skepticism or once burned twice shy?

So tomorrow I am back to work, back to life, escaping from the safe cocoon of my apartment and medication induced sleep. I actually dread going back to work, which is so unlike me but my real situation. Fortunately I have one hell of a party to look forward to at six, to get me through my day. And maybe a little more positive affirmation from HB. All kinds of good potential up in there.

vitamin c

Was home sick today. Seems the flu has been winning the battle. I slept for more than half the day, listened to the audiobook of The Tipping Point, which was brilliant. Mr No Name called, now I have a name. I let it go to voicemail, he sounded pleasant enough, suggested we go out sometime soon, but he will be going out of town Thursday so it has got to be Wednesday or next week. We'll call him HB for Hoboken, I'll call him back tomorrow.

I have consumed almost a gallon of Immunity Defense Tropicana, here is hoping my body did it's share as well.

humor

Good news, I got over my cold by taking a little nap in my office and drinking lots of OJ. Yay for the easy cure!

Saturday was the big birthday party for a friend. It went really well, she was in good spirits and I believe it went off without a hitch. Oh, and I gave some guy my phone number.

I don't know his name, all I know is he is a friend of the birthday girl's sister and he lives in Hoboken. I know NOTHING else about him, which should make this interesting. He did not call me today, and its funny but I'm relieved. Not because I don't want him to call, just that he is not desperate or clingy or too eager. If he calls me in the next couple of days I'm up for a date. I was not really attracted to him, but he was fun enough that maybe it will be something that ends up happening.

How much does initial attraction really mean? Or that first impression? For me the jury is still out on that one. If I am really attracted to someone, I become a blithering idiot. If I enjoy someone's company, I can relax, enjoy myself, and sometimes end up growing attracted.

Mr No Name is not necessarily unattractive; he's just not my type. He is fair and stocky, where I tend to lean towards dark and wiry.

When I think back to when I met the ex, my one really long-term relationship, I was not really into him when I first met him. He was cute enough, but I did not think of him as being either here nor there. And I remember being really afraid of the first date - that it would be boring or tedious. That first date we ended up spending the entire time laughing, which was such a pleasant surprise. The event of that date that really clinched it for me was at the end. We had gone to a cider mill, eaten some donuts and had some cider. We had talked, laughed, had a good time, and were on the way home. I was driving, and he moved to put his elbow up on the door - but the window was not rolled down. Thunk! Then it happened - he laughed. At himself.

The ability to laugh at ones self is a rare and beautiful trait. Especially when you are in a high-pressure situation like a first date. I believed it then, and I still believe it now. He laughed, and I melted. And the attraction grew.

Hopefully Mr No Name is not a republican. That would be a deal breaker. I should do a blog on deal breakers one day, which might be interesting.

uh oh

I can feel myself getting sick.

My throat feels thick and sore, my head has a general ache, I am tired and a little spacey.

Must. Power. Through. I have a very important birthday party to attend tomorrow night, a friend's 35th.

Which remedy should I try? Vitamins? OJ? Sleep? Water? Zinc?

Maybe I should try the Guiness cure. On more than one occasion when getting sick I have imbibed a minimum of four Guinesses, and voila, the next day am all better.

Oh, the gamble.

icon

There is this shop I pass every day on my way to the subway. It sells a little bit of everything, especially if it is selling well. In the past six months I have seen those magnetic ribbons for cars, ponchos, those damn caps brittney wears, etc etc.

As the main attraction, the windows are covered with posters of various superstars, either in some state of undress or providing a standard for some ideal. There are posters of JLo, Brittney, Anna Kornikova, Bob Marley, John Lennon, and so on.

Today Pope John Paul II was added to the window. I wonder if anyone spanks the monkey to him?

musak

Okay, I'm going to lay it all out on the table. I love Barry Manilow music. I even have his box set.

That's right, all cool points out the window. You gotta understand though, it's not my fault.

Growing up I grew up in a musical depravation chamber. My mother listened exclusively to easy listening type stuff - musak. I did not get to broaden my music horizons until high school when I received my first walkman. It had a radio, and my musical world expanded exponentially.

Fast forward twelve years, I'm at a wedding of a friend. At this point in my life I had heard of Barry Manilow, but had no idea what any of his songs were. Oh, and I was also in my goth phase. Wore lots of black and doc martins, had done my pink hair, and listened to front 242, ministry and such.

Anyhoo, I'm at the wedding and the Copa Cabana came on. Brilliant!!! A song about love, sex, power, money, murder, alcoholism, and madness - all tied together in an upbeat tune. The irony of it all had me at hello.

As my friends absolutely LOVED the idea that I could be so into something as completely off my radar as Mr Manilow. The jokes began, escalated, and culminated in a gift to me in the form of his box set.

Next thing you know, I'm listening to the four cds, reading the booklet, watching the video. And falling completely in love with the unadulterated romanticism. Along with the complete shallowness behind it.

If you listen to any of his lyrics, they sound sweet and touching. Sadly Barry did not write most of his songs. Including the one titled "I write the songs." Oh, and Mandy was written about some guy's dog. Good ole' Barry did write "This One's for You", but it is a tribute to his grandfather.

Sitting at my desk today, working my regular overtime and watching my life slowly slip away, my ipod on random started playing a Barry song, and I smiled. Being able to have that kind of moment makes withstanding the mockery and disdain worthwhile.

just in case

I love the onion.

My favorite is the third from the last.

fountain of youth

I have a solution as to why I look and act so much younger than I actually am. I have found the black hole of age, the worm tunnel of time, the long sought after fountain of youth.

Drunken oblivion. I know, this answer seems strangely obvious, but let me explain.

Today in the midst of meetings, I ran into a familiar face. And that would be who this gent was in his entirety, a familiar face. I saw him, he saw me, we both started in recognition, smiled, said our hearty hellos, and kept on walking.

Half a day later I am pretty sure which one of my bar outings over the course of the last two weeks was the one where I met him. Even more interesting, I'm fairly sure we had a whole conversation that went so far as to include relatively detailed histories of our lives.

How much do I remember? Not so much. What is really great is that this is happening more and more to me - I recently became re-acquainted to another fellow last week, who I had met a month ago. Last week as we spoke more and more of our prior interaction came back to me. Memories gained.

So in the manner of the question if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around, does it make a sound - if time passes me by and my perception lacks, do I actually age? Alcohol puts my body in a state of stasis, and my mind as well.

On a less substance dependant alarming level, I have also reached the point in my life where sober I can be introduced to someone, exchange niceties, and completely erase them from my mind as well.

I am seriously considering tattooing my name backwards on my forehead - just in case.

rapid eye movement

I don't know why it is, but waitresses tend to have terrible recurring nightmares.

It is weird I know, one would not think that being a server could take such a strong mental toll on someone. For some reason having your life and income judged every day at the minimum of ten times (ten checks/tips) wears on your mental capabilities.

The dreams tend to be of the same storyline for each individual. Mine always consisted of me getting slammed, one table after another getting seated, me taking order after order after order, unable to do anything to fill any of them because there is already another table to greet. The first tables that I talked to are getting angry, waiting for drinks and food that I have been unable to even start to arrange for them. I can sense impending doom and hopelessness - and then I leave the restaurant. I just go, take a walk, run an errand, for about a half hour. At some point I then realize that all those customers are still waiting for me, waiting for their service. And go back, in a panic. I have to return and take care of the people who have been waiting for a half hour for anything that they ordered, and explain my delay.

At this point I wake up. Amazingly I still have this dream on occasion, even though I have not waited tables in over a year and a half. The pressure of having to deal with the disapproval of so many people weighs on me to this day.

It occurred to me that if I was to be a financial advisor, I would have to provide a service to people in much the same way as I did when I was a waitress - only now I would be handling their money. If people get peeved at a lukewarm steak, how do they react when a stock you sold them tanked? Needless to say, I did not attend the financial advisor seminar over the weekend.

I did drink a lot, though. Some good stories came from that for sure; but tonight I am tired, and will have to share my adventures tomorrow.

Sweet dreams.

livin' on the edge

I wore my "i'm blogging this" t-shirt to work today.

Seems I'm pushing the envelope, if I'm discovered I could always suffer the same fate as dooce. When asked I simply said the shirt was a joke, of course I don't have a blog!

Overall the shirt was highly regarded and appreciated. Only one person thought it referred to some unknown ancient celtic practice.

told you so

Remember that joke that I used to tell my customers when I was a waitress?

Now even more evidence comes to light.

Crazy as a fox, I tell ya.

take me out

It is 62 degrees, sunny, and the day of the first softball game of the year!

Even better, the other team had to cancel, so my team gets to scrimmage itself. These are the games that are the most fun. Hijinks such as me stealing the physical bases so the base runner cannot tag up will ensue. I heart mischief!

We have a permit to a field in central park, which is like gold. Even better, good friends whom I have not spent nearly enough time with will turn out for the game - and the beers afterwards.

Neither hell nor high water will keep me from leaving work on time today to make this great event! Yay for softball in the park!

anonymous wisdom

I got a really thought provoking comment on my last blog, investigating my motives to fly, fly away from my current job.

I’ll tell you what – reading it really made me sit back and take pause. Do I in fact fear responsibility and a loss of freedom? If you look at my career history, it would seem like a logical conclusion.

It is too soon for me to decide if such is my case, I need to mull it over, dig to the source of my compulsion to leave.

One thing I do know, is that the comment was surely correct in saying I have worked hard for what I have, and should step back and enjoy the benefits. Of course, the question is what was I really working for and have I actually gotten it?

I love a good quandary.

On a bright note, my leg has healed, and I have been able to start running again. I’m taking it slow - if having had a hernia taught me anything, it was to take time and let my body heal properly. I ran three miles Monday night and the same tonight, and am feeling darn good. I’m thinking a nice mile and a half jog around the reservoir this weekend may be in order. It will nice to take a look at spring.

procrastination

Today was a really full day. The first half I spent with my VP and director - my two bosses. The director,Ms Random, is okay, the VP, however, is a character. Somehow I have seen her inspire great depths of loyalty from the last two directors. Well, that is, until they each left. Both within my four and a half years of employment. Hmmmm.

Anyhoo, my current job has a future. I have been promised a promotion, increase of direct reports, and a good raise in four months time. Almost every day allusions are made to my increased responsibilities and long-term success.

Problem is, the longer I stay the more I have to put on the businesswoman facade, the less I can act freely and be myself. This has to be done to inspire confidence from the higher ups and the lower downs. It is very tiring.

So after spending a day with the nurturing VP with hopes and dreams of my future accomplishments (for her as well, on that note), I had an appointment to check out another job.

On the way to the job, I could feel the iron clad butterflies rattling around in my stomach. Fear. Trepidation. Anxiety. Not at interviewing, or potentially starting a new job. At very idea of telling the VP I was going to leave. How can one person's reaction have so much clout?

I took the test, and passed. Now on Saturday I go in to listen to the overview. If I am still interested, I set up an interview.

At least I can put off making a decision until Saturday afternoon. Ah, procrastination, a girl's best friend!

still

A lot of people complain that New York is dirty, is crowded, is ugly.

This man has a photoblog that pictures the city as I see it. Lucid, spellbinding moments captured in time.

Some people see a concrete jungle, I see beauty.

it's all about trust

From the moment I started dating The Ex (dated for two years, lived together for one of them) I trusted him implicitly. It was just one of those things, I innately knew that he would not cheat on me. Like me, he dated rarely, was more inclined to remain single than to date casually. He also insisted on waiting a period of time past the three-date rule before having sex, to really give ourselves time to decide if we really wanted to be together. He believed that sleeping together too early could potentially cloud my judgment.

I gotta tell you, knowing that sex was not his highest priority really allowed me to relax and get to know him. It definitely worked.

So as I mentioned, when we were together I trusted in his fidelity. Hands down.

About a year and a half into the relationship, I found a pair of panties wedged in our couch.

They were not mine.

Never had I doubted him, but how do you ignore something like that? Every movie, every book, every song SCREAMS that I just caught him in the act. I confronted him. Questioned him, over and over and over. He insisted that he knew nothing about the found underwear. I pushed, I cajoled, I threatened. After a very long and arduous grilling, I decided to believe him. What else could I do? I, however, remained unsettled.

Two days later my sister called - and mentioned that she thought that she had potentially accidentally left a pair of panties at my place the week before when she had spent the night.

That was the best tasting crow I ever had.

a nice stroll

One really cool thing about New York City is that you never know what will be around the next corner.

New York has several districts - the flower district, the Persian rug district, the financial district. I know about these because at various times I have stumbled across them. I walk down a street and - surprise! - Flowers surround me; the entire street is full of flower shops. I don't know why the city is set up this way; you would think having so much competition so close would be bad for business. I don't know the reason, but it sure is neat to find little areas like that.

Tonight I walked up to Home Depot to make a purchase, and then decided to enjoy the beautiful weather and walk home. I had a few streets and avenues that I had to cross, so I walked wherever the streetlights lead me.

Suddenly I discovered a district I've never been to before. The fur district. I pass shop after shop selling fur coats and more fur coats. And people are staring at me. Why?

Well, I only bought one thing at Home Depot. A gallon of paint.

Timing is everything, isn't it?

willpower

I am strong.

I must keep telling myself this. Why? They have installed an ice cream vending machine a whole ten yards away from me.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

It was hard enough resisting the regular vending machine, but this is torture. Thank god the machine does not have Ben & Jerry's, or I'd be a goner.

A fat goner at that. Oh leg, heal already so I can at least exercise off the impending urges!

for love or money

So yesterday I updated my resume and posted the new, shiny version on HotJobs.com. I subsequently applied to a business analyst position at a company for a salary way way way above what I currently make. Likelihood I overshot? About 50/50.

It comes down to the idea that I believe deep down in my soul I am too smart to be this poor. I also am too hard of a worker. Today I got an email from American Express trying to recruit me to be a financial advisor. So I'm going to go check it out.

Oh dear, I know there are risks involved. What is the base salary while I build up my client/commission list? How long does it take to establish oneself in the field? What is the average return, or at least the median? Thing is, this career is how Suze Orman got her start, and I find that rather encouraging. I'm good with numbers. I'm good with people. I think this may be the kind of job that could get me to my goal of grad school a little bit quicker. Or at least out of my current work situation - change begets change, after all.

No, it’s not quite as altruistic as I like, but helping other people make money can't be bad, can it?

I'm scheduled to meet with the recruiters next Tuesday. Career number fifteen? Quite possibly.

something about spring

I have been happily single for quite some time. But last night I had a feeling I have not felt in, oh geez, maybe six years?

That's right, I genuinely wanted a boyfriend. I found myself sending out mental vibes, brainwaves to make our paths cross. The last time I was in this mode it only took three months of psychic prowess and BAM I was in a two-year relationship.

Now don't you worry reader, this will not deter me from my goals of running the nyc marathon or going to medical school. It just means I'm going to have to shave a little more often.

macrobiotics

So my company publishes this book, You Are What You Eat, and I was able to pick up a copy. It is a runaway best seller in the UK, that kind of thing always peaks my interest. Especially after my love for the British born Eats, Shoots & Leaves. I mean, I really never thought I could enjoy reading about punctuation, so why not give macrobiotics a whirl.

I thumb through, and the page that automatically opens starts with "Greasy stools that won't flush."

This does not bode well. But by god, I don't give up easy. I read on about how I should be eating more raw foods and seaweed. Flaxseed oil and lemon water. Detox and colonics. I'm wary, but hey, the body is one big science experiment, chemistry is for real and the author is surely on to something.

But wait - the book demands that I give up caffeine. I love how people swear that caffeine perpetuates the vicious cycle of being sleepy. They just don't realize that 1) I really am nocturnal and 2) I love stimulants but stick to the legal ones. Those things combined make me a very loyal coffee lover.

Errrrrr, I gave up smoking already, I think I'll skip the avocado milkshakes. Besides, for some reason I'd be a lot more embarrassed if someone at work caught me taking a couple teaspoons of flaxseed oil than if they found those compromising pictures of me on the internet. There is something innately uncool in studying your stool.

daring

You know that feeling you get in your stomach when you arrive at the top of the first hill of a roller coaster? Or when you are standing on a high diving board? Or before you jump out of that plane? That feeling has resided in my gut ever since I posted my last blog about med school. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna do it, just means that I'm in for one hell of a ride.

impulsive

I have never been a patient person. Or one to make plans. I like to wait until I feel inspired, and then act. This characteristic has its ups and downs.

Ups - Interesting adventures. Exploits in cutting/coloring my own hair. Meeting diverse people. Having a myriad of jobs.

Downs - Always cramming the night before a test. A pretty high debt. Having a sense of no purpose, floating.

Back when I was 22 my life was picture perfect, my parent's dream come true. I was going to school for electrical and computer engineering, and had a co-op job working for the General Motors Headquarters, which guaranteed me a job and a nice salary upon graduation. Then I went and read "The Fountainhead" by Ayn Rand, and decided to continue in that life was a betrayal to myself. I literally sat down, paged through my college bulletin, and picked out a new major - Psychology.

From that moment on I just lived from moment to moment. It took me an additional six years to finish with my bachelors because every time I thought of something else to do I just went and did it. My family panicked because I seemed to live such a disconnected and purposeless existence. During the crazy years if anyone asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I always had the same answer - to eventually teach psychology at the college level. This career path encased so many of the ideals that I found meaningful: Intellectual study, proper use of my mental capabilities, the joy of making a difference in the lives of so many people, the potential for change on a regular basis through varying classes, schedules, and students.

Moving to New York I have continued to believe in the same calling, problem is my attention has been consumed with establishing a secure existence. Working and working to be able to afford to pay the rent, dig my way out of my debt, not live on credit. I have been consumed by this need to nest, but build a safety net for myself. The problem is when you consume yourself with financial concerns, they don't stop. Suddenly my debt has an end in sight, and I'm thinking about investing, getting equity. Its like now that I have started I can't stop. I started thinking I should get my MBA because I have been so successful in business, abandoning psych altogether. Even though it would mean that I would have to stay at my job, become a corporate lackey.

This past week has very much revealed to me what that would mean. The Facade. In order to maintain my job, I have to advance. It sounds strange, but I have been chosen to be groomed for upper management. A lot of effort is being put into this by my superiors. As I love a challenge, so far I have welcomed all the attention. Unfortunately I have reached the point when, because of my responsibilities, I have to monitor everything I say and do, I have to guard my identity. It is one thing for me to have to dress a certain way, its just a uniform, I've had lots of those. They want me to be something I am not. Other executives are conservative by nature; they don't have much of a persona to hide. I just got this far because I'm good at what I do, because I take my performance personally. I believe my work reflects on who I am. So I work hard.

It is like fate is telling me it is time to go to graduate school. It snapped me out of my nesting reverie. With my current income I will be debt free and in good credit standing by the time the next school year starts. This means I'm going to have to do something completely out of character, however. I'm going to have to study, and work hard over a period of time. Discipline, planning. Because it occurred to me in the last couple of weeks that I couldn’t be just a psychologist, I need to be a psychiatrist. I don't know why, but I realized that I need to be a medical doctor. Until now I have never dared imagine this, it was too intimidating to me, too much to accomplish. Something in me is insisting, however. Stupid inner monologue - it is pushing me to learn organic chemistry. Baugh.

So now I have to make myself an action plan to get into medical school. I guess I’m not one to dream small, am I.

pride

Every now and then people tell me I should be proud of myself, my accomplishments in life. Sometimes I am. More often I wonder at their accolades, I feel like I have done what anyone could do. I really am very ordinary, I just don't shrink at the thought of hard work. If anything I enjoy it because of the rewards it offers.

Something I am really proud of? The accomplishments of my cousin. His story is something to inspire, as it does me.

prayers

I was raised catholic. I went to 12 years of catholic school (no I did not keep the uniform), performed all the sacraments, yada yada yada. Once I asked my parents why they believed they were alive, and their response to me was "to know god, to love god, and to serve god"; you might say I had quite some time to study the faith. This study eventually made me lose it, funny how things work that way.

So Pope John Paul II is near death. He has been somewhat ill for a while, but the past 24 hours the news media has been holding their collective finger over the enter button to download his obituary.

My question: Why so many prayers and tears? The reports keep coming in of the people going to droves in mass, of Italy being in a state of mourning. One of the main tenets of Catholicism or Christianity is that the good or the saved will go to heaven, which offhand I hear is pretty nice or something. Really, crying because he finally gets his reward is almost insulting!

So you have the pope, the spiritual leader of the Catholic Church. He had to do a thing or two to get where he is. In doing so I have the general idea that he pretty much devoted his life to getting others to heaven - which tends to guarantee his entry by default. I believe he would be very low on the ladder of people who need the prayers. Even for his physical suffering. Yeah it is sad he has to suffer, but people are worse off than him every day.

I don't know why I'm so cynical, I can understand how people mourned Princess Di or JKF Jr, but the attention the Pope gets baffles me. Am I a product of my generation or what?