Located at 86 E. 10th Street is Black and White bar with an eponymous awning. I have walked by at minimum 1000 times but until today had not been inside. Apparently Hilary Duff was there but I didn't see her--after my 2-second convo with Kirsten Dunst at Niagara whence I learned that she was UNFRIENDLY, I'm not likely to bother with pop starlets.
Taurean invited me to join him at a mini high school reunion of sorts facilitated by Facebook. I arrived in a suit--I had an interview earlier in the day and hadn't had a chance to change since I went to Tea immediately afterwards. The group turned out to be mostly boy musicians, one of whom was visiting from Europe which is what led to this impromptu gathering.
They were surprisingly friendly and inclusive for a group of people who were friends from high school. One of the very cute boys is in Stone Forest Ensemble. He lives in Fort Greene, Brooklyn and attended Pratt at some point. If he is any indication of what CO boys are going to be like, I'm gonna LOVE Denver.
Suddenly very happy that it's Spring and I live the single life in NYC...
March 31, 2009
Flea Market Hat
Photo Credit to Lauren and her iPhone.
This was the only thing I considered purchasing at the flea market on Saturday but the fact that it cost $95 and I didn't have the right outfit to pair it with held me back. Oh, plus the lack of cash and weight of the actual WAR helmet.
How do I look with a nose ring? Notice the unstraightened hair--yeegads!
March 29, 2009
Stoned Crow
After an afternoon spent looking at the evolution of American fashion at the Museum at FIT and trolling for vintage at an antique sale that happens every weekend a stone's throw from my test prep world. Stella, Lauren, Jo, and I ambled whilst commenting--a veritable platter of views on everything from corsets to communism.
After Jo skipped away to meet a former lover for coffee; Lauren, Stella, and I encountered a jewelry designer who was seeking out inspiration with his adorable 11-month old French Bulldog, Kyle. We stopped. We petted. We talked. He was torn between the striking, 1940s style Ella and blinded by Lauren's bling ring--I wasn't sure he was single but for a man with a woman of his own, it was one pregnant pause amidst our trio. I guess he can always blame Kyle.
Lauren and I can only handle so much window shopping before we go a bit stir-crazy, so we air-kissed Stella and headed uptown to watch a free screening of My Father's Will. It was a relatively empty theater considering it was a free movie at 6pm on a Saturday but the frequent announcements of the lack of air circulation brought attention to the reality that most of our fellow movie-goers were over the age of 60. Yes, we were in senior territory.
The movie was bad. Not good bad. Just bad. Neither the acting nor the writing lent itself to posit that success would be achieved at the box office.
Lauren and I had the chance to catch up, which was terrific. It's marvelous to know someone long enough to see them figure themselves out. To see their style change from flannel to formal, watch their hair lengthen and then shorten, witness their departure from first puberty and now from singlehood. For someone who has always been a year my junior, Lauren has always been my senior in knowing that she wanted to follow a set path in life. Be it market research or marriage or a mortgage, she wanted it and she did everything she needed to get it. I respect that intensely and it's been a pleasure to be a part of it all, albeit peripherally.
After I sent Lauren home with half a HUGE popcorn for the hubby-to-be, I skipped down Bleecker St. to meet Jo. We sat for hours at Faye's on the Square chatting and chiding. No coffee was purchased. She suggested we head to the Stoned Crow when the barista called last call. On the walk there we ran into a friend of hers from college on the street--such a small city in so many ways.
At first the bar was a regular dive but as the first wave waned and the second wind blew in, we were bolstered by our buzz and the M&A guy from Memphis that bumped me ended up getting his friend's mother to take pictures of the three of us. His friend's dad insisted Jo do a shot of SoCo and lime which she graciously gave to me. The Clark Kent look-a-like seemed less unattainable despite the Lois Lane wannabe's best efforts to keep us at bay.
One thing led to another and we were suddenly enveloped by a bachelor party of Yalies visiting NYC. Most of the crowd dissipated and at last call it was two Yalies named Jesse and two Johnny Hop girls sipping Bud at the Stoned Crow.
We walked the Jesses to Bleecker St. Pizza because they believed it to be the best in NYC. Everyone has their faves. Lack of direction led to stoop sitting and pizza eating by the Jesses. We decided to get one last drink and headed up Barrow.
More beer and revealing conversation led us to learn that Jesse I is a middle school English teacher in CT while Jesse II is a 3L at Harvard. One final last call made us feel like we were shutting the city down.
Jesse I asked for and attained Jo's number and Jesse II not caring or daring to do the same. This led me to ponder if perhaps I was, for once, the lucky recipient or fatefully flawed female in a wingman situation. Other than the absence of game on their part and the frequent digs Jesse II took at my saucy disposition I had nothing to gauge interest upon.
The highlights of the night were Jesse II repeating a few times, "You're accusatory!" (a finger pointed directly at me) followed by, "I can't believe we haven't bored you girls into leaving, yet." Interesting since they seemed to have ditched their friends to hang out with us...
After Jo skipped away to meet a former lover for coffee; Lauren, Stella, and I encountered a jewelry designer who was seeking out inspiration with his adorable 11-month old French Bulldog, Kyle. We stopped. We petted. We talked. He was torn between the striking, 1940s style Ella and blinded by Lauren's bling ring--I wasn't sure he was single but for a man with a woman of his own, it was one pregnant pause amidst our trio. I guess he can always blame Kyle.
Lauren and I can only handle so much window shopping before we go a bit stir-crazy, so we air-kissed Stella and headed uptown to watch a free screening of My Father's Will. It was a relatively empty theater considering it was a free movie at 6pm on a Saturday but the frequent announcements of the lack of air circulation brought attention to the reality that most of our fellow movie-goers were over the age of 60. Yes, we were in senior territory.
The movie was bad. Not good bad. Just bad. Neither the acting nor the writing lent itself to posit that success would be achieved at the box office.
Lauren and I had the chance to catch up, which was terrific. It's marvelous to know someone long enough to see them figure themselves out. To see their style change from flannel to formal, watch their hair lengthen and then shorten, witness their departure from first puberty and now from singlehood. For someone who has always been a year my junior, Lauren has always been my senior in knowing that she wanted to follow a set path in life. Be it market research or marriage or a mortgage, she wanted it and she did everything she needed to get it. I respect that intensely and it's been a pleasure to be a part of it all, albeit peripherally.
After I sent Lauren home with half a HUGE popcorn for the hubby-to-be, I skipped down Bleecker St. to meet Jo. We sat for hours at Faye's on the Square chatting and chiding. No coffee was purchased. She suggested we head to the Stoned Crow when the barista called last call. On the walk there we ran into a friend of hers from college on the street--such a small city in so many ways.
At first the bar was a regular dive but as the first wave waned and the second wind blew in, we were bolstered by our buzz and the M&A guy from Memphis that bumped me ended up getting his friend's mother to take pictures of the three of us. His friend's dad insisted Jo do a shot of SoCo and lime which she graciously gave to me. The Clark Kent look-a-like seemed less unattainable despite the Lois Lane wannabe's best efforts to keep us at bay.
One thing led to another and we were suddenly enveloped by a bachelor party of Yalies visiting NYC. Most of the crowd dissipated and at last call it was two Yalies named Jesse and two Johnny Hop girls sipping Bud at the Stoned Crow.
We walked the Jesses to Bleecker St. Pizza because they believed it to be the best in NYC. Everyone has their faves. Lack of direction led to stoop sitting and pizza eating by the Jesses. We decided to get one last drink and headed up Barrow.
More beer and revealing conversation led us to learn that Jesse I is a middle school English teacher in CT while Jesse II is a 3L at Harvard. One final last call made us feel like we were shutting the city down.
Jesse I asked for and attained Jo's number and Jesse II not caring or daring to do the same. This led me to ponder if perhaps I was, for once, the lucky recipient or fatefully flawed female in a wingman situation. Other than the absence of game on their part and the frequent digs Jesse II took at my saucy disposition I had nothing to gauge interest upon.
The highlights of the night were Jesse II repeating a few times, "You're accusatory!" (a finger pointed directly at me) followed by, "I can't believe we haven't bored you girls into leaving, yet." Interesting since they seemed to have ditched their friends to hang out with us...
M1-5
Friday night, I met Norman and Tommy at M1-5. Well, I met Tommy at our old abode for W&W which used to stand for Weed&Whine then Weed&Wine, now Weed&Whiskey. He was splendid and bought a special bottle of Jack just for the occassion.
His current roomie, JMa, who lives in what was once my windowless room (THE CAVE) has a friend staying with them. This southerner, A, with floppy hair and backward voice had been warned that I was a spitfire but continued to balk at my innocent statements chagrined by my very presence. It was a fearful peek into what visits to GA will be like--my mom and her husband just closed on their retirement home down there. It's in an active adult golf cart community...yes I should have put in a lot of hyphens. I did not.
So from W&W and frightening out-of-towners, I hastened to meet Norman at M1-5. Originally chosen for its proximity to FiDi--alright, really because Halle invited me to join her at her b-school friend's b'day bash there. Norman, sweet soul, had Jack on the rocks awaiting us upon our arrival; thus reinforcing my tardiness.
His nuptials impending, Norman stared out wistfully into the crowd at two live archetypes of women he goes for and said to us, "Do all the things you set out to do before you get engaged." Wisdom!
Halle started fiddling with her phone when an average looking Indian started engaging me in a conversation about basketball which illustrated that he knew less about the sport than I--tragic! That's not game, but it's something. Norman swooped in to ensure that my Jack goggles wouldn't drop me to this level of engagement. I think Tommy was integral in pointint this out to Norman but team effort on that. I appreciated the cock-block because while I wasn't interested, I was loving the attention. Sad but true.
Post yelling over the music and feigning interest in basketball we headed to Jubilee in Chinatown. We lived above a Jubilee together so it was fitting that they eat pizza and feed me a red velvet cupcake in such a setting. We closed the place down at 2am and went our separate ways at Canal St. Norman taking the R, me hopping the 6, and Tommy walking south to where we all once lived together--pre-cohabitation, job changes, and broken hearts.
His current roomie, JMa, who lives in what was once my windowless room (THE CAVE) has a friend staying with them. This southerner, A, with floppy hair and backward voice had been warned that I was a spitfire but continued to balk at my innocent statements chagrined by my very presence. It was a fearful peek into what visits to GA will be like--my mom and her husband just closed on their retirement home down there. It's in an active adult golf cart community...yes I should have put in a lot of hyphens. I did not.
So from W&W and frightening out-of-towners, I hastened to meet Norman at M1-5. Originally chosen for its proximity to FiDi--alright, really because Halle invited me to join her at her b-school friend's b'day bash there. Norman, sweet soul, had Jack on the rocks awaiting us upon our arrival; thus reinforcing my tardiness.
His nuptials impending, Norman stared out wistfully into the crowd at two live archetypes of women he goes for and said to us, "Do all the things you set out to do before you get engaged." Wisdom!
Halle started fiddling with her phone when an average looking Indian started engaging me in a conversation about basketball which illustrated that he knew less about the sport than I--tragic! That's not game, but it's something. Norman swooped in to ensure that my Jack goggles wouldn't drop me to this level of engagement. I think Tommy was integral in pointint this out to Norman but team effort on that. I appreciated the cock-block because while I wasn't interested, I was loving the attention. Sad but true.
Post yelling over the music and feigning interest in basketball we headed to Jubilee in Chinatown. We lived above a Jubilee together so it was fitting that they eat pizza and feed me a red velvet cupcake in such a setting. We closed the place down at 2am and went our separate ways at Canal St. Norman taking the R, me hopping the 6, and Tommy walking south to where we all once lived together--pre-cohabitation, job changes, and broken hearts.
March 27, 2009
Avenue A Laundromat
Last night I went to my first ever Dirty Laundry Loads of Prose reading at the Avenue A Laundromat.
The lovely lady responsible for the series, Emily Rubin, was warm and welcoming. Being in the midst of young NYT city writers filled me with a glow reminiscent of the literati followers of yesteryear. I was overcome by an Anais Nin vibe and eager to bask in the glow of communal creativity.
One of the writers, Caroline Dworin recently graduated from the Columbia School of Journalism with a high school chum of mine. She read a rollicking bit about the proximity of life in New York creates a specific brand of privacy that is only breached by tourists and out-of-town guests. That we figure out a code of silence in the midst of all the noise as all transplants must to survive and humanize city life.
Another writer, Saki Knafo, of Israeli origin born and bred in Brooklyn wove a fundamentally Sweet loving tale of a Monday Night Basketball League on the UWS that has been going on for 33 years. Of course, this made me think of Tea and how someday if we were really lucky some cheeky 20something might decide to cover our story at Saint's Alp Teahouse. But more honestly, I thought him cute. Yes, readers. I fell for the writer's lanky build and awkward stance. His curly mop and forward stoop. Why must tall men try to compact themselves? He's 6'6" and not proud. As if looks alone weren't enough he had the gentle grace of a nascent dancer--slightly clumsy and uncertain of the steps but keen to perfect them. His self-deprecating humor and easy smile made me long for a simpler time. A time when I was more confident and he more available.
This is all moot, as his diminutive, beautiful Mocha girlfriend was standing beside a washer cheering him on in smiles. No contest, she's got me beat in cuteness/hotness/loveliness. And despite my sadness for another my type with the anti-me, I felt a fleeting moment of happiness for her--for them. I wanted it to work out. I wanted more than anything for their happiness to last.
The lovely lady responsible for the series, Emily Rubin, was warm and welcoming. Being in the midst of young NYT city writers filled me with a glow reminiscent of the literati followers of yesteryear. I was overcome by an Anais Nin vibe and eager to bask in the glow of communal creativity.
One of the writers, Caroline Dworin recently graduated from the Columbia School of Journalism with a high school chum of mine. She read a rollicking bit about the proximity of life in New York creates a specific brand of privacy that is only breached by tourists and out-of-town guests. That we figure out a code of silence in the midst of all the noise as all transplants must to survive and humanize city life.
Another writer, Saki Knafo, of Israeli origin born and bred in Brooklyn wove a fundamentally Sweet loving tale of a Monday Night Basketball League on the UWS that has been going on for 33 years. Of course, this made me think of Tea and how someday if we were really lucky some cheeky 20something might decide to cover our story at Saint's Alp Teahouse. But more honestly, I thought him cute. Yes, readers. I fell for the writer's lanky build and awkward stance. His curly mop and forward stoop. Why must tall men try to compact themselves? He's 6'6" and not proud. As if looks alone weren't enough he had the gentle grace of a nascent dancer--slightly clumsy and uncertain of the steps but keen to perfect them. His self-deprecating humor and easy smile made me long for a simpler time. A time when I was more confident and he more available.
This is all moot, as his diminutive, beautiful Mocha girlfriend was standing beside a washer cheering him on in smiles. No contest, she's got me beat in cuteness/hotness/loveliness. And despite my sadness for another my type with the anti-me, I felt a fleeting moment of happiness for her--for them. I wanted it to work out. I wanted more than anything for their happiness to last.
March 26, 2009
Missed Connection
Last night after work I met Dr. Rani at Les Halles on Park for a drink. She'd been insistent that we meet sooner than later and I'd assumed she wanted to show me her ring and tell me she was engaged. I was wrong!
When she arrived, late as always, post cig smoke and rapid walking in high heels I noticed the lack of ring immediately. I waited for her to gather her wits and tell me what urgent need had brought us together.
Her boyfriend wants to have children. Their own biological children. She wants to adopt--eventually. Rani has always been one of my co-anti baby mamas and to hear her talk about going through with a C-section to give him one biological child should have made me cringe, but it did not. I always knew that the few that stood with me would falter. Except for Jo--I do not believe she will have a seismic shift into baby mama-dom--adoption, maaaaaaaaaaaaybe, but definitely no live births! So having her as a sure thing makes these inevitable blows a bit easier.
The surprising part of our reunion was that Rani wanted me to change her mind or push back or give her my blessing...I'm still wholly unclear on which of these it was but I did none. She slowly talked her way around the issue till it became clear to me that despite her claims of sabotaging pregnancy post marriage she had resigned herself to having a child because that would be a dealbreaker for this man. This man whom she loved and who had willingly given up his continent, Europe, to be with her on this continent. This man who climbed out of bed in the cold to turn off the TV (don't they have a remote?) or bring her a glass of water in bed. This man who she knew would carry the brunt of the responsibility of raising their child.
So, this is the part that confuses me...why even adopt a child if you don't want to raise it? She talked of organic daycare services that provide support for busy execs and doctor parents from age 3 months. She discussed the myriad of au pairs at your disposal if you have the money for such fineries. I was impressed with the research, but I'm still not convinced she's thought it through. In convincing herself she did manage to convince me that this was a compromise she felt comfortable making given all the compromises he had made and would continue to make. But I'm not confident that many of the beliefs she holds about the level of his involvement compared to hers will be met in 2013-4 when they have a child. Her assuredness in scheduling her C-section with a top-notch physician at 38 weeks and the specificity of clinical proceedings did not assuage my growing fear that things would not go according to the best laid plans. I didn't bite my tongue hard but I held back because I felt that deep within her caustic comments she wanted this too. She was just afraid to tell me.
While we aren't as close as we used to be, I think she still feared alienating me because of this change of heart. She was the most vociferous of us at one time. With her shiny medical pedigree and committment to women not giving birth. Her stance is one of equality which got burned by biology, and now that she's gone and fallen in love she's ready to have this baby to keep her man. I'm torn on whether I should applaud her maturity and practicality or cry for a fallen soldier.
As we walked out onto Park Avenue and she lit up, I stood beside her as I have dozens of times on a chilly evening as she puffed and I coughed, a cute half-Asian Credit Suisse banker approached her to buy a smoke. $1=1 cig. She had none. He had a strong buzz going so he kept talking to us. We humored him.
Before he could turn to me, she said, "Don't even bother asking her, she doesn't smoke."
He retorted, "I wasn't going to ask her, I was going to hit on her."
I smiled and said, "Cancer kills you know."
To which he told a tale of a recent trip to China and his faith in Eastern medicine at which point I interjected that Rani was a physician and the focus shifted from me to her. I did that. In that moment, I did it. Self-sabotage.
As he started talking to her, I felt no point in sticking around. I kissed Rani on both cheeks and stalked off.
He said, "She wasn't enjoying my story it seems."
Rani whispered, "Are you walking uptown? I'm headed that way."
She later texted me to say he'd asked her to have a drink and how weird that way. I felt myself shrug. Of course it wasn't weird, that's how flirting works.
As I stood on the 6 platform at 28th St. I regretted leaving. Why did I walk away? Here was someone engaging me...it's like a dream. Cute guy walking down Park, stops to talk to us, could have picked me up...after all Rani is taken. But, I balked. That's not like me. What happened here?
When she arrived, late as always, post cig smoke and rapid walking in high heels I noticed the lack of ring immediately. I waited for her to gather her wits and tell me what urgent need had brought us together.
Her boyfriend wants to have children. Their own biological children. She wants to adopt--eventually. Rani has always been one of my co-anti baby mamas and to hear her talk about going through with a C-section to give him one biological child should have made me cringe, but it did not. I always knew that the few that stood with me would falter. Except for Jo--I do not believe she will have a seismic shift into baby mama-dom--adoption, maaaaaaaaaaaaybe, but definitely no live births! So having her as a sure thing makes these inevitable blows a bit easier.
The surprising part of our reunion was that Rani wanted me to change her mind or push back or give her my blessing...I'm still wholly unclear on which of these it was but I did none. She slowly talked her way around the issue till it became clear to me that despite her claims of sabotaging pregnancy post marriage she had resigned herself to having a child because that would be a dealbreaker for this man. This man whom she loved and who had willingly given up his continent, Europe, to be with her on this continent. This man who climbed out of bed in the cold to turn off the TV (don't they have a remote?) or bring her a glass of water in bed. This man who she knew would carry the brunt of the responsibility of raising their child.
So, this is the part that confuses me...why even adopt a child if you don't want to raise it? She talked of organic daycare services that provide support for busy execs and doctor parents from age 3 months. She discussed the myriad of au pairs at your disposal if you have the money for such fineries. I was impressed with the research, but I'm still not convinced she's thought it through. In convincing herself she did manage to convince me that this was a compromise she felt comfortable making given all the compromises he had made and would continue to make. But I'm not confident that many of the beliefs she holds about the level of his involvement compared to hers will be met in 2013-4 when they have a child. Her assuredness in scheduling her C-section with a top-notch physician at 38 weeks and the specificity of clinical proceedings did not assuage my growing fear that things would not go according to the best laid plans. I didn't bite my tongue hard but I held back because I felt that deep within her caustic comments she wanted this too. She was just afraid to tell me.
While we aren't as close as we used to be, I think she still feared alienating me because of this change of heart. She was the most vociferous of us at one time. With her shiny medical pedigree and committment to women not giving birth. Her stance is one of equality which got burned by biology, and now that she's gone and fallen in love she's ready to have this baby to keep her man. I'm torn on whether I should applaud her maturity and practicality or cry for a fallen soldier.
As we walked out onto Park Avenue and she lit up, I stood beside her as I have dozens of times on a chilly evening as she puffed and I coughed, a cute half-Asian Credit Suisse banker approached her to buy a smoke. $1=1 cig. She had none. He had a strong buzz going so he kept talking to us. We humored him.
Before he could turn to me, she said, "Don't even bother asking her, she doesn't smoke."
He retorted, "I wasn't going to ask her, I was going to hit on her."
I smiled and said, "Cancer kills you know."
To which he told a tale of a recent trip to China and his faith in Eastern medicine at which point I interjected that Rani was a physician and the focus shifted from me to her. I did that. In that moment, I did it. Self-sabotage.
As he started talking to her, I felt no point in sticking around. I kissed Rani on both cheeks and stalked off.
He said, "She wasn't enjoying my story it seems."
Rani whispered, "Are you walking uptown? I'm headed that way."
She later texted me to say he'd asked her to have a drink and how weird that way. I felt myself shrug. Of course it wasn't weird, that's how flirting works.
As I stood on the 6 platform at 28th St. I regretted leaving. Why did I walk away? Here was someone engaging me...it's like a dream. Cute guy walking down Park, stops to talk to us, could have picked me up...after all Rani is taken. But, I balked. That's not like me. What happened here?
March 22, 2009
Self-Sales
Given the economy and my overwhelming desire to NOT wake up before 11am, I have decided to augment my part-time job with selling what I already have.
NO this is not going to be a post about me turning to a life of prostitution.
Though I did after MUCH deliberation rule out a green card marriage...I'm still not 100% clear on why exactly I can't go through with it, but I think it boils down to the unshake-able romantic underpinnings of what marriage means to me...despite the recent setbacks in that department.
So, I've decided to begin with purging items I own such as DVDs, CDs, books, and assorted peripheral furniture via iSold. The middle man for eBay. They have a center in Midtown, fairly close to Grand Central. So my many journeys there will commence tomorrow.
Additionally, I discovered that the Upper East Side plays host to a blood plasma center which according to my online research provides up to $35 for plateletes via apheresis--it appears that Hep B vaccinated blood is worth $60. The process takes the plasma out of your blood and returns the rest. Sounds gross, but I can live with it. The big con here is that you can't sell more than twice a week or it depletes your iron levels. But bigger still is that you cannot drink alcohol for 72 hours after donation. This means that I really can't donate more than once a week without defeating the purpose of this additional income. The whole process takes about 30 minutes.
Now I just need to find a place to consign my clothes--my non-designer garb--where is that likely to be in Manhattan? East Village, most likely, but how do I FIND the actual spot and what is the likelihood of me getting cash upfront...
I'm not clear how the iSold, consignment options can be trusted not to lie to me. Yes, they get the commission for making the actual sale for me...but how do I know they are not ripping me off for more? I would NEVER know.
NO this is not going to be a post about me turning to a life of prostitution.
Though I did after MUCH deliberation rule out a green card marriage...I'm still not 100% clear on why exactly I can't go through with it, but I think it boils down to the unshake-able romantic underpinnings of what marriage means to me...despite the recent setbacks in that department.
So, I've decided to begin with purging items I own such as DVDs, CDs, books, and assorted peripheral furniture via iSold. The middle man for eBay. They have a center in Midtown, fairly close to Grand Central. So my many journeys there will commence tomorrow.
Additionally, I discovered that the Upper East Side plays host to a blood plasma center which according to my online research provides up to $35 for plateletes via apheresis--it appears that Hep B vaccinated blood is worth $60. The process takes the plasma out of your blood and returns the rest. Sounds gross, but I can live with it. The big con here is that you can't sell more than twice a week or it depletes your iron levels. But bigger still is that you cannot drink alcohol for 72 hours after donation. This means that I really can't donate more than once a week without defeating the purpose of this additional income. The whole process takes about 30 minutes.
Now I just need to find a place to consign my clothes--my non-designer garb--where is that likely to be in Manhattan? East Village, most likely, but how do I FIND the actual spot and what is the likelihood of me getting cash upfront...
I'm not clear how the iSold, consignment options can be trusted not to lie to me. Yes, they get the commission for making the actual sale for me...but how do I know they are not ripping me off for more? I would NEVER know.
March 19, 2009
Selling Hair
I cut my hair back in October and meant to donate it to Locks for Love BUT laziness prevailed and I never ended up mailing it out.
So, I've had dead cells sitting my shelf awaiting direction. So pressed as I am for cash these days, I've decided to SELL it in lieu of donation. After all when have I professed an adoration of children. NEVER.
Hair Trader which I found on Ask Jeeves appears to be a reputable free site for such transactions. I do have 10+inches of thick, black, virgin hair to offer the highest bidder.
Hmm, that sounds really dirty now that I read it back!
The highest bid on there has been over $2K for hair but that hair was red and over 25inches long...can't compete.
So, I've had dead cells sitting my shelf awaiting direction. So pressed as I am for cash these days, I've decided to SELL it in lieu of donation. After all when have I professed an adoration of children. NEVER.
Hair Trader which I found on Ask Jeeves appears to be a reputable free site for such transactions. I do have 10+inches of thick, black, virgin hair to offer the highest bidder.
Hmm, that sounds really dirty now that I read it back!
The highest bid on there has been over $2K for hair but that hair was red and over 25inches long...can't compete.
March 18, 2009
Ready
The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. The weather is warming up.
Last night, post tea, Jo and I were walking across town.
The marrieds had been catching us up on wedding things and while a rapt audience we were not, we were good friends. We're excited for them. A new chapter. A new life. Getting what they always wanted with the one they wanted. Achievements all around.
So Jo says to me, "I'm ready to date."
I wasn't entirely caught unawares but there was a small part of me that cringed. This meant I would stand alone, officially. Alone in the not dating, not interested in dating camp of one.
But, I said to her, "Then go out and date. Putting yourself out there is the first step and if you're ready to make it--look out!"
And I meant it. She's a formidable woman in a diminutive frame. Kinda like I'm a diminutive woman in a formidable frame. HA!
She's driven, compassionate, INTENSE, hard-working, educated, globally engaged, witty, and responsible among other things. Those are just those useless inside things that don't even attract guys but certainly keep them--or so I still need to believe. She's tall, thin, pale with piercing blue eyes and short brown hair. She always dresses biz casual and carries ridiculously large handbags.
I can think of very few guys whose type she wouldn't be....I say that because it's those guys whose type I AM--Lord knows there are but a hanful of them.
So, she too begins a new chapter. Steps out of fear, loneliness, and anger to start a new life. Look at her go. I'm glad she's stepping out, it's time. Her time.
Last night, post tea, Jo and I were walking across town.
The marrieds had been catching us up on wedding things and while a rapt audience we were not, we were good friends. We're excited for them. A new chapter. A new life. Getting what they always wanted with the one they wanted. Achievements all around.
So Jo says to me, "I'm ready to date."
I wasn't entirely caught unawares but there was a small part of me that cringed. This meant I would stand alone, officially. Alone in the not dating, not interested in dating camp of one.
But, I said to her, "Then go out and date. Putting yourself out there is the first step and if you're ready to make it--look out!"
And I meant it. She's a formidable woman in a diminutive frame. Kinda like I'm a diminutive woman in a formidable frame. HA!
She's driven, compassionate, INTENSE, hard-working, educated, globally engaged, witty, and responsible among other things. Those are just those useless inside things that don't even attract guys but certainly keep them--or so I still need to believe. She's tall, thin, pale with piercing blue eyes and short brown hair. She always dresses biz casual and carries ridiculously large handbags.
I can think of very few guys whose type she wouldn't be....I say that because it's those guys whose type I AM--Lord knows there are but a hanful of them.
So, she too begins a new chapter. Steps out of fear, loneliness, and anger to start a new life. Look at her go. I'm glad she's stepping out, it's time. Her time.
March 12, 2009
WAW
Last night, I went to the William Alanson White Institute of Psychoanalysis on the UWS to hear Dr. Philip Bromberg read from his latest paper on truth in the International Journal of Psychoanalysis.
It was a refreshing experience from an academic and psychoanalytic perspective. The array of grey/frizzy haired analysts filling the room warmed my heart's deepest recesses. I was strengthened by the number of practitioners in what is a dying field.
Plus the wine and cheese after the fact took me by complete surprise.
My future mentor--an energetic psychiatrist I met whilst in India is co-director of recruitment of the Institute--was opening bottles and all I could hear was the popping sound of cork releasing wine. I was called "effervescent" by an analyst who asked me more questions than I asked her.
An interesting truth of networking in mental health. In business, the key is to ask important people questions. People love to talk--mostly about themselves. In psychology, the listening profession, peoplle like to learn about you so they do the asking. It's a fascinating turnaround.
It was a refreshing experience from an academic and psychoanalytic perspective. The array of grey/frizzy haired analysts filling the room warmed my heart's deepest recesses. I was strengthened by the number of practitioners in what is a dying field.
Plus the wine and cheese after the fact took me by complete surprise.
My future mentor--an energetic psychiatrist I met whilst in India is co-director of recruitment of the Institute--was opening bottles and all I could hear was the popping sound of cork releasing wine. I was called "effervescent" by an analyst who asked me more questions than I asked her.
An interesting truth of networking in mental health. In business, the key is to ask important people questions. People love to talk--mostly about themselves. In psychology, the listening profession, peoplle like to learn about you so they do the asking. It's a fascinating turnaround.
Rockwood II
Z collected me after my Introduction to Modern Psychoanalysis class at the Center for Modern Psychoanalysis on W. 10th Street this evening. We hopped the F on W. 4th to Rockwood Music Hall for our weekly culture club outing (WCC).
Caleb Hawley was followed by Zach Hurd--both John Mayer meets Beck musicians--the band that went onstage post solo boy angst music was a bit too loud for our Jack on the rocks (me)/Jameson Neat (Z) so we went up to Birdie's on 1st Ave. for some fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cream of spinach. The minute we crossed Houston, Z suggested Birdie's and I believed in telepathy. The second half of Zach's smooth stylings had created a rumble in my belly best requited by the crunchy goodness of southern comfort food. I said nothing of this to him. I was genuinedly shocked and delighted when he suggested such a delicious follow-up to our evening of music.
Ah....he continues to swim in my brain freely and without warning.
Caleb Hawley was followed by Zach Hurd--both John Mayer meets Beck musicians--the band that went onstage post solo boy angst music was a bit too loud for our Jack on the rocks (me)/Jameson Neat (Z) so we went up to Birdie's on 1st Ave. for some fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and cream of spinach. The minute we crossed Houston, Z suggested Birdie's and I believed in telepathy. The second half of Zach's smooth stylings had created a rumble in my belly best requited by the crunchy goodness of southern comfort food. I said nothing of this to him. I was genuinedly shocked and delighted when he suggested such a delicious follow-up to our evening of music.
Ah....he continues to swim in my brain freely and without warning.
Malaysian Grill
On Tuesday night, I met Jo and Will on the UWS at Malaysian Grill for some amazing Curry Mee with Shrimp at a cheap $6.95, followed by a fabulous amble down Riverside Park to the Soldiers & Sailors monument.
Will, the lone wanderer, Jo and I met on NYE in Central Park has become a monthly fixture in our lives. Last month, he introduced us to his favorite veggie Indian spot in Murray (Curry) Hill: Chennai Garden. He's an undergrad at Columbia who works at the Clinton Foundation. Whilst well over 21, his age has yet to be determined by us. He's biked across the country. He has no qualms about talking to total strangers, in fact he was qualms with NOT talkint to total strangers.
I'm excitedly looking forward to our April caper. We're hoping he follows through on Twister in Times Square as his official graduation party theme. How awesome would that be? I adore urban adventure.
Will, the lone wanderer, Jo and I met on NYE in Central Park has become a monthly fixture in our lives. Last month, he introduced us to his favorite veggie Indian spot in Murray (Curry) Hill: Chennai Garden. He's an undergrad at Columbia who works at the Clinton Foundation. Whilst well over 21, his age has yet to be determined by us. He's biked across the country. He has no qualms about talking to total strangers, in fact he was qualms with NOT talkint to total strangers.
I'm excitedly looking forward to our April caper. We're hoping he follows through on Twister in Times Square as his official graduation party theme. How awesome would that be? I adore urban adventure.
New Developments
I apologize for my long absence loyal readers.
Whilst I was away from providing you with updates on my life as you know it. 2009 quickly became the year of rejection.
I applied to and have been rejected from UNC Chapel Hill's Clinical Psychology Doctoral Program.
I applied to and have been rejected from Teach For America. I wanted to get placed in San Francisco so Li Chen, Special K and I could enjoy Western living.
Predictably, I quit both my unpaid research positions at Columbia and Mt. Sinai.
I am now in the process of applying to an unique MA program in International Disaster Psychology in Denver. Yeah, Denver. Imagine me in LL Bean with hiking boots on, HILARIOUS.
Whilst I was away from providing you with updates on my life as you know it. 2009 quickly became the year of rejection.
I applied to and have been rejected from UNC Chapel Hill's Clinical Psychology Doctoral Program.
I applied to and have been rejected from Teach For America. I wanted to get placed in San Francisco so Li Chen, Special K and I could enjoy Western living.
Predictably, I quit both my unpaid research positions at Columbia and Mt. Sinai.
I am now in the process of applying to an unique MA program in International Disaster Psychology in Denver. Yeah, Denver. Imagine me in LL Bean with hiking boots on, HILARIOUS.
Internet Restored
I am the queen of procrastination.
Never was this more clear than the last 6 weeks. Ever since I got back from India the internet in my apartment has been BROKEN. I finally called Time Warner yesterday whence I learned that they have a store on E. 23rd Street which I actually have walked by every day for almost 3 months and never noticed. So in addition to procrastination I am also OBLIVIOUS. Boo.
So I went down there today to get a new modem wbhich did indeed turn out to be the problem--which is now resolved. Yay Internet. Yay Access at Home....NAKED.
(Fine, I have underwear on!)
Never was this more clear than the last 6 weeks. Ever since I got back from India the internet in my apartment has been BROKEN. I finally called Time Warner yesterday whence I learned that they have a store on E. 23rd Street which I actually have walked by every day for almost 3 months and never noticed. So in addition to procrastination I am also OBLIVIOUS. Boo.
So I went down there today to get a new modem wbhich did indeed turn out to be the problem--which is now resolved. Yay Internet. Yay Access at Home....NAKED.
(Fine, I have underwear on!)
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