blue jean baby, LA lady

Today I am the age I was when my father married my mother. My mom is three years younger. So three years ago I felt very "adult". Now I just feel established in my adulthood. Like I should buy a house. Contribute more to my 401k. Be picking out china.

Well maybe not that much on the china thing. Birthdays (in line with Valentine's Day, Christmas...uhhh Flag Day) have a funny way of reminding the single girl that she is single. Maybe that's why I wanted so much to go out last night and have a true NY birthday. After all it was my first in this city. But things never work out the way you want them to. My roommate and I met some of her friends and her friends of friends at a rooftop bar. So not "me" but those places are fun until the techno starts swirling around my head and I can't breathe it is so crowded. I much prefer to boogie to a Duran Duran song. What does this say about me? We were hit on by three guys who reminded me of the Boutabi (sp?) brothers. You know, Chris Kattan and Will Ferrell from A Night at the Roxbury. We'd jokingly come up with a signal on Friday. Rubbing your nose means "He's cute." Pulling on your ear means "Abort! Abort!" I was pulling pretty vigorously at my ear. She'd forgotten the signal. We were trying to figure out how to get out of it. Oh the stories. She says they were utilizing various techniques from The Pick Up Artist. I've never seen this show but I venture to say they didn't quite grasp the execution portion. After a trying a couple more spots we ended up at our favorite diner eating cheese fries at 3 am. That's more like it.

Today I'm remembering that I'm a girl who loves flip flops and jeans. Today I'm conceeding to my love of Mexican food and small gatherings with a good friend or two. Today I tell myself I'm a low key bar kind of girl where the guys look like they'd like a girl who loves flip flops and jeans. Today I love New York but I can't keep up with the expectations. I make my own expectations.

musings on cupcakes

It is officially my birthday weekend. Yesterday we celebrated at work with Crumbs cupcakes and milk in the small conference room on our floor. I had a sitting job last night with a family I've come to know well over the past 6 months or so. When the door opened I found a tow-head two-year-old thrusting a purple envelope into my hands. Both the envelope and the card were decorated with crayon kisses, x-marks mixed in with the thoughtfully written message his mom had penned. "Wishing you a very happy birthday with love and very best wishes." Then mom asked if her excited boy wanted to show me my birthday treats in the refrigerator. After some effort I was given an upside down box filled with a dozen Crumbs mini-cupcakes, a big hug and kiss.

I'm not one to wax poetic about how old I am. I know I'm not old and most of the time I have always felt younger than I really am. If anything, this birthday just makes me think of my last. I'd ended up booking a ticket two weeks prior to the date because I realized none of my new-found friends had plans to be in the city. It is what comes of one's birthday falling on Labor Day weekend. I was fairly disenchanted and frustrated with the idea, however, a bonus visit home was nothing to complain about. The actual date of my birthday was relatively low-key and normal, filled with family, Scrabble games, birthday cake and presents like all the childhood birthdays. This year my brother (who will be visiting me in NY on his birthday) and I were given a "fake party" complete with a chocolate chocolate cake' our names scripted on it in neon green icing and candles for us to blow out as a pair. Suddenly I felt nine again and imagined myself back at the park with my ballerina cake. That cake was awesome. I've since realized my birthdays will always contain elements of childhood. No matter how old I get my family will make sure they are special events, even to be celebrated weeks before hand, if need be.

Last year I threw myself a birthday party at a bar when I returned to NY. I invited pretty much everyone I knew and and a few friends came to help me celebrate. My expectations were high, I imagined a very New York birthday and while many friends didn't disappoint, the rain kept others away. Turns out I'm not one for party planning. This year I am simply going out with my roommate and another friend and hoping to plan a couple brunches. I think about how much life has changed since the summer days wore away last year. Consider, slow down, enjoy.

normal

credit: glamour.com




This pic and this blog entry just made my day...

I wear my sunglasses at night

I'm exhausted. And I'm a liar.

I really have no desire at this point to ditch this blog. It is too easy, too instant, too distracting.

I had a great weekend. A few weeks/months/years from now I want to reread that sentence. I'm too lazy to hand write anything. On Saturday I had brunch with a great friend of mine I don't get to see often enough. Despite the size of this tiny island, the ease of transportation to its boros, I still haven't seen her in two months. Life keeps us busy, I suppose. Plus, in an environment where certain guys won't date you because you don't live in the same neighborhood they do, it is bound to happen every once in a while.

On Saturday I had a wonderfully fun night with my roommate. We ended up going to a cheesy bar with fun music, danced our hearts out, and met some fun people. And there may or may not have been a boy in there somewhere but it is too soon to divulge such details. For now I'm trying to enjoy moments as they happen as I have had such a hard time with that in the past.

It is much more fun to think about all that than the issue I've been having with someone at work. Though combating work stress by dancing around my room with my IPOD all the while mentally reliving the fun had over the weekend is definitely better than stewing.

abandonment?

Random thoughts because I have 22 minutes to kill until my next obligation and it is stormy outside:

• Meg commented on my last blog post (the one in which I ranted about a certain less-than-platonic someone contacting me via Facebook after he had been MIA for a while). I agree that I could (and probably should) have declined the friend request... I accepted partially because I am nosy and also because I wanted to see what, if anything, he had to say. Turns out he hasn't said anything yet and was just being nosy himself so if it starts to mess with my head I shall delete. Ugh. Drama.
• I'm currently reading a really interesting book about Anne Frank -- her diary, her life, and her status as more than just a teenaged Holocaust victim. Francine Prose argues that Anne was a writer, given the processes she adopted and the quality of her writing.
• Having held a fascination for this iconic girl since I was a pre-teen myself, this fairly niche specific book intrigues me and has me thinking about the diaries I used to keep and the idea of keeping one again (or at least beginning to write). I think today blogs are used as diaries more than anything. I wonder how many 21st century girls actually hand write a diary any more. I know I type faster than I write so it is easy to fall back on blogging, also because there isa n instant gratification that comes from others commenting on your thoughts, logging on to read about your life, and putting out a product you know someone sees. Yet I would think (and hope) that there is a level of self-censorship that goes on, though God knows some people do more censoring than others. If I put my raw and pure thoughts and emotions on paper they might frighten me a little sometimes.
• Tomorrow a good friend is coming in from beyond the boros. I was supposed to go to the beach with her but it looks like it is going to be stormy. Not sure what we are going to do. If I have any NYC readers does anyone have any ideas? Non-New Yorkers don't be shy either.
• I am probably the only one in this giant building right now. What am I doing sitting here on a Friday?
• It is so humid out you can cut the air with a knife. Why did I leave California?
• This is boring. Maybe I should ditch the blog and pick up a journal...

What happens on Facebook, stays on Facebook

Just a drive-by post to say that I really don't understand men and Facebook. Perhaps that is why I am still single and such a fair-weather Facebook user.

A blast from the past just added me as a "friend." Said nothing, just a friend request in my inbox. I suppose this is a very non-commital form of communication but we haven't spoken nearly a year and it is contact all the same. I'm sure he doesn't want to be my friend, as in real-life-how's it goin?-I'll-send-you-a-message-on-your-birthday friend. When my oldest friend (I have known her since the age of 4) was suddenly only communicating with me via MySpace messages, I knew these sites were evil. Is he just spying on me? I, too, have fallen to the voyeuristic pull of social networking, however, I would have preferred he never contacted me if all he wanted was to up his friend numbers (grrr friend collectors) or puruse my profile. Perhaps I take it all a bit too seriously but it is bringing back too much bad energy and too many hurt feelings that I just don't want or need.

What does everyone here think about FB and MS? Any random "friend requests" you wish would never have happened?

I wish they all could be...

My time here in California is wrapping up and it has flown by. When I break it down like this, I've done a lot:

Vacation Tally:

Days spent working: 5
Days spent relaxing: 7
Friends I've seen: 4, including 2 college roommates, one friend from my study abroad program, and one babysitting mom turned friend who I will see today
Movies watched: 7 (Woah! They include: Cadillac Records, The Secret Life of Bees, Changeling, Religulous, The Great Debaters, The Time Traveler's Wife, Anne Frank - an ABC TV movie)
Days spent at the beach: 1 (wish it were more but life happens...)
Extended family members I've seen: 9
Books I've finished: 3
Cookies I've baked: dozens

Earlier this year I thought I was headed to Italy next month. Then for a few days I was going to go to London instead. Now it looks like my next vacation will be back home to California for the holidays. I do maintain that living in Manhattan and "vacationing" in So Cal gives me the best of both worlds and I am so glad it has all worked out this way. Still, I'm disappointed I can't go abroad as I've been wanting to travel more internationally for years. That said, I made my choice and living in New York while saving for an international holiday takes more time. I'm considering putting all my money toward my #1 - Greece. Even if I have to go alone as part of a tour group. I've wanted to see Santorini and the other Greek Islands for years. I know I'll get there eventually.

My "Top 5" are: Greece, Spain, Ireland, Italy (other parts, I've been to Venice already), and Egypt

Anyone else out there have a "Top 5"?

Time Traveler's nerdy soap box

Tonight I saw The Time Traveler's Wife with one of my dearest friends who drove down from the L.A. area to see me while I was in town. We went shopping (err, browsing) at an outdoor mall, she nearly had to drag me out of Border's where (despite the fact that I have 2 books in my suitcase in addition to a e-reader full of manuscripts) I bought a book. Sigh. We had dinner at a new Mexican restaurant I was told I just had to try out. Then we went and saw the movie.

I read the book about a month ago. The book is always, always better than the movie. Everyone knows this. In this case, though I liked Rachel McAdams and thought Eric Bana was the perfect ratio of hunky and tortured (and let's face it -- all librarians should look like him!) they skipped major parts of this book. Now those of you who have read it know the book is so complex it makes your brain work overtime just to sort the plot out, all the while realizing you're supposed to be confused -- like time does, the plot always sorts itself out. Ha! Take that all of my former professors. After nearly four years I can still bs my way through a typed paragraph if I have to. I jest. That was brilliant.

Anyway, this movie time travels. It skips huge parts of plot, characterization and roughly leaves out core elements of what makes this book such a wonderful read. That's not to say the movie isn't entertaining... it certainly was. Some movies you can get away without reading the book. I just watched The Secret Life of Bees yesterday and though it has been years since I read the book, based on the parts I do remember... I actually like the movie better. Where Atonement is concerned, though I loved the book, the movie is a great love story set to a beautiful score with a perfect cast. And the chemistry between Keira Knightley and James McAvoy -- be still my heart! So maybe you can skip that book. Shh! Don't tell I said that. I'll get fired from my job as official book hyper upper for Ye Grande Publishing Company.

But please people, if there is one thing you gather from this somewhat rambling, admittedly nerdy but still very well-intentioned post it is not to skip Audrey Niffenger's book. If you were planning on reading it, read it. If you weren't, read it. If I had my perfect order you would do as follows:

1) Watch the movie trailer. I've even made it easy for you by linking it as the movie title in the first sentence of this post. Though it gives away quite a bit (couldn't find the shorter one they've been playing on TV set to the Carolina Liar song I love) watching it will help you get a general feel so that when you are 20 pgs. in and feel like you don't know what the hell is going on you will perservere.
2) Read the book. It is big but it is addicting.
3) See the movie. Be jealous of Rachel McAdams and her perfect hair, beautiful wedding dress, and the fact that she gets to kiss Eric Bana but leave the theater knowing that the movie didn't come close. You have the inside story.


The Lovely Bones is next. Oh boy.

texting up I-5

Today I accompanied my father up to Newport Beach on business. During the roughly 45 minute drive we discussed the normal father-daughter things: healthcare, politics, technology, you know, typical chit chat. The subject turned to technology when I whipped out my phone and began texting my best friend who was writing to ask for recommendations on love stories. Dad doesn't understand texting. He doesn't get the point, the draw, the usefulness of it. Who wouldn't love something that lets you have a hidden conversation when you are supposed to be doing something else? Last night when we went to my cousin's house to see his children as well as my aunt, uncle, other cousin, his wife, and their daughter, the subject among the older generation turned to texting. My uncle asked why it was that sometimes he can text his son but my cousin won't be able to talk on the phone. I commented that it was like cheating or passing notes in class. This didn't sit well with the group.

Anyway, when the subject came up today in the car, I said to my dad, "We are of different generations. What can I say?" He may not agree with texting but I happen to like it most of the time. I am fully aware that there is a chance I have developed a little ADD as I am not really able to sit and be without having to be completely plugged in most of the time, but texting does have its advantages. My best friend and I can still converse when she has run out of her monthly allotted cell minutes. How else are we supposed to have deep, meaningful conversations such as these?:

E - Have you read a really good love story recently?
Me - Time Traveler's Wife. I want to read Possession too.
E - I think I'm going to read Sundays at Tiffany's.
Me - I kind of want to read Tori Spelling's books.
E - Seriously?!
Me - Yes, I have gotten into her show recently and I kind of like her. There is kind of a love story in The Forest of Hands and Teeth (a book I recently sent her). But it is better in the second one.
E - I think I'll take that to ******* with me. I can't believe you like Tori Spelling.

Just a typical Thursday for two young tech-saavy, 21st century girls. My dad would love it, no doubt. We do have more important conversations, of course, which sometimes baffles me.

Does anyone out there have parents who actually text? Are you a big texter? I wasn't until a few years ago. Gotta keep up with the trends though, esp. when everyone in the City texts. (I got a text reminder for a haircut appointment a few months ago. I was amazed.) Still have yet to jump on the Twitter bandwagon though.

gracias

I just want to say a "thank you" to those who seem to read my little blog especially the repeat commentors. If I haven't yet returned the favor to you, I apologize and will do my best to do so soon.

I'm also wondering if anyone knows how in the heck I can see comments without going directly to each post and clicking on the comments link. Is there a feed that I can see each time someone comments?

Thanks again and thanks in advance!

home again

I am "home."

Since I'm an unmarried childless person I have a split personality when it comes to "home". I consider my folks' place in Southern California to be home as well as my own freshly minted, sparsely decorated, flourishing daily life in Manhattan. While perhaps confusing to some, this fact doesn't bother me. Until I have more roots in New York and fewer things left in my old bedroom, it will feel weird to call this place "my parents' house" (even though I do it sometimes). But I digress...

Being home means many things. It means that I get to see just how old my beloved dog is getting. He's white in certain places, has less energy (the only plus, really, since he has been a bumbling maniac since we got him at 9 1/2 wks of age) and is rounder in the midsection. Being home also means I have no earthly clue where the potato peeler is any more, I don't rush to answer the phone when it rings (despite the obvious knee jerk reaction), and as much as I don't want to admit it -- none of the mail is ever for me. I LOVE, LOVE getting mail. What am I even saying though? None of the mail at my apartment in NY is ever for me unless it is a bill or a Netflix movie. Beggars can't be choosers.

Homecomings also mean I am once again thwarted into the "daughter" role. It is occuring to me more and more with each trip west how used to relying on, doing for, and only answering to myself I am. I go to work, come home, go to a job, cook meals, pay bills, install AC's, kill bugs, fix broken things, change light bulbs, hire movers, sign leases, and other grown up people things without the help of anyone (unless that help comes via phone as my poor father found out when I had a meltdown -- pun most certainly intended -- while attempting to install said AC for the first time last June). Suffice to say I feel liberated and frustrated by my truly single life in equal parts, depending on what mood I am in that day. And suffice to say that when I come home and am once again the little girl in the eyes of an adoring, well-meaning parent, I ruffle. Just a bit. How can I not? So I do my best to smile, embrace the role, all the while thinking, "I got it covered. I'm just fine."

screenplays, furniture and Catholics who eat burgers on Fridays - some of my best dating stories

This post from a fellow single twenty-something blogger living in a city setting (Chicago) got me thinking about my dating stories tonight. As I sit here alone (because I turned down a pretty persistent Italian who was hitting on me at the trade show I am currently attending. Flustered, thrown off, distracted and seriously wondering what the point was I declined.) eating expensive "San Francisco" style carmel corn I bought in the gift shop and prepare to get into my jammies and start this book, I'm going over the funny, weird, amazing, and boring in my head and a few gems come to mind.

1) I already blogged about Screenplay Guy. Read the post here.

2) French Renaissance Furniture Guy

This was an online match (hey, I'm not too proud, I'll admit I've dabbled in online dating. It is a rough sea and sometimes a busy fish has to go cyber). He had a dog. He sent me pictures of his dog. He was cute and he was a lawyer. I was sold. We had a really good repore, things in common, but, as I came to find out, completely different tastes in insignificant things like drapery and couches. When I went back to his apartment to meet his dog (minds out of the gutter, people, nothing even PG rated happened) I walked into French Renaissance heaven that Marie Antoinette would have died for. Flowers everywhere. Girly tzotchkes (I had to Google that to learn how to spell it!) everywhere. Monogrammed towels on a platter with soaps and such in the bathroom. Nary a female in sight. This esquire lives alone in a fan-freakin-tastic apartment. Holy shocker Batman, I was speechless. I had previously picked up on a few teensy feminine mannerisms but brushed them off. This was a smack in the face. I was kind and sat on the couch watching NatGeo and then excused myself to the comforts of a cab ride knowing I'd go out with him again. You know it isn't a good thing when the guy you're on a date with proves to be more of a girl in the decorating department than you are.

3) "Oh, so you're not Catholic" guy

I can't remember if I blogged about this one but I doubt it. I met this one for drinks that turned into dinner (much to my chagrin) and within the first 15 mins he had already commented on my clothes, my food choices, and my religion - or lack thereof. It was late Feb/early March so I was wearing a coat. It was a Friday so I was wearing a black sweater and jeans. My office is fairly relaxed dress code wise anyway. So as I took my coat off to sit down, he remarked "Your office must not have a strict dress code." I replied that it did not quickly doing a mental inventory of what I was wearing without looking down. Never have a I had a guy comment on my clothing other than to say "You look nice."

We opened our menus and he politely asked what looked good to me. I remarked that I had had a big lunch. (I'd gone to a cafe with a good friend earlier that day and chowed down on a burger and fries.) When I told him about the burger (sans chowing down comment, of course) he bluntly said, "Oh, so I guess you're not Catholic." My mind was doing multiple things at once... first trying to wrap itself around the fact that he had, in fact, just said that and second that I now had to make some sort of responsory comment on my religious beliefs. Those beliefs are far too complicated and my religious upbringing and current religious status is too much for 15 mins into a first date. Turns out he wants a girl who doesn't eat meat on Fridays. I never heard from him again.

My co-worker says I should write a book. I'm beginning to agree...

the dancer in me cried

The other night I caught the season finale of So You Think You Can Dance. As a former dancer I was thrilled about this show when it first began a few years ago and watched the first season. As with American Idol, I have a short attention span for these types of shows. I like watching the dancing, not the judges. Not to mention that Mary Murphy drives me nuts. Ugh. The season finale showed more dancing though as the judges each chose their favorites from the season and they were subsequently performed by the dancers.

This one was amazing. It is a Mia Michaels routine specifically about addiction. By the end of the short routine I was in tears. And usually things don't make me cry. Addiction aside, I think anyone who has ever felt the effects of personal inner demons will be moved by it.

My favorites from past seasons are this one from Season 1 to Message in a Bottle by The Police (amazing how they just throw themselves around) and this to Why by Annie Lennox (so emotional!)

Sorry, I tried to embed the links but don't know how. Anyone?

please be sure all excess baggage is securely stowed

So here I am in San Francisco.

In a way it is like going home. Not so much the cable cars and city life here but the knowledge that I am once again in the Bay Area, I kind of know this city, and I spent two of the most difficult and growth-filled years of my life here.

Every time I come to San Fran I meet up with one of my college roommates. She has really been the only one I've kept in touch with since I left 2 1/2 yrs ago. And by kept in touch I mean we see each other when I come here on business and other than that we don't really talk much throughout the year.

We had planned on meeting for dinner at 6 last night. She text messaged me saying she was out front. I got out there and saw not just her but one of our other roommates (there were many), one with whom I considered myself to be very close during those formidable years. I have not seen her since the day of my last final. I knew she was living up here in Northern California but that's about it. We hadn't kept in touch either.

I'm not one of those people who loved college. For various reasons I often like to forget that those years existed. But the three of us sat in a pub last night drinking beer, eating, and catching up like a bunch of grown ups who hadn't seen each other in a decade. One is just out of a relationship, one is happily still involved with a guy she met two months before we graduated. They plan on having a baby next year, she threw out, so casually that we thought she was kidding. We talked about jobs, frustrations with jobs, grad school, new apartments, our old apartment, paying rent, paying dues, paying for choices we've made... City life. College life. Life.

I came away from the experience feeling a sense of happiness about it - which surprised me given the bruised ego and sadness I've felt whenever I've thought about the paths we all took back then and just how much mine differed at the time. And even though I didn't have break up or boyfriend stories to share we all came away from the experience last night knowing that for three girls who at once felt so overwhelmed we had made it where we wanted to be. For three girls who were once one another's family it felt once again like I was with family.

May I say that this was a pleasant surprise for a trip I thought would be filled with boredom, channel surfing, and a case of the "wish I was back home"s. Perhaps this is the beginning of seeing it all through a different lens. After a horrible day on Thursday it was nice to genuinely smile and laugh. It was nice that I really did feel like all my excess baggage was stowed completely under my feet. Pardon the horrible travel metaphor. The hotel shampoo seems to have seeped into my brain.

Julia Child and rut lists

I went to a movie screening for Julie and Julia last night.

First, may I say that I heart Meryl Streep. She is amazing and once again, her performance of culinary guru Julia Child was spot on. Without giving too much away, here is my general opinion of the movie, which I understand is pretty on par with most critics: too much Julie, not enough Julia. Though I did like Julie's story (and love Amy Adams), I did not like Julie. That's it. I won't say any more. See the movie and we'll discuss.

My cousin posted last night wondering if Julia ever makes enchiladas. I wish she did! I must say, I am not much of a cook. Since moving to New York, the size of my kitchen has been practically cut into a quarter of what it has been in other places. Even in college I lived in a suite that had a brand new open kitchen. I used it much more than my roommates. When I lived at home I'd become used to cooking for a family of four when my mom worked late (or even when she didn't) and baking became quite a cathartic experience. Since the Manhattan move though things have just gone downhill. I am by no means a great cook. I'm not experimental and can be a bit picky about what I cook. I'm much more of a baker though! In my last apartment I had a very skinny galley kitchen with a window, roommates who rarely cooked and were often both away at the same time. I cooked at least a couple of times a week. I now live with three other girls, my kitchen is smaller, and though they don't cook much, I don't really care to. But you can't come away from this movie without being inspired to chop and dice, and maybe even bone a duck! Good thing I'm going home and will have a fully stocked kitchen at my disposal. I doubt I'll be taking a recipe out of Julia's book (sorry, Julia, French food isn't really my thing - butter is amazing but too much doesn't work for me) so I'm thinking enchiladas may be in order.

In the movie, Julie Powell, an approaching-thirty-year-old married woman living in Queens, New York who works a cubicle job feels lost so she turns to Julia and blogging. So inspired by her she claims, "I was drowning and she saved me." or something of that nature. Wow, I wish Meryl Streep could do that for me. I simply don't idolize anyone enough. But the idea of the goal and blogging about it is intriguing for me. On my biggest "stuck in a rut" days I often think I should take up a project that would better me emotionally, creatively, and/or physically.

A few things I've considered are:

1. Train for a marathon (since I could probably barely run 3 miles at this point, this seems like a pipe dream).

2. Begin my novel (sigh...)

3. Begin freelancing (a little more realistic feeling)

4. start a blog project (waiting on an epiphany!)

5. learn to do something new (who knows what?)

6. try something new to help me meet people (specifically guys)

About every two weeks or so it hits me: I get bored with the status quo. So I think I'm going to finally do it and then life happens, I get busy, I let it go... only to be picked up again the next time the rut hits. I would say I'm about day 3 into this rut cycle and yet, I'm super busy, going out of town tomorrow, and just content to be frustrated with it until it goes away. Maybe next time around.

Anyone else out there have a "rut list"? Julia's was short (she tried hat making, bridge lessons and possibly a few other things before she settled on cooking) and she hit the nail fully on the head. Maybe I need to take a page out of her book. I'm sure I won't be the only one. I think Julie and Julia opens this weekend. Go see it!

childless and yet still on potty patrol... funny how things work out.

It is 4:16pm.

I like to refer to the hours between 3 and 5 pm as the "witching hours". It has definitely been a struggle since I got in today.

I've been working non-stop all week. 8-9 hrs at my "real job" and then 4-5 hrs at my "after hours job" where I have been on potty and teeth brushing duty and despite the fact that I have been able to sit in a wonderfully air conditioned stylish apartment and watch the likes of 16 & Pregnant: Unseen Moments and Tori & Dean Home Sweet Hollywood I have been thinking the whole time, "I want to go home. I have so much to do." Tonight I am going to a movie screening, which I realize is wonderful. But I am tired. I want to sleep.

This post is really just an excuse to share these little tid bits of two-year-old with those who like "Kids Say The Darndest Things" moments:

(when I discovered little "M" on her plastic pink potty in the bathroom
after I had just put her to bed...)

Me: What are you doing? I thought you went to bed.

Her: I had to potty but nothing came out!!

Me: Well... that's because you went 10 minutes ago.

(after I put her in bed with the door half open and she was still talking to me from the bedroom)

Her: I'm waiting for Mommy.

Me: Mommy will come home after you go to sleep. The sooner you go to sleep,
the sooner Mommy is here.

Her: Well... will you teach me how to wait for her because I don't know how
to wait for her.

Me: Well... you close your eyes.

Her: Oooohhhhhhh...

And finally...

(when I put her back in bed, sang Twinkle, Twinkle and attempted to exit the room again post potty sneak)

Her: If you don't want to watch the show on TV turn it off. And if you want
to play you can play with my toys.

I'm tellin' ya folks. It isn't just about the money...

4:27 now. Sigh.

citified California

On Friday I'm headed to California - "right back where I started from."

Well, first I have to do the work thing and head up to San Francisco for a few days. It will be room service, hotel soaps, and frequent flyer miles. I really should be more excited. And I am, I just don't know it. It will be nice to get away, get some relaxation time, and see some of my old friends.

Then I'm headed "home" for a few days to visit the folks and fam. Again, I am excited but lately when I leave the city I feel like I'm missing something. K says it is the plight of the Manhattanite. Our lives are so infused with subways, take out, things just around the corner that when we get out of that element we're lost... I spent this past weekend in Long Island and when I found myself wandering in the rain at an outlet mall trying to decide whether to get dinner there or wait, the thought "Well when I get home I can just run to the store next door and get something." popped into my head. Nevermind the fact that there was a kitchen, food, and a friend willing to cook for me where I was staying that night. I now live in a city that delivers McDonald's, a city where you can run out for a bagel at 2 am, a city that has completely "citified" me.

It really has... Not just in the actual luxuries (translation - ways that I am spoiled and becoming more undomesticated as the days go by) but also in the way that I think I'm going to miss out on something spectacular if I leave. I know that the parks, the Happy Hour specials, the impromptu plans to go to the movies, out with friends, etc. will always be here. This city doesn't sleep and will keep churning and buzzing and speeding along with me when I return. The only time table I have is my own. This city knows no such time and will not miss me. But I will miss it. Even as the sandy Southern California beaches simultaneously call my name.

focus, anyone?

I was not really one of those kids that lacked focus. If anything, I focused too much.

Head it the clouds? Nah, that's not me. I was the list-maker, over-acheiver, over-obsessive - still am.

But, I do suck at this blogging thing. I'm a reserved person. I think I'm boring. And... I have no readers.

Maybe I need to focus. I have touched on making this blog about "life in NYC" but, I'm not the club-hopping, expensive bag-toting type. I'm not sure how much attention my excursions will garner when they involve the youngest City set. Plus, how cliched is the mid-twenties-moved-to New York-lovin'-the-nightlife-lovin'-the-boogie thang? Two words - Carrie Bradshaw. I ain't.

I've flirted (pun intended) with making this a dating blog though aside from the relationship dating in New York has to all of the points I listed above, I'm not sure I want a dating blog to represent me and my time here. Though dating, and lack-thereof is a large focus in my life, I'm not the Cosmo kind. Most days I skip the girly glossy stuff, I can't flirt, I hate dating in general, and up until very recently my idea of make up was lip gloss (I've since rediscovered mascara and eyeshadow -- watch out boys!)

So, my focus? I have no idea. What can I write about myself and my life that will interest people? Because that's the point of a public tell-all, right? Playing to the crowd. I've said before that this is mostly for me, but at the end of the day my thoughts generally seem too personal or too boring (two different ends of one very long spectrum, perhaps?) to commit to type. Perhaps my schtick will just have to be the California kid - who loves Chapstick, flip-flops and knows that a journalist's salary (even a sex columnist with her face on book covers and buses) could never buy Manolos and an Upper East Side flat unless a trust fund is involved - trying to find the seemingly illusive nice guy, nice life, nice niche. Until then I'll putter around on the keyboard.