Dirrrrrty

For those of you who have never had the experience of living in a NYC apartment, you would probably be very surprised at how dirty such a small amount of space can become in such a short amount of time. Dust bunnies multiply, dishes pile up (dishwashers are not standard issue, unfortunately) and piles and piles of clothing stack up because there is no room left in the closet (notice "closet" is not plural!).

Now, having been raised having to do my own chores, I know how to clean. But everyone else in this city has a cleaning person and I wanted one too. Call me lazy. So we finally gave in and hired our friend's cleaning lady to come in once every two weeks while we were at work to clean our place, for a small fee. It was worth it! The first day I walked in to the smell of a fresh pine-scented apartment, I was never so happy!! Things were really clean! Not wipe-a-sponge-over-it-clean, but truly clean! I was in love. I couldn't wait until the next time this mysterious woman whom I had never seen came over again.

I was free to be as messy as I wanted... for someone else was there to pick up the slacks (ok, dumb pun!). I felt a little bit spoiled, a little bit frivolous, but I didn't care. She returned and I was happy again, as I watched tv, stray kernels of popcorn getting stuck in the cushions of the couch, left there for her to vacuum during her next visit. The third time the place smelled a little more like cigarettes and less like lemon cleanser, but Eric said he'd talk to her and ask her to blow her smoke out the window the next time she came. Oh, was I presumptuous - for there would not be a next time. She stopped coming without even a call.

I can't help but wonder "Is it me? Did I do something wrong? Were my cleaning supplies inadequate? Were my dirty dishes too dirty? Did she perhaps get engulfed by the monumental pile of dirty laundry that we have yet to get picked up?" (Yes, in NYC you can get your laundry picked up/delivered for free.) I wanted Eric to call her and beg her to come back, but he lost her number and now it's just been too long. So I must go back to my way of cleaning, which involves a lot of complaining and even a couple of tears as I think about what I had and somehow lost... perhaps I'm still in denial, but I must check that laundry pile when I get home.

Fit as a (Chocolate-Covered) Fiddle

As I sit here, in my too-tight pants, finishing up my lunch after having just read a trashy magazine depicting photos of too-skinny celebs, I wonder: how come it is so hard to get and stay in shape, and so easy to get out of it?

Having complete three marathons in my life, I feel like I've done enough work. I should be able to remain thin and fit forever without having to run any more miles. But once the exercise stops, the "fit phase" doesn't last that long at all. And what happens is such a tease... I stop exercising, and think that I am actually maintaining a great weight and possibly even getting skinnier. So I eat all the cheese and ice cream I want and don't think twice. UNTIL... I realize what was actually happening was that I was losing muscle mass and was quickly on my way to becoming a soft, flabby, chubby, unfit woman. Very depressing. So depressing, I need more ice cream.

So then I decide, enough of this! I will get back into shape. How hard can it be? I've done it before. OK, I guess it is true that the older you get, the more you have to work to stay fit. I am going to be 33 years old. I cannot run 2 miles these days without crying. My knee hurts me when I stand up after sitting for a while and sometimes even when I'm sleeping. The drive to get up and exercise is low. The flab-index under my arms is high.

But then I see the photos of Nicole Richie, looking like a 12-year-old girl and realize that it is not sexy. Curves are sexy! My fiance tells me that he likes my soft parts and that I am skinny enough. My clothes, though tighter, do still fit after all. So, that justifies my daily trip to the vending machine for my mid-afternoon Snickers bar. I will try again tomorrow to go for my 1.67 mile morning run, but if it doesn't happen, I always have my "broken" knee to blame it on.

Working 9-5

For those of you also working in corporate America, I'm sure you will be able to relate to this post. A lot of people try very hard to separate work and non-work activities. For me, I work my hours and then the real me emerges once I exit the building for the day. I cherish my weekends and every minute outside of the workplace. But what happens when the lines between work time and my time are blurred? The three examples I have are work functions, weekend/overtime work and smoking breaks.

Luckily, my job does not consist of many work-related functions. When I get a minute to eat lunch, I can eat solo. I rarely have a business dinner and I never dine with clients. When I do go out with colleagues, it is for the sole purpose of getting drunk and talking crap about the other people we work with. But for those of you who do get invited regularly to work functions, where can you draw the line? Can you refuse lunch that your boss invites you to (it is, after all, YOUR lunch hour) and do with it what you please... errands, shopping, lunch with friends... or are you obliged to graciously accept the offer and cancel whatever your personal agenda was? And what about the dinner function? Must you attend or are you officially off-duty after 5:PM? Will you be looked down upon should you never attend, whispered about that you are not a team player, or will your independence be envied by the others who couldn't find a worthy excuse?

On another note, I do not have children, so it is almost expected that I will be available to work late or on weekends. Saying I have dinner plans with friends does not hold as much merit as "I have to pick up my child from school" or "my kid is sick so I need to take the day off." Why do the plans of people with children take precendence over those of us without kids? Why should I have to pick up the slack and isn't my time just as important as anyone elses? Is it even really the company's business if I do or don't have kids? It's almost discrimination. I mean, I'll adopt a child right now if it will get me out of working overtime or weekends!

And lastly, the cigarette smokers. We don't work in an environment where we have to clock in and out, so nobody probably knows how much time the smokers spend outside of the office, getting their nicotine fix. But when I walk by the building, I see the same faces all the time. Since I don't smoke, can I just go for a 5-minute walk everytime I get the urge, citing the need for a fresh-air fix? Can I lie and say I'm a smoker just to get those much-needed breaks throughout the day? And how many smoking breaks are the smokers allowed to take throughout the day? Do they have to work longer hours to make up for the time spent smoking?

So to all the non-smoking people with a busy social life and no children yet, I say rebel! Let's start saying no to work functions, refuse to work overtime and weekends and start taking non-smoking breaks... I mean, in today's politically correct, non-discriminatory world, it's only fair!

Dead Head

Sometimes I wonder about my own mental capacity. Truth be told, I've gone through the majority of my life thinking of myself as an intelligent person. I did okay in school without trying too hard. My SAT score was average. I graduated college without ever once fearing that I wouldn't and I've been employed ever since. I can sometimes even finish the Sunday Times crossword puzzle... in PEN!!! Smart. Not brilliant... but definitely smart. Now I wonder.

Today (and it was not the first time this has happened ) I took my daily morning shower and only realized when I had FINISHED blowdrying my hair that something was awry. I did not rinse the conditioner that I had generously applied. My hair was a moldable, greasy mess. Already clean and dressed, I didn't have the time or patience to go through the whole process again, so here I sit with my flattened coif, wondering why I couldn't remember that simple shower step. My showers last approximately 10 minutes. 15 if I shave my legs. The whole process takes, what, eight easy steps MAX? Steps I've repeated for YEARS. There is not a whole heck of a lot to remember. So why can't I?

Unfortunately, my air headedness extends beyond the shower walls. I can remind myself 20 times to take my umbrella. I will put the umbrella in front of the door. I will then walk outside and realize that I don't have my umbrella. Sometimes I forget my bank account number or my zip code. Many times I am out of t.p. for days, even after I repeatedly stare at the empty spool and reprimand myself for being so stupid, stupid, stupid! Need milk? Don't expect me to remember it. But I will pick up another thing of grated cheese to add to the 5 already in the fridge, because I forgot whether or not we had any left! I'm good with birthdays, though. Not that that will do you any good... I'll remember your birthday but leave your gift in my apartment, repeatedly, until it's lost its relevance. Better luck next year,... what was your name again?

The Subway Diaries

If you live in Manhattan, you ride the subway. It's the cheapest way to get around and you don't have to deal with city traffic. But, with every pro there comes a con, or, in this case, a whole slew of cons. Maybe I am a bit self-righteous, but I believe there are some givens when it comes to subway etiquette. Why, then, does it seem that half the population doesn't know how to properly be a straphanger? It is hard enough being squeezed into a smelly car, standing nose to armpit with strangers, lurching along noisily only to get to the much-dreaded workplace without then having to deal with the rudeness of our fellow passengers.

To make it easier, here are the rules for those of you oblivious to the obvious:

1. Let the passengers off first. Do not try to push your way onto a car while others are trying to get off of that same car. Maybe in a past life, you were a salmon, swimming bravely upstream. On the subway, you are no salmon. You are just rude.

2. If you choose to stand directly in front of the subway doors, even when there is plenty of room to move deeper into the car, expect to get pushed around a little. The doors are only so wide and you are blocking a good portion of the entrance/exit. And do not give me attitude when I push past you... I have no choice... YOU ARE IN MY WAY!!! Better yet, move into the frickin' train!!! Why are you blocking the doors to begin with??!!

3. Do not use the seat next to you for your stuff. Your stuff can go on your lap, and I would rather not.

4. If you are a man, do not sit with your legs wide open, thus taking up two seats. You are supposed to be a gentleman... if you must sit (admit it... some of you guys don't even offer your seat up to the pregnant or elderly!), at least close your legs.

5. Maybe the subway seats are just designed for very small tushies, but sometimes there is just not enough room for you to sit down. I'm sorry. If you have to squeeze yourself into the seat making it hard for everyone else around you to even inhale, perhaps you should just stand? I do not want half of your butt cheek on my lap, and I'm sure the feeling is mutual!

6. Do not hold the doors.

7. Take your backpack off. It takes up too much room. If you are, perhaps, wearing your backpack on your front (people, it is called a BACKpack for a reason), I will address you specifically in a different blog entry, entitled "How to Look Like a Local Even at the Risk of Being Pick-Pocketed"

8. Expect to get touched, bumped, stepped on, pushed. You are on a NYC subway. You are not aboard your private jet.

9. When exiting the station, stay to the right of the stairs allowing people to enter and exit simultaneously. You are not special - we are ALL in a rush. There is only ONE lane and it is to your RIGHT!

10. Lastly, if you do have room, do not stand right on top of me. Give me my space. Trust me - in the end, it will make me want you more.

A Nod Will Suffice

Confession: I am not a small-talker. In fact, I HATE small talk. It could be that I am socially inept, or shy, or just have nothing interesting to say. But I really don't understand the compulsion that people have to fill in the silence. I actually like quiet moments. I hate the obligatory hallway greeting, said to every person you pass regardless of how many times you've passed them already that day. I hate the "half day?" comment you get when you are waiting for the elevator at 5:PM. I hate the "thank god it's friday" or "just one more day!" overly-cheerful statements. I don't want any part of the small talk arena... possibly because I totally just suck at it?

Stupid, typical things come out of my mouth when I am confronted with these kinds of situations. I talk about the weather. I mumble. I am not funny or the least bit witty or cool or even semi-intelligent and I'm really bad at the fake smile. I run out of things to say and become uncomfortable. I feel compelled to fill in the silence with inane comments, then perpetuating the small talk cycle. Half of the time, I have no idea who the person I'm talking to is... if you are not a friend of mine, chances are, I will not recognize you or even know which department you work in when we meet up outside of the workplace. I am the type of person who will avoid you in the subway or cross the street if we are walking in the same direction just to avoid the small talk. By the way, this has nothing to do with you as a person (it's not YOU, it's ME!). So let's make a pact... if you see me, simply say "hi", or even just nod a hello, and keep it at that. I won't mind. In fact, I will silently thank you.

Underachievers Unite!

Work is so slow these days, I thought I'd start a blog. I mean, there are only so many hours I can spend playing WebBoggle and checking my various email accounts. God forbid I actually do something productive with my spare time. I don't know if it is pure laziness or a fear of success or a fear of failure or just the inevitable way of life for a once B-averaging student, but I just can't motivate myself to MOTIVATE!!!

Why is it that when I am extremely busy at work, I complain that I have no time for anything, but the minute I do get hours of my own, I can't think of a thing that I want to do? I mean, I am a creative individual. I have my own website, I design cards and invitations and have a wedding approaching in a couple of months. I have run three NYC marathons. You would think that I have plenty to do. And I DO! That is the thing. There is no work work to be done currently, yet I feel guilt if I leave the office for a couple of hours to take care of personal business. I worry that I will return and find email and phone messages and a pink slip on my desk (do pink slips even exist anymore?). It's ridiculous! I need a manicure and I should go now, when the place is quiet, instead of waiting for "lunch time" when every woman within a 10 block radius is waiting to also get their nails done. I need some long-sleeved shirts, and new shoes for fall. I work right above a MALL for crying out loud - it's pretty easy to go shopping!!! There are pressing errands to be done. Beauty and fashion dilemmas to attend to. Wedding rings to be picked up. Logistics figured out. Resumes to be sent out. Exercise to be done. Yet, here I sit typing my blog... my very first one... and hope that somebody actually reads it and can relate. It's harder than I suspected, but hope it improves with time. We'll see if I even continue this... knowing me, I've only started a blog so that I have something else to leave unfinished.