How Can This Be?

Yesterday, I finally received my three-month performance appraisal. Yes, I am still employed. And will continue to be employed, at least for the forseeable future.

The review is really just a series of categories, all based upon a complex ratings scale:
1 = Poor
2 = Needs Improvement
3 = Average
4 = Above Average
5 = Excellent
I'm reading through the paperwork...blah, blah, blah...I scored 5's in critical thinking, teamwork, communication skills, adherence to Code of Ethics (what? really?), and program development...when I catch something that gives me pause.


Category 21 - Appearance (Dress Code)
Rating = 3

Um, are you kidding? I am AVERAGE in appearance? This contradicts everything that I had previously understood about myself. (This is almost as earth-shattering as when I found out that 'Arby's' does not stand for 'America's Roast Beef, Yes Siree!' - a very dark day. Very dark.)

Ok, so AVERAGE???? I thought I was rocking my appearance here.

Take today, for example. I mean, sure, I got up late, so I didn't have time to dry my hair or apply make-up. But I think that only serves to highlight my natural beauty. And the outfit? Slammin'. How else would you describe a pair of brown Oxford Mary-Jane Dr. Martens, brown plaid work pants, topped off by a pink cashmere hoodie?

I'd describe it as Very Professional. And most certainly as Above Average.

PS: *And* during my recent trip to the bathroom, I discovered a piece of blueberry stuck in my teeth from breakfast. C'mon. I'm friggin' gorgeous over here, people!


A Little Worshiping Of Me Might Be...Nice

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is:
Reverend Lady J_______ the Insouciant of Walk upon Water
Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title



So, I decided to attend church on Christmas Eve with my parents. (And already, you know that this story can't end well.)

Round 1: As we are leaving our pew at the end of the service, we are literally chased down by the Pastor's Wife. Actually, I am literally chased down, and then hugged by the Pastor's Wife. This is extremely strange because a) I haven't seen her in at least 5 years; b) I've never had a close relationship with her; c) she's not, to my knowledge, a warm and huggy person; and d) the church is not aflame, and I've been inside for about an hour.

After an extremely awkward hug (picture me, extending my hand in greeting, and her, oblivious, going in for full contact), she asks if I will be attending the 5:30 service. I tell her, with feigned regret, that we will be at my brother's house. Which is absolutely true.

She then says that she is hugely disappointed, not because she's trying to save my soul or anything, but because her son, B, is driving up as we speak, and wouldn't it be great if we could reconnect.

[Some history here: B and I attended church, senior high youth fellowship, and high school together. Our previous 'relationship' consisted of months of note writing and flirting during 10th grade geometry and church youth group activities, culminating in one afternoon of hanging out after school and kissing, followed by the mutual ignoring of each other the next day. So very high school. ]

While Pastor's Wife is still talking about B, I steal a glance at my parents. With relief, I note that they look as confused as I feel.

Round 2: In order to exit the church, we must greet the Pastor. He too enfolds me in an inappropriate hug, and asks if I'll be returning for the evening service, I supply my same response, adding feigned regret, he conveys disappointment, blah, blah, blah...and then goes even further. About how he and Wife have long felt that B and I would be perfect for one another, having been through similar "situations", both being of a certain age and still single, and don't I look beautiful (ew), and can he give my contact information to B?

Round 3: When we arrive home, my mother tells me that Pastor's Wife ran into P, my mom's close friend, in town the other day, and told her what a perfect couple B and I would make, and asked for P's help in getting us together. My mother allows that she probably should have warned me about this before we went to church.


Is this it? Have I finally reached the stage of my life where "well-meaning" semi-strangers will decide that 34 is too old to be unattached, and therefore attempt to matchmake without any discernible interest on my part?

By similar "situations", did he mean my broken engagment? And if so, how did he know about that? Was B engaged at one point? Furthermore, why would he assume that our "situations" are similar because of that one fact?

Why would Pastor's Wife and Pastor presuppose that I am currently single just because I'm not engaged or married?

Given that Pastor's Wife and Pastor know nothing about my life, personality, circumstances, preferences, or (ahem) situation since I was regularly attending church at age 18 (and they had limited information at that time as well) - what makes B and I "perfect" for each other?

Can't I just be engaged in worshiping Our Lord Jesus Christ without worrying about engagements of another kind?


We Have A Plan

Current Music: 'Hide and Seek' - Imogen Heap (obsessed)

Last night, The Lawyer and I walked over to Rockefeller Center to see the Christmas tree and bump into 50 million tourists. And while we were there, we witnessed an proposal/engagement taking place on the ice skating rink that even managed to touch our black, shriveled, bitter hearts (I think I got a little teary - don't tell anyone).

But that's not the important part of the story.

As many of you know, The Lawyer and I have a retirement plan which involves Catalina Island, gaudily decorated golf carts, poolboys/poolgirls, and perpetual drunkeness. Our escape will take place 25 years two weeks from now. So last night, as we're standing by the rink, The Lawyer turns to me with a maniacal gleam in her eye and says:

"You know what we should do on Catalina? We should build an ice skating rink just so we can be the Zamboni operators. But we'd have to have a Zamboni for each of us."

Me: "And they'd need to have cup holders for our martini glasses."

The Lawyer: "And really big bumpers so we could have ice fights."

Me: "Because we'd need something to do other than harassing our pool staff and running people off the road..."

The Lawyer: "Um, yeah."

And then the only thing left to do at that point was to High 10 (because really, some situations are simply too momentous for a High 5).



Dear Lady At Work Who Was Walking Down The Wrong Side Of The Hallway And Would Not Get Out Of My Way, Forcing Me To Engage In A Strange Game Of Chicken, Which I Think I Lost:

When I look directly at you and say "Excuse me", what I'm really saying is "Go fuck yourself."




I managed to drag myself out of my self-imposed social isolation on Saturday night. But you already knew that, didn't you? Because I did a little drunk blogging when I got home. And unless you assumed that I achieved that state of inebriation on my own (which wouldn't really be that much of a leap) you figured out that I left my apartment.

Also, I discussed attending a holiday party in my previous post.


Megan holds a theory that Ex Encounters can proceed in the following manner:

1) Upon contact, all of your previous romantic feelings come rushing back, usually causing "you + a bottle of something, in the person's face", yelling and attempting to deconstruct the end of the relationship. Emphasis on the yelling.


2) Uncomfortable, yet insignificant. Brief conversation. Gauging for deeper feelings, finding none. Anti-climactic.

Luckily, my interaction with A on Saturday night fell into the second category. It was, in fact, so non-eventful that I'm left with a vague sense of puzzlement as to why I was so upset earlier this year. This has caused me to examine all the unecessary drama in my life as of late. I'd like to be able to leave that behind. Obviously, my next step is to track down the ARH and have a non-event with him so I can enter the new year unencumbered. Somehow, though, I don't think that this is the way it works. My closure tends to sneak up on me, despite my best efforts to control it.

PS: (and totally unrelated) I brought in cookies today for my Secret Holiday Gift Person and left them in her mailbox. She's out sick. Would it be bad to 'ungift' and eat the cookies? I can see the mailbox from my desk, and the cookies are there. Taunting me.

PS: (and somewhat related) The other fun part of Saturday night was a conversation with JP's girlfriend in which she referenced her 33rd birthday as memorable because it was the same year that Jesus died. Yes, I'm serious. No, I don't have any idea what she was talking about.


Lessons Learned - LA

1. It is one thing to profess an affinity for Pabst Blue Ribbon; it is quite another to 'throw down' by chugging two in rapid succession within the space of an hour.

2. It is quite possible to eat your own weight in cookies.

3. Megan and I still agree on the important things: people who annoy us, optimum cruising music, baked goods, shopping.

4. Lungs partially closing in reaction to cat dander = bad.

5. Waking up in your hotel room with bedbug bites = bad.

6. It is almost painful to watch Cameron Diaz attempt to be an actor.

7. Megan is still the coolest person I know, aside from myself.

8. People in LA don't go out when it rains. Which is very strange indeed, but it makes for a blessedly uncrowded Saturday night.

9. All-you-can-eat sushi = surprisingly good.

10. Bacon is a necessary side dish with every meal. And when I say 'meal', that includes '10 peanut butter cookies and a large diet coke'.


Drunk Blogging

A. you always remember your keys

2. you were ROCKING that party in your new haircut and your skinny jeans in the face of A. and you're not shallow at all...

and another thing: i can identify



We spend so much time in NY trying to establish our own space, separate from the people that seem determined to invade it. I often think that the reason that iPods are so popular (and I spend time counting the number of people that I see with an iPod on my way to work) is that they allow us to carve out some time alone. When you're always in a crowd, the closeness can be too much sometimes.

[You do realize that when I say 'we', I mean 'I', right?]

However much we desire isolation, there is an equal yearning for connection. Which is why we'll spend time talking to a neighbor, or the woman on the subway whose toddler is asleep on your shoulder, or the dry cleaner who gives you a holiday present. Or the friends who see through your forced jokes and lightheartedness.

Relationships and emotional ties carry you through. Even when you push them away.

And now, I need to push aside this moodiness, and prepare a cup of the awesome that is me for JP's holiday party tonight. I'll start with the dry cleaner holiday present: a pair of pink rubber kitchen gloves. Random. And awesome.


This Is My Job?

When I completed my graduate degree, did I ever imagine that my job would entail:
  • bickering with various and sundry Brooklyn restaurant owners over receipts, tipping practices, and non-profit tax exemption?
  • screening a Ludacris/Mary J. Blige video for suitable language/content and relevance to school program?
  • discussing the ethics of 'borrowing' said video from Limewire/YouTube?
  • providing sex education workshops to 8th graders as a 'sexual health professional' in lieu of same workshops being presented by an actual health instructor?
  • mediating the aftermath of a fight, which requires asking for clarification of terms I don't use in my personal life, and am not even comfortable writing here?

No, no I certainly did not.



Having a cold and a nose ring...sucks.

Home today, huddling under my covers. Blowing my nose.



I have cool sneakers, which means I am now cool. Yes, that's how it works.

I'm sorry...kicks. I have cool kicks.

Pause, Rewind, Pause

I have returned, triumphantly (?) from California, and have lots to report. However, I've been preoccupied today with various work stuff.

And also, I'm busy bringing sexy back. As soon as that is accomplished, I'll be right with you.

(I'm not even sure what the above means. And I wrote it. So if you're confused, I don't blame you. I also find myself confusing.)


Packing, Heat

I am facing quite the dilemma tonight. Quite the dilemma.

Tomorrow is supposed to be very cold in NY. I will spend the morning in NY. I will spend the afternoon on a plane. I will be in LA by evening.

Here's the question. (Wait for it. Wait for it.)

Do I trundle miserably around Brooklyn tomorrow morning, hoping that a few layers of clothing and my new favorite (cold weather inappropriate) jacket will suffice for a few hours...or...do I wear my warm down winter coat (which I also love), knowing that it will need to be stowed for the entirety of my time out West?

The other huge decision I am taxed with tonight (Oh, you thought there was only one? Silly. You obviously don't know me.) is: having finished my Us Weekly at the laundromat, what exactly am I supposed to read on the plane?

Decisions, decisions. It's a wonder that I get anything done at all, what with my need to self-debate the simplest things until I arrive at a conclusion.

Oh, and by the way I am going to LA to hang out with my AWESOME, FUNNY, AMAZING, BRILLIANT, BEAUTIFUL friend Megan. Who is also a DOCTOR. And did I mention that she's WAY COOL? No, like, seriously, SUPER COOL.
(Hi Megan. See you tomorrow. Love.)



Every time I send something out from my new Yahoo beta account, I get a banner advertisement exorting me to 'Email A Jerk Chicken'.

And today, the phrase 'jerk chicken' is making me giggle. Or maybe it's the concept of being able to email a jerk chicken. But I think it's just the phrase. Making me giggle. Out loud.

Jerk chicken. Heh.

I must be overtired.



9:05 am and it's already one of those days.

I've been awake since 5:12, when some sort of public utility truck was parked outside my window, loudly rumbling. I'm tired. It's cold outside. My horoscope is telling me that today, I need to 'think with my heart, not my head' but I don't know if I can even access my feelings, or why I'm paying so much attention to the stars.

Life in NY is challenging me. Winter is coming, and I am lonely. Something needs to change.

Right now, though, it's enough to sit in the sunlight coming through my office window and drink coffee from my favorite mug.


It's That Time Of Year Again

Who the fuck are the Wichita State Shockers, and why were they able to beat my team on Saturday night?

I can only hope for a better game tomorrow during the Jimmy V Classic, because I'll be there. And when Syracuse is playing badly, I start swearing and sulking. While I am unconcerned about this display of unattractive behavior, it might frighten some of the people who will be attending the game. Like small children. Including T's girlfriend. (Oooooh, burn!)

And if they lose, I might be forced to...swear and sulk right on into Wednesday morning.