Archives for the month of: July, 2012

It’s difficult to make new friends in a new city.  I am lucky enough to have found a building that most of the residents are friendly.  It is because of this that most people I have met also live in my building.  My newest friend invited me to a birthday party they were throwing.  There are party rooms in the building that residents can rent.  These rooms are fully equipped with wet bars, flat screen televisions and sound systems.  They are the perfect place to throw a party and this was where the birthday party was located.  My commute required me to go down an elevator, who can argue with that! 

I was told “not to be even a minute late”!  Therefore, I arrived at promptly 7:30pm.  Upon entering the party, there was a bartender mixing drinks to my left, a woman sitting on a sofa talking to the bartender on my right and directly in front of me was my friend, the mayor of the building!  He promptly greeted me and introduced me one by one to everyone entering both before and after me.  Before long, there were upwards of 50 people socializing at the party.  It was quite the shin dig!  As I sat chatting with a couple, a gentleman walked up with my friend and was promptly introduced to me.  As my friend walked away, he leaned in and whispered, “He’s single”!

Great, no one told me there would be single men at this party!  Actually, make that singular.  He was the only single man, and I was the only single female.  It was like we were on Noah’s Ark and the last two paired off.  As we made small talk, it just so happens that we both grew up in small towns, in states that were right next to each other.  In fact, he went to college very close to my home town.  Who would have thought in such a large city, I’d meet anyone that had even heard of the area I grew up—let alone having stood on the main street!  Excitement set in!

As the conversation became more and more interesting, dinner was served.  Salmon with rice and asparagus spears.  Yummy!  It was a quaint dinner, so we were all wedged together as everyone began to eat.  Have you ever had salmon?  It is typically soft and easily pieced apart with a fork.  This salmon, had apparently sat in the warmer for too long, as it was a ball of rubber.  When I went to cut it with my fork, barely touching the side — it launched off my plate and landed directly across from me—in a lady’s lap.  Apparently flying salmon is very scary as she screamed and fell over backwards in her chair—crashing to the floor legs in the air.  The rice went flying all over everyone around me, including the single guy.  You could have heard a mouse fart as everyone stopped and stared at me.  It was the longest 10 seconds of my life! 

I had finally met people, was at a party, met a single guy and now everyone was wearing my dinner.  I wanted to stand up and profess, “I do have table manners—really!”. 

Lucky for me, just as the silence began to pierce my brain, in rolled the birthday cake— candles burning!  Everyone forgot about my dinner they were wearing, migrated towards the cake and began to sing to the birthday boy.  I slowly made my way towards the door—slipped out and hit the elevators.  As the saying goes, “birthday cake fixes everything!” 

Question of The Day:  What would you do in an embarrassing situation?  Go to our Facebook page, like us and comment!

Do you ever wish you had a “man” mirror?  You know the mirrors I’m talking about, the ones that men look into and instantly see a rock solid chick magnet.  It doesn’t matter what shape or weight they are, they give themselves a thumbs up— a wink and out the door they go to take on the world.  Women on the other hand, look in the “female” mirror, and see flaws whether they exist or not.  Through the years, society has trained us well. 

 It is because of my “female” mirror that I hit the gym in the mornings.  This morning, I crawled out of bed reluctantly—put on my workout clothes—tied my hair back—grabbed my music and out the door I went.  I thought about taking the stairs down to the gym floor, but that didn’t seem sane.  So I headed for the elevators—hit the button and waited.  Before long, an elevator door opened, as I walked in, I was greeted by a man also headed to the gym.  He was dressed in 1970′s short shorts, a tank and sneakers.  We made small talk as the elevator dropped to the gym.  He mentioned that he was a regular gym rat and that he was training for an ironman.  Impressive!

As we walked into the gym, I encouraged him to have a great workout and headed to the treadmills.  Today was my treadmill day—I started up the interval program—hit my favorite music—and commenced with my jog.  In my mind, I was running through the woods—beside the lake—through a meadow—about the time I was completely in my happy place— I noticed the man in the elevator, Mr. Ironman, had left the weight area and was now on the treadmill next to me.  It was his treadmill day too apparently.  As my peripheral vision caught him beginning his run, I returned to my own run.  The running euphoria had set in—my mind was clear—I was back in my happy place—all was great.

 Minutes passed—we were running on the treadmills like bored hamsters.  Mr. Ironman running with his chest out—looking as manly as possible.  Suddenly—my nose picked up a smell—a very unpleasant smell at that.  As I made a face trying to figure out what the smell was—I looked in the direction of Mr. Ironman.  There he stood, one leg on each side of the treadmill—looking down—brown liquid all over the treadmill base.  As I looked up, it was also covering his sneakers, legs and shorts.  His bladder had unleashed on the poor treadmill.  The smell filling up the gym.  The treadmill loaded to it’s capacity and dripping onto the floor.

It was early in the morning, few people at the gym, those of us that were there were standing in stunned silence.  Mr. Ironman stepped off of the treadmill—looked at me—puffed out his chest and strutted out of the gym—a squishy sound with every step, leaving a brown trail. 

 As he exited the gym, he walked up to a janitor and informed there was a mess to clean up on the treadmill.  Where most women would have died of embarrassment, he walked out just as confident as he walked in.  Mr. Ironman — he might have been made of iron—but his bladder wasn’t.

 Question of the day:  What kind of mirror do you have in your house?  Go to our Facebook page, Like us and comment!



Are celebrities better than the average human?  My thoughts are a resounding no.  However, I’m in the minority.  The other night, I had the wonderful surprise of friends popping into the city to have dinner with me.  It was a ‘spur of the moment’ idea, so it was after 10:00pm before they arrived, parked the car and we hit the streets to figure out where we were going to dine.  Thai cuisine was the restaurant of choice that night.  Most of the restaurants in New York are small and more like having dinner as a community as opposed to a quiet dinner with friends.  So as my friend and I sat chatting and enjoying ourselves, we noticed a woman walk in alone and sit down at the table directly beside us.  Being that the restaurant is so small, it was as if she had sat at our table.

Have you ever noticed a person at a restaurant eating alone?  At the bar, it’s not as noticeable as at a table, where they look lonely and isolated.  Being that we are both from the Midwest originally, we can’t handle anyone looking alone and isolated, so my friend started talking to the woman.  Before long, the three of us were in what we thought was an innocent conversation.  We were asking the typical questions, “Do you live in New York?”—“Do you live in this area?”—you know what I’m talking about, just average questions.  It was by all accounts a normal conversation.  She stated that she not only lived in the area, but she named my building!  Being the naive New Yorker, and thinking maybe I had finally found a potential friend, I excitedly replied that is my building too and what floor did she live on.  That was when the conversation took a turn.  She looked at me as though I had three heads and replied she lived on the 14th floor.  No one lives on the 14th floor as those are the model apartments at this point.  I had no idea what had just transpired, except that this person did not live on the 14th floor.  I went back to eating my dinner as I was finished with the conversation.  My friend however, kept asking questions. 

I heard “What do you do for a living in New York?”  To which she replied, “I’m an actress!”  No one at my table had a clue who she was.  We looked at each other as if to say, “really?!”  The next question my friend asked, “Have you been in anything that we know?”  Although it was an innocent question, it was apparently an insult to this woman.  She immediately started shrieking at us, “you should know what I’ve been in, I’m a famous actress!”  I was apparently not having the reaction that she wanted, as she turned to me and stated, “you know who I am as you were trying to figure out how to stalk me!”  Excuse me? 

I looked up at her and asked how she came to the conclusion that I wanted to “stalk” her.  To which she immediately replied, “You asked what floor I lived on!”  Apparently in New York, if you happen to be speaking to someone that thinks they have celebrity status, and you ask them anything about where they reside, you’re stalking them.  That’s a handy bit of information to have! 

We rushed to finish our dinner and vacate the restaurant.  Only in New York could you be accosted by an “actress”. 

Three days later, I was sitting in the lobby finishing up a phone call before I entered into the elevator, when my eyes locked with a woman walking across the lobby in my direction.  It was the “actress”.  The one that was so famous no one knew who she was and still doesn’t.  She was in a mini sheath dress and stilettos.  As our eyes locked, she immediately developed an attitude and began to strut across the lobby.  As she walked by me, her heel caught on a decorative rug just before the door and she went flying to the floor.  Her arms flailing—shoe flying off—dress flying up—she hit the floor with a loud noise and landed at the feet of the doorman.  As she looked up at me I thought to myself, “You’re definitely famous now!”

Question of the Day:  Which celebrity would make you star struck?  Go to our Facebook page, Like us and comment!

Do you ever wish you could eat everything and anything you want and not gain one pound?  I wish that all the time.  Some days, like today, I even pretend that is the case!   This morning I woke up as I typically do.  First thing in the morning, I roll out of bed and head to the gym.  My theory is, if your workout is in the morning, by the time you wake up—it’s over! 

I finished my workout, hit the shower, figured out what kind of fashionista I was going to be for the day—grabbed a pair of stilettos that matched and out the door I flew.  I was about halfway to the office when it hit me.  You guys all know what I’m talking about.  That sudden urge that all women know — it hits all of us without warning—consistently—the CHOCOLATE CRAVING!  Ok, so maybe it doesn’t hit all women, but I’d like to think it does to make myself feel better.

Anywhere else in the world, you could avoid that sugar craving.  In New York, it stalks you!  There are street vendors selling chocolate—bakeries with cupcakes and brownies—everywhere you look there are temptations—and in case you can’t see them—they deliver anytime, anywhere day or night!  It’s torture!  Everything is on demand!

I was successfully ignoring the chocolate stalker through the morning—I even made it through lunch and into the afternoon.  That chocolate stalker wasn’t going to get the best of me!  Until about mid afternoon when the chocolate stalker brought in reinforcements and had the sugar fairy join in!  It’s not right when they help each other out! 

As I’m leaving the office and riding the elevator to the lobby, I can feel myself caving in to the two little farts—   Their manipulation tactics are beyond what I can fight!  As I walked to the train, I stopped at a bodega to get a chocolate bar—if I just had a chocolate bar I’d be fine.  I had the bar half eaten by the time I hit the train.  During the 10 minute train ride, I devoured the other half and sat there thinking about chocolate—cupcakes—brownies—this wasn’t good.

Upon exiting the train station, there is a bakery.  Of course I stopped to get 2 cupcakes.  One to eat now and one for later—As if!  I devoured both and bought two more for later.  Walking down the street, I bought another chocolate bar from a street vendor.  This took me two blocks before I had to grab a brownie from another bakery.  As I entered my building I was on a sugar rush beyond words. 

When I entered my apartment—the two cupcakes I was carrying were calling me.  I sat down and decided that it was crazy to wait until later, I’d have them right then. I had successfully overdosed on chocolate and sugar on my commute home. 

This is why you should not deprive yourself of those great pleasures in life known as dessert!  Once the craving hits—it owns you!  If you eat a little every day, then you don’t crave it!  Besides—cake fixes everything! So have dessert first!

Question of the day:  What is your worst craving?  Go to our Facebook page, like us and comment!

Have you ever wished that the average model would be 60 pounds heavier?  Women are inundated with the “perfect” figure, shape, weight, hair—the list goes on and on!  From the time we hit puberty we are pressured to act, talk, dress and look a certain way.  It’s no wonder we’re the stronger gender!  Don’t tell the men, we’ll just keep it our little secret.  So why is it that with society pummeling down on us, some women feel the need to make life even more difficult for the rest of us?   In New York in particular, I’ve noticed that you are accepted no matter what gender, size, shape, race, color, sexual orientation you are—but wear the wrong pair of shoes and you’re dead!

This week I’ve been stuck monitoring a new employee training session.  This for me is torture by lack of movement!  However, during this week in particular, it’s been rather interesting.  Typically, there are very few females.  This week, there happen to be 6 females in a group of 23, not including me.  When people step into environments out of their comfort zone, it’s interesting how they interact.  In this case, 5 of the women, very insecure with socializing in a new environment, created a “pack”.  It was like a bad scene from the movie “Mean Girls”!  I have been shocked and amazed at what I have witnessed this past week, and it’s only Wednesday!  These women’s ages range from late 20’s to late 40’s—they are wives, mothers and professionals.  Yet they act like they are awkward high school kids mocking everyone else to make themselves feel more comfortable.  They are giggling, whispering behind people’s backs, making comments about how people are dressed—how they talk—what they look like—Really?  Is it necessary to relive high school?  They have even managed to completely shun the one female not in their “club”. 

As I’m sitting and watching this juvenile behavior, it hit me, no wonder instances of bullying hit the news almost daily.  How can we expect the children of today to behave better than the parents do?  My guess is that the children of these women behave as poorly as they do.  As adults, aren’t we supposed to set good examples?  How can we lecture children on behavior if our behavior is less than acceptable? 

In a separate instance a few years ago, I met my first “mean girl” in my adulthood.  She is the sister of a guy I was dating.  I tried to befriend her, as it’s always good to have the sister on your side, right?  However, she kept comparing me to her, which was ridiculous considering there is absolutely no common denominator between us.  She is a very angry, anorexic, depressed, negative and mean person.  Her only goal in life is to make sure everyone else is miserable to validate herself.  I wanted to say, “Do you ever just get tired of being mean?”  However, I kept those thoughts to myself.

Where do women get the knee jerk reaction to compare and compete with other women?  It doesn’t make any sense.  Society comes down on women hard enough without women making things even more difficult.  Shouldn’t we enjoy each other’s differences and stand together to make each other stronger as opposed to the “divide and conquer” mentality?  

Question of the Day:  Why do you think women compare and compete with each other? Go to our Facebook page, like us and comment!

Fireworks on the 4th of July are expected.  July 3rd however, is the one day of summer that everyone is trying to either get into the city to enjoy the holiday festivities OR escape the city to anywhere that is quiet and lacking tourists.  I was driving to Brooklyn for meetings.  Roads were closed in the city to prepare for the July 4th festivities—the tunnel to get from Manhattan to Brooklyn had a vehicle broken down—there was construction all over Brooklyn congesting everything—I left two hours before my first meeting as I didn’t want to be late.  I arrived 30 minutes overdue.  Two and a half hours to go 13 miles.  Urban living at it’s finest! 

Driving back to my apartment was roughly the same scene.  When I finally drove into the parking garage, I wanted to drop to my knees and kiss the ground.  However, it is New York, so I settled for a fist pump and shouting “YES” as I exited my vehicle.

As I walked toward the elevator lobby, I noticed a large number of people waiting for the elevators.  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed 3 firemen walking into the lobby.  My first thought was that someone tripped the fire alarm as a practical joke.  I heard a doorman tell a resident that as soon as the fire department gave the “all clear”, they could bring the elevators down and all would be back to normal.  The firemen disappeared into the stairwell.  Three more firemen came into the lobby and disappeared into the stairwell as well.  After about 20 minutes, three police officers arrived with 2 paramedics.  This was not good. 

Did I mention that when the fire alarms go off in New York, it is city law that all ventilation systems shut down?  You got it, no air conditioning in July.  That always makes for great attitudes amongst crowds of irritated, impatient people.  Two hours had passed.  At last, one of the doormen announced they were sending down the elevators.  Yes!

Suddenly, I heard a noise that didn’t fit.  It was the sound of a water fountain inside the building.  The only problem with that is there are no fountains in the building.  As I looked up, I saw six elevators with walls of water coming from the ceiling of each and flowing into the lobby.  It was a scene that caused me to drop my jaw in stunned silence.  Elevators are operated with electricity the last time I checked—water and electricity can’t stand each other.  Again, not good. 

I no sooner focused on the elevator and the massive amounts of water coming from them, when the three police officers emerged back into the lobby.  They were walking with a girl approximately in her late 20s—she was sporting cuffs.  Apparently, the fire sprinklers in her apartment were screaming at her and she had to quiet them, so she did what anyone would do to quiet the voices.  She took a hammer to them.  In case any of you are wondering, if you damage a fire sprinkler head with a hammer, it releases massive amounts of water. 

A great, high floor view in New York is great—until there are no elevators.  So for the rest of the week, the stairs were the only option.  Thank goodness she quieted those voices!  At least now I know exactly the time it takes me to climb 40 flights of stairs! 

Question of the Day:  Where were you the last time you heard a fire alarm go off?  Go to our Facebook page, like us and comment!

Have you ever felt the need to crawl into a sidewalk crack and disappear?  This morning I rolled out of bed at the crack of dawn to go for a morning run.  I’m trying out this healthy thing that everyone seems to boast about.  I’m skeptical that sweating profusely will be more invigorating than a cup of tea and a bagel.  Looking out the window, the sun was out, not a cloud in the sky, it’s going to be a great day!  I couldn’t have ordered better weather!  I changed into my running clothes, grabbed the music box and drug myself out the door.  The things we do to look good. 

 You might have mistaken me for a true city chic!  Jogging along the water, listening to my favorite playlist, developing that runner’s euphoria when I saw— HIM!  Now some of you might be thinking the him that I’m referring to is an Adonis, a man God also working out—jogging with me in the early morning hours.  A man that takes your breath away.  That’s partly correct.  This ‘him’ wasn’t jogging, he did take one’s breath away though.  He sat on a bench overlooking the Hudson River.  What made him unique— he was wearing his birthday suit, a pair of white tube socks, sneakers and—a hat.  The hat had the words “I’m the Boss” on it. 

It took a second for my brain to register.  This man was — NAKED!  Being in New York, I wasn’t sure if I should ignore him, scream or pass out.  I chose to ignore him and attempt to jog anonymously by.  Bad Decision!  As I passed by ‘Him’, he got up and in his full glory swinging, picked up a jog directly behind me! 

Luckily, this early in the morning, there are few people awake, let alone out on the street.  There are even fewer exercising.  Those that were out were stopping and watching in awe and wonder!  Imagine the scene that makes a New Yorker stop and stare!  This was it.  Some were taking pictures, others were waving.  I was trying to keep a faster pace—ignore the situation—and disappear—maybe jumping into the Hudson might be a good option.

Then I saw my morning euphoria—a big, black horse and mounted atop the horse was a police officer!  When ‘Him’ saw the officer, he immediately turned around and started running the other way.  He ran right into another mounted officer and in what seemed mere seconds a swarm of officers were on the scene to take ‘Him’ away. 

Once things had calmed down—I realized that ‘Him’ had only been running behind me for about 500 feet.  That was the longest 500 feet of my life!  If this is how my day is starting—I can’t wait to see what the rest of the day has in store!  I’m thinking tomorrow I’ll go back to the cup of tea and a bagel!

Question of the Day:  What is your favorite morning routine?  Go to our Facebook page, Like us and comment!

I grew up somewhere between the movies Footloose and The Help.  The difference?  It was legal to dance and people didn’t care what color you were, if you were different in the slightest, they were going to isolate you.  It wasn’t the town’s population number that made it unique but the fact that it is so isolated from everything else.  There weren’t malls to hang out at… we were forced to entertain ourselves.  This often required a visit to the emergency room and a lecture from one of the parental figures…if not both.  Life was uncomplicated then.  I rode my horses, went to school and did my homework.  Typically in that order.  Young ladies were coached to grow up, get married and have children.  Preferably in that order, although a few confused that and had children first.  I apparently was daydreaming during those life lessons as I’m not married…no children and I try very hard to not act like a grown up unless I have to.  On one trip “home”, one of the elderly ladies of the community after hearing that I was not married and had no children, took my hands into hers and barked “I’m so sorry God has cursed you this way”— honestly.  Ever find yourself at a loss for words that won’t get you thrown into jail?  

 It’s at these times that a great pair of shoes makes all the difference in the world.  How you ask?  I’ve found that the most unique stiletto creates the ultimate speaking piece, ice breaker and savior.  You might think “savior” seems a bit over the top to describe a pair of shoes.  However, if you’ve ever been singled out as having a black cloud over your head, cursed by God or the worst one—that face that is made showing disapproval.  It doesn’t matter as to what.  Those all go away with one, “where did you get those shoes?”

A great pair of stilettos and you’re towering over everyone!  They are like Samson’s hair giving power and strength.  After all, shoes always fit, no matter what the scale reads.  Shoes always look fresh, no matter how hot and humid the day.  Shoes embark attitude that exudes from the inside out!  It’s not just a pair of shoes—they are therapy in motion! 

The next time you want to turn to dunking cookies in coffee while watching sappy chick flicks.  Or inducing yourself into a chocolate coma—my advice is to grab your sexiest pair of kicks, a couple of your closest girlfriends and strut!  Even if it is directly to the kitchen to get the cookies and coffee!

Question of the Day:  What is your favorite comfort food? Go to our Facebook page, Like us and comment!