Shoulda Been A Stripper

New Year, New Site

2011-01-13T23:38:00.000-08:00

Moving on over to http://shouldabeenastripper.wordpress.com/ for the new year. See you there?

Yes.

2010-07-12T02:40:00.000-07:00

I say no alot. Do you want to have kids? No, I don't know, maybe, we'll see. Do you want to live in New Jersey? Not really. Do you really want to be a doctor? No. Do you think this makes me look fat? No. Should I get bangs? No. Do you mind if I go to a bachelor party? No. That last one is in my fake life, where strippers make less than me and have bad skin and haven't yet discovered Pilates.

And let's not forget that the Emergency Person has said no many, many times. For example, in the years prior to our "dating" I would suggest (not less than twice) that perhaps we shared more than just friendly emotional feelings and might benefit from exploring said feelings and he'd respond with a cool "no" that would bring me back to Earth. Of course his reasons were always rational. Always made sense. Always hard to debate. Always made me kind of sad.

So life happened (and many, many long conversations and many, many bottles of red wine), and eventually fate (or maybe a few pushy friends and the Las Vegas dry heat) brought us together. Not a smooth ride by any means, but who wants that anyway? Despite it all, I like to say that I knew that the EP was the guy when I met him. Who would stick with me as I called the Bellagio operator at 3 am, barefoot on Las Vegas Blvd and demanded the fountains be turned on? Who takes a girl to a 5 star restaurant, lets her order the wine, and then points out the hot girl who flies up in a harness to fetch the wine ("wine angel") having cleverly seated himself with a perfect view? Who LIKES that guy? Somewhere between Las Vegas Boulevard and San Diego, likely during a long conversation on a long drive down I-15 on one of many road trips, I fell flat on my face head over heels you know what with this man.

Fast forward to 2010. In my thoughts this year have been many of my dear friends who have dropped everything, picked up and moved to a place unknown because of boys. The outcomes are never the same, and the warnings are always there. The authors of He's Just Not That Into You have made a fortune out of this kind of warning. And frankly, I have given this kind of warning (then again, I have also said “it is your life, and you will kick yourself if you let this guy go now” more often than I have given the warning so maybe I am just a big sap after all). I have even heeded the advice in similar instances. I get it. I do. I get it. The risk of emotional carnage is exponentially higher when you add in a big move with (ahem) no ring.

“So what,” I said. So what? And I packed my shoes, left my (awesome) puppy with my Mom, and I moved to Abu Dhabi. Not for a boy, but for a job A job that is pretty interesting and pays enough to make me not broke and able to buy shoes frequently enough to satisfy any need for retail therapy (though all of you said it was for the boy, I know you did. I can read your faces…). Regardless, this was a big deal and very exciting and I was able to shut up the voice in my head (which was reading all of your faces) long enough to get on the plane. And I couldn’t have been happier. Then the boy came too and that was great. I thought to myself "well this is fantastic” and I started planning trips all over the place because my GOD it is hot here so I need to get away.

And then the funniest thing happened. I arrived in New York on June 29th, delayed 3 hours and the EP was there, with a car service, ready to burst because I'd been delayed. Cranky and cantankerous, he was not the picture of what you want to see when you have traveled for 24 hours and are meeting your guy in an airport that permits public displays of affection (my new appreciation for this will not go unrecognized here). Nonetheless, we proceeded to go out with friends and have a drink. Clearly, we were very thirsty because I awoke the next morning with a headache and jetlag.

In an effort to keep it honest, I will note here that I needed the hotel room key as I had to meet a dear friend for breakfast. Instead of waking a sleeping giant, I chose to rumble through the EP's jeans. The man heard me moving around and DOVE for the trousers in a move we'll call "not smooth" and proceeded to lecture me about going through his things. Hmmmmmmm.

With an air of suspicion, I bit my tongue and met my friend. Returning to the room, I was told we had ten minutes to pack because we were going to miss our flight. May I note here another reason that my guy is my guy: he plays with airport fire like NO ONE I KNOW. I have missed a flight or two because of an insistence on a sandwich, or a cocktail, or an extra 20 minutes of sleep. Nonetheless, we made our flight (despite a hilarious yet stressful drive through Manhattan to JFK courtesy of one of our favorite people in NYC) and in no thanks to the people at JFK (including the gal in front of me who thought that it was acceptable to wear club clothing with metal pieces to the airport, thereby setting off the metal detectors and resulting in the security lady yelling 'female assist').

Arriving in Boston was fantastic because the EP calmed down. Not sure whether it was the forthcoming trip to Fenway or the soothing sounds of PTI on ESPN provided by JetBlue’s on board DirecTV service, but the EP was back to normal. We checked into our hotel without incident and headed toward Faneuil Hall to fetch our Red Sox tickets. Of course, the EP wanted to take the scenic route and I basically said, in more than so many words, "you don't take the Charles to get there, even I know that." Clueless despite my earlier suspicions, I reluctantly walk toward the waterfront to take the longest way possible through Boston. Then the big guy says we should relax.

Relax!?!?!?!

Family en route, tickets to pick up, lunch to eat, potential naps to take, and he wants us to take a break and relax.

"Let's sit here on this bench," he says.

"What?" and as I turn around, as a lady who doth protest too much is want to do, I see this guy -- the guy who cooly explained to me that we were colleagues and that was more important than a romantic something or other, and then later we were too good of friends to explore a relationship, and that just because we were moving we didn't need to be married, and so on and so forth -- holding a gorgeous sparkler of a piece of jewelry and insisting I sit down on a bench for just a minute.

So that he could ask me to marry him.

"Are you SERIOUS?!!?" I said.

(Note: This is when you're supposed to say yes).

"You're supposed to say yes," he stammered.

And as much as I always knew it, and as much as his attempts at secrecy were faulty and as much as I want to be able to say something utterly profound about it, I was floored. And I continue to be every day. Some people call it "glowing" - I call it being knocked back on my heels. Because as hard as I fell years ago, he knocked me back on me heels just as hard when he looked up at me and proposed marriage. Marriage. MARRIAGE. He wanted to marry ME?! ME!? Well that's fantastic.

So I said yes.

Holy wedding bells, Batman. We've got a ballgame.

An Open Letter to 30.

2010-06-14T22:42:00.000-07:00

You’re cute, you know. You've been taunting my friends, me and generations of women for years. It’s cool, though. I would taunt as well if I were on my way out of business.

That’s right, I said it. You’re going out of business.

Don’t deny it. Look at the people turning 30 this year, they are a bunch of kids:

Famous people born in 1980:

Jessica Simpson

Christina Aguilera

Macaulay Culkin (really!?!)

Venus Williams

Jake Gyllenhal

Gisele Bundchen

Laura Prepon

Chelsea Clinton

Jason Schwartzman

Michelle Kwan

Chris Pine

Jennie Finch

Willie Parker

Ok so I don’t have a gold medal and I haven’t won a super bowl and my Dad was never President and I didn’t play a gay cowboy and I haven’t married a Backstreet Boy or whatever Nick Lachey called himself back when he was famous. I think I’m ok. I did GO to a Super Bowl (January 2008 – “The Catch” – Glendale, AZ – Best. Day. Ever.) and I have seen Home Alone a few times and I went to Wimbledon (when Williams won it!). Have these people ever formatted 10 organizational charts in one day, or thrown together a really awesome Happy Hour? Have they moved to Vegas on a whim? No. Ok maybe they have, because I can see some of them doing that. Still. You get my point.

You could add some brilliant women I know to this list. You could. But you won’t, will you? You will basically remind us that we don’t measure up, that because we’re without money or real estate or careers or degrees or babies or husbands or (gasp) boyfriends, we’re failures. Right. You expected to have all of those things by now, didn't you? Sure you did. As Hugh Grant said to Margaret Thatcher in Love Actually, “You saucy minx…”

I’m not afraid of you, just like I am not afraid of the streak of grey hair that has taken residence on my crown – that’s right, I have a lot of grey hair. But 30, I have had it since my early 20s and, sure, when it grew in copious amounts in my late 20s, I took measures to correct it (including some blonde highlights that we’ll call “The Worst Decision of 2007”). Right now I don’t have a colorist, which is another brand of torture that we can discuss in another conversation, but that’s ok, 30.

I have a longer CV, a legitimate income, some world travelling under my belt and yes, I find myself saying “when I was your age” to my 23 year-old friend. But have you seen me lately? I am glowing, and not because I am pregnant. Sure, there are two lines appearing on my brow because it tends to furrow (which I attribute to the fact that I work with mostly men, and they say some ridiculous things), but I am a happy person. Disgustingly so, some say. It’s delightful, really. Except when I have the occasional breakdown about living halfway around the world from my mom, I am exceedingly pleased with my lot. I feel like Harry Potter on his first day at Hogwarts: in awe of it all. This is naive, you say? Tsk tsk.

30, even if I weren't such an obnoxious ball of joy, you are not what you used to be. Neither is your big sister 40. For that matter, I think my mother took down your other friends (they know who they are, one of them rhymes with nifty and is a real bitch) pretty easily with her awesomeness, her charm and her (hopefully passed down to me) good looks and ridiculously slow visible signs of aging. Do you want to know why you and your people are getting taken down one generation at a time? Because you are not dictating our life plans. Personally, you are the least of my concerns. At the rate of natural disasters we’re experiencing of late, age is not something that scares me. Got it?

Ok, good.

With that, I am asking you to please bring it. That’s right. Bring it on like a white cheerleader dancing to hip hop. Leave the jazz hands at home (they just make you look weird).

I am looking forward to this decade and I would like you to get your little dance over with so I can proceed with my life. I have some travelling to do, and I have some people to meet. And I live in Abu Dhabi and it’s hot, so I have to spend at least a minute or two every time I think about going outside considering how quickly I can return to an air conditioned space so I don't have time for your nonsense about growing up. After this maybe I’ll go back and get (yet) another degree or completely change the course of my career. Maybe I’ll forgo children so that I can travel the world and feed ones that don’t have hope of Angelina adopting them. Or maybe I'll just forgo children so that I can buy some shoes. Lots and lots of shoes, 30. Jealous? Yes I think so. Despite all of those decisions, maybe I’ll have love, too. Yes, 30. I probably will. So will my friends -- and most of them I think you’ve essentially got zero on because they are incredible women and have managed to become successful parents to boot – what’s that, 30? Got nothing? I thought so.

After all that, if you think we are even-steven here, methinks you probably feel a little bit like the English after the USA came out and tied them because their goalie kinda blew it. Like a sucker. You feel like a sucker, don't you? Because you wanted to win. And I am happy with a tie, 30.

So bring it on, and then get out of here. 40 will start to do her thing soon and I really don’t have time for both of you.

Also try not to make a mess. I can do that myself and fully intend to this weekend.

xoxo

-one of millions of women who wish you'd just shut UP already

But Dorothy is my middle name! (Or: I wish three clicks of the heel would bring me to Jersey)

2010-05-12T00:05:00.000-07:00

Last night I was a stranger to sleep. I think eventually I dozed off, but every time I had some moment of clarity I would reach over and check my phone.

No calls. Work emails and coupons I cannot use at stores in the States, but no calls. At 3:51 AM my father called and the elation in his voice was telling.

“We did it,” he said, “We won big!”

Overcome with relief and exhaustion, I fell back into bed after quick congratulations and slept well for the rest of the morning. Everything would be ok.

I have spent the past week using email and Facebook to do what I can about an election in my hometown. I don’t expect most of my contacts to really care, at all, about this. That said, I think it might come across as rather bizarre that, from halfway around the world, I was losing sleep over a municipal election in Long Branch, New Jersey.

I was born just a few blocks from my parents’ house in Long Branch thirty years ago. The day they moved into that house, according to my mother, was the day she realized she was going to have a second child (yours truly). For better or for worse, my parents still live in that house. It has changed colors, lost trees, endured a broken window from a ball or two, hosted many a party (whether my parents were there or not) and served as a sort of gathering place for friends and family over the years. This house will forever be home to my family.

Bigger, though, than that house is the City it lives in. You could say, to some degree, that Long Branch is the fourth child in our house (she could be further characterized as my older, wiser, weathered sister). My parents live to serve her, my grandfather lived to serve her, and yesterday when her future was on the table, I sat halfway around the world trying to escape the anxiety I had over the election of the mayor and council (who happen to be my father’s employer). Let me take a moment to clarify – this is New Jersey politics. This is not The West Wing. Throw in diversity, the state of the economy, various pending bribery investigations, arguments over eminent domain that go back as long as I have been a legal adult and add in a few crackpots for good measure and you have yourself a ball game, friends.

While the campaign was ridden with Willie Stark-like caricatures of politicians and the games that are played, the people on the good side of it all (forgive my bias, it is wrought with facts, history and most of all, acknowledgement of progress) are close to my heart. I am a lifetime supporter of the incumbent team, and the recent history of our town is fascinating because it tells the story of a town going from the kind of place I was mildly ashamed of to the kind of place I am proud to call home.

This is where my father comes in. Thirty years is a long time. My father, a patient man, tries to always tell me that things take time. Progress does not come overnight. When I was seven, my father, uncle and grandfather closed the family business on Broadway (this was mostly due to the growth of malls and the speedy decline of the economy in our town). I didn’t really understand what that meant until I realized I never really went back to Broadway as it was kind of a depressed place. Around that time, the amusement park on the pier caught fire and the damage was irrecoverable. I cried that day because my parents hadn't ever taken me there and it was gone so I'd never get to see it.

When I was in middle school, my father was appointed the City Business Administrator and his days and nights became consumed with the City. In high school, I was the school mascot. This pleased my parents, I think, because it kept me involved with sports (since my athletic abilities were on par with your average nerd). I loved it because I spent alot of time celebrating -- our town and our basketball team won two State Championships during my tenure as the mascot, so it was tons of fun. Clearly we were those people (my family) -- we were fans of this place and the people in it, despite the burned down pier, the crime levels and some other minor flaws.

When we went on college tours to big cities, Dad would always point out similarities to our town, speak incessantly about its future, about it being a destination, not something people would avoid. In fact, I avoided Long Branch myself as much as possible around that time. I would drive to the neighboring town’s McDonald’s when my best friend and I needed a hot fudge sundae (seriously they are tasty and cost like a dollar) instead of the McDonald’s in our town because of the “sketch” factor. There were a number of “sketch” factors.

During my senior year of high school or thereabouts, there was a master plan for the City's redevelopment that was slowly beginning to take shape. I left home at that point for college and came back a few times to see more and more progress each year: cleaner streets, new storefronts, beaches spanning for a few miles with no garbage and much less “riff raff” – and I am not talking about one neighborhood or two, but a makeover of sorts - a complete overhaul of different parts of the City. (Note: my parents both got much more gray hair during this time).

Seeing as this is my home, as far away as I would go, it still mattered to me. It still matters to me. Maybe a little too much, but that’s not a bad thing. Growing up with your parents so involved in your town (my mother's contributions are an entirely independent post), it is natural to have a vested interest in these things. So every four years, the elections are kind of a big deal. For one thing, who knows if the other guy would have employed my father?

Further, I didn’t want to see the progress come to a halt. I didn’t want this story to end. The people running against the Mayor (and the people behind them) weren't all that honest, weren't all that hard working, and they clearly didn't have a passion for my hometown. To take a job that pays very little but requires a ton of your time, you have to give a damn. All the time. You have to care ALL THE TIME. There are costs to this and most people aren't willing to do what it takes to do these jobs well -- to do unpopular things, to do things that cost money, to do things that people are afraid of to make progress happen. I didn't want someone responsible for my home that had no intentions of taking care of it and no regard for the progress to date. Our Mayor, amidst a negative campaign and armed with his record and all of those things that people who lead have to have, was steadfast, motivated and took nothing for granted. He asked the people to believe him, to believe in him and to vote for him to keep up the good work of the past 20 years. And they did. By a large margin. It was inspiring to hear my father telling me this news on the phone. It was inspiring because I remembered why I am here and why I do what I do.

I have never, in my life, known what I wanted to do with myself. I have never, ever been consistent about what I want to do with myself (the number of times I've changed majors, changed apartments, changed my mind about what to have for dinner, etc. is ridiculous). I never will be and that haunts me sometimes. On days like this, it haunts me because I have clearly made some decisions that have led me to be so far away from home and it is troubling when I cannot place the reason behind those decisions.

I will say this – I sit on a very corporate side of an industry that lets me travel the world to experience everything that I love about cities by contributing a small amount to them. And everything I love about cities I learned by sitting at a table in my parents’ house and listening to my father tell me about what was planned for our town and how it was going to happen, or on a call with him from wherever I was living, him telling me about some major step towards progress (an approval here, a contract signed, a groundbreaking, a successful event, a positive NYTimes restaurant review, etc.). I love knowing how these things happen and I love being a little, tiny, insignificant but excited part of it all.

So what the hell made me move to Abu Dhabi (or even Las Vegas before this) when I am so interested in what’s going on in New Jersey? Honestly, I fell into this job I have. I really “stepped in it,” as my Aunt would say. I applied for a marketing position on Craigslist in 2004 (when I think it was invented) and I got the job. Real Estate and Construction was cool, I had this love affair with developments and cities that I wanted to pursue, though at the time it was not really clear how that was going to work out. I was beginning to realize then that I was kind of obsessed with seeing something through – since I never finished anything myself – from concept stages to reality. I was no engineer, I was no architect – I never will be. But there are stories in cities. There are stories in buildings. There are stories in the people who see them before they are even drawn on paper (and let me tell you, some of those drawings change so many times your head would spin). There are stories in the people who build them, live/work/play in them, change them, and sometimes even the people who implode them. I just wanted to be the part of my own story, I guess, and go to new places.

There are also stories about the people who want stop progress, for one reason or another, in its tracks. In Long Branch, those stories are popular. In Long Branch, like any place, any story with controversy is popular. Unfortunately, there is also an untold story: that of the team of people who have spent literally, most of my lifetime, trying to make it a better place. My Dad is one of those people. My Mom is one of those people. The newly re-elected Mayor is one of those people. And their stories are not ever told from their own perspective because they are gifted with the kind of humility and grace that the people who have thrown some mud their way of late clearly do not know. You don’t hear about the long nights they spent pouring over ideas and plans and regulations and budgets to make things happen. You don’t read in the paper how much time and effort it took to plan events year in and year out and wait for people to come and worry that they wouldn’t – I think my mom has nightmares of empty shops and restaurants and poorly attended events on behalf of the town’s small businesses on a regular basis. And the physical progress is not just in oceanfront developments. Parks, cleaner streets, new businesses all over town, fewer empty and run down storefronts, more events, more visitors, more money flowing into the restaurant owners, more things for kids to do, more things for people to do. A better place, a better lifestyle, a better home.

Much to the contrary of the aforementioned respect and passion I have for this home, I have traveled further away from it than anyone in my family. This is silly to friends who spend a good deal of time patiently listening to me tell (long winded, disconnected, irrelevant) stories about home and how great it is, but to me it is the life I choose to lead. I don’t have to live and breathe home to know it, to love it and to miss it.

Of course I’ve discovered many great places on the journey that brought me from a little City on the coast of New Jersey to New York City (which you can see on a clear day from our beaches), to North Carolina, all around Europe, Washington DC, Las Vegas, and now to Abu Dhabi. I am no true world traveler (trust me, the people I meet here daily look at me cross-eyed because I haven't been to Thailand and I am like, "let me tell you about this little place in Jersey..."), but on a certain level, Long Branch is not altogether different from here or any other place. The pizza there kicks @ss and you cannot beat the Italian Ice from Strollo's or the hot dogs from a number of competing summer hot spots. But in the end it is a City -- full of some great people who want to keep it clean, vibrant and healthy.

The messy and equally frustrating part is what it takes to actually build (or rebuild) a city, which is what is happening in Abu Dhabi. It is not clean, it is not always “win/win” for everyone at every moment and it is not, by any means, happening overnight. There’s a plan. Some if it is going to work, some of it isn’t. People with money have power and people with power have influence and people with the vision to see it all through have hope. And still the cranes go up, skylines change, and time passes. In Las Vegas, the new skyline brings with it a good amount of political and financial drama. In Abu Dhabi, the new skyline is full of cranes. Down the street in Dubai the cranes have stopped moving but flying into the city at night, you see the tallest building in the world and wonder how they did that. This is what does it for me, I guess. And the stories of how these things happen continue to draw me in, like they did on those long calls with my Dad -- and I will continue to play my small part in places all over, get a little travel done in the process and see some cool cities evolve while I am at it.

I am infatuated with these stories, like a novel I cannot put down, I fall in love with city after city and plan after plan and I move on occasion to find a new story. But Long Branch will always be my first. It is, forever, my home. And I am happy to report that the heroes are still winning, progress is underway and the hope is still there. I heard it in my Dad’s voice at 4AM and it made me miss home, and him, more than ever. I’ll see it again on the 4^th of July and I cannot wait.

Stupid American (OR: There’s a mouse in my desk)

2010-05-07T00:38:00.000-07:00

I am not a calm person. I am not a quiet person. I am not a person who reacts to things in a logical manner. I know this. Most know this about me within minutes of our meeting. The mouse that’s in my desk knows this. Little f*cker, as I call him.

That said, I pride myself on my ability to keep my mouth shut or my eyes in one place (in lieu of rolling dramatically) in extreme situations wherein I know better than to express myself openly in a given situation. With regard to the mouse, my discovery of his residence in my cabinet involved me opening the door, watching him chew through my papers, and then screaming bloody murder. This was completely acceptable behavior under the circumstances. One of the “pros” about the Emergency Person being in the office with me right now (and let me be the first to tell you, there are not many “pros”), is that I was hoping he’d immediately come to my rescue. Pacifist that he is, my Army vet EP, all I got was a chuckle. A chuckle, friends. I have considered putting a snake in the bathtub to make my disappointment known.

Alas, some cases are not like the case of the mouse, and it is better to roll with the situation quietly. Especially when you are in a foreign country, I’ve learned. Boys and girls, it’s story time!

Before he arrived in Abu Dhabi, the EP and I talked via Skype on a daily basis, and as my frustrations with my new home grew, his frustrations with packing up his recently renovated home in Las Vegas were also increasing. We decided that we’d need a vacation sooner rather than later and, with the UAE being an incredible hub to the rest of the world (See: Google Earth), we went back to our list of places we wanted to see while living overseas.

Quickly, we chose the island of Cyprus, which was a three and a half hour plane ride from Dubai and about 30 degrees cooler on average.

Cyprus is an island in the eastern Mediterranean, west of Syria and Lebanon and south of Turkey (sidebar: very cool to see the plane bypass Iraq when you are watching the on-board flight status map). It is known in some circles as the birthplace of Aphrodite (awesome!) and has a Greek and Turkish side (see more info on this here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyprus). Very interesting. It also has ancient ruins and other old stuff in various locations, and we checked those out. One highlight: I got my chance to stand on stage in an outdoor amphitheatre overlooking the Mediterranean. The lack of audience notwithstanding, it was a big moment for me.

Needless to say, we had a fabulous weekend. We stayed at a lovely beach resort, and I was hoping to catch some rays and have some spa time for most of our trip. To my chagrin, this hope was a veritable pipe dream.

Just as some people (like the EP) are gifted with the ability to endure any situation seemingly unstirred and others (like myself) lack that ability…there are people who can relax and just plop down on the beach with a book for hours on end while there are other people who start twitching if a) there’s no cocktail server on said beach or b) there are no other activities other than relaxation to embrace.

The EP is not a book on the beach guy. I have known this for years, as even before we entered into a “mature, adult relationship” we took road trips and vacations together that were action-packed (and please keep your minds out of the gutter: baseball games, walking tours, winery tours, 3 hour tours, etc. are all PG. Jesus, people.) I think on a trip to St. John for my cousin’s wedding, the EP’s one day on the beach resulted in a lobster-like complexion for him for a few days. So why in the world I expected to have more than an hour two on a lounge chair in the sunshine, I don’t know. A girl can dream.

Given that the water was too cold for swimming or snorkeling and we’re not certified scuba divers, activities were minimal.Enter: the rental car, the guidebook, a map with no street names and a bottle of aspirin for the navigator (me).

After the day of ruins, the EP wanted to head up to some mountain villages, which supposedly held a lot of charm. We hopped in the rental car, which, funny enough, was about half the size of a Ford Escape and the steering wheel, like every other one in Cyprus, was on the right side of the vehicle. That’s right, we’re driving on the other side of the road. Fantastic for everyone, right? Yes, everyone except the navigator, who as the EP veered along the left lane line on every highway, saw her life flash before her eyes half a dozen times. We headed toward Mt. Olympus (which is not, um, the “real” Mt. Olympus...this was disappointing for the EP).

“This place is going to be neat,” said the EP. Neat. I was psyched (or faking it) and as the clouds darkened and the rain began to fall on the windshield of our clown-SUV, I thought to myself, “well at least I am not on the beach.” The windy road up the mountain was a great drive – in fact, the vistas of Cyprus are reminiscent of Northern California, and rolling hills of grapes are scattered all over. Once you’re high enough, the views of the cliffs on the edge of the Mediterranean are stunning. Unfortunately due to the fog, we saw about 10% of that, but the ride was gorgeous nonetheless.

The “charming” mountain villages, however, were another story. We stopped at one, realized things were not open, and became frustrated. Consulting the Lonely Planet guide, we were reminded that Saturday was a holiday. Accession Day. Big deal for the Cypriots, apparently. Thus, we proceeded along to Troodos, which is a pretty place with crazy houses on cliffs and hills and lots of stairs and old British telephone booths.

This was the highlight of Troodos. If we were equipped with appropriate gear, this would be a great place for a hike. We weren’t, naturally (read: I packed a bathing suit, a big beach hat and a book). But besides a few kitschy tourist shops and some lousy restaurants, not much to see. At this point, we’d been driving over 90 minutes and needed a break and some food, so we wandered the streets looking for a snack. One man offered us some "erotic" wine (note: his store had "erotic" everything: fruit, umbrellas, maps, etc.) and said that drinking his wine "will bring you three babies this night! THREE BABIES!" I nearly vomited as I drank the free sample of erotic wine and we headed up the street, picked a lousy restaurant and went in. Noticing we were out of cash, we asked the nice lady at the restaurant if she accepted Visa.

“No problem,” she said.

Of course, “no problem” can mean about 10,000 different things, as I’ve learned in Abu Dhabi (that is to say, "no problem" can even mean "actually lady, that is a major problem but I don't want to say that to you because our cultures are different and we don't just drop the bad news and disappoint people, ergo, I am telling you it's no problem"). So who knows what it means in Cyprus?! What I do know is that two bad sandwiches and a gross round of cappuccinos later, we handed this lady our credit card.

“No machine!” she said, “Next door.”

Well OK then. At this point, the EP takes one for the team and goes outside in the rain and walks down the small street into every shop and restaurant looking for an ATM. He returns after a fruitless search, shaking his head. While he was doing this, I was checking out the restaurant we were going to likely end up working in for the rest of the day to pay for our rancid lunch. This place sold sandwiches and traditional Cypriot fare, but also Barbie dolls, ice cream cones and Kit Kats. Seriously. Anyhow, our new friend the Greek Lady was pretty nice and let us leave to go drive to an ATM so that we could pay her 20 Euros (which is excessive, but I’m beyond that now) for our lunch. So we get in the car, drive back down to the next village, find an ATM, buy some stuff to break the larger bills, and return to the Greek Lady with 30 Euros. I use the restroom quickly after I hand her the funds and return to realize she has not given me change, or a receipt. “Ummmm”, I say, trying to figure out how to say “I don’t want to give you a 50% tip for a bad lunch no matter how nice you are” and she looks at me like she is reading my mind and saying back, “I didn’t make you wash dishes, missy. Did I? You’re welcome.”

Ergo, I thanked her, I jumped back in the car and I looked at the EP and I said, “take me away from this charming mountain village, please. This day is a disaster.” He asks me where the change is.

“No change. She kind of didn’t give me any.”

“WHAT?!”

“Sorry, can we go? I’m so over this place. What bullsh*t.”

As he pulls away from the restaurant, we sit quietly in the car listening to the rain fall on the roof. Quietly until he says to me, “the only bullsh*t is that you didn’t get change.”

This, friends, is one of those moments where I have trouble with the eye rolling and the running of the mouth. It’s true. I am bad at this. As we commence a heated debate over whose fault this debacle was, the nice Greek Lady is waving goodbye from her window.

“Stupid Americans,” she’s thinking, counting our change and smiling at us as we drive out of that godforsaken town.

Our final day in Cyprus yielded a good hour in the sun after a morning of quiet spa time. It was lovely. But, to give credit where credit is due, it was the EP’s idea. After two full days of driving, walking tours, exploring ruins, arguing over Greek mythology, dead end searches for woodfire pizza and decent local shopping, etc., we had a quiet afternoon by the water. It was perfect (well, save for some of the European bathing suit choices, which at least provided for some good people watching).

Not a bad place to take a long weekend, Cyprus was gorgeous.

Meanwhile, in Abu Dhabi, I’m sure, sometime in the midst of our trip down that mountain, the little f*cker in my cabinet was just getting settled in, chewing himself a nice little corner between the proposal I just finished and my expense reports. It’s cool. I’m cool with it. I didn’t just wipe anti-bacterial all over my desk for the 10^th time today. Nope. I am calm. I am saying nothing, I am rolling with it.

I’m gonna get that mouse. And he’s gonna regret he ever took one step toward my expense reports.

An open letter to my Skinny Jeans

2010-04-11T03:49:00.000-07:00

Dear Skinny Jeans:

When you arrived with my other stuff a few weeks ago, I happily folded you, put you at the bottom of a pile and moved along with the rest of the closet. Then you did what you always do, you slipped out of the bottom, falling onto the floor and proceeded to lay there for days, tempting me. You saucy minx. That's cool. Really it is. Because I wasn't scared (OK I was a little scared - we hadn't had a rendezvous in a long, long time...what with all the fun I was having in Vegas).

So I caved. And I shouldn't have because I knew it would feel great to be with you again. Pretty psyched that your buttons are working properly and are not even overstressed.

Chuck Bass would tell you that you're replaceable and avoid getting too close. I won't do that. You'll be in my closet forever, I can assure you of that, and you'll be seeing alot of me in the next few weeks.

Just one thing, though...enjoy it while it lasts. I look forward to the day (likely not so far from now) when the Abu Dhabi heat cuts out an other 10% of my body weight, at which point you can resume your place at the bottom of my closet with the wool sweaters and my Uggs.

XOXO

What's the International Sign for "Oops, I am clearly in need of a perspective adjustment?"

2010-04-10T06:17:00.000-07:00

As I’ve indicated before, when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping. The EP flew out to the US for a meeting (I love this, for the record. Homeboy just got here and now he’s back on a plane. Further, I’m the one that needs a few days of USA shopping and pork products! He gets all the luck!), so the roomie and I headed to Dubai to the mall that has the ski slope. We got depressed in Crate & Barrel because our former kitchen (lovely, large, functional) kicks the proverbial ass of our current situation (small, closed-in, not functional). We made some intelligent purchases at other stores (including yoga mats!) and enjoyed a nice afternoon in Dubai. Until we got back on the road.

It is about one hour on one long road to get from Dubai to Abu Dhabi. And the Emirati drivers are loco. They come up behind you going at lightning speed with no indication of slowing down and suddenly, you have to get out of the lane. Usually there are cars in all lanes adjacent to yours, so it's a little scary. Even if it's not that busy - suddenly you're surrounded by vehicles unwilling to get the hell out of your way so you can jerk out of your lane and resume your best Danica Patrick until some other crackpot bullies you out of your lane a few minutes later. Eventually things calm down and you have a few moments to look around and confirm that you have not been transported to the Autobahn - you're merely in the middle of nowhere in a Middle Eastern desert.

Needless to say, it has truly been a delight driving here to date minus a few “near death by speeding Emirati” incidents. Until yesterday.

So we’re driving and the car beeps at us (as in, the car we're driving) at 120 kph because the speed limit is somewhere around there but apparently they don’t ticket you via big brother radar thingies until you hit 150 or 160. Either way, I am comfortable around 125/130. Not too crazy. But because of the psycho Emirati, you can only do cruise control for a little while and since it’s a newer car that I am not too familiar with, I was having a tough time and getting annoyed every time these crazy guys were coming up behind me.

Nevertheless, we motored on. And these weird guys in really nice cars (one in a Porsche Cayenne and another in a Mercedes that had two doors and drove really fast -- clearly my car knowledge is basic at best) would purposefully get close to our car, flash their lights and wave their arms.

Freaked out, the roomie and I were like, “WHAT THE @#$%?!” Here we are, just trying to get home after a successful shopping trip and these guys are waving at us and making us nervous. I mean, I have seen the movie Taken (and my roommate had a sketchy experience at the Cairo airport in this regard), so I really don’t want to communicate with strange men in the middle of nowhere (e.g. the road from Dubai to Abu Dhabi, the desert, etc.). So we are starting to get a little nervous. WHY OH WHY are they waving at us?!!? Is this some sketchy custom? We're so confused. We're not pulling over. I am changing lanes, going slow, getting out of the way. Still, the waving from these cars does not cease.

This goes on for some time and we are beyond nervous and jumpy when I say, “maybe we have something wrong, like a tail light out.” No, we think. They are just waving at us because they hate us or they want to take us and sell us into prostitution or something.

Then I look at the little knob to the left of the steering wheel that controls the lights on my car and it dawns on me that they keep blinking their lights, not because I am driving slow or because they want me to pull over so they can take me somewhere and try to negotiate a ransom, but because my lights are not on. They were trying to help. And after a while, I think they were kind of pissed I didn't turn my lights on.

Jesus.

I am officially an asshole. Here we were, assuming the crazy guy in the Mercedes wanted to kidnap us and put us on TV when really, he was trying to help us out by giving us the INTERNATIONAL SIGN FOR “TURN ON YOUR DAMNED LIGHTS, LADY!”

So much for self-exploration this weekend.

For fun, check out the following -- the trailer also has some fantastic misconceptions with regard to hanging out in Abu Dizzle: SATC2

Over and out.

I'd take the tattoo.

2010-04-10T06:04:00.000-07:00

So I've been remiss.

Sue me. The emergency person showed up, work got nutso and here I am, on a Thursday night after a glass or two of legally consumed vino rosso thinking to myself, "I have sooo much to say."

The first thing is that it is refreshing that I exited stage right (er, East) just in time for the social/financial debate of the century to reach its boiling point. (Not so) shockingly, from here everyone looks like an @sshole. Hating the President is so 4 years ago. Then seriously Nancy, take a step back and look at your face on TV. I'm scared that the lady closest to the red phone looks like she cannot feel her face (then again, all you men out there can rejoice that said leader of congress has an aversion to some kind of feeling - isn't that what you didn't want women in office to have?). I digress. I'm just...so...over it.

The only good thing about watching CNN(international) during the healthcare vote was that it reminded me of West Wing (fantastic TV even for the right-leaning - smart people doing good things friends). Also, Anderson Cooper: is global. CNN is everywhere. Ted Turner, nice work. Chris Matthews and Brian Williams don't exist here. Its like heaven until you accidentally sit on the remote and switch to Fox News and realize that yes, world, these people are given carte blanche to be insane on TV. Freedom of speech is awesome. Apparently I can run, but I cannot hide. This isn’t to say that I feel one way or the other about what is happening in the states, just to say that it’s nice to avoid the noise over here when I want.

The second thing I have say is...well, I am having one of those moments where I wish there was more noise. This moment is inextricably tied to my forthcoming 30^th birthday and the fact that I just got my Amazon Kindle (which is life changing, to say the least). I like to call these moments “things I think and should not say” as a play on what Jerry Maguire titled his memo in that movie that I don’t really like so much until Cuba Gooding, Jr. says things like “Boo ya! Touchdown! I make miracles happen!”

Alas, I had the moment when I read this sentence from Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, Eat, Pray, Love (which I really enjoyed): “Having a baby is like getting a tattoo on your face – you really have to be certain about it before you commit.” I have had this conversation with many friends, who keep telling me that I will want the babies. I love kids. I love ALL of your kids. I like holding them, I like hanging out with them as they get older and I like being their Godmother and I LOVE that I will someday take them to see The Nutcracker or a broadway show or a hockey game, etc. I am also a big fan of relinquishing all responsibility to you for your children. It’s awesome. I say this despite what you think about my maternal instincts: I think I am too selfish to be a parent and I am disappointed in myself for it.

Not that I have a husband, or a ticking clock that my 30^th birthday has allowed into my head. I don’t. The ticking clock I have is the fact that I don’t own any real estate (or even a Louis Vuitton bag). The ticking clock I have is the “saved for later” section on amazon.com with the gadgets and books I really want and the shopping cart on Nordstrom.com with those silver Tory Burch ballet flats that the EP says are “weird looking.”

Of course everyone has a situation in which parenthood would be ideal (being debt free, having a certain income, having a husband, having a donor, having a house, etc…) – and of course none of those situations ever really work out as planned. Ever. That said, I really don’t know what the ideal situation for me would be and, if I did and somehow that situation presented itself, I fear it wouldn’t make a difference. Ergo, I think I might prefer the tattoo on my face. I get more excited about shopping for things (including other people’s babies) than I do about motherhood. I feel like it makes me super duper shallow. Or completely different in a way that isn’t that cool. Control freak that I am, I still don’t think I am cut out for it.

This is not bait for folks to tell me “Girl, just wait…” or anything encouraging, so much as it is an honest assessment of my current situation and confirmation that, at my lowest, I think there is something wrong with me because I don’t have the urge as I near the age of 30.

So here I am, in the desert, trying to figure this out. There is no place like halfway around the world (I think Gilbert would agree) to start an examination of yourself. I don’t think this will be particularly profound, but it will at least give me something to do with all of my free time besides eat ice cream and buy stuff.

Make it Work.

2010-03-02T08:57:00.000-08:00

You know you aren’t in Corporate America anymore when you have to walk through a large puddle to get from the door to the desk in your Boss’ office.

This week I learned an important lesson about weather (and this now seems trite given the global impact that mother nature is having everywhere – so please forgive me).

Sandstorm + Rainstorm = mud, leaks and no internet.

I wonder sometimes how anyone managed to get anything done without the internet or printers, etc. On Sunday (the starting day of our workweek here in Abu Dhabi), the wind/rain/other such flood related side effects from the storms this weekend has caused the internet at all internal networks over here to cease all reasonable functionality. I say “reasonable” because everything here runs at a snail’s pace in the first place (except the fast, fast cars).

This laid back, easy approach is refreshing in some cases. For example, I’ve enjoyed some lengthy meals here – with no restaurant staff rushing us out of the place in hopes of seating a table that orders more expensive wine and appetizers. Unfortunately, the process of doing business is a tad slower that what I am accustomed to. Given the insane amount of time I spend expediting things, producing reports and documents, researching information and emailing all day, one would be correct in assuming that an internet stoppage renders me nearly useless. This was the case on Sunday (and again for part of today), as I could not even Google the frequency of sandstorms in this region. Tthough last night I did discover that I am in the “rainy month” now, which is super for my hair. Really. Psyched about that. Can I blame global warming for the curly, frizzy, uncontrollable situation on top of my head?

Also, sometimes it’s nice to putz around on the World Wide Web because a “server” is down, prohibiting one from printing/emailing/etc. Even being without a blackberry isn’t so bad as, for just a moment, you can look up, have a conversation with another individual and actually remember what they look and sound like because, for the better part of the past 5 years, you’ve had your nose in your Blackberry, iPhone, or some kind of Palm thing and are better at texting than talking (speaking of Palm things, I’d like to take this opportunity to say that I think they are “rubbish” and if you see my Dad and have a spare Blackberry or iPhone lying around, please give it to him so he tosses the brick from his pocket/belt/my mother’s dinner table and joins the rest of the cool kids in the world of functional mobile devices…seriously). Maybe that’s just me, but this is all so obvious this week because I HAD NO INTERNET AT WORK. (Caps intentional).

List of things that happen when there is no internet and subsequent sidebars:

(1) My boss cannot send me things to edit and print (HOORAY!!). I told him as much and, as I am sure is the case for many, my boss does not like excuses…he expects problems to be solved (in this case, by me). So how did I solve it? I went to a store, bought a local printer to plug into my PC*, I went home, accessed internet there, had a snack, saved the emails to my laptop, checked Facebook, went back to work, plugged the printer into the laptop, printed the documents and saved the day. Unfortunately, after I save the day under normal circumstances, I usually answer a few emails, make a few calls, format a spreadsheet or two and then goof off for 20 minutes (which is what other people do on smoke breaks that I don’t take because while, yes, I could use the release of a cigarette, I tend to prefer not smelling like a dive bar). For me this usually includes shuffling through emails from JCrew and other fave stores and checking out anything new on their websites, buying birthday gifts or baby presents, looking at bags I cannot afford on LouisVuitton.com, checking out the news or otherwise wasting company time and money.

(2) I am actually forced to a) make phone calls or b) start new projects wherein the research or data is printed and easily transposed/compiled in a word or excel document. I hate option B - while is what some people call “being productive”, I call it “things that a robot should do instead of me that I am happy to still be paid for at this point in the recession”…and either I complete these projects quickly (see previous blog’s references to caffeine) or hit a standstill due to the unreliable internet and/or unadulterated boredom, at which point I obviously proceed to the next option…

(3) Writing this blog.

*Note: All was not lost on this quick printer trip, as I found a cute giraffe print purse in the store NEXT to the electronics store with the printer. I negotiated the price down by over a third and made the quick purchase as one of my colleagues surveyed the printer options. If that is not efficient shopping, I don’t know what is! Added bonus: this was my first real Abu Dhabi negotiation experience. Unfortunately, after their first offer (the price less 25%), they took my first counter offer, which means I probably left money on the table (and probably that this purse is likely going to fall apart within weeks). Nonetheless, a small victory for me (especially when the gal threw in a matching wallet)!

As much as this was a fun interlude, most of the day was frustrating because I could not solve the internet problem (among other issues I am facing as the go-to “fixer” in our new office). Making it even more apparent how useless I am this week, a coworker who has worked in these parts for some time mentioned that one time, a boat hit a cable in the Indian Ocean and the internet was screwed up for months.

MONTHS!?!?

Insane. Insane because we have zero control over this. Zero. None. Zip.

(Press the pause button on your internal monologue that is saying, “This gal needs to chill out and let it go…”)

I like control. I like driving the car (which I forgot because my trusty Emergency Person, God bless him, did a lot of the driving in Vegas after I experienced a mildly traumatic engagement with a highway guide wall a few years back), I like planning trips, I like to be spontaneous but only when I have a safety net (money, a place to sleep, etc.). This move, on a large scale, was about improving the skill set I’ve begun to develop of making something out of nothing. Starting things from scratch. Oh how I love a clean slate. The cleaner the slate, the easier it is to control what is on the slate. (There’s a joke in there about the world’s biggest sandbox being as clean a slate as you can get, but clearly you haven’t seen Dubai and what they did to THAT slate).

However, after nearly a month in the sandbox, I am acutely aware of just how little control I have over anything. This is not to say that I am unsafe, but more to admit some level of defeat while simultaneously demonstrating a little bit of anxious, hopeful…fear with regard to my limitations. Things take more time, depend on more people and systems that might not be up to USA standards, are not easily expedited, are not easily sorted and when they are sorted, it may not be in a consistent manner. I wonder how I talked myself into this situation, given my penchant for plans and control and fast internet. I recall the pro/con list I had – and the level of risk was not high, while the level of familiarity with this place was very low. Clearly.

Suffice it to say, I am comfortable enough in my own skin to jump into in unfamiliar territory (which comes from doing a few things to make it familiar while at the same time letting go of those things that aren’t totally necessary, like clothes dryers or maps), but I am struggling with letting go of the reigns. I have to ask for help. I have to listen. I have to learn how to communicate literally with people who don’t understand slang-ridden English because they only learned textbook UK English (or, no English at all). I have to learn to be prepared for a day, week or month without internet (or so I hear, electricity on occasion). Of course this is purely work related on most levels but the internet is also the only way I can communicate with home besides my $3.50/minute international blackberry and the post here which is exponentially less reliable than the internet.

So this is a project now. A girl has got to have a project. The goal is have a little patience, at least enough to assess the resources available and use creativity where possible (which is awesome, if you think about it…particularly given how little I get to be creative expressively each day), and fix things. However, whereas resourcefulness and creativity are on the list of “Things About Me That I Note as Strengths” for interview purposes, I’ve never been patient in my life. Ever. Ok so I am more patient than some people – I am not a complete jerk or anything – but I am a little tightly wound and don’t like sitting around waiting for stuff to get fixed so I can proceed with my day. I like to fix it. I have to make it work

In Vegas, I had a sketch of Tim Gunn over my desk that said “MAKE IT WORK.” If you don’t watch Project Runway, you should. It’s fantastic. I would be remiss if I didn’t celebrate the Emergency Person here by complimenting him for putting up with episode after episode (though, he does have an architecture degree and likes weird furniture and funky lamps, so I think he appreciates the skill it takes to make a dress, or pants, or anything that makes me look attractive…). Long story less long: I love how Tim Gunn is soooo not about the excuses. Make it work. And if you cannot make it work, you end up with a model on the runway whose ass is hanging out of her dress. Yikes.

This digression sews the above thoughts together in the following way: 1) I have to make it work (e.g. do my job, live my life, communicate in different ways than I am used to – as my resource list just got cut by about 50%); and 2) I have to learn when I cannot make it work. This is where the patience project comes into play. I suck at that part. And I am working on it more and more now because I am in this crazy place (this hot, humid, rainy, sandy place with no internet or slow internet and leaky ceilings) and if I cannot be patient and find a way to make this work for me I will not be happy.

The third point (less relevant but more awesome), which was illustrated this week not only as part of the solution to my actual challenge but also as a means to passing the time, is that shopping (even window shopping) is always an option. That’s something they don’t mess around with in Abu Dhabi. Malls and air conditioning. Thank God (or Allah, or Tim Gunn or some other deity in whom your faith resides).

It's A Party in the UAE...

2010-02-23T23:33:00.000-08:00

Jump in the cab

Here I am for the first time

Look to the right and I see an arabic sign
This is all so crazy
Everybody seems so Muslim!

I never thought that Miley Cirus would resonate...but she will have to do for today.

In a previous life, I spent a good number of hours and days of my life writing, rehearsing and performing sketch comedy. I enjoyed this tremendously for a number of reasons, but today's flashback is to the incredible number of dance parties that this experience inspired. Let's also note that this was in college, so between the dance parties, the alcohol and miscellaneous bacchanalia, good times were had by all - and these good times continue to roll to at any reunion, wedding, etc. I digress (typical).

The point of all of this is to say, I like to get down on occasion. I particularly enjoy doing so in the car, because no one is really watching me unless I'm stopped at a light and if I broke out into some kind of booty-shaking in the office, it might not go over well. It also might result in a button popping or other such wardrobe malfunction. That would just be bad all around in any situation, but in my current location in an industry chock full o' men, this is no bueno.

So I am that girl. I am that girl who gets caught shakin' it at a red light and that's ok with me. It is the suppressed performer in me yearning to get out. Generally this little person expresses herself through incessant talking or people-pleasing, but if I am standing at a bar having a civil conversation in an attempt to be classy and the music is bumpin', you're damn right I start to twitch in an effort to hold it in or In some cases, I'll just outright bust a move because it's that kind of evening and I am that girl.

It's cool. Right? Sure.

Let's say for a minute that you add caffeine to this little person. Seeing that I have not yet embraced the cultural experience that is cooking in my teeny, enclosed, anti-social kitchen, I have been subsisting primarily on caffeine, fruit, yogurt, frozen waffles and various forms of chicken salads. (My mother at this point is doing the math and realizing this means I am not drinking and am probably dropping serious amounts of weight...I am sure she's either cheering or really, really concerned). Needless to say, the cappuccino runs are not so few and not so far between so I'm a little bit on edge, which basically means that people run away when I approach them because they don't have time for me to spend ten minutes telling a story or asking a question without taking a breath.

That's where I am at, for the most part. Whether I am having to ingest pigeon (don't recommend it), rabbit (was ok but I kept thinking of Thumper) or even standard western fare like chicken ceasar salads, my diet is supplemented by a significant amount of caffeine and I am more wound up than ever.

This has resulted in alot of fast driving and loud music because a girl has got to let it out somehow. That's where Miley comes in. I don't really get the Hannah Montana thing. All she really does for me is reaffirm the belief that having daughters is terrifying.

One day they are causing an insurmountable cash hemorrhage (the cute little dresses, then ballet class, then the Justice store, then bedazzled thongs), and the next day they are dancing around a pole because Hannah Montana does it all the time (on TV). Then they grow up to blog about how their undergrad degree from a top university wasn't good enough so they had to get an MBA and they STILL could make more money taking their clothes off for a living...

Again, I digress. My apologies (the caffeine...) Point being, Miley isn't my favorite -- but her song is damn catchy. And I love it. And I love it even more when I am driving super fast in my rental Volvo on roads in UAE because a) the speed limit is high, b) the roads are insane and c) I gotta get some kind of release.

Yesterday was not my favorite day. The Emergency Person's arrival has been pushed back another week (which stinks), my workload doubled in the kind of way that will require weekends at the office (and seeing that I live and work with the people here, that's a lot of time to spend suppressing the little performer in you) and to top it all off, I cannot figure out why the A/C in my bedroom has a smell. Not a good smell or an irrelevant smell. A smell that tests my restraint as I want to tear off the vents, pull out the pipes and then ask a boy to fix it please. So when I woke up today and it was sunny and pretty out, with a light breeze coming through the window, I vowed to enjoy the day. And I got in the Volvo. And I heard that song. And it was good.

I jammed out for the entire 20 minute drive to work. I thought of college dance parties, and I realized it's time. It's time for a night club experience in the UAE. Maybe even time for a cocktail (legal in bars, restaurants and night clubs at hotels as well as if you have a license to purchase -- which I will in a few weeks). Sometimes, a girl's just gotta dance. Will report back, friends.

Until next time, try the lamb, but stay away from the pigeon. Seriously, it's kind of gross.

First Impressions: The world is flat and my biggest annoyance is the water pressure

2010-02-10T22:23:00.000-08:00

I withheld my thoughts on the move to date because I was jet lagged, homesick, really angered at the fact that I had to fly coach (mostly because the guy next to me was smelly) and had a cranky demeanor. Today I feel like myself.

And so we begin...

Five days after arriving in Abu Dhabi, methinks waking up at half past five to the call for prayer is really one of the major signs I am in a new place. However, there is a strong indication that the world may be flatter than ever. Why?

1) Though older episodes are aired on TV (a few channels above Al Jazeera and Iraqisport), I was able to get Grey's Anatomy (which I feel jumped the shark years ago but feeds my tired brain with mindless dribble occasionally) via the world wide web last night. I think we may try to see a movie here just to see how that goes, as recently released films are available with Arabic subtitles!

2) www.gofugyourself.com is not blocked and thus, THIS pleased me, and should please you as well (or add to your shopping list). WHY did it please me?! Besides the lovely coat and the entertaining commentary re: The Hills, I was pleased because I don't need coats for 2 years (yet again) and can spend my coat and winter clothes funds on things like "savings" or better, "bags and shoes." Fan-bloody-tastic. Oh, also I love how The Hills totally sucks now that the two reasonably sane individuals from the original “cast” have gone on to greener pastures. I may have to read some of these so-called young adult books. Just as mindless as Grey's Anatomy but without Katherine Heigl's mediocre acting and annoying "frustrated" face. Side note: the previous 200 words are probably why you are my friend but are also likely sources of the problems facing the world. Just saying, this is not the place to find intelligent thought unrelated to popular culture. My apologies, really.

3) IKEA. Same furniture, same art. They even had hot dogs!

4) People drive like crazy in all sorts of cars (mostly Japanese and German, but I’ve seen a few Chevys around), and while there are roundabouts and highways under construction, generally everyone drives on the right side of the road. It’s a little more reckless than I anticipated, but not as bad as everyone described.

5) Material girls, all over the place. Logo bags…everywhere. Even if a woman is covered from head to toe (literally, with a black sheer material covering her entire face), she’s got a great bag under her arm and fantastic shoes covering her toes. It’s like going to a school that requires a uniform. If you want to express yourself, accessorize. (For those counting along at home, that is two Madonna references thus far).

6) Malls. Malls are everywhere. Malls are bigger than they are in the States and everyone goes to them because it’s too hot in summer months to do anything else. Ergo, big, jam packed shopping centers (with his and hers prayer rooms to boot). This place is as consumerist as any, they just show it in different ways.

7) Geographically, I am closer to most phone help desks now than I was in the States. So when I call India for assistance I think I may start my call with the live representative with: “ ‘Ello neighbor! Fancy helping me out with this IT pickle I’ve gotten into at my flat?

Signs that I am in a new place:

1) Lots of Brits and Aussies are here -- which is refreshing, actually. Of course, I can see why Washington, Adams et. al. got annoyed with them after a while, what with the taxes and all the rules, etc.; but for the most part, they are lovely. Also, as I understand it, now if you leave the UK and go to another place, you apparently don't pay any taxes. That's progress. Alas, for the single ladies, there is no shortage of attractive, accented men. Highlight: I had a discussion about biscuits and cookies today. Cookies are biscuits but richer and usually with chocolate chips. Crackers are salty biscuits. Biscuits, as in, "biscuits and gravy" OR "bacon egg and cheese biscuit", are foreign to the Aussies and the Brits (and, as expected, the only bacon I am getting anytime soon is turkey bacon). Let’s not even address the subject of language and grammar and skip to hoping the two final films in the Harry Potter series are released in a timely fashion in these parts. Woot!

2) As far as I'm concerned, I'm happy this country has Coke Lite and food that I can easily identify and pronounce (kabobs and hummus abound, friends!). However, the food is less processed, which hopefully results in weight loss -- though don't think I didn't find microwave popcorn to hold me over until my popcorn popper arrives, which will be months from now based on how everything else is moving along...

3) Things I don’t have in my house: fast internet, good water pressure, a clothes dryer, a coffee pot, a big enough closet, enough electrical outlets for the toaster and the microwave and the fridge....

4) Things I do have in my house: a bidet, a foyer(!), A really uncomfortable bed...

Everyone says Americans take things for granted (and don’t think I didn’t send my Emergency Person, who arrives next month, a list of minor items that I had to have – e.g. anti-perspirant that also functions as deodorant, a Kindle so I can read, etc.). This statement is tough to refute, as even after major natural disasters and terrorists attacks, we’re still a bunch of fat people who cannot put down our forks full of processed food and turn off our televisions long enough to have any perspective. Still, the fact that I can log on to my laptop and call my mother halfway around the world and see my dog in a video chat is not unbelievable to me. To a generation or so older than I, it’s mind-blowing. Ten years ago, in the same position, I could not have made this move. Yet here I am, able to watch the Super Bowl (even at 2 AM) and later download the commercials I missed on YouTube. So here’s to being fat and lazy ANYWHERE!

While this blog is an update on my first impressions of Abu Dhabi, it is also an effort to reassure friends and family and naysayers that I am not in the third world, in any kind of danger, or that far away (virtually, of course). There may be laws and cultural issues that will affect my life – for example, I cannot buy a bunch of booze and host a cocktail party, pick up a bottle of wine to share with dinner, or cohabitate with my Emergency Person (probably a good thing given the closet size); but the fact that my roommate and I filled up two carts at IKEA and two other fantastic home stores and couldn’t fit a giant piece of art in our car (which resulted in my wheeling the art BACK into IKEA and nearly taking out a few Emirati exiting the mall while I was at it), reminded me that I was not so far away at all. Simply put, I can make a complete ass of myself anywhere. The only exception is, in this country, said foolery cannot involve alcohol. But c’mon, who says I ever needed the sauce to be silly or make bad decisions? I can do that solo.

With a little help from my friends...

2010-01-11T09:10:00.000-08:00

I try to sort out my thoughts sometime by drawing a picture of my head, and the immediate things coming to mind are written, circled and placed above my head. Then all the little things that connect to them on top of that, and so on.

I've never really shared my thought diagrams, save for once or twice with my Emergency Person, but here's the thing. I started a diagram last night and it started on a sheet of 8.5x11 note paper. Since last night, post-its have been added, things scratched, lines re-drawn, etc. and it is essentially a mess. Surprisingly enough, I seem to be just fine. The list is long and the connections are uncanny, but here's a small picture of where my head, and to a degree of notable interference in rational thought, my heart are at this moment.

1 - I am leaving the country in less than 30 days and I am terrified, excited, and completely overwhelmed. Paperwork takes up my time.

2 - Funds. As my friend Claiborne would say, EGADS it's expensive to fly to the middle east.

3 - The time keeps flying. I turn 30 in June. That means by the time I leave Abu Dhabi I will be 32, maybe 33. My parents will be pushing into retirement age at the worst time in the history of their lives to retire, and I'll probably still be wondering to myself "if I buy these shoes, can I still make the electric bill payment?" Wondering, always, when will be a grown up and have a real savings account and a contingency plan?

4 - #s 1-3 remind me that I am the kind of person who likes to plan everything out. This past holiday vacation was the first time that I didn't have time or energy to put together a file with my destinations, confirmations, potential activities (list of requisite Irish pubs for any city where the Emergency Person and I would visit, etc.). Worse, I couldn't plan for the emptiness that would overcome me when I returned home to Vegas without my puppy.

And that was when it hit me that my life is about to change on a level I hadn't thought of until now. That moment when I opened the door, set down my trusty tote bag chock full of airplane magazines, used boarding passes, my beat-up macbook and likely a few stranded Swedish fish, and I looked around my apartment (which the roomie had cleaned from top to bottom), and realized that this bit of quiet, this bit of loneliness, was just the beginning.

You see, you plan to do things. For example, you are presented with an amazing opportunity to move halfway around the world with the person you love most in it and the only real question you ask yourself at first is: "well, can I change my lifestyle?"

Then you ask, "can I afford this?"

A few questions in (all with positive answers), you think to yourself, "Can I really live that far away from my people for 2 years (at least)?"

Can I?

Al Gore invented the Internet for a reason. And the good people at Skype do a nice job of making communication easy and efficient and cheap. But there is something to be said for hugging your 18 month old nephew after hanging out on the floor with him, eating chips and playing with trucks for a few hours. There is even more to be said for getting in the car, being nearly in tears over some bullshit experience, and calling your mom to vent. Or at least, calling my mom. Or my small circle of female friends that have basically been my life line for 10 years or so.

So when people ask, "what are you going to miss the most?" - while I am tempted to say "all things American"...really I will miss those phone calls. There's email, voicemail, Skype, video chat, Google Talk, etc. But with crazy time zone changes and God knows what kind of insane schedules we've all got - challenging jobs, boyfriends, husbands, babies (yikes!) - it will be hard to call your rock after a shit day and lose it while you're sitting in the parking lot of the gym.

When I was 23, my dear friend and I were drunk at a pre-wedding hotel party, sitting in pajamas with badly mixed martinis leaning against a wall and laughing our asses off at something. I don't remember what was so funny, but I remember us saying, nearly in tandem, "this is why I don't have a boyfriend." For the longest time, that was a kind of mantra for our lives. I think she put it best when she said "why the fuck am I going to change and be boring for the sake of not alienating men?" I think at that point we might as well have cut our fingers and declared our dedication to ourselves.

What's amazing is that, for the most part, we've kept that mantra. We've found, for periods of time, men who aren't as alienated by us as our predictions might have indicated. We've grown up, we've been through losses and successes and moves and changes. We watch shows like Sex and the City together and understand the whole girl power movement.

And frankly, when Carrie Bradshaw is stuck in Paris (with the Russian who slapped her - completely unacceptable) and she's "rescued" etc...once she returns home she's right there with the girls. So the more I think about moving to Abu Dhabi (with the best guy I know, who knows better than to slap a girl from New Jersey), the more I think of those moments when you're most alone and how you need a little help from your friends (call the cliche police, I'm guilty).

It's not when that guy has walked out the door, or when you wake up by yourself. It's when there's no one to call to talk about it.

Here's hoping that the Internet helps me avoid those moments, because the quiet house without the puppy was enough to fill a few pages of paper with thoughts associated with the guilt, abandonment, maternal instincts (and the hot mess those become, etc.) that came to fruition when I realized my four legged kid was not going to greet me at the door anymore. God knows the kind of pickle I'll be in when no one is awake at 2AM EST to discuss the fact that the humidity in Abu Dhabi has ruined my hair and my clothes are being held hostage at the cleaners (much less when something truly horrible happens).

Spring for the Sequins? Not for $500.

2009-10-22T09:52:00.000-07:00

For $495, "what is it made of? Unicorn Hair and Puppy Tears?" -- My good friend in Chicago said this to me just now, and seriously. Mickey Drexel = clearly on some crazy drugs. Someone call the pricing police.

Everyone’s Doing It Except Me So I Got a Dog

2009-10-20T14:26:00.000-07:00

What is very cool right now is that the ladies in my life are having babies like it’s going out of style. I think this is awesome. Some women get threatened by this. Some women want babies and marriage and everything that entails. Some women (me) shop and seriously doubt their friends, in the taking of the major steps, are thinking of the dirty manly underwear, the constant cleaning up, the crying of the children or, God forbid they have a daughter, the teenage years. Of course not. No one ever thinks of the CONS of a major life step, right?

While I sometimes fear that I come across as a smug single (versus smug married, which is what a good friend of mine sometimes refers to herself as just before she offers the kind of advice you only get from married people about your relationship, your life choices, etc), I think I’ve done my best to be supportive of what seems to me like absolutely the scariest thing ever for people (babies, being unselfish, etc.). Yikes -- scary stuff. Joint checking alone is terrifying much less college savings accounts for offspring. So everyone has their fears and everyone has their associated baby steps to allay those fears.

That’s where I was about 12 months ago. I was kind of like “wow, I really like my emergency person (EP). I like the idea of him being here for a long time.” So life was good. I was about to finish grad school, I was excited about all my free time and thinking of all the things I’d do (blog more, exercise, read fiction again, etc.) to avoid taking any “steps” (recall: joint checking, manly underwear, not doing dishes, etc.)… Then, after I finished my exams last fall, I went to the movies one Saturday afternoon.

I saw Marley and Me. If you have not seen this movie, I want to tell you to see it but at the same time I want to apologize for the emotional turmoil it will cause you. I left the theater in tears, drove to the EPs house and I think he thought someone had been killed or I was having a nervous breakdown. He was terrified. (Side note: we’d been in talks about getting a puppy and had not quite settled on it yet but were really excited, selecting a breed, debating whether to adopt or find a breeder etc).

Then I said something that (to me) was profound: “I want a puppy. But I am not going to share your puppy with you. The puppy will be mine because if you leave me, break up with me, get hit by a bus or otherwise cause me heartbreak, I don’t want to lose the puppy, too.” [Note: No idea why I thought the EP being hit by the bus would cause me to lose the puppy] He raised his eyebrows, shrugged, and said OK while shaking his head. Of course he did. For the record, he got the deal of a fucking lifetime.

For me, the past six months not blogging have been spent at work or with this guy:

Meet Gryffin, now an 8 month old Welsh Terrier who has been with us since April. Gryffin is my solution to finishing my MBA, finishing the mammoth construction project I am working on, not being ready to take the plunge with my EP and coping with the micro-biological clock that kicked in right around the time that Jennifer Aniston, Owen Wilson and the most awesome yellow lab ever brought me to tears in a movie theatre. I won’t lie, I had no idea what I was getting into.

Growing up, my family had three dogs over my 18 years in the house (and an irrelevant number of cats – irrelevant because I said one was my favorite once and was shocked to hear that that one had been dead for 6 months…again, irrelevant number of cats). Aggie, our first dog, was a black lab who tore up the linoleum and whose passing absolutely crushed us (I was in middle school and it still breaks my heart). Bernie, our second dog, was a beagle with a colon of steel and a mind for mischief. Mollie, the latest addition, is a chocolate lab with a big heart (a “gentle soul” according to my mom) and basically an IQ on the level of Forest Gump. Mollie is getting old, she has a tough time moving around, and she has terrible breath. But we love her despite this because she’s ours and she loves us. I had surgery last year and was on my parents’ couch for a few weeks. Mollie was befuddled not only by my presence, but also my real estate on the couch. That was her corner. After a few days she realized I was going nowhere and curled up on the floor to embrace the DVR with me.

Despite my adoration for the dogs, I have not ever really taken care of them, been held responsible or had to clean up their messes, pay one vet bill , etc. I’ve played with them, walked them if I had to (that is, if no one was around to do it and they needed to pee), fed them if necessary and essentially only enjoyed the good parts of them. The stories of diarrhea, eating milk cartons, the time and money consumed by dogs etc. never really clicked with me.

So when Gryffin arrived and didn’t sleep through the night for 4 weeks I thought to myself, what the hell kind of devil puppy did I get? My mother did not hesitate to remind me that this is like, “having a baby.” For the record, my mother, brothers, coworkers, boss, friends, etc. were all very skeptical of this dog owning thing (and rightfully so given not only my history of basically stepping over the dogs on my way out of the house or into my room but also my kind of insane schedule and inability to maintain interest in one thing for very long), but I was going to prove them wrong. I was going to have a great dog!!! And then about four hours before my entire family was coming to visit, Gryffin woke up in the middle of the night with the runs.

Which was followed by me chasing him through the house and stepping in his shit, barefoot, at 4 in the morning. That's right. This, my friends, is what it is like to own a dog. You step in shit. Then you clean it up. Then you want to kill the dog, but then you love him so you can’t. What the hell what we were thinking? (What did I do after that incident? I called the EP. His phone (shocker) was off and he was asleep. Not his problem. Because the dog is mine, technically…THAT was dumb).

Fun Facts about Gryffin:

-He is currently 20 lbs.

-He was named after a bar, The Griffin, in Las Vegas but I spell his name like that because my obsession with Harry Potter can only rear its ugly head in small ways.

-He is a Welsh Terrier and will likely not grow to be bigger than 25 lbs and is not to be confused with an Airedale Terrier (Like his friend Maggie, whose awesomeness inspired us to get a similar dog).

-He tears soft toys to pieces, loves bacon, will sit if you ask him to, wags his tail when he gets excited and loves wrestling.

With that, I give you the top Gryffin highlights in the 6 months he’s been with us:

5) The EP and I are at the vet after the dog wakes up in the middle of the night and moans when he tries to pee. Not only was there an awkward convo about urinary tract infections, but also a hilarious over/under wager on what the vet bill was going to be. Then the EP, who took the UNDER, started negotiating what tests we really needed to run on the dog. His response to the vet’s description of a $125 blood test was, “Doc, I think the bloodwork at this point is unnecessary.” After I won the bet (we were still over $100 without the blood test), I thought about writing Senator Reid and asking him to see if they could do something about a public option for pet insurance.

4) Gryffin lost his manhood on September 26^th. He was neutered. This was not fun for him but yielded a lot of jokes from me to the EP at the vet. “Excuse me, is there a two for one deal on this?" (I looked at the EP, who realized I was suggesting maybe he could get the snip, too).

3) You’d think Gryffin’s manhood was cost enough for the surgery required to remove his manly parts; however the vet’s office did not. When faced with the bill, I handed over my Visa, turned to the EP and said “we’re splitting this, right?” and he replies “what happened to ‘I want the dog to be MINE in case you break up with me’? Doesn’t that include all vet bills and associated fees?” Yeah. Eating my words on that one.

2) The humping. Oh the humping. More fun facts: Gryffin likes long walks on the leash, peanut butter, a good belly rub and humping small white fluffy dogs and dachshunds. Right before his surgery, this old hag at the dog park kept asking me when we were getting him fixed, which was frustrating because we were doing our best with the dog and couldn’t stop him from humping this ONE dog (That actually liked to be humped, which was OK with us, his owner, etc.).

So this old lady really pissed me off. And I constantly told the EP that she was awful but got “oh well she’s always nice to me” as a response. This is because old ladies love young men with dogs. Until they see their wives, girlfriends, what have you – at which point they generally just get judgy. Then she gets annoyed when dogs want to play with her dog. Listen lady, I say to myself, “if you don’t want your dog to play, DON’T TAKE HIM TO THE DOG PARK! And stop giving me shit about Gryffin humping that dachshund. It’s not YOUR dachshund so shut your piehole.” Then I feel guilty the entire way home for wanting to push her over on my way out of the park. I contemplate putting a treat on the ground under the chair she brings for herself at the park and seeing what the dogs will do (I know Gryffin doesn't really care what he has to knock over to get a treat). I am still weighing this option, but she’s stopped saying anything because Gryf (sans balls) doesn’t really hump as much. Bitch.

1) The other day I picked up a treat and I looked at the dog and said “Go to your crate” --- and he ran to his crate, sat down in it, and waited excitedly for the treat. He’s a genius!! ( If only we can get him to stop chewing my shoes) This is awesome. You can actually TRAIN the dog to do stuff. During obedience school, the EP had to interrupt me being critical of his coddling the dog and point out that, "this is GRYFFIN training, NOT boyfriend training." Oh if they had a class for that I think it would sell out quicker than Miley Cirus.

Clearly, Gryffin has changed my life. This sounds trivial given the people who have had babies recently, or taken big personal steps…but it’s incredible. I find myself looking at my relationship in new light, actually appreciating the EP more for the way he takes care of the dog (who, on paper, does not have his last name) and how this brings us together. It’s one of the first things that is really…ours.

There is another story here: Man Meets Dog. The EP has never owned a dog before so basically there have been many surprises for him. The first: the dog poops a lot and you have to clean it up. The second: He takes up your time. Third: He likes to eat your shoes. Fourth: He likes to eat trim and dry wall. Fifth: If you give him too many treats or people food, he will get diarrhea and you will have to clean it up. Needless to say, picture a 30 year old veteran who works about 60 hours or more a week running around the living room with the puppy at 6 am, chasing him because the dog got his slipper. Then picture the same guy coddling the dog after his surgery, buying him a new crate to fit the big cone they put on his head and cooking extra meat on the grill for dinner just to give the dog. This is my favorite part.

So I think we’ll keep him (Gryffin). Maybe he’ll even consider changing his last name in a few years. I guess that’s his call. Gryffin, after all, is in charge now.

Sorry for the boring dog blog -- will now return to regularly scheduled midweek rants about other, important stuff. Like shopping and people watching.

Justice...

2009-04-21T08:56:00.001-07:00

Now this...

Is more like it.

Thanks, JCrew. Despite all the funky prints the First Lady has been sporting in the year's best free advertising stunt to date, and combined with your price points continuing to soar depsite craptastic perfomance in the last two quarters, a friend yesterday commented that yesterday's Abercrombie-esque boondoggle confirms that the company's decisionmakers are "a bunch of @ssclowns." She's right. That's 'Fitch's niche. Pull it together!! And thank's for the heads up on the sale. Now where's my extra 30% off coupon?

Note to JCrew: I hit you because I love you. I want to see you succeed. I also want to afford your clothing. XOXO!

On 4/20, I am starting to think the people in JCrew's marketing department are high as a kite.

2009-04-20T13:59:00.000-07:00

So it's spring. It's officially warm in Vegas, and the sweating has commenced. This is ok because I have good deodorant. However, what is NOT ok is the spring wardrobe. I cleaned out my closet last year around this time and never got around to refilling some clutch items. Much to the surprise of anyone who has been in my closet, I don't have enough work appropriate clothes for 120 degree weather. I ask, besides the cocktail waitresses at the Las Vegas resort pools, WHO DOES?!?!!?

So I didn't automatically delete the emails I received from JCrew, Banana, Nordstrom, Shopittome, etc. Huge mistake. I would put this mistake at a 6, with 1, 5 and 10 listed below:

(1) Calling your boyfriend the morning after a bachelor party and expecting him to want to go to brunch or grab a movie later.

(5) Checking out anyone's wedding registry. Makes you a) judge and b) want to get engaged so you can get some quality products from Crate and Barrel in exchange for joint checking and a really great party.

(10) Setting yourself on fire.

It's just bound to upset you in some way. Most of the time, these emails are upsetting because they make SO clear all the things you want and cannot afford. Or they manipulate you into thinking that spending $200 to save $20 makes sense... Lately, I've just hit "delete" and googled when I needed a sale. Keeps me in line with the times and the concept of budgets.

So I thought, when I opened today's JCrew email about Jeans, that I'd see something fabulous, something great.

And I saw this:

What the hell? That's right. Nothing cute, nothing I can wear to work. And while "authentic distressed" looks and "had it forever" feels have been all the craze these past years (read: Abercrombie and Fitch catalog circa 1995-forever), WHEN DID IT BECOME OK TO WEAR BAGGY JEANS WITH THE CUFFS ALL ROLLED UP? And, quite frankly, the skinny jean thing is cute on the skinny people (that's why they are called skinny jeans - if you have hips, try a boot cut, thank you very much), and they also come in handy if you ONLY wear them with knee high boots or uggs. However, this look has been memorialized on blogs, in tabloids and on TMZ by none other than Joey Potter herself (not to be confused with Harry Potter, who wears wizard styles and oversized hand-me-downs from his fat cousin).

And now JCrew thinks it is ok? Listen, Mickey Drexel -- and listen good. It makes sense to sell the skinny stuff, and the distressed stuff -- it's what the people want. But sometimes if the people want what Joey Potter is wearing, maybe you don't want the people shopping in your stores!!!! Take a page out of Suri Cruise's book, please. Take ANY OTHER PAGE out of Katie's book. The chic haircut, the big shades, the ballet flats and casual cardigans.

So today JCrew upset me. First they don't reinforce the buttons in their women's button-front shirts (which sucks if you have a rack) and now this. I don't want to say that this is an irreconcilable difference, but I have to either drop 20-30 lbs., lose my hips, or take a job as a painter in order to make this look work. I get it, it's not for everyone. So don't put it in the email you send EVERYONE, even the loyal denim buyers like myself.

Please. For the love of retail...put down the bongs and get serious. My time is precious. It is spent blogging, working and thinking about how long it would take me to be in shape for a position as a stripper and the length of the severance package I'd need to allow for that. So I do NOT have time to waste on emails like this.

That's all.

Enjoy the ride.

2009-04-07T10:32:00.001-07:00

I graduate in one month from graduate school. Unfortunately I missed the deadline for the student speaker contest. This was my first draft.

There is a reason people look back on college, on grad school, on law school, and feel the pangs of nostalgia creeping up on them. There were no limits in college. As an undergraduate, I did not appreciate this. Graduating with a masters today, I find that I’ve pushed more limits than I thought possible, with the help of my classmates, my professors, my family, my boss, my parents…

I wanted to get my masters degree as fast as possible. I originally endeavored to do it because I kind of had to, I thought I’d make some more money, and I hadn’t really found something that I was passionate about doing. My father told me once that passion doesn’t come to you in 15 minutes like Domino's. It takes most people a lifetime to find what makes them happy. I hate to admit it, but I kind of enjoy the journey. That said, I think to some degree, everyone does. That’s why you come to college. That’s why graduating is so cathartic – we’re leaving something behind that we’ll miss forever, but we’re beginning a new stage of our lives.

And what a time to be in a new stage. Many say this isn’t a good year to be a graduate. We are living in a time where it is easier to be in school and think about how to solve the problems of the world; we were here to get the tools, develop the skills and begin to set on a path to actually solve those problems. Who knew we’d graduate in the year of uncertainty, where all of our skills, all of our good intentions might not be put to good use because getting a job, keeping a job and even doing a job in this climate is a challenge that many of us have never known?

With that, I think of Anna Quindlen. She wrote in a commencement speech that “When you leave college, there are thousands of people out there with the same degree you have; when you get a job, there will be thousands of people doing what you want to do for a living. But you are the only person alive who has sole custody of your life.”

I urge you to take stock of what it is that truly makes you happy. What did you love about college? What was the class you took but didn’t major in it because it was too hard, or too easy or not marketable enough? Think about those things and build your life on what matters. There is no line on a resume for being a great mother, or having an uncanny ability for making people smile, or for the ability to forgive; but these are the things we admire in people.

I worked and went to school at the same time, like many of you. And I love my job because of the people I work with and the things that they’ve taught me. The tasks I put on my resume are not even half the story of that job. There is nothing to be said for moving to a city where I knew no one, there is no spot for “worked and went to school and managed to not completely unravel in the process”…but these are the things we’re proud of. These are the things that we remember.

We’ve accomplished so much in our time here that for many of us, graduation is a relief. For others, it yields incredible fear of uncertain times. Will I have a job next week? Will I even like that job? What’s not really said on the news, or even in conversation right now, is that many of those unemployed on Wall Street are looking into teaching, into entrepreneurship, into non-profits – they worked so hard for so long for what? No one ever said on their deathbed that they should have spent more time at the office. That lesson has never been more relevant than it is right now. Inhibition doesn’t breed success, nor does it yield any kind of happiness. Let go of it, find what makes you happy, and enjoy the ride.

Thank you, congratulations, and good luck.

2009-04-01T14:39:00.000-07:00

I was a venti non-fat chai tea latte girl for a long, long time. Still am, in a bind, or when someone else is paying. But with these tough economic times, a girl has to find the most efficient source for everything: shoes (endless.com and Marshall's), bags (Target), food (emergency person's refrigerator), exercise (yoga classes at gym vs. private studio) and caffeine. Since making my own coffee is like making my own lunch, or vacuuming my own floor, and will never really be something that I find rewarding to do with my time, a place to get coffee is pretty much essential to my well being. So today I would like to salute the good people at Dunkin Donuts, 1) since I've been there twice today for my iced coffee fix and 2) the gal at the first location I visited today gave me the police discount because clearly I was so disheveled she took pity on me. That was cool of her. I would have written her manager about her awesomeness but somehow I feel like the unspoken appreciation of my smiling face got the point across to this girl that she made my day. I love that place.

There are numerous reasons for this obsession. First, I used to rely solely on tea for a little boost. I never got into coffee, nicotine, anything like that. I found coffee to be for me what crack is for the kids on the streets. That's still the case, but since crack presents a small legal issue, Dunkin it is.

Second, it's like a cult. I'm already a fan of Mac, American Express, Google everything and electronic banking. It was time to join the fun. On the day that the first Dunkin Donuts opened in Las Vegas last year, there was a line around the corner. Coworkers found new routes to the office that included a DD, and my emergency person basically frowned if I showed up with a Starbucks Cappuccino (which costs the same as TWO ICED COFFEES!!!) in the morning instead of a DD cup o' joe.

Third, it's soooooo East coast. When I visit my family in New Jersey, I love how I don't have to even ask to stop at Dunkin Donuts. It just happens. My older brother, a father and personal trainer, likes to start his day off with a TURBO coffee from DD. I don't know how his head doesn't explode, but hey, whatever floats your boat!

Last... in hindsight, I would have been way more productive in college if I drank coffee. I would have likely been a little less stressed out and way more fun to be around. Same with drinking, as a matter of fact. If I had made friends with the vodka earlier in life, methinks I would have dropped a full point in my GPA but gained so much more in the form of good stories to tell coworkers at the bar after work about "this one time at the sorority house..." that it would have been worth it to skip yet another paper about the Great Gatsby. Not that I don't love me some Nick Carraway...

Seriously -- Dunkin Donuts is one of the last legal drugs. A friend of a friend actually WORKS for DD -- which is completely fantastic. And every time I go to Starbucks, I want to point out to the people there that a) the music is fucking depressing in that place and b) I could have filled up my tank for what I just paid for a round of coffees. Further, I look around at a Dunkin Donuts and see ALL WALKS OF LIFE. It's like when you find a really awesome dry cleaner and you see the totally snooty wife of some executive at your company there with some kind of sleezy animal print dress that you secretly want but then you'd have to be her to have it AND some hard working dude you know is dry cleaning his only suit ...in the same place. I think to myself, does it get more American than this? No. No it doesn't. OK maybe at Fenway.

So, while I am still in the process of converting to Red Sox nation, I have been and will continue to be embracing the Dunkin Donuts coffee.

No, I Don't Want An Angels Card.

2009-02-18T12:08:00.000-08:00

I've often admitted to having a sometimes unhealthy retail problem. The trailers for the shopaholic film are a little over-the-top, but there are moments in them that seem eerily familiar. So I'll admit I followed the Holiday Sales Blog on wallstreetjournal.com, I get weekly emails on sale items from my favorite stores, and though I've tried to limit splurges to necessities and fabulous, classic pieces that will ultimately add to my wardrobe in the long term, every once in a while I go crazy, buy a bunch of stuff I don't need and then I look at my bank account (I'm living a cash only lifestyle right now) and I get kinda nervous.

The economic downturn has, however, yielded a bit of a buyer's market. Home prices are plummeting, stores that NEVER had good sales are starting to discount items, etc. So, even given my limited budget, I am beginning to consider navigating the sales to be my long-lost talent. That said, I also think this should be a time where retailers start to pull it together consider streamlining efficiency and, as my mother says, if a customer has chosen to shop your brand/your store, make it easy for them and treat them nicely.

This is where the good people at Victoria's Secret fail...miserably. Besides the fact that if you have a large set of tatas, their push up bras have your nipples hitting your chin while walking...and even if you don't need the pushing up, you get it from nearly every decent-looking bra they produce (not to mention the fact that they don't sell anything smaller or larger than average), when you walk in the store, about 4-6 different employees offer you a carrier for your items (or items you've yet to select) while offering you their Angel Card and all its perks. Meanwhile, when you're in the dressing room and the item doesn't fit, not only are the employees not really around, but they aren't up to speed on the product selection and availability (and it is not a place where you want to shout you need a smaller/larger size...really). Further, no one ever offers to order the item for you if your size is not available (and if you suggest it, they stare at you as if this is a new concept) and quite frankly, maybe one employee in the store actually has a clue about women's undergarments and the complications and frustrations and sizing challenges therein.

Then you get to the cash/wrap. On most occasions, I'm again offered the Angels card but on a recent trip, I waited in a long line while one manager rudely lectured a clearly new hire on how to handle a return while another manager gathered the rest of the employees on the floor around for a huddle and assigned them tasks (two of the people were assigned to give out carriers/peddle the Angels card). There were over 8 customers with me in the line waiting to check out and the manager is sending people out to the rest of the store with carriers while one gal is there to assist with checkout but she's being lectured by the manager on returns (and she isn't completing a return). It's no wonder their stock sells for $8 per share since they overstaff the floor with flaky, taskless nitwits and somehow expect people to buy things.

Victoria's Secret has a comfortable monopoly in their industry, but if you ever wander into a department store lingerie department (at all ranges, from JCPenney to Nordstrom to Saks), the service (and the selection in some) is 100% better. You get the credit card offer once, you get help with sizing, you are left alone if you want to be and there is always someone there that will be more than HAPPY to take your cash in exchange for the undies. No problem. Thank you for shopping, come again.

Looking outside lingerie and going to, for example, JCrew. You can return catalog items to the store (which I've learned is not an option at VS), you can pick up a "red phone" and call other stores to find an item in your size or from the catalog, and the staff has some semblance of an idea about their product line. I am biased toward JCrew (save for their absurd price points on lower quality items), so forgive me if I often cite them as an example for all to follow.

Every time I walk into a Victoria's Secret I want to say, "FOR THE LOVE OF RETAIL PULL IT TOGETHER YOU MORONS!!!!!!!!!!!!" A friend of mine once ranted to the gal peddling the Angels store credit card that offering those cards to the young women barely out of high school (if at all) in the PINK (read: Sexy Stuff For Teens) section of the store is outright criminal and captures everything wrong with this country and the message we're sending to kids (i.e. "Buy this thong with a credit card so you can look sexy while making really bad decisions that used to be saved for your 20s but are now apparently OK at 14."). They might as well give the girls a condom with every slutted up-thong with a pink puppy on it.

It makes me want to hurl. (Note: They don't sell slips either. That is, a traditional, classic undergarment that apparently aids in preventing skirt/stocking clings is not available at VS - but I wouldn't know that because I live in the desert and haven't purchased one in years - a friend discovered this. However, you can get a thong with puppies on it for your 14 year old sister/daughter/niece/etc.)

That said, I had a nice experience at VS this weekend with some girlfriends, but this was mostly due to the awesomeness of shopping for underthings with friends who dare you to go a little bit whorier than you are used to and was in NO PART due to the unhelpful staff and inefficient lack of connection between store and catalog/Internet. Seriously, sometimes I think Victoria's true secret is that the bitch somehow cornered the market while not really making the shopping experience a good one. A competitor needs to pop up. And you're darn right I don't want an Angels Card. Paying any kind of interest or getting coupons for a product that costs me at least 20 unnecessary minutes of my life I won't get back is the last thing I need to do (besides purchasing thongs for girls who haven't had algebra yet).

Sauce. (Today's On-The-Go Playlist)

2009-01-30T13:41:00.000-08:00

(1) Baby's Got Sauce (G. Love and Special Sauce) - Was at a bar last week and this about the 6th good song in the row I heard. Reminds me of college.

(2) You Don't Know Me (Ben Folds feat. Regina Spektor)

(3) Heartless (Kanye West) - It's catchy. You have to give it to Kanye, despite bad grammar ("Why does she be so mad at me for"?), it's damn catchy.

(4) We Will Become Silhouettes (The Postal Service)

(5) A Dustland Fairytale (The Killers) - "We still fear what we don't know" - great line by the boys from Sin City

(6) Let it Rock (Kevin Rudolph & Lil Wayne) - Excellent soundtrack for an open sunroof and a warm January afternoon in Vegas.

(7) Whatever You Like (T.I.) - Seriously, this is on repeat when I am in the car right now. It's a rap ballad, for sure. And perhaps the Most Played Song for these ladies: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/28/nyregion/28daba.html

(8) Where Do I Begin (The Chemical Brothers) - From Vanilla Sky

(9) Far Far (Yael Naim) - This woman has a gorgeous voice.

(10)Prelude in E Minor, Opus 28, No. 4 (Chopin) I'd like to say I was just trying to look smart...but worse, I heard it on West Wing, googled it, and now it's at the end of my playlist.

Because everyone needs goals.

2009-01-27T10:18:00.000-08:00

Josh Lyman described a guy on West Wing as "making Machiavelli look like a social worker." I almost changed the "About Me" section of my profile to describe that as my greatest aspiration.

25 Random Things...About Me (Obviously)

2009-01-26T19:52:00.000-08:00

1. I was the high school mascot, The Green Wave. I got to wear really silly socks and ride the bus with the cheerleaders. The latter was almost a dealbreaker, but then I got headphones.

2. I love shoes. Living in Vegas enables me to wear flip flops nearly year round, which is awesome. If I ever move back to a place with more rain, I am in big trouble. I'm also lusting after a pair of Christian Louboutin pumps but they cost more than my rent (and apparently someone thinks it's OK to charge $875 for shoes, but I am not one of those people). I have thought about forgoing my 401K for shoes. This is why I am not a parent.

3. I worry about my family all the time. Despite the choice to live far away, they are as essential to my life as breathing. Every time I leave them it still stings a little. Or alot. Moreso now because my nephew is super cool. And a genius. It is here that I should also add that my sister-in-law is amazing and I am grateful for that.

4. I am obsessive about things. e.g. the JCrew coat I stalked, gadgets, Apple products, Jack Bauer, Conspiracies, and West Wing.

5. Despite being a self-acknowledged preppy, I have a penchant for sequins and dramatic makeup.

6. Recently I started going to yoga and I get it: I have clearly been missing out. Balance, peace, blah blah. But when I go with people I know I still end up snickering and hurting myself.

7. I run office pools and have been known to place odds on random things and make large wagers regarding life decisions. Despite that, I rarely gamble on sports in casinos and prefer roulette.

8. I snore.

9. I haven't completed reading a novel in over 6 months. Of the 4 books on my table, none are finished, none are fiction, and all are fascinating. But if you can recommend a good novel I'd love to read it. (Besides Twilight)

10. I am anxious about the future, and am always planning even the most trivial of things. Very rarely do things turn out as planned, which sometimes that bums me out and I dwell on it. 2009 resolution is to plan less.

11. Despite number 10, I am always changing my mind. Direction is something I seek and never find. But it's the journey, right?

12. I wish I had talked more to my grandparents. They were pretty incredible people and I was remiss in not appreciating that until too late.

13. I curse like a sailor. It gets me in trouble. This is why I work in construction.

14. In 2009 I will listen more because I am full of it. I can talk for hours without stopping and I can talk about nothing or something or everything and I can keep talking. So respond so I can listen to you.

15. I am reliable. I am easy to get in touch with, and many others are not. I don't like this. I have said to my emergency person, "What if you turn off your phone and I get in a car wreck and you are my emergency person and you wait too long to turn on the phone and I die in the hospital alone?" He shrugs. This annoys me. And no, I will not get another emergency person.

16. The best part about writing sketch comedy was hearing the audience laugh at something you wrote. That was a good gig. And that people-pleasing thing is hard to shake.

17. I like popcorn. I have it as a meal at least twice a week.

18. After I graduate, I am getting a puppy.

19. Over a week ago, I tried to change the light bulb in my closet and ended up pulling the entire fixture out of the ceiling. I have been getting dressed in the dark since. According to my emergency person, I "really mangled that thing" and now it's missing screws. There is a joke in there somewhere.

20. I am not in any weddings this year for the first time in 5 years. Thank you. Thank you ALL.

21. I recently "found the kitchen"...I can make cookies, chicken and a variety of pasta dishes. Last week I had a grilled cheese without the smoke alarm going off or my emergency person having to jump in and assist. This is huge for me. Less eating out = more money for shoes.

22. When I grow up I want to be a negotiator. Or a press secretary. Or a drummer in a rock band. Or a professional gambler. See No. 11. I have settled on being happy as a goal, and I am good at that.

23. I like penguins. But not so much that I have them all over my desk and my house in some kind of creepy display of fascination with birds that cannot fly. Really I just think they are funny and so much smaller than you'd expect after watching Happy Feet.

24. I turn red when I am scared, sad, embarrassed, asserting myself, etc. Basically if I have a feeling, I turn red. I turn red even when I am the only person in the room and someone has sent me a nasty email. I turn red when I drink. And I hate hate hate it.

25. I miss people. I would like to get them all in a room and tell stories and drink lots of wine. I would likely dominate the conversation and risk alienating others, but I'd like to see them just the same.

JACK IS BACK!

2009-01-14T09:13:00.000-08:00

24 is not for the faint hearted or stupid. Quite frankly I question my own ADD-prone ability to follow an entire show without talking.

Two years ago, a boy forced me to watch all of season 5 in one weekend. I read up on seasons 1-4 and have caught the syndicated versions basically up through and including season 5.

Season 6 is a blur for many reasons, but it started out with Jack basically eating an ear to get himself out of trouble and I was, again, hooked.

At this point I find it relevant to note that Jack Bauer is like a rugged hybrid of Jack Ryan and John McClane with a little bit of brilliance tossed in for good measure. Homeboy was an English major, the actor who plays him is a notorious ruckus instigator and essentially, the hottest man on television. A dude once pointed out to me that he clearly procured a personal trainer between some of the earlier seasons. I concur, and I think he also got a makeover before Redemption and Season 7.

That said, Jack is back. Jack does not mess around, and Jack will do whatever it takes. I think he's been thrown for a loop, and I think the new cast additions are less ridiculous than last season.

And I wouldn't have been able to know ANY of this if it weren't for the DVR, since the geniuses at UNLV decided to schedule classes during this show. Classes only offered in one session this semester. Classes required to graduate. Unfortunately, Jack Bauer is busy at the moment and was unwilling to discuss changing the class with the Dean. By "discuss" I mean demand. By "demand" I mean request with force. By "request with force" I mean threaten to cut out his eyes with a ballpoint pen. But you know, that's all just semantics.

The perfect shoe.

2009-01-12T23:27:00.000-08:00

The shoe was perfect. The good people at Enzo Angiolini have perfected the round-toe black leather Mary Jane pump. And either Piperlime called dibs on every pair in my size or Enzo's peeps were not on board with the awesomeness of this shoe.

What I don't understand is why Piperlime continues to tease me...she's a nasty minx that way. A nasty minx that only carries a size ten and has not even dropped the price on that size ten.

I think I'd even pay full price for this kind of versatile shoe...economic crisis and all, a girl's gotta have shoes.

More on this later but this is the kind of shoe my mother would usually find online, yet neither of us has been able to track it down. I wouldn't say we've given up...but we're dangerously close to throwing in the towel.

Lesson learned: when you fall in love with a pair of shoes, waiting for them to go on sale is only ok if they are available in more than one store. Never, ever wait for a sole-source shoe shop -- they taunt in this way. It is criminal.

Namesake

2009-01-12T13:48:00.000-08:00

Top five reasons I should have stripped to pay for my MBA:

1) My boyfriend would pay to see me naked.

2) I'd make more than I do now.

3) I'd only work three days a week.

4) Business expenses include hair, makeup, facials, body lotion, etc.

5) I'd have more lucrative incentives for staying in shape all the time.

At the end of the day, I think all of us would rather swing around a pole to a good Bon Jovi song than sit in traffic for 25 minutes every morning kicking ourselves for skipping the gym. Some might argue that this all makes sense when you remove the value of dignity from the equation, but the stripper who gets her nails done next to me some Saturdays seems to be doing just fine in her 2000 SF home.

Then again, we make our own beds. Mine happens to be in a large cubicle in a loud office with alot of fantastic people despite a miserable set of circumstances. I've sometimes wondered what would have been had not chosen this job in this city at this time. What if I were a stripper?

I'd probably be waking up and running to my spa appointment right now.