The Latte Factor

A few years ago, I read the book The Automatic Homeowner Millionaire by David Bach. He is the "Finish Rich" guy (http://www.finishrich.com/). Bach contends that most people are able to purchase homes and rent them out to make money. Clearly, this book was written a while ago- long before the mortgage crisis we face today. Back then, the author encouraged people to live cheaply and save, and soon, they would find the money they need to put a down payment on a house. Then these people will find renters to cover the mortgage and upkeep, and before you know it, you're a millionaire. I'm being overly simplistic and trite here, but that is the general idea. And in the proper real estate market, I believe it's a strategy worth pursuing. Yet for me, the flatal flaw in this plan is the latte factor.

Early in his book, Bach dicsusses what he calls the latte factor. He wants the reader to take a long, hard look at the things they spend money on which are unnecessary. For a lot of people, it's expensive coffee drinks. This issue is close to my heart, because I love blowing a few bucks on a latte. Bach would encourage me to make coffee at home, or cut down on my caffeine intake for better health, anyway. But it just isn't that simple. I know I can make coffee at home. I know I should consume less caffeine. I don't even love coffee that much. I really like it, but it's not an uncontrollable adoration that draws me to Starbuck's or Caribou Coffee every day.

So what does? A few things. One, I like getting out of my house. Getting a cup makes me feel like I'm out there interacting with the world, which I don't always do when I'm busy working at home. And for people who do work outstide of the home, I think it's a nice break in the day or a part of a daily routine one can look forward to.

Two, it's such a fun premise under which to get together with a friend. When I was a kid, it was totally respectable to go to a pal's house and just hang out. But now, I'm an adult, and my house is not always clean/guest-ready. And there's something less exciting about it. It's hard to keep the momentum up when your at someone's house. It can also be disctracting-- you catch a glimpse of a picture or a new kitchen appliance, and it ends up being a long conversation about Mexico or pizza dough. Which is fine, but it's not the best coffee talk. There is something about disposable cups of coffee at a cafe that is highly condusive to pure gossip. And I love my gossip. It's probably because you know you can't sit there forever and you want to get to the good stuff. Cafes are also far superior to restaurants in this regard, because you don't have to spend a lot of time thinking about what you want, discussing the menu, and being interrupted by the waiter.

Additionally-- I know this is a horribly consumeristic fat American thing to say-- but, I love to spend the money. I mean, it's not a splurge at Bergdoff's, it's only like four bucks. I don't know why, but it feels good to unleash it. Certainly it's good for the economy, but I don't think that's why I do it. Maybe deep down I like throwing away that money because I know I can. On some level, I don't ever believe that things will get so bad for me that I can't get my lattes. Meanwhile, the truth is that considering my financial goals, I really should not be buying coffee. But when I do, the world/my finances does not actually come to an end. And that makes me feel better about my world/finances overall.

I don't know what the reason is, but I don't think I will ever stop with the lattes. If you ever want to grab a cup, just let me know. I can't resist.

Help!

My husband recently got an offer to work for a great Fortune 500 company after he graduates from B-school. He received the phone call with the offer last Friday. Consequently, the last 6 days have been full of excited late-night talks discussing our plans for next year, the upcoming years, and our future endeavors.

The last two years have been full of mostly exciting but also some challenging times in our relationship while he was going to school and I was working. There was so much hard work that has led to this final, great announcement. He has spent countless late nights at the school studying, we have given up weekends so he could prepare for assignments and we have spent hours doing mock interviews together as he prepared for presentations and/or interviews.
We are not sure which location he will be working at. It could be anywhere in the US, however, he will most likely be working in Fairfax, VA or Houston, TX. This, however, puts me in an interesting predicament…

I have been working the last two years while he is in grad school. Although I don’t know if I will stay with my currently company forever, it has given me great resume-building experience, and excellent business-to-business understanding. So, now that we know that we won’t be staying in Pittsburgh past the summer I find myself in a quandary. I can either A) Let my boss know now that we are leaving this summer or I can B) Wait to tell him.

The pros with letting him know now are that when I do eventually leave the company I will leave with a stronger relationship and he will likely appreciate my honesty with him. Also, depending upon where my husband is transferred I may have the opportunity to transfer to a different regional location within the same company.

There are also a few cons associated with letting them know now what I plan to do. The main one being that I will likely be given less accounts to work with in the future. I am in a sales position where the relationship I have with my clients is crucial to generating revenue for the company. I would assume that if he knew I were just going to leave in 8 months he would cease to give me new business and allow a different Account Manager to handle the new customers.
This means less commissions and revenue for me and basically my current salary has no opportunity to grow. Also, the company I work for is a bit cut-throat. I know that in the past, salespeople who have left have tried to give two weeks notice but they were told they had to leave that day – they were not allowed two weeks. So, my fear is that I tell my boss now that I am planning to leave and I am then ostracized within the office.

However, I continue to have this nagging feeling that if I don’t let him know of our departure this summer that I am somehow behaving immorally or dishonestly and I hate that feeling! Has anyone dealt with this situation before? If so, how did you handle this? Reversely, has anyone ever been in the employer’s position and had an employee break this kind of news?? This would be a great time for an “interactive blog”! I would love any and all advice/feedback.

Everything Old is New Again

My mom always taught me that a girl should make a show-stopping entrance.  

In her pre-mommy years, she went to F.I.T., created the dresses she wore to Studio 54, sketched designs, worked in the garment district, traveled to Europe and bought fabrics and patterns.  So she taught me everything I know about sequins and feathers and riding boots and white linen....

Whenever I have someplace to go, like someplace real to go, an event, an opening- my mom and I make a special shopping trip.  We seek out the dress, then the shoes, the accessory.  Sometimes it starts with a pair of earrings that we are instantly obsessed with and we go from there.  I like to remember my mother during these trips- the way she will hold the earrings up to my ear and then pick dress after dress off the rack and hold it up to me and squint and say something like, "This would work but you'll have to put your hair up- like really dramatic."  And I try to picture her vision.  We spend hours doing this.  It feels like by the end we'll have a masterpiece.      

This past Friday I got an email from my coworker that her daughter had a formal sweet sixteen to go to and she had nothing to wear.  She wanted advice.  I said, "Let's go shopping!"  Without skipping a beat.  

Her daughter is 16 years old and very tall, but super dainty and girly.  She's got perfect skin and naturally rosy cheeks-- never wears makeup-- didn't know what "macks" is (I had mentioned MAC makeup).  She runs track and wears retro, knit winter hats and always has a tiny leather purse that resembles an animal.  

When Daughter met us after work on Friday she was carrying a blowfish purse that held her chapstick.  How cute!  Just looking at her makes me think of homecoming and the fall musical.  

I made our first stop French Connection.  Daughter was giddy instantly.  I don't really know what the kids are into these days but she gravitated toward the old-fashioned styles- dresses with bows-- nothing strapless.  Very sweet.  She tried on about 10 dresses and when she came out to show us the last one she had a huge smile on her face.  We asked her what she thought.  She said, "Oh my God I love it.  It's so ME."  And as she did in each dress she tried on, she did a little dance so she could see what she would actually look like at the party.

We left there and headed up 5th Ave.  We were thinking about shoes and somehow got sucked into H&M (I hate that place! Especially in the middle of tourist central!).  We wandered through all three floors and then I found, hidden on a table of skinny jeans, a headband made entirely of black feathers.  It was the detail my mom would have insisted upon.  I showed Daughter how to wear it and when she looked in the mirror her face lit up.

OMG pampering the teenage daughter was becoming addictive.  So I suggested we go to the MAC counter at Henri Bendel.  It was like I was speaking a different language.  

Daughter could not stop blinking as the dressed-in-all-black makeup artist was applying the smoky mocha eyeliner.  I dont' think Daughter knew what to do with herself.  When she was handed a mirror she didn't say a word and then finally said, "It's so shocking..."  Mom bought the eyeliner and the mascara.  By the end of the night Daughter was talking a million miles a minute.

And from what I understand, the sweet sixteen was a huge success.  

I parted ways with them to have a gloriously uneventful weekend that involved watching Practical Magic (a present from Girl Friday yay!) and reading this month's Lucky mag, with Keri Russell on the cover.  On the last page (picture posted) I saw the dress we had just got for Daughter!  I officially felt like the cool Aunt. 

I'm ending this post with a list of the songs from my most recent playlist, which help get me in the mood to wear feathers in my hair, sequins on my scarf, fake mink on my earmuffs and red-red lipstick:

Honey Pie by the Beatles

Remember Me by Diana Ross

Southern Nights by Glen Campbell

Everything Old is New Again by Peter Allen

   

  

Pla.tonic

Adj. [usually] designating or of a relationship, or love, between a man and a woman that is purely spiritual or intellectual and without sexuality.

When I checked cnn.com today, I should have been paying attention to the various headlines. But instead I was drawn to an article today entitled “seven signs you have a work spouse.” It was helpful information for those of you out there with workplace crushes, but I found myself unable to get past the question—why is it any of their coworker’s business??

Perhaps it is my own tendency to form close personal platonic relationships with guys that makes me particularly sensitive to the topic. When I was in graduate school, I had a good friend who I used to chat with each day in the lobby while reading for classes and checking my email. Ever the slave to routine, I would park myself in the lobby each day, set up my computer, and he would tend to stop by between classes and do the same. There was no kissing involved. No late night trysts. Just football, conversation, confidences, and a relationship that didn’t carry the baggage of “I wonder what he’s thinking?” or “Does he want to date me?” Perfectly platonic. Funny, thing is, all of his classmates assumed that we were dating. If you think rumors spread like wildfire on Gossip Girl and the halls of high school, you should try graduate school.

Or even worse, law school—it happened to me again there. Only that time, folks didn’t have the courtesy to ask me to my face if my best guy friend and I were dating. They just assumed. So much so that I think most girls who were interested stayed away, even though they would quickly have learned that we just lived near each other. I had a long distance boyfriend I was very much in love with, and that friendship—innocent. Although I guess I can’t blame them for assuming, yet again. When my friend’s ex-boyfriend had the good sense to ask me what was going on, he still didn’t believe me. It was bad enough that when my fiancé, my best friend, and I showed up at a birthday party for a mutual friend of ours after graduation, some of my former classmates had the gall to sit there and question my best friend to his face when we’d broken up. We would have had to date to break up. . .

I think we know the definition of platonic love, and believe in the concept, but have trouble understanding and believing in its existence. Whether it be rooted in jealousy or unhealthy curiosity, we find ourselves scrutinizing nearly every relationship between two people of opposite sexes to determine the dynamics at play. Does he want to date her but she’s not interested? Is it the reverse? Is one of them married/engaged/dating? Is the other trying to break them up? Are they having *gasp* an affair? Perhaps it was Harry’s declaration to Sally that a man and woman can never be friends. Or maybe it is that, as a culture, we are so infatuated with gossip and drama that we find ourselves reading deeply into honest acts of friendship and kindness and assuming there is more there than friendship. Even though we all know what happens when you assume things. . .

But even for all of my own frustrating experiences, when I came home today, mentioned the article to my fiancé, and found out that his female work friend had suggestively sent him the article, I found myself just as jealous, just as curious about their relationship. I found myself curious as to whether her intentions were pure, or if she views their friendship as innocently as he does. When he told me that his response to her sending the article was to jokingly ask if he needed to buy her a ring, I actually got angry. First at him—then at myself. The logical, rational, and intellectual part of my brain knows that I have nothing to fear. I know that his relationship with her is very much the same as my past and current friendships with my close guy friends. I value the honesty, the willingness to cut past all the bullshit of female relationships and tell me straight to my face when I am thinking with girl-logic or craziness that comes from the lack of a Y chromosome. I am grateful for the times when I’ve been so livid with my fiancé, but my guy friends have helped me see things from a guy’s point of view—helped me accept all the changes that come with moving in together, starting a life together. My own relationships with guys have made me be a better companion, and will make me a better wife. None of those things would be possible for me without the insight of platonic friends who are there to carry you through life. Whose friendship and love means the world to you, but whose lust you have never craved nor would you ever want.

I know all these things, but I was still jealous. . . I guess I’m human.

Lynx Cats, GRRRRR.

My college soccer team is going to the NCAA tournament. For the first time since 1990-ish. Getting into the NCAA tournament in women’s college soccer is a lot like March Madness in basketball. Teams make it based on winning their conference and then there are a number of at-large bids. Well, this year we won the conference. (I say we, but frankly other than the check I sent for $25, I didn’t have anything to do with it). We beat teams we haven’t beaten since the 40s (well probably not the 40s since women’s sports mostly didn’t even exist then, but it might as well have been the 40s). We finished the season 14-4-1, which is pretty amazing.

When I was a wee little GirlMonday soccer player, I played on a boys team. When you grow up in the south in the 80s, if you want to play soccer, you play with boys. I played competitively with girls in middle school and high school, but there still weren’t a lot of teams around. We won our share of tournaments and games, but when we would travel to places like Ohio and Texas we would, well, to put it lightly, get our asses handed to us. When I was in high school I was the star player. Which was nice, except for the fact that over two-thirds of the team was comprised of new girls we recruited every year. I remember losing a game by 12 goals my junior year. We never made the division playoffs (which just required that you be above .500), but it didn’t really bother me that much because I really liked the girls I played with. They were good sports about losing, tried really hard, and always made playing fun.

My senior year of high school I tore all of the ligaments in my left ankle during summer practice and missed all but the last two games. It was heartbreaking. I had been playing since I was 5. So I made the decision to attend a college with just as much soccer history as academic rigor (that would let me in). They were ranked 17th in the nation the year before I got there, and finished 18th the year before that. I wanted to win, so I went to a place that won.

For the first year I was there, we were okay, winning 13 games, but missing out on the tournament (by a mile). But the last three years we won a combined 18 games. We were terrible and we knew it. We had no team chemistry, fought with each other all the time, hated our coach, and couldn’t seem to put together a complete game. I loved college, I loved playing soccer in college, but I spent the majority of four years wishing I wasn’t hurt, wishing I was friends with my teammates, and most of all wishing we would win a game once in awhile.

So this is hard for me. I am so happy for these girls (whom I know nothing about other than I was once in their place), but at the same time it just makes me sad. Their coach sends weekly updates, getting everyone involved in sending the team care packages, inspiring letters from alumni, and homemade dinners on the road. I just wish I’d had the same experience that I hear they’re having – late night games of cards, lots of inside jokes, dinners at parents’ houses on the road, and win after win. All of it coming easily.

But I guess someday someone will tell them about the teams of 1997-2001 and they’ll wish they had our experiences instead: eating at Subway or Luby’s (any Luby’s fans out there??) every weekend day for four years, spending nine hour bus rides not speaking a word, and losing games they once led 4-0.

In the meantime, while I wait, I’ll have a six inch turkey on wheat.

Hailing a Cab

I was recently watching an old episode of “Sex and the City”, one of my all-time favorite past times, when the characters briefly brought up an issue I find very interesting. Charlotte (the brunette, preppy one) was going on and on about how happy she was that she finally found “the one” (Trey, with whom things did not end up going so swimmingly). Miranda (the redhead, cynical one) rebutted Charlotte with something along the lines of, “he’s not the one; this is not fate—his light was on”. She described this theory about men being like cabs. They go around, living their lives, having dalliances with different women over and over again. Then one day, they decide that they are ready to get married, have children and settle down. Their light goes on. The next woman such a guy dates is the one he will marry.

This theory brings up many relevant relationship issues—soul mates, fate, timing. I think most of us grow up with the idealized version of ever after. We look for love. We look for that special person who is right for us. We want it to feel like it’s meant to be. So the idea that someone would make the decision to get married because the time is right for him to be married, not because of the person he is with, is somewhat unnerving. Even if you don’t believe in soul mates, if you think there are several people you could be happy with for the rest of your life, you probably don’t think you could be happy with any old person. Are there men out there that think it’s essentially irrelevant who the particular person they decide to make a life with is (assuming they meet some base level requirements)?

On the one hand, I don’t think this is a framework I personally could ever agree with. On the other, I wonder how different such a strategy is from something like arranged marriage, which under certain circumstances I am a strong supporter of. In a way, maybe a man behaving as a cab has the right idea. After all, if you are the kind of person who thinks you should “live a little” in your twenties, it makes sense to impose a certain, future time when you are ready to commit to ending the fun. Or, if you are the sort of person who knows you are your best self in a steady relationship, it would make sense to lock it all down at a young age. In that case, you would know that you could meet someone you would be more compatible with later, but if you are ready to build your marital home, who’s to say it’s wrong to go ahead and do so? Same with breaking up with a good partner when you’re 19 solely because everyone tells you that you are too young to be “so serious”. In our society, we don’t criticize that kind of thing. And is what these cab-men do so different from the girls who just really want to be married by 22?

So, maybe I think- to each his or her own. I know I would have a hard time being with someone who is not with me because he feels we were meant to be together. But does it really matter? After all, it isn’t that head-over-heels magic that will sustain our relationship through the years—it’s familial love, respect and commitment. Which, I suppose, can come out of various courtship scenarios. Here’s hoping that you have found or will find the path that works for you.

Tech-Savvy Generation

Sorry that this is posted is so late in the day. My husband left earlier this week for a job interview, took our laptop with him, and I didn’t even realize until late last night that my post was on the computer he had, and because he had the computer I also didn’t have internet access….so I had to wait until I got to the office (I had meetings in Eastern PA this morning). End result: Sorry for the late blog.

So, today is my brother Beau’s 13th birthday. And, as I was trying to figure out what a 13-year old boy might be interested in it got me to thinking how things have changed since I was thirteen. The reality is that things aren’t all that different and is hasn’t been all that long since I was a tall, skinny, awkward junior-highschooler. Primarily there is one area where things are different: technology.

Let me take a step back and explain my family situation. I am the oldest of 10 children. Yes, t-e-n. Ages and names are as follows: Rich-22, Megan-19, Erica-16, Derek-14, Beau-13, Luke-9, Jake-5, Emma & Anya (twins)-2. It was crazy growing up (it is all different now, but when I was in high school there were 10 people in the same house and we only had one bathroom!). So, having a huge family basically means that we have a birthday almost every single month. I usually don’t have a hard time finding what to get for my siblings…but 13 is a tough age, especially for a boy.

As I started thinking about the kinds of things I wanted when I was his age, I realized that I was really into clothes, cd’s, and lip gloss. I asked my older brother, Rich, what kind of things he was into at that age, and he remembered wanting cd’s, videogames, and sports gear. But, what really surprises me is that the things that Beau is asking for are things like an upgraded cell phone, ipod touch, and a new motorcycle/dirt bike. I still can’t get over the fact that my 13-year brother has his own cell phone (and probably my 9-year old brother will be getting one soon)! I didn’t have my own cell phone until I left for college and I was paying for it myself!! Now don’t get me wrong, my siblings aren’t very spoiled, and they usually have to work for the nicer things they get, but the things they are asking for seem so different.

The funny thing is that it seems as though I missed this young-technology era only by a couple years. When I was in junior high, the cool thing was to write notes in all kinds of pastel-colored pens, fold them up in quirky ways, and pass them during breaks. Now, the primary way to communicate with people in your grade is to text them. I still get a kick out of the fact that my brothers will text girls all day long, but they are too shy to actually talk to the girls. It is almost as if the craze with texting has left our younger generations a bit socially inept.

In many ways it is a great thing that technology is being utilized at a younger age. The learning curve will be much gentler when they are required to use technology in school, new ideas and advancements will likely be created due to younger minds being trained in this area. However, I miss the days when have a blast meant climbing the tree house in your backyard cherry tree, playing tetherball with the neighbors was so cool, and summers were filled with climbing sand dunes and jumping in canals.

So, in lieu of my cell-phone-free youth, I ultimately decided upon getting my brother a Cabelas gift card. My dad is going to take him on a hunting trip this month and I figured he could buy a nice hunting knife or a vest to wear while he is out. Although it may not be the tech-savvy gift he had wanted, I think it is something he will create a memory from and will be able to enjoy for many years. He may not understand my rationale now, but maybe if I show him this blog in a few years he will get a kick out of it.

Broadcast News

You know...  Ugh.  Sigh.  I was going to say that my super annoying day started when I rolled out of bed and logged onto Facebook and saw that almost all of my "friends" proclaimed they had donated their status to the Obama campaign.  I was going to say that but then I realized this has been going on much longer than today, and this issue is much bigger than Facebook etiquette.

The friends who donated status updates to Mr. Obama works at the major-media company I currently work at and/or the major-media company I worked at previously.  And when I say "media," I am specifically talking about the news.   

This fact should upset you if you watch, read, or hear the news.

I work in the news.  I went to graduate school to study the news.  But I never felt that someone needs to have a shiny degree in order to know right from wrong.  

I also happen to believe that personal politics are... hmm, I dunno... personal?  So while it always rubbed me the wrong way when a professor would unload his proclivities on the classroom as if they were fact, at the blue-state, private graduate school I attended, I took the preaching a little more in stride since there was always the underlying lesson that personal politics had absolutely no place in the newsroom.    

This was the single-most emphasized point that was taught at grad school.  The professors painted a sacred newsroom where all ideas were discussed.  And I really liked this magical place... 

And then I woke up.

And then I interned at a hit TV news show where the seniors cheered when a Democrat won an election.  Where I actually heard a producer say, "you're an idiot if you voted for Bush."  And then I worked at a Northeast bureau breaking news desk where similar scenarios played out.  And then I worked on a network news website that was intended for classroom use (yes- intended to mold the minds of America's youth), where marketing executives would blatantly try to cut Republican personalities from our content and where ridiculing Republicans seemed as acceptable a sport as Scientology-bashing and terrorist-hating.

And then I woke up and opened Facebook and nearly every single news person I know is publicly donating their viral powers to a political party.  I'm talking about bureau chiefs and producers and rights and clearances people and editors and former journalism classmates and even deans at the journalism school.

And then I went to work and I actually saw people wearing Obama pins.  And in one of the hallways someone had taped up that Economist cover featuring Mr. Obama and the text:  "It's time". 

Shame on all of you who work in the news and engage in this type of alienating behavior, this behavior that hinders robust discussion of the issues.  Shame on you.  If you are so passionate and educated about policy and politics, what are you doing working in what should be an objective industry?  Go run for office.  

  

 

And you know what? I had a really crappy day.  

   

  

    

       

Enlightened Statesmen

I do not like politics. I promise that this will be the one and only time I broach the subject, but I figured that since Election Tuesday is Girl Tuesday’s exclusive jurisdication, I might as well subject you to my two cents.

Let me begin by saying that it is not that I dislike ALL politics—it is that I dislike modern politics—the cult of personality that Girl Friday pointed out last week. The truth of the matter is, I dislike modern political parties and election campaigns because I idolize our founding fathers. The Federalist Papers is one of my two favorite books (or serial publications, if you want to be painstakingly correct. As a side note, my other favorite is equally lame, but that is a subject for another day). I am your typical political science geek. I find Locke, Rousseau, and Machiavelli fascinating; and I am inspired by the fact that Hamilton, Madison, and Jay were able to build upon these great enlightenment foundations and articulate to the constitutional convention the arguments for the great American experiment. I don’t want to vote for career politicians, or support the political machinery. I don’t feel particularly strong allegiances to my political parties, and I would rather engage in intellectual debate on the issues than subject myself to two minute sound bites from the candidates hammering away their three or four talking points for that particular engagement.

I detest the lying; I can’t stand the calculating. I long for leaders who act as gentlemen. I don’t want a President I can have a beer with, I want a President who is smarter, more courageous, and more principled than I could ever be. I want a President who is strong in his convictions but gentle in his guidance. I want a President who harbors the same level of respect for the American Experience—who recognizes that if men were angels, they wouldn’t need Government.

And I can honestly say, writing this at 11 pm on Monday night, that I am still undecided. I’ve been joking all fall that I wanted to write in George Washington, because neither candidate satisfies my personal criteria of what it should take to assume the role that our Founders so carefully crafted to lead the Executive Branch of Government. I note, as well, that it was to lead the Executive Branch, not to lead our entire nation, or to lead the free world. Perhaps there is an argument to be made that the nature of governance has changed enough since 1783 that we should remake the Presidency in a modern image. But right now, sitting and staring at a blank television that I shut off to block out the final barrage of advertisements, I still don’t know who I am going to vote for. Because neither candidate seems to be quite what my friend Publius had in mind.

Daddies

This has been a difficult week for me (and a very difficult last 11 months for a dear, dear friend of mine). I have written several blogs for use in just this case, when words don’t come so easily or when life prevents putting pen to paper in time for Monday morning. But on days like this, a trivial, frivolous blog seems just that . . . trivial.

And so here I sit, words not really coming because hearts are so heavy. So I’ll write some words of advice and then go on about my day.

Go tell your daddy that you love him. If you don’t have a daddy, or aren’t close, tell your momma (or tell her anyway!). Remind yourself that life changes in an instant, one second you’re eating Thanksgiving dinner with the ones you love, the next minute you’re coordinating hospice care and preparing wills. Just like that.

I don’t know what it is about fathers and daughters. If you’re anything like me, you have one of the strongest bonds in the world. I have an amazing DaddyMonday (PH to those of you who know him!) who would do anything in the world, not only for me, but for just about anyone else.

Someday I’ll write about how wonderful he is, but not today. Today I just want to send you off into your work week with this advice: Tell the ones you love that you love them. Show them you love them. And do this every day, for tomorrow they could be gone.

Hey Celebs, Shut the Hell Up

Only a few days remain until the next presidential election. That's right- I'm going there. But don't worry, I don't want to preach my perspective or even talk policy. What's funny about that, is that if anyone should be conducting a dialogue about politics, it's probably someone like me. I have an advanced degree in public policy (as do several members of this blog) and I'm also not prone to yelling at or judging people. So I think I could do it and keep it classy. Despite my lack of ignorance and my general calm regarding politics, I don't think I know everything. I don't assume I know more or that I'm on a higher moral ground than anyone I'm talking to. Unfortunately, a lot of people do. And very unfortunately, a lot of people who are famous because they are pretty or can entertain people (or not) think that despite the fact that they probably haven't gone to college, they are equipped and empowered to lecture the American electorate. Which is a low down dirty shame.

The greatest celebrity endorsement this year has been by the great Opraaaaaaah Wiiiiiiiiinfrey! (As she herself would say it.) I know Miss O has given a massive amount of money to charity, which I can appreciate. I think an even more significant achievement of hers is the way she has used her talk show to bring so many relevant topics into America's consciousness. I think she has really broken down barriers, and I applaud her for it. But she's starting to get a little nutty. She brought Michael Moore on her show to discuss 'Sicko', and lauded him, stressed the fundamental right of all Americans to have free health care. Clearly, Oprah is implying that you are some sort of fascist bastard if you disagree with her. I'm sorry, Ms. Winfrey, but life is a little more complicated than that. I don't think it's right for a celebrity to endorse a candidate, but maybe I would give some leeway to a famous person who clearly respects and intellectually appreciates different points of view. Oprah is not that person. And considering her incredible influence, I find it really irresponsible of her. Plus, it's easier to support a redistribution of wealth when you have as much money as she does. That bitch should walk in my shoes.

She is not the only one stumping, but she is one of the most egregious offenders. It speaks not so well of our society that we care what Ben Affleck, Barbara Streisand, Chuck Norris and Bruce Willis think about politics. There are people who can be convinced to follow a candidate based on the power of celebrity suggestion. As much as I don't understand why that is, I understand less why all these of these celebs are so righteous that they will appear on Larry King and Bill O'Reilly, spouting off whatever their party's press release tells them to. I guess being a celebrity gives a person a false sense of confidence. I only wish the American voter was as confident in his and her own beliefs.

Marathon!

I am running a marathon in Memphis four weeks. In lieu of this event, I started thinking about the last marathon I ran about 16 months ago. It is a pretty funny/interesting story that I thought I would share…

I qualified for the marathon at the NAIA National Track & Field competition in Fresno, CA during the last semester of my senior year of undergrad. There were six athletes from my team who qualified (in different events), and we arrived in Fresno, CA on a Tuesday evening and my race was at 6am on Saturday. It was nice getting there early, because I was able to spend a few days preparing for finals (which were the next week), adjusting to the heat, and getting used to waking up so early!

All week I had been hydrating really well. My coach was having us alternate watered-down Pedialyte, Gatorade, and lots of water. It was so incredibly hot in Fresno – averaging about 99 degrees each day.

On race day, I had to wake up at 4am in order to eat and get ready for the race. Finally, we got to the track and I had to go through some funny routines to prepare for the race. I had to make sure I had lots of Vaseline on my ankles, armpits, thighs, and chest so that nothing would chafe and hurt during the race. I also wore a visor so that during the race I could pore water on my head and not have it drip into my eyes.

My goal was to run 3 hours and 20 minutes, which I thought was a fairly realistic goal. However, I was a bit nervous, because the longest run I had done in my training was only 2 hours and 30 minutes. Up until about 3-4 weeks before the race, I was actually training more for 10k/half marathon distance, and was only going for 90-100 minute long runs each week. I had done three long runs over 2 hours, but that was it.

There were 39 girls and over 40 guys who had qualified, and we all started together on the track. The race began with 2 and 1/8 laps on the track, which was nice because we were able to pace ourselves with the 800m distance. The first 16 miles of the race felt great! I was running really consistent 7:20 miles (give or take a few seconds) and felt really strong all the way up to mile 18. Then, it got significantly harder. My body was getting depleted of its glycogen storage, and my legs were definitely feeling it. My coach was on the course, and every 40 minutes or so was giving me a PowerBar Gel packet, as well as Gatorade, and towards the end of the race, had me drink watered-down, flat Coke to increase my blood sugar levels. Miles 20-24 were significantly slower, and in hindsight, I probably should have gone out about 5-8 seconds slower per mile in the first half so I wouldn't have gone into oxygen debt so bad during these miles.

Nobody had warned me of this (and apparently it is quite common) but I started to go crazy during the race! I had to start talking to myself in order to stay sane. It makes sense, if you think about it, when your body gets depleted of glycogen, so does your brain, and it starts acting funny. I kept imagining and hearing people behind me, and then I would turn around and absolutely nobody would be there. Or, I would imagine that my feet were really swollen and I would look down and they would be completely normal. I had to keep talking to myself on the long stretches where I was completely by myself. I kept saying, "Come on Natalie, you can do this. Believe in yourself. You are Natalie Hatch. You are great…" etc etc. Remember, this was not a normal road race with lots of runners. Only those who qualified and were on a collegiate team could compete, so by the end the runners were really strung out from each other (and almost 20% of the girls dropped out at some point during the race). We also were not allowed to listen to any form of music during the race, so on those long stretches all by yourself, you could get pretty lonely out there.

Finally, in the last mile, I saw the girl ahead of me and she was walking! I couldn't believe it. It really motivated me to pick up my pace, because there was no way I was going to let somebody beat me who had walked. My last mile was a 7:40, and my last 400 meters on the track was at a 6:00 pace. When I was trying to pass that last girl, I remember thinking I had to do something to motivate myself, so (remember, I had been running fast for over 3 hours now and was going a little crazy) I started singing the “Chariots of Fire” theme song to myself in my head as I passed her. It worked! Although, in hindsight, realize I was probably going a little nuts at that point.

I crossed the finish line and burst into tears…only for a second though…because then I had to catch my breath. I had finished in 3 hours 24 minutes and 21 seconds…only 4 minutes slower than my goal. Physically, it was probably the hardest thing I had ever done. However, it's hard to explain the feeling of accomplishment that is felt afterwards. I looked over and saw my coach and teammates standing on the side of the track, and they were so proud. It was really an awesome experience. Immediately, my coach got me out of the sun and changed into some dry clothes. I could hardly move! He had to untie my shoes for me because I couldn't even reach over that far. Compared to most of the other runners, I was in pretty good shape (many had collapsed on the finish line), but I was soo sore. My hip flexors felt like they had been through a meat grinder, and were sore just to even touch. For the next 3-4 days, I looked like a 90-year old woman limping/walking around.

Although I could barely move for the next week (I had to actually physically lift my left legs up with my hands when I got up or got into a car), and from miles 20-24 I thought I was going crazy, I am so happy that I ran that marathon, and finished so strongly. I learned a LOT and am really excited to run my next one. I have been training with longer long runs and I think that with these extra miles added to my training it will really help with those hard miles at the end.

The next four weeks will be full of hard training and a lot of miles, but I can't wait for that sixty seconds immediately following the race when you are full of the greatest sense of pride knowing you just pushed your body to its absolute limit, completed something most people could not do, and achieved the goals you had set for yourself.

To-Do

Driving home from the Midwest and watching my team play football this weekend I pulled out the old atlas my fiancé keeps in the back pocket of his passenger seat in an attempt settle a debate we were having about the longest east-west interstate (we think it’s either I-80 or I-90, by the way), and I found myself flipping through the pages of the big book of maps longingly. I consider myself relatively well-traveled when it comes to the East Coast. I’ve been up and down I-95 more times than I care to recall. I spent countless summers on a lake in Maine; I spent a handful of Christmases driving down to South Carolina; and I think I traveled to almost every swimming pool throughout the Middle Atlantic region for swim meets and water polo tournaments. I’ve done some more of my own traveling during college and grad school, visiting friends, prospective employers, casinos, and basketball arenas. But in the grand scheme of things, I haven’t really gone that many places. I spent time studying abroad in Switzerland, and I’ve visited my friend’s mountain home in Montana. I’ve been to LA, Palo Alto, and Santa Monica, and I’ve been to all the states bordering the Great Lakes. I’ve been to the Bahamas once, and we’re going to St. Lucia for our honeymoon; but there are so many, many things that I would like to see and do. Sitting in his passenger seat, I found myself fixating on the map of California and the miles and miles of the pacific coast highway, and wishing we had the time to put everything aside for a little while and travel. Perhaps not the same way girl Wednesday did it, but to take the time without any real deadline or set destination to just drive and enjoy ourselves. To eat BBQ in Nashville, drink hurricanes in New Orleans, watch a rodeo in Texas, sip Mojitos in Miami, hike the AT in Katahdin, go for a walk in the rain in Seattle, sit in a hot tub in Tahoe, and watch the sunset in San Diego.
So in an effort to make our goals real, I thought I’d steal the idea from G-Mon’y and use my blog this week to make a list. A bucket list of travels, if you will; a list of all the places we’d like to go as we start out on our journey through life together. So with further ado, here are a few to start, in no particular order:

1. Drive the Pacific Coast Highway from San Francisco to San Diego in a Convertible.
2. Play a round of golf at St. Andrew’s, Carnoustie, and Muirfield.
3. See a moose, a whale, an eagle, and a grizzly bear in Alaska.
4. Drive a high performance German sports car on the Autobahn (and perhaps even hit 200 mph, or whatever the Kmh equivalent would be).
5. See the Great Pyramid.
6. Hike the Lauterbrunnen Valley from Grindewald to Murren.
7. Drink wine in Tuscany.
8. Scuba dive on the Great Barrier Reef.
9. Hike the Inca Trail.
10. Drive cross country.
11. Visit Hawaii.
12. Sleep in an overwater bungalow in Bora Bora.
13. Go on an African Safari.
14. See the tulips in the Netherlands.
15. Attend lessons & carols in Kings College England.
16. See the Globe Theater.
17. Go whitewater rafting on the Colorado and Arkansas Rivers.
18. Visit The World in Dubai
19. Go sailing in the Greek Isles.
20. Go leaf peeping in New England in Fall.
21. Watch baseball at Fenway and Wrigley Field.
22. Go to the Rosebowl.
23. Attend an Army-Navy game.
24. Bungee Jump from the New River Gorge Bridge.
25. Compete in the Escape from Alcatraz Triathalon.
26. Take a ride in a fighter jet.
27. Go horseback riding in New Zealand.
28. Take a hot air balloon right at the Albuquerque Balloon Festival.
29. Drive the Redwoods in California
30. Visit Tibet.
31. Have a picnic in Napa Valley.
32. Drink champagne in the Champagne region of France.
33. Rent a villa on Lake Cuomo, Italy.
34. Go to the top of the Eifel Tower.
35. Visit all 50 states before we die.
36. Watch the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace.
37. Attend a round of the Masters.
38. Ride a burrow down the Grand Canyon.
39. Find the best Clam Chowder along the coast from Connecticut to Maine.
40. Go scuba diving in Belize.
41. Visit Tokyo and Hong Kong.
42. See the Kremlin.
43. Drink beer at Oktoberfest in Munich.
44. Go to Ireland
45. Have Key Lime Pie in the Florida Keys.
46. Rent Fisherman’s Island in Maine for a week.
47. See Glacier National Park before the Glaciers melt away.
48. Visit Schloss Neuschwanstein.
49. Drive Skyline Drive.
50. Actually stop at South of the Border in South Carolina. Pedro wants you to.

Dear TLC: Pick Me! Pick Me!

I’m not really sure how one goes about getting on one of your designer home make-over shows. I guess I could probably do a little internet research and find out, whether it’s submit an application or bribe one of my friends into nominating me, but either way, I need help. And fast.

The issue isn’t that I’m a single mother of seven, one of whom has Down’s Syndrome, who just lost a husband in Iraq and I need a new 19,000 square foot house with a terrarium. Sorry, I know that lessens my chances. Nor is it that I’m selling my home but haven’t gotten a bite in six months because of brass light fixtures, paisley wallpaper, avocado green appliances, and a major rat problem, and I need you and your staff to come in, spend $100 and sell my place in four hours. Nope, not that either. My problem is just the kitchen. It’s a mess. And not just a regular mess, an absolute disaster.

Let’s start with a little background. I started out with only the idea of ripping up the carpet in my house and installing hardwood floors. Well, unbeknownst to me, none of the floors in the house are the least bit level. It’s hard to install floors on humps and bumps. Trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve made it as far as the wall between the kitchen and the living room, but haven’t moved past there in at least a year. The linoleum that I pulled up in the kitchen covered another layer of linoleum (think faux brick! Like an indoor-outdoor-indoor patio!) that was stapled to pressboard that was glued to the subfloor. Long story short, I had to replace the subfloor, which is still uneven.

So my kitchen consists of uneven, squeaky subfloors (the dog won’t go past the refrigerator because the next step there causes the floor to creak and groan and give, which totally freaks her out) covered in glue bits. I have a 20+ year old black dishwasher, a white fridge that emits a shrill, high pitched noise about twice an hour, and an abnormally colored almond stove (which seemed fine when I bought it for 50% because of the color and the huge dent in the side) that sits about a third of the way out in the middle of the floor because of some random pipe that runs up the wall behind it.

Those things, though, are definitely the least of my worries. My biggest challenge is that I don’t do dishes. Not sure exactly why, perhaps it’s that when dinner is over, I really want it to be over. So I let them pile, and pile, and pile. I don’t even really do much to rinse them off. Disgusting, I know, but I can’t help it. I really can’t. I’ll let them pile up for a week or two until I’m eating cereal with a fork I just washed and having to Febreeze them because of the stink. And then I’ll give in and pile them all into the dishwasher (remember, circa 1985) and expect it to perform a miracle. Unfortunately, the only thing the dishwasher is good at is losing the tops and bottoms of my Tupperware. There’s so much made about how washers and dryers lose socks, but I think the real travesty in this country is the lids lost in Dishwasher Land. A sad, sad place. I have lots of tops that have a 6 on them, but no bottoms, a Cool Whip top (which genetics dictate that I always keep and reuse) but no bottom. Something that says Deli Select Turkey on the lid (which I swear I cannot remember buying) but also, no red bottom. 47 pieces of Tupperware, Rubbermaid, Gladware, and Cool Whip products and only nine complete sets. NINE. Where is all of this stuff going? What am I doing wrong?

So to conclude this informal application, TLC pick me please. Make my appliances match, make them quiet, make my floor even and not sticky, and send me some Tupperware where the tops are attached by leashes to the bottom, and teach me how to do dishes. Please!

Like a Rolling Stone

Today I am hoping our blog will go interactive.

Earlier this week, my best friend, Girl Wednesday, made a brief comment about rethinking the city in which she lives. In other words, she is considering whether she should consider moving. I couldn't help but think, "Move here! Live next door to me! We'll do yoga and attend PTA and see the newest Reese Witherspoon movies and commiserate about the weather and life will be soooo wonderful!"

Now, I would plead my case to GW in earnest if it weren't for the fact that my husband and I are planning on moving ourselves. We don't yet know where we will be moving to. We are from different, distant states (we now live in a third, entirely different state), and we are considering both of those places as potential destinations. We are also considering moving to the place where we met, in yet another state. Though we are open to where the opportunities take us, there is a particular region we’d prefer to end up in. But no matter where we do end up, we will certainly be hundreds of miles away from many loved ones— close friends and close family members.

I have accepted that I am living the kind of life that does not keep me in one place. It would be really nice to have stayed in my hometown, and to have continued the same friendships through the years. Even staying in the city where I went to college would have provided a sturdy, consistent social base. Yet I have moved around a lot since high school, always to the benefit of my academic and/or professional life (or my husband’s).

I have truly enjoyed living in many different cities and states. What I find most fascinating about different parts of this country is not how different they are, but how similar. However, I am hoping that my days of bouncing about are coming to an end. I want to have a home, to put down roots. But where? I can’t be everywhere. It makes me extremely sad to think that my children won’t see all of their grandparents on a weekly basis. And that I won’t be there to see all of my nieces and nephews (literal and honorary) grow up. Major and minor events will go by, and I’ll be wishing that certain people could be there. It’s easy to enough to think, “Well, that’s just the way it is.” But lately I’ve been thinking, “Is it?” There are people out there who don’t feel the need to always be leaving, who have no strong sense of wanderlust. They may want to better themselves, but they don’t think it’s necessary to go to a distant, unknown place to do so. They don’t feel the need to leave to pursue the very best opportunities. They will be successful right where they are, thank us very much. They know others, of course, in different cities who they enjoying seeing when they can. But for the most part, the people they care about are all around them.

Personally, I couldn’t have not left home. I chose to go to the best schools I could get into, do the work that interested me, and compromise to be with the person I love. And I couldn’t have come back. To be honest, most of the people I would have stayed close with from high school also left. I know there is a group from childhood that’s still around, but I really can’t picture myself within it now. I’m glad I left. I just think it stinks that through those travels, I have met awesome people who have become great friends, and I don’t see them that much. We will always be far from immediate family, but we’ve come to accept it. We hope that some of us will eventually move closer together; as for the others, we are willing to budget a lot of time and money to maintain our relationships through the years. At least “everything is so easy now—with the internet”. But it’s not the same. And in my heart of hearts, I still imagine one day GW and I, pushing our strollers side-by-side.

So what do you think, blogosphere? Did you leave the place where you came from? Do you regret it? Is this something you struggle with? Is your significant other from far away? Has that caused problems for you? How did you or will you decide where to put down roots?

Kitten Conscience

I am going to keep this blog pretty short today.

Today I am taking my two kittens into the cat clinic to get spayed. Rationally speaking, obviously, I know it is the right thing to do. But, for some reason I feel terrible doing it! I feel so guilty knowing that I am taking my kittens in to have their reproductive organs taken out! I had to take their food and water away last night around 6pm so the anesthesia doesn’t affect them during their surgery.

I had gotten these two cute kittens about 7 months ago. My husband (then fiancé) was always at his school studying and I was getting lonely. I thought the perfect solution was to get a cat to keep me company. Once I decided to get one, I realized I should probably get two so they can keep each other company during the day while I am at work and he is at school.

I found these two kittens from a true “cat lady”. I went to her home in March to pick these cats up and she told me she had 35 cats at her home! She had me sign a contract saying I would get the cats the proper shots, get them spayed, and never get them de-clawed. Two weeks later they got their next set of shots, I have no problem keeping their claws in, but I have been putting off getting them spayed.

The last two to three months I have been getting a new voicemail every other day from this cat lady. She was trying to scare me by explaining how cats go into heat and run out the front door when you walk in, they get pregnant, and then you will have to put their kittens to sleep because there are already too many cats. I have to say that I agree with her. I don’t want more unwanted animals on this planet. But, I still feel guilty doing this to them. I definitely know I wouldn’t want my reproductive organs torn out!!

I am a pretty rational person. I make rational decisions, don’t get too emotional, and try to use reason during my decision-making processes. So, I really don’t understand why I have gotten so torn about doing this for my kittens. But I have.

Regardless, I am dropping them off at 7am so I can get to work by 7:30. I will pick them up around 6:30 after I get off work and fight traffic. I know it will probably kill me to see their little tummies shaved, but I realize that it is necessary.

I apologize if this post was boring for people to read…but it has been a huge struggle for me the last few weeks and the day is finally here to have the procedure done! I am sure I have not been the only pet-owner who has ever had to deal with these worries. Maybe I will google search it and see if other people have written about it. Isn’t it weird how you can read about someone else’s struggles and it can provide a little more comfort to your worries? Writing about it has helped me feel a little better, but not much.

Zoom Zoom

Lately my life has been feeling like a car commercial.  Not like the hard-rock, Grand Canyon kind or the goofy, family-van kind.  But rather, the kind where the sedan is cruising smoothly at night, along a cityscape.  At first the music sounds like synthesized angels choiring and then the car blasts forward into the horizon and the music explodes into a strong, cascading  symphony.  

I find great comfort in these commercials.  I don't really know why.  I like the way the nighttime feels around the car.  Like the overnight train I rode from Paris to Nice- speeding in cushioned darkness.  I find comfort in the little lights of the car's console.  I like wondering what city we're driving near, and what's happening there, what's the air like there?  Sort of similar to the way I take evening city strolls- especially in the fall and winter- catching glimpses inside apartments.  It's warm inside, and people are going on with their well-lit lives- eating at the dinner table, watching late-night TV.  I feel comfortable for them.  

And then the music shoots the car along the C.G. superhighway.  And I feel like if I close my eyes, my life will drop altitude, suddenly propelling me into slow motion.  My hair whipping around my face, the night wind blowing my belongings around me as if none of it matters, as if I'm standing at some important intersection, some central moment, the deal-breaker scene in the movie about my life.  

Maybe I'm making too much of a car commercial.  I am facing some important decisions now.  I'm looking for a job, which causes me to rethink the city in which I live, the apartment for which I pay rent, everything I do.  So maybe I am making too much of everything, looking for signs, mistaking the little events for the broader ones that I couldn't possibly visualize accurately right now.  I keep thinking about daily events and decisions as if they were being retold in an "E! True Hollywood Story."  

But it's just a 30-second commercial.  And when the 30 seconds are up, I realize I'm not behind the wheel, but more like I'm hitchhiking on the side of that C.G. superhighway.  And that sleek vehicle, shooting out into the starry horizon, leaves me in the dust. 

Yesterday I saw a posting for a Sears portrait photographer and it reminded me of a now retired department store that was right near our old apartment in Queens.  We used to take the escalator up and right at the top was the stand where you could get your portraits taken before an array of paper backdrops with pastel and neon designs.  What if I walked away from city pressures and the pressures of my industry and walked into suburban Sears and filled out an application?  When I walk past the "help wanted" sign in the window of my neighborhood Urban Outfitters, I have the same thought.  Folding flannels seems like such a simpler fork in the road.

My boss admitted having these urges- when she was a producer on the road and she was checking out her rental car in a foreign city.  She said she fantasized about working at Hertz for a living.  Just type in the customer's name and hand them the keys.  You could disappear in that thought for hours.  As if working at a minimum wage job (on your feet all day, thanklessly, mindlessly, fantasizing about someone else's lifestyle) is an afternoon on the hammock.  I get it. 

It's just that sometimes it feels like all I've done for myself-- by going to grad school and fighting the late hours and low pay to stay relevant in my celebrity-studded, who-you-know industry-- is complicated things.  And by the time I get to this thought I feel very, very tired.  

So I'm going to go back to my life where my former career services advisor tells me there are "absolutely no jobs right now" and where I seriously pause to read a job listing for a department store photographer for which, I sadly realize, I am wholly under-qualified.  

My British friend once told me he is baffled by American car commercials.  He said in England, car commercials are slow-paced, and set to classical music.  How refined.

    

    

Abandoned

I’m not a very girly-girl. I wear makeup purchased from the drug store. I only wear lip-gloss on special occasions, and I actually think I own enough shoes. And I have a phobia of hairdressers. It started when my mom cut my hair super short when I was in elementary school. Boy short. So short that she had to let me pierce my ears at seven so that the women in the grocery store line would stop calling my brother and I twins. So then I decided to try and grow it out in fifth grade. It looked awful. Combined with the awkward stage and some giant glasses, I was convinced that the unruly mop on my head was the root of my unpopularity. In sixth and seventh grade, I wouldn’t let anyone touch my hair. I was trying to grow it out. Mostly, I just grew a ratty, curly, nasty, mess. Finally, I came home and had my mom cut it off and started blowdrying it straight. So then I let my mom cut my hair all through high-school. I finally found a hairdresser I liked when I was in college, but she was back home, and although I tried to coordinate my appointments while I was home, I had a few really bad haircuts in the rural Midwest town where I went to school. And then my hairdresser at home quit, and I had to start fresh, all over again. I got one really, really good haircut while I was in DC for a summer during graduate school. I tried to go back when I was home the next summer, but that stylist had left. I ended up going to a new guy who actually left my hair different lengths on the two sides. I had to go back and get him to fix it two days later.

I finally found a hairdresser when I was in my second to last year of grad school. It was the first time I’d found someone who actually remembered my name, asked how my life was going, and who seemed to enjoy catching up with me every six to eight weeks. Sure, it’s all part of the business, but it was comfortable. And it was hard to leave behind when I moved to the city.

So, imagine my surprise when I actually found a hairdresser I liked last year. I went in with very low expectations, and was incredibly impressed. I was sold after one haircut, and didn’t have to spend any great amount of time getting referrals or reading reviews on yelp.com. She was actually helping me grow my hair out. She had taught me about products. My hair is finally past my shoulders. It actually looks like the pictures I’d take with me when I got it cut. I finally felt settled. I’d moved to a new city, started my first real job, and was living in my own downtown apartment. Doctor- check. Dentist- check. Tailor- check. Hairdresser- check.

I started a new job last month and was too busy to make it in at six weeks for my normal trim. And even though I’d been putting it off, I was excited to go tell her all about the new job. And filling her in on my wedding plans. And just catching up. Sure, it was going to be inconvenient to have to go three metro stops just for a haircut, but I was willing to do it. I was willing to figure out how to fit it in during my busy work weeks, because, after all, she was my hairdresser.

But today, when I finally got around to booking an appointment, I couldn’t find her name on the drop down menu for the online scheduling system. I called the salon directly, and confirmed that she no longer worked there. I suppose it’s too much to ask for a mid-range salon to contact you and let you know that you’re leaving. I can’t blame her for not bothering. I mean, after all, it was a big city salon over the metro stop that specializes in walk-ins. But I couldn’t help feeling betrayed. You see, for some reason, all having all of these things, hairdressers, doctors, a drycleaner who actually creases your pants the way you like them, and a grocery store where the clerks are friendly and ask you how your day has been—these are the little things that make living in the city tolerable. These are the things that make me feel special, wanted, as though I belong here. But perhaps the relationship has always been a little more one-sided than I had realized.

Festivus for the Rest-of-Us

I was talking to a friend this afternoon about the blog we are all a part of (ps, just noticed that Word doesn’t even recognize the word “blog” it just put a red line under it and suggested that I might mean bog, blob, or blow. While blow may be what my entries have done the past few weeks, I actually mean blog. I’m sure a Mac would have recognized the word). Anyway, I digress……

I was explaining to my 55 year-old friend that this was an opportunity to talk about what I was thinking, feeling, etc. Anything I wanted to get off of my chest, all the while pretending that others care. Immediately she said, “you know what you can blog about? What I don’t like – the pharmacy techs at work who wear their thongs sticking out of the top of their pants. It’s nasty and unprofessional.” Obviously, the woman’s on to something. Don’t we all feel that way? Especially if your size XXL thong is topping out of your size 6 pants. Ack.

So that gave me the idea to have a week of helping others. Why not give back to the community in this time of crisis by letting them have an all-out bitch fest? So welcome to the Airing of Grievances. I gave some friends and co-workers the opportunity to go to town on what really gets under their skin. And boy did they.

I hope it made them feel better, and I hope some of it resonates with you all.

• People who drive for miles with their blinker on. Are you seriously going to turn right from the right lane on the interstate. I doubt it. Oh, and if you do, good luck.
• Co-workers, or even bosses (ahem.) who think they know it all. They have a better story for every one story you tell. Your cat’s sick? Well their cat once had polio. AND SURVIVED. Don’t tell me you really know it all. 47,983 divided by 56. The square root of 3,983. Diagram one of Palin’s sentence then, Bitch.

"It's very important when you consider even national security issues with Russia as Putin rears his head and comes into the air space of the United States of America, where-where do they go?"

• Ex-girlfriends (or more like someone you’ve only been out with three times, *snap*) who don’t understand what it means when we don’t call you back. For days at a time. Get a copy of He’s Just Not that into You. And a clue.
• People who clip their nails in public. What else is there to say? Don’t do it at your desk, three doors down so I can hear the little metal thingies go clink clink clink, don’t do it on the Metro (right GT?!), and, God forbid, don’t do it on an airplane and put the clippings into the seat back. Yuck. This goes for toes and fingers Airplane Man.
• People who waste everyone’s time with a question or a choice they don’t have ready. Don’t call my office and go, “uhh, so I uhhh, do you uhhh?” Get your shit together before you call. And to the people in front of me at the counter who get up there and look like they’ve never seen the menu before, ever. Even after standing in line for ten minutes, I’m guessing you’re not a McDonald’s virgin, so get off your phone and order already.
• Men with man boobs. (Okay so this would go more into the physical attributes that people can’t necessarily control category, but I hate them. So, whatever).
• Sickies who don’t cover their sneezes. That’s what your sleeve, shirt, kleenex combination of the above, is for. Use it. These are the same people who also don’t wash their hands after they pee (or worse, poop). One of everyone’s favorite GM stories is the time I chased a woman out of a pottie because she’d gone out without washing her hands. Mind you I was sick for the fourth time that year and obviously cranky, but I said to her “it’s people like you who make people like me sick.” Yikes. Not my finest moment, but message conveyed – check.
• Rolling suitcases and the people who don’t know how to use them. If you wouldn’t run over my feet with your car, don’t do it with your rolling suitcase. And if you can’t lift it over your head and into the bin, you can’t have it. Check it under the damn plane. I’ll pay the $25 just so I don’t have to watch you struggle.
• Public displays of phlegm. The substance and the noises. Enough said.
• Smokers who think they have the right to smoke anywhere, even in non-smoking places. Even when there’s a sign. Especially when there’s a sign. They seem pretty sure, like the rest of us, that as long as it’s not the airplane lavatory no one’s going to haul them off to jail for it. But the shared bathroom at work? Really? You can’t walk another 50 feet outside? My favorite line is when asked about it the smoker said that the sign was “for crack and stuff. Not for cigarettes.” Heh. Well, now I know.
• And last but not least, people who say irregardless. Dude, totally not a word. Oh, and DC-people, you have not been “tasked” with anything. Because task is not a verb.
I was almost done with the list when I got a message from my friend Jeremy, the last one to respond, who answered with “People who complain too much.”
So ignore everything I just said.

Watch What Happens.

An analysis of the entertainment found only on Bravo.

I have often heard people complain about “reality shows”. However, I think they are brilliant. Well— let me qualify that. I am not that interested in watching skanky girls resolve their differences by spitting at each other on “Flavor of Love”, or people testing stun guns on themselves a la “Jackass”. I think the success of reality shows can be attributed to viewers seeking humanity in their entertainment. Determination, talent and compassion can be seen, in truly real moments, on all of these shows, from monster hits like “The Amazing Race” to silly melodramas like “The Hills”. And in my opinion, no network does reality better than Bravo TV.

Project Runway
My favorite show on Bravo is “Project Runway”. I got on board with this show at the start of the second season and I haven’t looked back. The show has one of the best models (and I don’t mean Heidi Klum) in reality TV- it’s about the clothes, people. As enjoyable as it is to see the squabbles between the designers, the arguments between the judges and the designers on the runway, and the oh-so-cool celebrity guests make their appearances, the best part of this show is the creative concepts the designers put into their garments. All of the contestants are passionate about fashion and want desperately to “make it”. But they don’t get there by making fools out of themselves. Seeing them turn their visions into breathtaking, or ghastly, gowns in a matter of days and hours is pretty remarkable. There is something very, very fun about seeing a person pick out seemingly innocuous and unrelated fabrics and adornments, and turning them into something beautiful, or hideous. “Project Runway” very intelligently picks people with all kinds of “wackadoodle” (to quote eliminated contestant Suede) points of view. That is where the entertainment comes from. Following the competition each week, you really want the best person to win. (The finale was this week, and my fave, Leanne was the victor—it felt great.) Sure, it’s fun to have favorites or to hate someone for being a total bitch, but in the end, the prize is great and there is satisfaction in watching the winner earn it all (or disagreeing vehemently with the judges’ choice). And the prize isn’t earned by acting outrageous. It’s by being damn good. Network executives, take note.

The Rachel Zoe Project
I was so glad to see this show hit the airwaves. As a ravenous consumer of gossip, I have heard that Rachel Zoe (pronounced Zoh) is the mastermind behind all beautiful women in Hollywood. Celebrities are pretty, for sure, but we all know it takes a lot of make-up, lighting, personal trainers, chefs and numerous other minions to get them looking good. And no assist is greater than that from the celebrity stylist. And no stylist is more famous than Rachel Zoe.

The first season of the show concluded this week. I was excited because we finally got to see some short interviews with Rachel’s biggest client, Jennifer Garner, who is every bit as adorable as I imagine her being. I was also glad to see some sort of resolution regarding the Brad—Taylor affair. So Brad and Taylor are basically a demented Will and Grace. Taylor has a pretty face and messy blonde hair and has this punk rock vibe going. Rachel constantly praises Brad’s style, bowtie preppy and clean on the canvas of a cute, gay guy. Taylor has been Rachel’s assistant for two and a half years, and Brad just got hired to take the grunt work off of her, so she can do more important things. Brad was formerly at Vogue. Taylor is a complete bitch who feels the need to rant and rave, very harshly, at Brad for all for all of the things he does wrong. The thing is, she never tells him what to do. (Pointed out brilliantly in the finale episode by Rachel’s very sweet makeup guy, Joey.) Not that Brad is perfect. He does have a frivolity about him and there is a kernel of truth to Taylor’s complaints that he loves the glamorous side of the job, i.e. being Rachel’s BFF, a little too much. But overall, you root for him. You want to shake Taylor and inform her that this is not rocket science, and she is no Rhodes Scholar. Nevertheless, the Day of the Oscars in the most important of the year for Rachel’s camp. Brad makes a huge boo-boo when he gets to Kate Beckinsale’s house. As he pulls up, he gets a call that he is needed at Cameron Diaz’s. So he calls ‘Rache’ to find out what to do. She says, go on to Cameron, I’ll be at Kate’s in a minute. So then Brad’s like, I feel really bad leaving Rachel to deal with this on her own, but oh well. In the end, the major problem is that Brad did not leave Rachel a “kit” at Kate’s house. A “kit” in the Zoe camp, I guess, has the double-stick tape, shoe pads, and all of the other little tools used to get a celeb red-carpet ready. So Rachel gets really pissed at Brad, Brad weeps uncontrollably, Rachel tries to console Brad but as she does, Taylor loses her shit on Brad even though he’s crying hysterically—and Brad quits. In the end, Rachel convinces Taylor to call Brad and get him back, which she does. Now, I don’t know why every member of the Zoe camp doesn’t just have a kit in their own car on Oscar day. Or why Rachel didn’t say to Brad, make sure you leave a kit for me at Kate’s. It seems like a lot of their problems could be solved if they were all a little more organized, and I think it’s fairly clear the fault lies with Taylor.

Rachel Zoe herself is pretty entertaining. I think I like her overall, though she does some pretty inane things. The craziest to me is her penchant for oversized sunglasses. I can see sunglasses that are a little larger than usual, but hers are insane. She looks like an alien. And here’s what REALLY kills me—she and her pal Joey even had them on when they were watching the Oscar red carpet on TV, in her house. It’s bad enough to wear sunglasses indoors, but here you are, watching the looks you picked out traipse their way across the screen, and you can’t take off your cool sunglasses. Rachel knows that color and fabric choices don’t always translate the same on TV--she mentions this--so wouldn’t she want to observe them accurately? The other crazy Rachel-ism is her vocabulary. Here’s a primer—bananas, meaning awesome/great. Shut it down, as in, you look so great the world has stopped functioning. The most irritating phrase: I die. Or just, die. Or D-I-E, reserved for when Rachel sees something so fabulous it’s like her heart literally stops.

Rachel’s long-suffering husband is Rodger. He is the down-to-earth presence, the ying to her yang. This poor guy is really supportive of his wife who he hardly ever seems to see, especially during fashion week. But I do credit them big time for their teamwork. He understands her vision and seems to help her achieve it, however she needs him. He is encouraging her to start her own brand, which given her sense of style and her reputation is a no-brainer. But a few times I have heard her say, “but when am I going to have a baby?!” and then she laughs. Rachel is around 36 years old. Nothing drives me crazier than an aging woman who does not realize it might not be as easy to have a baby as she thinks. Rachel’s personal life takes a tragic backseat. When her uncle dies, she is extremely sad (hysterical, really) and feels she must make it back east for the funeral. That is why I love Rachel Zoe. But she doesn’t end up making it to the funeral because of an important fashion shoot. That is why I hate Rachel Zoe. I’ll tell you one thing, though— that theme song is bananas. I die.

And The Rest
But Bravo’s brilliant programming does not end there. I loved the first few seasons of “The Real Housewives of Orange County”. Sure, most of these women are spoiled rotten and their values are flawed, but I found myself rooting for them and connecting with them. It was delicious fun to see them interact and deal with their issues. I didn’t think I could fall in love with a new class, but the New York cast is just as fun. Atlanta premiered this week, focusing on the city’s African-American elite. I really, really, really applaud Bravo for showing us another kind of rich. They knocked it out of the park with this one. Those peaches entertain.

I also like “Tim Gunn’s Guide to Style”. I usually get bored with these kinds of makeover shows, but I love his Top 10 list of garments every woman should own, and his tips are helpful and easy to follow. I haven’t seen “Top Chef” though I know the second I do, I’ll be addicted. It’s cable’s number one food show, beating out even the Food Network. I also haven’t yet seen that many episodes of “Top Design”. But the one thing I have learned from that show is that Todd Oldham is a freakin’ genius. He acts as a ‘Design Mentor’ and his advice and ideas for the contestants are so brilliant and ingenious it’ll make you want to smack your momma. I remember him from the MTV of my youth, but I had no idea the scope of his talent.

Talent is a common theme with Bravo. They pick a topic- fashion, food, glamour- and they get the best. They get the Michael Kors, the Rachel Zoe. No show more brilliantly showcased talent than the one that started it all, “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy”. The Fab Five weren’t just funny gay guys. It was a necessary component, yes, but the essential ingredient was that all of these men were at the very top of their fields. Minus Jai Rodriguez, who I thought was completely worthless. But Carson Kressley more than made up for him. I have a theory that Carson and I are the same person. But that is for another post.