Cart full of Gosling's Black Rum (How to be the center of attention at the local market)

Downtown Bermuda at Night

What's my Bermuda pressure, please?

Just one week ago, I sat in the office in Dallas, blood pressure rising and buried in pre-event stress, wondering what was wrong with me: I was about to spend 2 weeks in Bermuda, but not only was I feeling dread, but I found myself actually looking forward to the LAST day of the trip (read: last day of what my sources say is a most exraordinarily logistically complicated event). But somehow, sitting at a temporary desk, doing the EXACT same work, but being able to turn my head and see palm trees and the ocean seems to have lowered my blood pressure. I don't know if it really did, but I DO know that last day is coming up entirely too soon! More posts to follow...

New Year's Plea

How the hell did I survive 2006? A dramatic question, I know. And certainly, in my case, a question fraught with upper middle -class angst. But it feels like any old angst to me. Last year started so auspiciously for me as I charged forward into all kinds of uncharted territory. But at the first taste of the heady exhilaration that only risk-taking brings, God looked down at my insufferably optimistc ways and thought, "Let's stir it up a little and see what she's REALLY made of." A little hope here, a little disillusionment there, toss in some happiness, uncertainty, heartache and opportunity for courage - whatever it takes for a complete and categorically gut-wrenching self-evaluation.

Did it work? Well, 2 weeks before the end of 2006, I found myself, the girl who swore off academia for good on the day she graduated with her first degree, having broken into a new industry (a feat which I'd begun to believe was impossible) standing in line at the post office and holding... (gasp!) an actual graduate school application. MY graduate school application. And I was actually not close to tears. There may even have been some smiling.

Ok, so I've discovered a little more about myself. Please give me a less emotionally tumultuous 2007. Please, please, please.

Gym Enigmas

The biggest mystery at the gym to me is, suprisingly, none of the following:

• The officious trainer ( If I want an appointment, I will make one with my own trainer who, clearly, is not you. Furthermore, I do not think that you are God's Gift to Women merely because you are a personal trainer)
  
• The Grunter/Groaner/Weight Slammer (Need I say more?)
  
• The blithely naked women in the locker room, sitting on the benches and bending over when you least expect it
  
• Inconsiderate weight lifters who leave 300 lbs worth of free weights on the machine and walk away after their sets, leaving me to choose between attempting to take the weights off myself (ha ha) or asking the officious trainer for help

While I may spend the rest of my life struggling to understand the reasoning behind such behavior, the most inexplicable mystery of all and one that I've only encountered at my new gym is:

The weigh scale in the middle of the gym floor. What's the big deal, you ask? For one thing, it's not in a discreet spot near the trainers' desks for use in fitness tests as you would expect. It is truly at the center, in full view of anyone on their way to the weights, the stairs up to the cardio machines, the courts or the locker rooms. But even more noteworthy is the absence of a scale in the ladies' locker room. I mean, really? Weigh myself in front of the entire membership of the gym? I'd rather be pestered by 100 trainers at once while trying to lift a couple of 150 lb. free weights that the 2 Grunter/Groaner/Weight Slammers left on the Smith machine, during which the fire alarm goes off and all the naked people are forced to run out, sans towels.

Give a girl what she asks for

Seven months ago, plagued with professional ennui, I yearned for SOMETHING mentally stimulating. SOMETHING, ANYTHING!

Anything? How about this? A brand new job in a totally new industry a week and a half before their biggest, most significant and most crucial event of the year, studying for the GRE (um, Math? You mean that stuff I did in high school?) which I will take exactly a week after said event and completing an application for school (letters of rec., essay, transcripts) all before the holidays. Not to mention calming myself down when I start to hyperventilate.

I guess that's SOMETHING.

What do I think I'm doing writing this blog? That was two minutes of stimulation lost! Pardon me, but I have a date with the vocabulary flash cards.

All Resignations are NOT Equal

Turning in a job resignation last week after 7 years at a very small company was more than a little distressing. As expected, even though it was quite emotional, my bosses were encouraging and completely supportive of my forthcoming professional and educational pursuits.

What I was certainly not anticipating, however, was what happened next. I'd just let out a great sigh of relief, thinking that the worst was over. But, of course it wasn't. I still can't figure out how the conversation turned from a discussion of my future to a discussion among my direct boss and upper management centered around sorting out my dating history in the last 7 years. As I listened, face burning red and slipping further and further down in my chair, I heard some of the following:

"But wait a minute. What happened to_________?"
"Oh c'mon. ______ was ages ago. There were at least 2 others since then."
"But wasn't ______ at the holiday party at The Four Seasons?"
"No, that was the year before."

And my favorite:
"So wait. Who is the current ex?"
Yes, that's right. He said "current ex."

How did this happen? I've tried so hard to be tight-lipped about such things. Will this be part of my legacy at that place? "Oh, her? Yeah, she was an exceptional worker with great skills and a lot of dates. "

Sigh. The curse of a small company.

80's much?

As I gave my reflection in the full-length mirror my daily morning once-over (yes, all girls do this and if they don't they SHOULD), I remembered my vehement assertion from a time not so long ago that I would NEVER wear anything even slightly reminiscent of the 80's. Shrudder. What was I wearing this morning? Honest to God leggings with my pointy-toed shoes, a short skirt and cowl-neck sweater with a wide belt worn high around my waist. My hair was feathered back, showing off my hoop earrings and two large bangles adorned my wrist.

I would conclude this post with "never say never," only I don't actually agree with that particular aphorism. Not only would it be expressively stifling to entirely eliminate the word "never," but I would miss the moments like I had this morning too much.

HOOK 'EM!!!!!!!

The Dish on Tapas

I've never tasted Tapas in Spain, nor do I consider myself an undisputed expert on Spanish food, but I have not found any Tapas eateries that even come close to Cafe Madrid on Travis Street. Honestly, I'd like to find another one, just for variety. My most recent effort was dinner at Rouge. While the service was excellent, the food left a lot to be desired.

But it did get me thinking that my first taste of Tapas, years ago, was at Cafe Madrid. What if it had been at one of these other places? It would be entirely possible that I would be missing out on an entire culinary "genre" as well as the irresistable opportunities to tell people that I frequent Tapas Bars. (Said quickly enough, most people will hear something else.)

Fortunately for me, the Tapas Gods were watching over me.

The Last Kiss

This weekend, I saw the new Zach Braff movie, The Last Kiss. I think it was good. I say that because the complexities of the plot rang so true, that for 2 uninterrupted hours, I felt the entire span of harrowing emotions that arise from relationship struggles. It successfully reinforced every commitment-phobic and relationship-phobic instinct in me. In fact, I felt so devastated when I came out of the film, that I knew immediately that I don't EVER want to see it again. Or think too much about it.

I just can't figure out if that makes it a good movie or a bad movie..

Oh. um.. I meant congratulations!

Apparently, it's not only on TV that your first reaction to someone's happy announcement is to laugh until you realize that he/she is serious..

You catch more flies with honey and other secret weapons

Flies do not like vinegar. Also, belligerence is not the same thing as proaction. Tell that to the girl at the back of the line to claim the baggage that did NOT arrive with our flights, after a long day of cancelled flights, stand-by boarding passes and delayed take-offs and landings. She, thanks to her grating, LOUD bitching (which could probably be heard from wherever our baggage was) successfully goaded the airline representative who was at the moment, very professionally helping me with my baggage, into a full-scale altercation in which Loud Girl gets so red-faced and frenzied, that she turns to all of us (who just want to get our bags delivered) and says, "WHO HERE HAS BEEN DEALING WITH THIS INCOMPETENCE ALL DAY??" And what? She wants us to all raise our hands and spend more valuable time participating in some kind of demonstration against an employee who had nothing to do with the maintenance issues of the airplane in another city which started the whole chain of events? When the airline representative finally chooses to ignore Loud Girl and can return to assisting me (exhausted and frustrated, but patient and cooperative), guess who gets a rush put on her baggage delivery? Not Loud Girl, I'll tell you that. It didn't help that all afternoon, I had to listen to Loud Girl complain to everyone who would listen as well as to her husband on her 2 way radio.

Other often underestimated social tools in a frustrating situation:

Silence works a million times more effectively than words. Ranting vs. closed lips and meaningful one-eyebrow raise...

Speaking with a low volume, yet powerful voice gets results faster than strident yelling.

Of course, as soon as all parties are removed from the frustrating situation, all parties are encouraged to go to a really noisy (so you can scream as loud as possible) bar with friends for unrestrained bitching.

Autumn Style Visions

This summer, I may be in the minority to admit that I'd rather survive triple degree summers than sub-zero winters. But even I'm excited about the fall fashion... Highlights from the bebe Autumn 2006 Collection Premier:

• Lots of red (clothing and accessories)
• Leggings paired with mini-skirts and tunics (these do NOT include big, baggy cotton tees..yes, we all remember that particular 80s faux pas..shrudder)
• Dark, simple denim, narrow cut
• High waisted skirts and/or wide belts to be worn around the true waist
• Platform style stacked heels (I don't know if I even worded that right..I never said I write for Vogue)

Lots of love, thanks and congrats to my friends at bebe!

Love/Hate to Love/Love in a New York Minute

The first time I went to NYC, I was an upper middle class, suburban-grown teenager with the idealistic visions of every aspiring, classically trained violinist's Mecca. I expected that as soon as I stepped out onto the streets of New York, I'd feel some sort of magical "zsa zsa zsu" (props to SATC). Perfect Love/Love. Needless to say, I was a little let down. It felt like every other urban city USA. But I still loved it. Loved the bustle and diversity. I loved Lincoln Center and the city's embrace of the fine arts. It was a refreshing change from what I thought was the opressive culture at my high school. It represented a larger world and I was hooked.

That is, until I became more serious about my future in violin. By the time I graduated with the degree I thought I wanted, I'd let NYC represent the elitist and cynical attitudes of certain narrow-minded classical musicians. In my head, NYC had somehow become the oppresive culture and I wanted no part. Love/Hate.

Last week, I finally returned, happily without an ounce of violinistic aspiration. I LOVE/LOVE it once again. I stayed clear of Lincoln Center and hardly glanced at Carnegie Hall. Instead, I couldn't wait to have Tasti D-lite in its city of origin, wait in the long line at Magnolia Bakery for a cupcake, and just generally enjoy the city. I even had a few surprises, including the Zaha Hadid (my new FAVORITE architect) special exhibit at the Guggenheim.

I stayed with my friend who is a violinist and is not at all elitist, cynical or narrow-minded. And it finally dawned on me that I need to stop making NYC represent anything besides what it is. And I love it.

Travel on a shoe string what?

Why is it that as soon as I booked my tickets for my trip to New York, the first thing I did was go shoe shopping...for the trip? And I realized that it's a pattern. I spend several days to find a reasonable air fare, for the most part limit my travels to places where friends are so that I can stay with them and not pay for lodging, and then agonize over whether the plane fare is worth it. But then as soon as I buy the tickets, I go out to buy a list of "must haves" for the trip without even blinking an eye.

And yet, I continue to smile and say, "Thanks to my frequent flier miles, I'm going to Manhattan for $55 dollars!!"

It’s the same each time
with progress. First they ignore you, then they say you’re mad, then dangerous,
then there’s a pause and then you can’t find anyone who disagrees with you

--Tony Benn

Fun things to do when things at work are slow

And this is in addition to the paper Dirk shrine at work....

Shout out to G-town

Congratulations again! Had a great time at the housewarming. Love how you've personalized the house and I love, love, LOVE the pool... Mrs. G, I know I tell you this all the time, but seeing the house further proves to me that you are one of the most amazing people I know and everything you do and have reflects that. You deserve it all!! And Waco Hoover, I still say that you are the real musician. I just read notes.