A few months back on my birthday, I said I'd planned to spend gobs of money on silly things. And spend I did! Mainly at Sephora, my all-time favorite place to shop on my bday because the friendly lady behind the counter (who looks like she's hiding a muffin in her hair) always gives me a present.
I've since made my way through all the products you see here, and there were some clear winners. With Hanukkah upon us and Christmas just days away I thought it might be good to share a few sure-fire last-minute stocking stuffers.
First, full disclosure: Each morning, my beauty regimen consists of showering, brushing my teeth, blow-drying my hair until I start to sweat, and quickly sweeping mascara, lip gloss and blush across my face. That's it.
Not exactly a major undertaking. I realize this gives me zero credibility in the beauty review arena.
But I won't let that stop me.
LIPS
I'm obsessed with lip gloss. I probably apply it 5x per day. There are no less than 7 featured in this picture. If you know someone who is equally interested in maintaining a shiny smile, get them this:
>> NARS Lip Gloss in Belize (for nighttime)
>> Lancome Juicy Tubes in Pure (for daytime)
>> Fresh Sugar Lip Balm (for bedtime)
Do NOT get them this: Crest White Strips.
HAIR
I'm obsessed with smooth hair. I never need to check the weather, all I do is look in the mirror -- humidity is the enemy to every follicle on my thick head. The only hairs that can resist puffing up are the wiry gray ones and I pluck those out so I can maintain my youthful facade. If you know someone who likes smooth, nice-smelling hair too, get them this:
>> Frederic Fekkai Glossing Shampoo & Conditioner
>> Moroccan Oil Hydrating Styling Cream
Do NOT get them this: a haircut
FRAGRANCE
I'm obsessed with finding a perfume I don't hate. You may recall my quest to find a scent. I've finally found something I like. No, LOVE. It's a famous fragrance, but try to forget that and just breathe in the beachy-goodness. If you know someone who isn't ashamed to smell like a celebrity, get them this:
>> Jennifer Aniston (I say this with 100% non-irony. Smell it. Trust me.)
Do NOT get them this: Snooki for Women by Nicole Polizzi
When you think of splurging on someone special, you might be tempted to give a gift certificate to a spa for a mani-pedi or a massage. This would be the WORST possible gift someone could get me. The thought of being kneaded like pizza dough by a judgemental stranger gives me hives.
If your loved one is as neurotic as I am (as if that is even in the realm of possibility), she might enjoy one or all of the products above. No unwanted touching required.
And don't forget to treat yourself! Whoever said it is better to give than to receive was doing it wrong.
Stuff the comments below with YOUR stocking goodies...
tags: beauty, holidays, shopping
12/20/2011
12/03/2011
The Office Holiday Party Survival Guide
'Tis the season for office holiday parties.
We had ours the other night. The next day no one talked about the lovely lounge we all went to at 4pm. Or the delicious mini grilled cheese sandwiches that were passed. Or the Irish pub many of us went to after the official merriment was over. Or the generous open bar at the afterparty. Or the karaoke that some did late nite. Or the private singing room that was reserved for the group.
Nope.
All anyone talked -- actually no, whispered -- about the next day was the girl who overindulged. Let's call her Courvoisier. Inappropriate grinding on all male co-workers? On Dancer! Hysterical crying in the ladies room? On Cupid! Heated argument with a cube-mate? On Dasher! So drunk that the bar wouldn't allow her to come in? On Blitzen!
Want to avoid going down in history like this chick? If you're lucky enough to a) still have a job, and b) work for a company that still has holiday parties, read on.
The words "office party" might be the ultimate oxymoron. This is NO time to relax. Your attendance is not really optional. It's a minefield. You must stay vigilant. Here's a survival guide:
Mama's in Her Kerchief, and I'm in My Cap
No Hanukkah hairy chests, no Christmas cleavage, no Kwanzaa belly buttons, and absolutely no Festivus ass cheeks peeking out from under a miniskirt. We're not at the beach -- cover up people! Skimpy clothes are unpredictable. Wear them and you may forever be known as the woman who accidentally flashed a boob at the party.
The Three Words That Best Describe You Are as Follows, and I Quote, "Stink, Stank, Stunk!"
While we're at it, don't load up on cologne or perfume in the spirit of being "festive." Nobody wants to taste Drakkar Noir with their tuna tartare.
He'll Say, "Are You Married?" We'll Say, "No Man!"
If you're not invited with a guest, don't bring one -- even if you're married and everyone at the office knows your spouse. If you're not married, but can bring a guest, make sure it's not an escort. Your +1 could trade up during the night, and that's just embarrassing.
Frosty the Snowman Was a Jolly Happy Soul
So what's your problem? There's no crying in office parties! Similarly, there's no complaining about your job while consuming food and drink on the company's dime. Now is NOT the time to openly wish that the chocolate fountain budget be spent on Post-Its because you've been writing on your arm for the past month. The Grinch was as cuddly as a cactus and as charming as an eel, not you! Pretend you're enjoying yourself.
Said the Shepard Boy to the Mighty King, Do You Know What I Know?
Limit all conversations with acquaintances and supervisors to 5 minutes so you don't accidentally spill the beans that you found your manager's updated resume in the printer, or that the guy in the office next door drops a deuce every morning at 11 like clockwork. Learn to keep a secret.
Hang a Shining Star Upon the Highest Bough
"But enough about me, let's talk about you -- what do YOU think of ME?" Self-centered conversations are boring. Bragging is worse. So if you're telling the mailroom guy who's shoving chicken wings in his pockets (ill-advised, btw) that you're trying to decide between a holiday break in St. Barts or Gstaad, you need to pipe down. Try talking about the weather. Here. And find that guy some Tupperware -- hot sauce stains, ya know!
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Had a Very Shiny Nose
Take your age and divide by 10. That's the max number of drinks you should have over the course of the evening. Plus eat beforehand and drink water in-between (nobody can tell the difference between a selzer with a twist of lime and a vodka tonic). And yes, that means that the 70-year-old office fossil will be toasted like a chestnut by night's end, but he may not make it to next year's party so just make sure he gets home safe. For everyone else, once your nose starts glowing like ol'Rudy's it's time to step away from the bar, Sparkey.
And Laying a Finger Aside of His Nose, Then Giving a Nod Up the Chimney He Rose
Now, take your age and multiply by 0. That's the max number of drugs you should do over the course of the evening. For those not in accounting, this means say no to drugs. (For those IN accounting, you could probably stand to loosen up, so still say no here, but go ahead and have an extra drink.) If you EVER think office party drugs are a good idea, the fluorescent lighting has most certainly fried your brain. Just like that egg. Any questions?
Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer
Don't Xerox your ass. Don't curse like a sailor. Don't spill your drink on anyone. Don't eat like it's your last meal. Don't double dip. Don't throw up. Don't piss your pants. Don't put your underwear on your head. Don't trip and knock your teeth out. Don't break anything at all. In general, don't show up for work the next day looking like Grandma.
Now the Jingle Hop Has Begun
Save the pole for the professionals. Dancing with co-workers should be a lot like dancing at a Catholic middle school prom. No touching below the shoulders and leave room for the Holy Ghost.
We're Snuggled Up Together Like Two Birds of a Feather Would Be
Mistletoe is like office party kryptonite. You'd be better off caught eating it than kissing under it. And don't forget most offices have security cameras. Suddenly a rendezvous in the stairway seems much less romantic if it's being watched by a guy named Moe (unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case, do yourself a favor and call in sick the day of the party -- you can't be trusted around an open bar).
It Doesn't Show Signs of Stopping
This one's easy. Go home. At a reasonable hour. Alone.
I think you get the idea. Now's NOT the time to make an impression or to have fun. Just fly below the radar and you'll be alright. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Anonymously share YOUR office party faux pas below...
tags: holidays, work
We had ours the other night. The next day no one talked about the lovely lounge we all went to at 4pm. Or the delicious mini grilled cheese sandwiches that were passed. Or the Irish pub many of us went to after the official merriment was over. Or the generous open bar at the afterparty. Or the karaoke that some did late nite. Or the private singing room that was reserved for the group.
Nope.
All anyone talked -- actually no, whispered -- about the next day was the girl who overindulged. Let's call her Courvoisier. Inappropriate grinding on all male co-workers? On Dancer! Hysterical crying in the ladies room? On Cupid! Heated argument with a cube-mate? On Dasher! So drunk that the bar wouldn't allow her to come in? On Blitzen!
Want to avoid going down in history like this chick? If you're lucky enough to a) still have a job, and b) work for a company that still has holiday parties, read on.
The words "office party" might be the ultimate oxymoron. This is NO time to relax. Your attendance is not really optional. It's a minefield. You must stay vigilant. Here's a survival guide:
Mama's in Her Kerchief, and I'm in My Cap
No Hanukkah hairy chests, no Christmas cleavage, no Kwanzaa belly buttons, and absolutely no Festivus ass cheeks peeking out from under a miniskirt. We're not at the beach -- cover up people! Skimpy clothes are unpredictable. Wear them and you may forever be known as the woman who accidentally flashed a boob at the party.
The Three Words That Best Describe You Are as Follows, and I Quote, "Stink, Stank, Stunk!"
While we're at it, don't load up on cologne or perfume in the spirit of being "festive." Nobody wants to taste Drakkar Noir with their tuna tartare.
He'll Say, "Are You Married?" We'll Say, "No Man!"
If you're not invited with a guest, don't bring one -- even if you're married and everyone at the office knows your spouse. If you're not married, but can bring a guest, make sure it's not an escort. Your +1 could trade up during the night, and that's just embarrassing.
Frosty the Snowman Was a Jolly Happy Soul
So what's your problem? There's no crying in office parties! Similarly, there's no complaining about your job while consuming food and drink on the company's dime. Now is NOT the time to openly wish that the chocolate fountain budget be spent on Post-Its because you've been writing on your arm for the past month. The Grinch was as cuddly as a cactus and as charming as an eel, not you! Pretend you're enjoying yourself.
Said the Shepard Boy to the Mighty King, Do You Know What I Know?
Limit all conversations with acquaintances and supervisors to 5 minutes so you don't accidentally spill the beans that you found your manager's updated resume in the printer, or that the guy in the office next door drops a deuce every morning at 11 like clockwork. Learn to keep a secret.
Hang a Shining Star Upon the Highest Bough
"But enough about me, let's talk about you -- what do YOU think of ME?" Self-centered conversations are boring. Bragging is worse. So if you're telling the mailroom guy who's shoving chicken wings in his pockets (ill-advised, btw) that you're trying to decide between a holiday break in St. Barts or Gstaad, you need to pipe down. Try talking about the weather. Here. And find that guy some Tupperware -- hot sauce stains, ya know!
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer Had a Very Shiny Nose
Take your age and divide by 10. That's the max number of drinks you should have over the course of the evening. Plus eat beforehand and drink water in-between (nobody can tell the difference between a selzer with a twist of lime and a vodka tonic). And yes, that means that the 70-year-old office fossil will be toasted like a chestnut by night's end, but he may not make it to next year's party so just make sure he gets home safe. For everyone else, once your nose starts glowing like ol'Rudy's it's time to step away from the bar, Sparkey.
And Laying a Finger Aside of His Nose, Then Giving a Nod Up the Chimney He Rose
Now, take your age and multiply by 0. That's the max number of drugs you should do over the course of the evening. For those not in accounting, this means say no to drugs. (For those IN accounting, you could probably stand to loosen up, so still say no here, but go ahead and have an extra drink.) If you EVER think office party drugs are a good idea, the fluorescent lighting has most certainly fried your brain. Just like that egg. Any questions?
Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer
Don't Xerox your ass. Don't curse like a sailor. Don't spill your drink on anyone. Don't eat like it's your last meal. Don't double dip. Don't throw up. Don't piss your pants. Don't put your underwear on your head. Don't trip and knock your teeth out. Don't break anything at all. In general, don't show up for work the next day looking like Grandma.
Now the Jingle Hop Has Begun
Save the pole for the professionals. Dancing with co-workers should be a lot like dancing at a Catholic middle school prom. No touching below the shoulders and leave room for the Holy Ghost.
We're Snuggled Up Together Like Two Birds of a Feather Would Be
Mistletoe is like office party kryptonite. You'd be better off caught eating it than kissing under it. And don't forget most offices have security cameras. Suddenly a rendezvous in the stairway seems much less romantic if it's being watched by a guy named Moe (unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case, do yourself a favor and call in sick the day of the party -- you can't be trusted around an open bar).
It Doesn't Show Signs of Stopping
This one's easy. Go home. At a reasonable hour. Alone.
I think you get the idea. Now's NOT the time to make an impression or to have fun. Just fly below the radar and you'll be alright. Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Anonymously share YOUR office party faux pas below...
tags: holidays, work
11/22/2011
On the Roadi: DC Here We Come
For anyone following the 50 state road trip with my buddy, Jodi, you might have noticed that Washington, DC is located no where near New Mexico -- the original next stop on our tour.
Technically, this is true. I blame Thanksgiving.
Apparently, it's not possible to book an inexpensive trip to New Mexico on the most traveled weekend of the year, with 2 weeks advance notice. Who could possibly know this hidden fact? (Besides me, who worked for Travelocity for 3 years?)
Anyone at all? No?
Anyway, we had to get to DC eventually, so now is as good a time as any. We'll be leaving on Friday -- and you should totally come!
Follow this adventure on our blog or on Twitter. As I'm sure you won't give a shit that we just ate a coffee cake or spotted a woman who looks just like Newt Gingrich, we promise to stick ONLY to the entertaining high (and low) lights.
See you on the Beltway!
tags: travel
Technically, this is true. I blame Thanksgiving.
Apparently, it's not possible to book an inexpensive trip to New Mexico on the most traveled weekend of the year, with 2 weeks advance notice. Who could possibly know this hidden fact? (Besides me, who worked for Travelocity for 3 years?)
Anyone at all? No?
Anyway, we had to get to DC eventually, so now is as good a time as any. We'll be leaving on Friday -- and you should totally come!
Follow this adventure on our blog or on Twitter. As I'm sure you won't give a shit that we just ate a coffee cake or spotted a woman who looks just like Newt Gingrich, we promise to stick ONLY to the entertaining high (and low) lights.
See you on the Beltway!
tags: travel
11/11/2011
Volunteers
In the continuing saga of things I never do like bowling, Primus, and eating Pringles (actually I do that last one pretty often)…
My dear friend and I spent Sunday at the NYC Marathon alongside 47,107 runners.
I say alongside, because we were amongst the 2 million spectators ALONG the route. I mean, you didn’t think we were running, did you? (Well, actually, SHE probably could run it. But not me. I’d rather have toothpicks shoved under my toenails.)
We were volunteering at the Hydration Zone on Mile 17, at 1st Ave in the 70s. That meant going to bed at a reasonable hour the night before AND waking up early on Daylight Savings morning. No extra hour of sleep here!
We really give until it hurts.
When faced with the choice of running 26.2 miles for hours or pouring cups of refreshing water for hours, I’ll pick the pour. Every. Single. Time.
So, while a couple of Kenyans were busy making history, we were being schooled by fellow volunteer, Seth. He was a likeable enough guy. Very excited to be there. Took a lot of pictures, striking the “double thumbs up” pose.
Seth took his hydration volunteerism quite seriously. And he had three strict rules:
1) Be precise about the amount of water in each cup – 1/3, no more no less.
2) Stack the cups 3-high in a “honeycomb formation” to ensure stability at each level.
3) Thoroughly inspect all cups for dirt, dust, or floating debris of ANY kind before distribution.
It was the last one that was the toughest to enforce. You have NO idea how much crap flies into thousands of water cups that have been sitting out for hours waiting for thirsty runners to whiz by. I was going nuts trying to keep them fresh!
Personally, I felt his standard was too high. If it were me, I'd say, dirt? Ok. Giant leaf? Not ok. Hair?
On the bubble.
Didn’t this guy ever play beer pong in college? There was so much junk floating in those cups I’m amazed we didn’t all get trenchmouth.
Keeping up with The Water Monitor wasn't the only drama on the sidelines. Z-100 was there (and my 12-year-old self was SUPER psyched). PLUS, I watched a sweaty runner man go off-course to propose to his girlfriend. AND I watched a sweaty runner lady go off-course to sit on a stack of boxes. I’m no doctor, but I’m guessing her immediate need for rest was largely due to the strange bone protruding from her shin.
Thankfully, I also avoided seeing the dreaded Poop Leg. I won't go into the details, but you know it when you see it. And then you can never erase that image from your brain for the rest of your life.
Anyway, on our run home (and by run, I mean taxi cab), I felt good knowing I’d pitched in -- gave something back to a city I love (sorta).
In fact, I enjoyed it so much, I think I’d like to hand out new things next year. Tissues! Breath mints! More modest ladies running gear! (Seriously, ladies, cover up. You can’t possibly chafe if your thighs don’t touch.)
Oh, I know, I'm just jealous. My thighs rub so much I could burn the crotch out of a suit of armor.
So, to sum up... volunteering is good, Poop Leg is nasty, dirt won't kill you, and I must stop eating Pringles.
Have YOU ever run for fun? Any distance at all? List it below and you'll win a cup of water!
tags: city life, sports
My dear friend and I spent Sunday at the NYC Marathon alongside 47,107 runners.
I say alongside, because we were amongst the 2 million spectators ALONG the route. I mean, you didn’t think we were running, did you? (Well, actually, SHE probably could run it. But not me. I’d rather have toothpicks shoved under my toenails.)
We were volunteering at the Hydration Zone on Mile 17, at 1st Ave in the 70s. That meant going to bed at a reasonable hour the night before AND waking up early on Daylight Savings morning. No extra hour of sleep here!
We really give until it hurts.
When faced with the choice of running 26.2 miles for hours or pouring cups of refreshing water for hours, I’ll pick the pour. Every. Single. Time.
So, while a couple of Kenyans were busy making history, we were being schooled by fellow volunteer, Seth. He was a likeable enough guy. Very excited to be there. Took a lot of pictures, striking the “double thumbs up” pose.
Seth took his hydration volunteerism quite seriously. And he had three strict rules:
1) Be precise about the amount of water in each cup – 1/3, no more no less.
2) Stack the cups 3-high in a “honeycomb formation” to ensure stability at each level.
3) Thoroughly inspect all cups for dirt, dust, or floating debris of ANY kind before distribution.
It was the last one that was the toughest to enforce. You have NO idea how much crap flies into thousands of water cups that have been sitting out for hours waiting for thirsty runners to whiz by. I was going nuts trying to keep them fresh!
Personally, I felt his standard was too high. If it were me, I'd say, dirt? Ok. Giant leaf? Not ok. Hair?
On the bubble.
Didn’t this guy ever play beer pong in college? There was so much junk floating in those cups I’m amazed we didn’t all get trenchmouth.
Keeping up with The Water Monitor wasn't the only drama on the sidelines. Z-100 was there (and my 12-year-old self was SUPER psyched). PLUS, I watched a sweaty runner man go off-course to propose to his girlfriend. AND I watched a sweaty runner lady go off-course to sit on a stack of boxes. I’m no doctor, but I’m guessing her immediate need for rest was largely due to the strange bone protruding from her shin.
Thankfully, I also avoided seeing the dreaded Poop Leg. I won't go into the details, but you know it when you see it. And then you can never erase that image from your brain for the rest of your life.
Anyway, on our run home (and by run, I mean taxi cab), I felt good knowing I’d pitched in -- gave something back to a city I love (sorta).
In fact, I enjoyed it so much, I think I’d like to hand out new things next year. Tissues! Breath mints! More modest ladies running gear! (Seriously, ladies, cover up. You can’t possibly chafe if your thighs don’t touch.)
Oh, I know, I'm just jealous. My thighs rub so much I could burn the crotch out of a suit of armor.
So, to sum up... volunteering is good, Poop Leg is nasty, dirt won't kill you, and I must stop eating Pringles.
Have YOU ever run for fun? Any distance at all? List it below and you'll win a cup of water!
tags: city life, sports
11/04/2011
Tonight, We Bowl
I went bowling the other night. I can count on my thumbs the number of times I’ve been bowling in my life.
Now check out this photo. That’s the scoreboard. I’m J Lo, pulling up the rear (insert ass joke here).
And I won. HA! Even I can’t believe it.
And no… I wasn’t playing against a bunch of children. Or drunks. Or blind people. Or armless dudes who roll the ball down the lane with their noses. No! They were regular celebrities, like me... J Lo.
We might form a league.
Now, don’t ask me what all the numbers, Xs, dashes, and slashes mean. Might as well be Chinese. I have no clue. I just know I scored 76, which is probably horrible by normal standards but was enough to chalk me up a W with this crowd.
Given the fact that I’ve been bowling 3 whole times now, I’d like to impart 3 shining pearls of Big Lebowski wisdom that will make you want to stitch your name on an unflattering shirt and eat chicken wings without washing your hands:
Tip #1: Bowl granny-style. It isn’t pretty, but it gets the job done.
Tip #2: Believe the ball’s slimy exterior is due to the Purell shower it takes on the journey back to you.
Tip #3: Wear thick socks to protect your feet from rental shoe infestation. Toss socks immediately after.
Is it a sport? I don't know. (I’m sure the Bowlers of America work up a great sweat growing their beer guts and receding hairlines). But it was goodtimes. Except for the weird guy I ran into outside the bathroom. He wanted me to listen to a song, and offered me his headphones. Mmmm. Using someone’s headphones is like using someone’s toothbrush. If we haven’t swapped spit, I want nothing to do with your earwax.
So that was a firm no. But otherwise, super fun.
Need more convincing? Watch this inspirational video clip from the cinematic treasure, Grease 2:
I think Adrian Zmed may have disinfected my shoes.
So, fellow natural athletes of pseudo-sports, share below your tales of darts, ping-pong, frisbee, bowling, or golf (which, let's face it, is just rich man's bowling).
Yep, I said it. Discuss...
tags: sports
Now check out this photo. That’s the scoreboard. I’m J Lo, pulling up the rear (insert ass joke here).
And I won. HA! Even I can’t believe it.
And no… I wasn’t playing against a bunch of children. Or drunks. Or blind people. Or armless dudes who roll the ball down the lane with their noses. No! They were regular celebrities, like me... J Lo.
We might form a league.
Now, don’t ask me what all the numbers, Xs, dashes, and slashes mean. Might as well be Chinese. I have no clue. I just know I scored 76, which is probably horrible by normal standards but was enough to chalk me up a W with this crowd.
Given the fact that I’ve been bowling 3 whole times now, I’d like to impart 3 shining pearls of Big Lebowski wisdom that will make you want to stitch your name on an unflattering shirt and eat chicken wings without washing your hands:
Tip #1: Bowl granny-style. It isn’t pretty, but it gets the job done.
Tip #2: Believe the ball’s slimy exterior is due to the Purell shower it takes on the journey back to you.
Tip #3: Wear thick socks to protect your feet from rental shoe infestation. Toss socks immediately after.
Is it a sport? I don't know. (I’m sure the Bowlers of America work up a great sweat growing their beer guts and receding hairlines). But it was goodtimes. Except for the weird guy I ran into outside the bathroom. He wanted me to listen to a song, and offered me his headphones. Mmmm. Using someone’s headphones is like using someone’s toothbrush. If we haven’t swapped spit, I want nothing to do with your earwax.
So that was a firm no. But otherwise, super fun.
Need more convincing? Watch this inspirational video clip from the cinematic treasure, Grease 2:
I think Adrian Zmed may have disinfected my shoes.
So, fellow natural athletes of pseudo-sports, share below your tales of darts, ping-pong, frisbee, bowling, or golf (which, let's face it, is just rich man's bowling).
Yep, I said it. Discuss...
tags: sports
10/26/2011
5 Fall TV Shows You Must Watch
Ahem. Is this thing on?
I haven’t blogged in ages. I could give you a million reasons why. But honestly, who cares? We have more important things to discuss here.
Like Fall TV.
You KNOW this is my favorite time of year. (Really, it is!) Baked, mashed, fried, scalloped, or au gratin, I become a couch potato every October. And I love it.
There’s probably 100 shows on my DVR. No joke. I’ve suffered through some stinkers (Hart of Dixie, Pan Am, Playboy Club, Whitney, Charlie’s Angels, Last Man Standing and Man Up, you owe me 5.5 hours of my life back).
Others were disappointingly ok, despite having some awesome casting choices (like Sarah Michelle Gellar in Ringer, Dave Foley & Rhys Darby in How to Be a Gentleman, Michael Patrick King who created 2 Broke Girls, Jeremy Sisto & Cheryl Hines in Suburgatory, Hank Azaria in Free Agents, and Christina Applegate & Will Arnett in Up All Night).
A handful have already been (mercifully) cancelled. But I’ve found 5 new shows that are already must-see TV.
Can you please watch them, so they don’t get cancelled too?
FOR A GOOD SCARE:
American Horror Story (FX)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
Dylan McDermott & Connie Britton have moved clear across country to escape their marital problems (she delivered a stillborn baby, his grief drove him to cheat, she caught them in the act). Unfortunately, they’ve chosen to live in a haunted house that has killed every one of its former owners. A dude dressed in a black pleather sex suit lives in the attic. And a fang-toothed monster baby lives in the basement and eats people.
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
I’m just scratching the surface of the crazy shit that happens on this show. You’ll have to watch each episode 2x to catch all the juicy bits.
FOR A SOAPY DRAMA:
Revenge (ABC)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
A woman moves to the Hamptons to avenge the death of her father by picking off all the people who destroyed her family. She was just a young girl back in the day when he took the fall for a crime someone else committed. Now she moves among them, like a social assassin, unrecognizable while she dismantles their lives one by one.
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
The people are pretty (and loaded), the setting is over-the-top. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Better grab the ice cream AND the chips for this one.
FOR YOUR INNER TWEEN:
The Secret Circle (CW)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
A 16-year old moves to New Salem (what are the odds?) and discovers she is popular – and a witch. Or is she popular because she’s a witch? Regardless, she is the missing member of a magic circle. And the kids don't get to hog all the power, their parents have the gift too (do yourself a favor and check out Gale Harrold -- try not to drool, he steals every scene).
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
This is Heathers meets The Craft. You could skip it, but then they’d cast an evil spell on you AND play croquet with your head.
FOR A GOOD LAUGH:
Happy Endings (NBC)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
Ok, technically this was a mid-season replacement in the spring, but it’s back for a regular season and I love it. The show follows 6 twenty-somethings in Chicago, two of whom were engaged but broke up on their wedding day. Think Friends, remixed. Monica = Jane. Chandler = Brad. Joey = Max (but gay). Phoebe = Penny. Ross = Dave. Rachel = Alex.
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
If you don’t legit laugh at least once an episode, you have dead shark eyes.
FOR ANYONE (me) LIVING UNDER A ROCK FOR THE LAST 2 YEARS:
The Good Wife (CBS)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
Bill Clinton, John Edwards, Eliot Spitzer… Peter Florrick. Juliana Margulies plays the dutiful wife, humiliated, but standing beside her cheating husband -- Illinois state's attorney, Chris Noth. This lasts for a little while. He goes to jail. She becomes independent. The amazing Alan Cumming reinvents his political image. More lies are revealed. She secretly dumps hubby and hops in the sack with yummy Josh Charles.
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
Let’s face it, this show is already a HUGE hit. But if you’re late to the victory party, totally Netflix seasons 1 & 2 like I did.
Disagree? See anything I missed? Put the DVR on pause and comment below...
tags: entertainment
I haven’t blogged in ages. I could give you a million reasons why. But honestly, who cares? We have more important things to discuss here.
Like Fall TV.
You KNOW this is my favorite time of year. (Really, it is!) Baked, mashed, fried, scalloped, or au gratin, I become a couch potato every October. And I love it.
There’s probably 100 shows on my DVR. No joke. I’ve suffered through some stinkers (Hart of Dixie, Pan Am, Playboy Club, Whitney, Charlie’s Angels, Last Man Standing and Man Up, you owe me 5.5 hours of my life back).
Others were disappointingly ok, despite having some awesome casting choices (like Sarah Michelle Gellar in Ringer, Dave Foley & Rhys Darby in How to Be a Gentleman, Michael Patrick King who created 2 Broke Girls, Jeremy Sisto & Cheryl Hines in Suburgatory, Hank Azaria in Free Agents, and Christina Applegate & Will Arnett in Up All Night).
A handful have already been (mercifully) cancelled. But I’ve found 5 new shows that are already must-see TV.
Can you please watch them, so they don’t get cancelled too?
FOR A GOOD SCARE:
American Horror Story (FX)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
Dylan McDermott & Connie Britton have moved clear across country to escape their marital problems (she delivered a stillborn baby, his grief drove him to cheat, she caught them in the act). Unfortunately, they’ve chosen to live in a haunted house that has killed every one of its former owners. A dude dressed in a black pleather sex suit lives in the attic. And a fang-toothed monster baby lives in the basement and eats people.
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
I’m just scratching the surface of the crazy shit that happens on this show. You’ll have to watch each episode 2x to catch all the juicy bits.
FOR A SOAPY DRAMA:
Revenge (ABC)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
A woman moves to the Hamptons to avenge the death of her father by picking off all the people who destroyed her family. She was just a young girl back in the day when he took the fall for a crime someone else committed. Now she moves among them, like a social assassin, unrecognizable while she dismantles their lives one by one.
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
The people are pretty (and loaded), the setting is over-the-top. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Better grab the ice cream AND the chips for this one.
FOR YOUR INNER TWEEN:
The Secret Circle (CW)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
A 16-year old moves to New Salem (what are the odds?) and discovers she is popular – and a witch. Or is she popular because she’s a witch? Regardless, she is the missing member of a magic circle. And the kids don't get to hog all the power, their parents have the gift too (do yourself a favor and check out Gale Harrold -- try not to drool, he steals every scene).
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
This is Heathers meets The Craft. You could skip it, but then they’d cast an evil spell on you AND play croquet with your head.
FOR A GOOD LAUGH:
Happy Endings (NBC)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
Ok, technically this was a mid-season replacement in the spring, but it’s back for a regular season and I love it. The show follows 6 twenty-somethings in Chicago, two of whom were engaged but broke up on their wedding day. Think Friends, remixed. Monica = Jane. Chandler = Brad. Joey = Max (but gay). Phoebe = Penny. Ross = Dave. Rachel = Alex.
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
If you don’t legit laugh at least once an episode, you have dead shark eyes.
FOR ANYONE (me) LIVING UNDER A ROCK FOR THE LAST 2 YEARS:
The Good Wife (CBS)
WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:
Bill Clinton, John Edwards, Eliot Spitzer… Peter Florrick. Juliana Margulies plays the dutiful wife, humiliated, but standing beside her cheating husband -- Illinois state's attorney, Chris Noth. This lasts for a little while. He goes to jail. She becomes independent. The amazing Alan Cumming reinvents his political image. More lies are revealed. She secretly dumps hubby and hops in the sack with yummy Josh Charles.
WHY YOU NEED TO WATCH:
Let’s face it, this show is already a HUGE hit. But if you’re late to the victory party, totally Netflix seasons 1 & 2 like I did.
Disagree? See anything I missed? Put the DVR on pause and comment below...
tags: entertainment
10/04/2011
Primus
Roseland Ballroom. Primus. Floor Seats. Mosh Pit. Me.
Which one of these things doesn’t belong? If you said, ME, you really couldn’t be more wrong.
Don't believe me? Have we met? I'm not all pearls and sensible shoes, you know (yes I am). My concert history isn't ALL Bon Jovi and Dave Matthews and Hootie & the Blowfish and Celine Dion (she really does put on a helluva show).
No!
I almost saw Radiohead and the White Stripes once. I HAVE seen Tool and Nine Inch Nails. On purpose, even!
So when my brother invited me to see Primus with him on Friday night because his buddy bailed out, I was, of course, down for an adventure. How could I resist? Me and Primus are like peanut butter & jelly.
Ok, okaaaay, more like peanut butter and onions. But whatevs. I'll always jump at the chance to hang out with my (not so little) brother, and we had a total blast.
It was an illuminating evening in Primusville... here's 5 life lessons I learned at the show:
1. The band I thought was Primus… wasn’t.
All day long, I had an angry metal song stuck in my head, I'm doing the best I ever did. I'm doing the best that I can. When I told my brother that Whatever was the only Primus song I knew, his eyes just about popped out of his head. Turns out, that's Godsmack. Huh. Oops? Then he played, Jerry Was a Racecar Driver, and I realized THAT was the only Primus song I knew.
2. My idea of edgy… isn’t.
See that shiny silver-ish foot sticking out from a very wide pant leg? That's me. I thought this getup would help me blend in with the natives. Unfortunately, my fashion sense is a step past Amish and I don’t own the appropriate clothes/footwear to swim in this pool.
3. My thought that I can go beer for beer with a guy… can’t.
First, there was the 6-pack we split at my apt. Nothing but the finest (Bud Light). Then, there were the beers at dinner. Next, came the giant bar at Roseland. By the time I nearly cut my thumb off while whipping up late-nite snacks for us back at my apt, I remembered a lesson hard-learned in college: I do NOT have a hollow leg. Luckily, homemade BBQ chicken quesadillas eaten at 1am soak up quite a lot of alcohol.
4. My worry that I’m too old and no longer cute… shouldn’t.
It's amazing what hanging out in a room loaded with stinky, hairy dudes does for your self-esteem. Suddenly, you're a supermodel! It was literally 200 to 1 in there, so flashing my pearly whites just after the intermission equaled a 1-way-ticket to the VIP balcony. Always a quick thinker, my first question (to the bouncer) was, can my brother come? My second question (to my brother) was, do you have a $20? Ahhh. Worth every penny.
5. The concert I was afraid might suck… didn’t.
See that big red thing behind us? That's the bar. That helped. And sure, I didn't REALLY understand the giant inflatable astronauts that flanked the stage. Or the screen behind the stage that showed film of car crashes and albino flying squirrels and kids playing Ring Around the Rosie. Or the fact that the fans chant, "Primus Sucks," and that's a good thing. Or the exceptionally long Popeye cartoon that ran during intermission. OR the Willy Wonka theme song that played while we exited the ballroom. But the concert was awesome, nevertheless.
I'm pretty sure that had more to do with the company I was with than anything else. Plus the beer. But mostly... the company. Good times!
So, what's the strangest concert YOU've ever been to? (Bonus points if you could actually identify their hit songs.)
tags: city life, music
Which one of these things doesn’t belong? If you said, ME, you really couldn’t be more wrong.
Don't believe me? Have we met? I'm not all pearls and sensible shoes, you know (yes I am). My concert history isn't ALL Bon Jovi and Dave Matthews and Hootie & the Blowfish and Celine Dion (she really does put on a helluva show).
No!
I almost saw Radiohead and the White Stripes once. I HAVE seen Tool and Nine Inch Nails. On purpose, even!
So when my brother invited me to see Primus with him on Friday night because his buddy bailed out, I was, of course, down for an adventure. How could I resist? Me and Primus are like peanut butter & jelly.
Ok, okaaaay, more like peanut butter and onions. But whatevs. I'll always jump at the chance to hang out with my (not so little) brother, and we had a total blast.
It was an illuminating evening in Primusville... here's 5 life lessons I learned at the show:
1. The band I thought was Primus… wasn’t.
All day long, I had an angry metal song stuck in my head, I'm doing the best I ever did. I'm doing the best that I can. When I told my brother that Whatever was the only Primus song I knew, his eyes just about popped out of his head. Turns out, that's Godsmack. Huh. Oops? Then he played, Jerry Was a Racecar Driver, and I realized THAT was the only Primus song I knew.
2. My idea of edgy… isn’t.
See that shiny silver-ish foot sticking out from a very wide pant leg? That's me. I thought this getup would help me blend in with the natives. Unfortunately, my fashion sense is a step past Amish and I don’t own the appropriate clothes/footwear to swim in this pool.
3. My thought that I can go beer for beer with a guy… can’t.
First, there was the 6-pack we split at my apt. Nothing but the finest (Bud Light). Then, there were the beers at dinner. Next, came the giant bar at Roseland. By the time I nearly cut my thumb off while whipping up late-nite snacks for us back at my apt, I remembered a lesson hard-learned in college: I do NOT have a hollow leg. Luckily, homemade BBQ chicken quesadillas eaten at 1am soak up quite a lot of alcohol.
4. My worry that I’m too old and no longer cute… shouldn’t.
It's amazing what hanging out in a room loaded with stinky, hairy dudes does for your self-esteem. Suddenly, you're a supermodel! It was literally 200 to 1 in there, so flashing my pearly whites just after the intermission equaled a 1-way-ticket to the VIP balcony. Always a quick thinker, my first question (to the bouncer) was, can my brother come? My second question (to my brother) was, do you have a $20? Ahhh. Worth every penny.
5. The concert I was afraid might suck… didn’t.
See that big red thing behind us? That's the bar. That helped. And sure, I didn't REALLY understand the giant inflatable astronauts that flanked the stage. Or the screen behind the stage that showed film of car crashes and albino flying squirrels and kids playing Ring Around the Rosie. Or the fact that the fans chant, "Primus Sucks," and that's a good thing. Or the exceptionally long Popeye cartoon that ran during intermission. OR the Willy Wonka theme song that played while we exited the ballroom. But the concert was awesome, nevertheless.
I'm pretty sure that had more to do with the company I was with than anything else. Plus the beer. But mostly... the company. Good times!
So, what's the strangest concert YOU've ever been to? (Bonus points if you could actually identify their hit songs.)
tags: city life, music
9/18/2011
Three Candles
If my blog could speak right now, it might channel the immortal Samantha Baker and say, "They effing forgot my birthday."
Uhhh... oops?
Work's been crazy. It's a full moon. Mercury is in retrograde. The dog ate my homework. And I plain forgot that I wrote my very first post on Sept 14, 2008.
Bad Jenny.
So, just as I did after the first year, and the second year, it's time to take stock. And, more importantly, to send a heartfelt thanks to everyone who reads my silly ol' blog -- especially YOU.
Now, let's jog on down memory lane...
Total Posts I've Written (including this one):
166
Average Number of Posts I Write Per Month:
4.3 (down from 4.7 last year)
Average Number of Unique Visitors Per Month:
81 (up from 62 last year)
Average Pageviews Per Month:
697 (up from 338 last year)
Average Time Spent Per Visit:
3 minutes 18 seconds (down from 4 minutes 47 seconds last year)
Most Read Blog Post (6-way tie):
Time
Memorial Day
Thinking Out Loud
Trick or Treat
Pepe Le Pew
Royal Wedding Mania Is Running Wild
Post Nobody Gave a Crap About (3-way tie):
Fly the Friendly Skies
12 Angry Men
Cable Guy
Most Comments:
Time
Most Popular Poll:
Federal Un-Reserved
Most Frequently-Used Tag for the Posts I Write:
Pop Culture
Most Popular Search by Visitors (2-way tie):
Dating
Breakup
So, there you have it. I'm not sure if it's age-appropriate to spill my guts once a week on topics both trivial and personal, but I don't care. Truth is, I really do love blogging.
But I wrestle with how often I should do it. That's where you come in...
Vote below, Hot Stuff!
tags: holidays, polls, writing
Uhhh... oops?
Work's been crazy. It's a full moon. Mercury is in retrograde. The dog ate my homework. And I plain forgot that I wrote my very first post on Sept 14, 2008.
Bad Jenny.
So, just as I did after the first year, and the second year, it's time to take stock. And, more importantly, to send a heartfelt thanks to everyone who reads my silly ol' blog -- especially YOU.
Now, let's jog on down memory lane...
Total Posts I've Written (including this one):
166
Average Number of Posts I Write Per Month:
4.3 (down from 4.7 last year)
Average Number of Unique Visitors Per Month:
81 (up from 62 last year)
Average Pageviews Per Month:
697 (up from 338 last year)
Average Time Spent Per Visit:
3 minutes 18 seconds (down from 4 minutes 47 seconds last year)
Most Read Blog Post (6-way tie):
Time
Memorial Day
Thinking Out Loud
Trick or Treat
Pepe Le Pew
Royal Wedding Mania Is Running Wild
Post Nobody Gave a Crap About (3-way tie):
Fly the Friendly Skies
12 Angry Men
Cable Guy
Most Comments:
Time
Most Popular Poll:
Federal Un-Reserved
Most Frequently-Used Tag for the Posts I Write:
Pop Culture
Most Popular Search by Visitors (2-way tie):
Dating
Breakup
So, there you have it. I'm not sure if it's age-appropriate to spill my guts once a week on topics both trivial and personal, but I don't care. Truth is, I really do love blogging.
But I wrestle with how often I should do it. That's where you come in...
Vote below, Hot Stuff!
tags: holidays, polls, writing
9/11/2011
Angels
To say I have unresolved feelings about 9/11 is the understatement of the decade.
I thought about not writing this post because I don’t want to read it. I have spent the last 10 years burying every emotion, ignoring every image, and suppressing every memory because I just can not deal.
Even now.
It was a time of bottomless sorrow. No question about that. Although I must say, of all the unimaginable things to come out of that sunny September day (and the weeks, months, and years that followed) came one important realization: I now believe in guardian angels.
Call it fate, faith, whatever you will, I am thankful for several interventions that changed the course of events that day. Here's how the universe said, it’s not your time...
SCHEDULE
Several days prior to the attacks, an executive at my company was scheduled to attend a conference. He was to be a guest speaker at a breakfast being held on Sept 11th at Windows on the World, a restaurant on the 106 & 107th floors of the World Trade Center, Tower 1.
I had a good relationship with the publication sponsoring the breakfast, and I had been in contact with the event organizer via phone and email several times to coordinate the details. My boss, another colleague, and I were determining which of us would attend the event with this executive, when a scheduling conflict arose. He decided last-minute to cancel his appearance, making it unnecessary for any of us to go.
I can't even remember what the excuse was, but everyone who did attend, including the woman I was emailing with, lost their lives that day.
SCHOOLTEACHER
I was living in Pine Brook at the time, and left for work that Tuesday like I did every morning. I would drive to Hoboken, park my car in a lot, and take the PATH train across the river to my office in lower Manhattan -- about 8 blocks from the WTC.
I was about to turn on to Changebride Road, the main street that ran through my town, when a woman flagged me down. Never in my 20+ years of living there had someone stopped me, but there she was, needing help. She said she was a teacher at one of the elementary schools in town. Her car had broken down (though there was no car in sight), and she wondered if I could give her a lift to school. Taking her clear across town would have made me very late for work, so I offered her my cell phone instead to contact her principal, or AAA, or her husband for help. She made a quick call and we parted ways.
The whole exchange took less than 10 minutes, but I know the time I spent with this stranger on a street corner in the middle of nowhere saved both my life and my dad’s. Here’s why…
DISCONNECTED
I was running late after stopping for the schoolteacher, eventually pulling into the lot in Hoboken around 8:45am. I should have already been on the train, so I quickly paid the parking attendant. My back was to the city, as I simultaneously heard an explosive sound and saw an expression cross her face that made me afraid to turn around.
Past the train station, I had a clear view of lower Manhattan. One of the Twin Towers was billowing with grey smoke. My dad worked in Tower 1, on the 25th floor. I panicked and immediately called him. He told me they felt a pretty good jolt but they were alright. He said they’d been instructed to “stay put” and then the phone cut out.
I tried re-dialing but it was no use. The lines were all jammed, and would remain that way for hours. I saw a crowd gathering by the entrance to the trains, and I made my way over to a policeman so I could hear his radio. It was then that I watched the second plane fly directly into the left side of the second building, disappearing into a puff of fiery smoke. It was about 9am. I remember someone in the crowd grabbed my hand and cried, “Oh no, not again.”
Completely frantic and realizing no one was getting in or out of the city, I ultimately left to be with my mom. I was in a fog, driving past the Meadowlands on Route 3 about an hour later when Peter Jennings’ voice on the radio told me the first tower had come down. I nearly ran my car into the barricade in the median. I was home with my mother and my brother, glued to the TV, when we saw the second tower fall at 10:30am. No one had heard from my father since he told me he planned to stay put. We all feared the worst. My brother collapsed into a ball on the living room floor. I ran to the kitchen to vomit in the sink.
Sometime after 12:30pm, the phone rang. It was my dad, from a pay phone. I can remember screaming to the operator that yes, we would accept the charges of his collect call. He sounded disoriented, and had no idea the towers had fallen. Apparently, he had been assisting the first responders to pass out wet rags for people to cover their faces and was in the lobby helping to direct people away from seeing the carnage left by people who jumped 100 stories out of sheer desperation. Then, he suddenly left and headed south towards the Staten Island Ferry. He knew I worked on Water Street, but he wasn’t sure in which building, so he went door to door looking for me.
Our call earlier had been disconnected before I could tell him I never made it across the river that morning. He just assumed I had. His need to find me is what drove him away from that scene in the nick of time and undoubtedly saved his life.
ELEVATOR
Several hours after we heard my dad was ok, he arrived at my aunt’s apartment at 65th and Madison. With no way to get in or out of the city, and all streets shut down, he walked the 5 miles, covered in ashes. A dear friend of mine worked in Tower 2 of the WTC at the time. Her company occupied some of the highest floors in the building, putting her above the point of impact and seemingly sealing her fate.
I can remember being too afraid to know the truth, but I gathered up my courage to give her a call. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I had a sick pit in my stomach. Around 5pm that evening, my phone rang again. It was my friend. She would later learn that her colleagues made a life-changing decision to leave when they did. The group that went down in the elevator with her -- in the 15 minutes between the first and second hit -- were saved. The others were among her nearly 200 co-workers who never made it out.
FACE IN A CROWD
Thousands of stories surfaced over the next few days. It took a full week for the city to open up again. The following Tuesday, I boarded a ferry, bound for lower Manhattan because the PATH trains were nonexistent. The boat was jam-packed, but totally silent, as we rode across the Hudson, utterly shell-shocked.
The smoke and soot still hung in the air, coating every surface. A burnt smell stung my nose. Tears were streaming down my face as we pulled into the dock. Along the shoreline, I could see dozens of armed guards, dressed in camo and carrying assault weapons. A tank was there to greet us. It would stay like that every day, for months. It was more than I could handle. This wasn't New York. It was a warzone.
As I stepped off the boat, a familiar face appeared. It was my boss. No, he was more than that -- he was a wonderful friend who came down to the ferry to escort me to the office. It turned out my mother had called him to let him know how upset I was. Ordinarily, I would have been humiliated by that, but these weren’t ordinary times. I was a petrified 28 year old girl. I will never forget his kindness that day, especially when I later learned that his partner had been sick, but he dropped everything to help me. He is an angel on earth, and still has a special place in my heart.
Divine intervention changed the course of our lives, and countless others, that day. I personally knew 10 people who were not as fortunate.
Every year, I go out of my way to avoid the retrospectives. I'm just not that strong. Besides, I don't need to watch a recap of that unthinkable day -- all I need to do is close my eyes and see it unfold. This year, I decided to avoid the city altogether and set up camp with my brother, sister-in-law, and the munchkins up in CT.
We'll spend the day at the zoo, celebrate life, and count our many blessings. Here's hoping you can too.
tags: city life, family, jersey, politics
I thought about not writing this post because I don’t want to read it. I have spent the last 10 years burying every emotion, ignoring every image, and suppressing every memory because I just can not deal.
Even now.
It was a time of bottomless sorrow. No question about that. Although I must say, of all the unimaginable things to come out of that sunny September day (and the weeks, months, and years that followed) came one important realization: I now believe in guardian angels.
Call it fate, faith, whatever you will, I am thankful for several interventions that changed the course of events that day. Here's how the universe said, it’s not your time...
SCHEDULE
Several days prior to the attacks, an executive at my company was scheduled to attend a conference. He was to be a guest speaker at a breakfast being held on Sept 11th at Windows on the World, a restaurant on the 106 & 107th floors of the World Trade Center, Tower 1.
I had a good relationship with the publication sponsoring the breakfast, and I had been in contact with the event organizer via phone and email several times to coordinate the details. My boss, another colleague, and I were determining which of us would attend the event with this executive, when a scheduling conflict arose. He decided last-minute to cancel his appearance, making it unnecessary for any of us to go.
I can't even remember what the excuse was, but everyone who did attend, including the woman I was emailing with, lost their lives that day.
SCHOOLTEACHER
I was living in Pine Brook at the time, and left for work that Tuesday like I did every morning. I would drive to Hoboken, park my car in a lot, and take the PATH train across the river to my office in lower Manhattan -- about 8 blocks from the WTC.
I was about to turn on to Changebride Road, the main street that ran through my town, when a woman flagged me down. Never in my 20+ years of living there had someone stopped me, but there she was, needing help. She said she was a teacher at one of the elementary schools in town. Her car had broken down (though there was no car in sight), and she wondered if I could give her a lift to school. Taking her clear across town would have made me very late for work, so I offered her my cell phone instead to contact her principal, or AAA, or her husband for help. She made a quick call and we parted ways.
The whole exchange took less than 10 minutes, but I know the time I spent with this stranger on a street corner in the middle of nowhere saved both my life and my dad’s. Here’s why…
DISCONNECTED
I was running late after stopping for the schoolteacher, eventually pulling into the lot in Hoboken around 8:45am. I should have already been on the train, so I quickly paid the parking attendant. My back was to the city, as I simultaneously heard an explosive sound and saw an expression cross her face that made me afraid to turn around.
Past the train station, I had a clear view of lower Manhattan. One of the Twin Towers was billowing with grey smoke. My dad worked in Tower 1, on the 25th floor. I panicked and immediately called him. He told me they felt a pretty good jolt but they were alright. He said they’d been instructed to “stay put” and then the phone cut out.
I tried re-dialing but it was no use. The lines were all jammed, and would remain that way for hours. I saw a crowd gathering by the entrance to the trains, and I made my way over to a policeman so I could hear his radio. It was then that I watched the second plane fly directly into the left side of the second building, disappearing into a puff of fiery smoke. It was about 9am. I remember someone in the crowd grabbed my hand and cried, “Oh no, not again.”
Completely frantic and realizing no one was getting in or out of the city, I ultimately left to be with my mom. I was in a fog, driving past the Meadowlands on Route 3 about an hour later when Peter Jennings’ voice on the radio told me the first tower had come down. I nearly ran my car into the barricade in the median. I was home with my mother and my brother, glued to the TV, when we saw the second tower fall at 10:30am. No one had heard from my father since he told me he planned to stay put. We all feared the worst. My brother collapsed into a ball on the living room floor. I ran to the kitchen to vomit in the sink.
Sometime after 12:30pm, the phone rang. It was my dad, from a pay phone. I can remember screaming to the operator that yes, we would accept the charges of his collect call. He sounded disoriented, and had no idea the towers had fallen. Apparently, he had been assisting the first responders to pass out wet rags for people to cover their faces and was in the lobby helping to direct people away from seeing the carnage left by people who jumped 100 stories out of sheer desperation. Then, he suddenly left and headed south towards the Staten Island Ferry. He knew I worked on Water Street, but he wasn’t sure in which building, so he went door to door looking for me.
Our call earlier had been disconnected before I could tell him I never made it across the river that morning. He just assumed I had. His need to find me is what drove him away from that scene in the nick of time and undoubtedly saved his life.
ELEVATOR
Several hours after we heard my dad was ok, he arrived at my aunt’s apartment at 65th and Madison. With no way to get in or out of the city, and all streets shut down, he walked the 5 miles, covered in ashes. A dear friend of mine worked in Tower 2 of the WTC at the time. Her company occupied some of the highest floors in the building, putting her above the point of impact and seemingly sealing her fate.
I can remember being too afraid to know the truth, but I gathered up my courage to give her a call. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I had a sick pit in my stomach. Around 5pm that evening, my phone rang again. It was my friend. She would later learn that her colleagues made a life-changing decision to leave when they did. The group that went down in the elevator with her -- in the 15 minutes between the first and second hit -- were saved. The others were among her nearly 200 co-workers who never made it out.
FACE IN A CROWD
Thousands of stories surfaced over the next few days. It took a full week for the city to open up again. The following Tuesday, I boarded a ferry, bound for lower Manhattan because the PATH trains were nonexistent. The boat was jam-packed, but totally silent, as we rode across the Hudson, utterly shell-shocked.
The smoke and soot still hung in the air, coating every surface. A burnt smell stung my nose. Tears were streaming down my face as we pulled into the dock. Along the shoreline, I could see dozens of armed guards, dressed in camo and carrying assault weapons. A tank was there to greet us. It would stay like that every day, for months. It was more than I could handle. This wasn't New York. It was a warzone.
As I stepped off the boat, a familiar face appeared. It was my boss. No, he was more than that -- he was a wonderful friend who came down to the ferry to escort me to the office. It turned out my mother had called him to let him know how upset I was. Ordinarily, I would have been humiliated by that, but these weren’t ordinary times. I was a petrified 28 year old girl. I will never forget his kindness that day, especially when I later learned that his partner had been sick, but he dropped everything to help me. He is an angel on earth, and still has a special place in my heart.
Divine intervention changed the course of our lives, and countless others, that day. I personally knew 10 people who were not as fortunate.
Every year, I go out of my way to avoid the retrospectives. I'm just not that strong. Besides, I don't need to watch a recap of that unthinkable day -- all I need to do is close my eyes and see it unfold. This year, I decided to avoid the city altogether and set up camp with my brother, sister-in-law, and the munchkins up in CT.
We'll spend the day at the zoo, celebrate life, and count our many blessings. Here's hoping you can too.
tags: city life, family, jersey, politics
8/27/2011
Creepy Peeper
I’m stuck at home (as I’m sure many of you are), thanks to a total jerk of a gal named Irene. If you want to read about HER, hop on Facebook or Twitter.
Here, I’ve decided to discuss the creepy Peeping Tom who lives across the way. My windows are like his personal giant movie screen.
I first noticed him a few months ago. It was hard not to, really, since his apt is directly across the street, on the same floor as mine. He used to hang out over his terrace (occasionally eating a banana or what appeared to be a bowl of soup) to watch me. For hours. Like a 200lb paperweight.
And he wasn’t shy about staring. I felt like a brisket.
At first I thought, this guy can’t possibly be looking into my tiny 550 sqft studio. There must be a naked pilates session happening in the apartment directly above mine. And then he waved.
At me.
Since I didn’t reciprocate his friendly gesture, he retreated to his living room, where I could see him perched on the arm of his couch like a large bird. There he sat, night after night, with all the lights on and the terrace door open. He doesn't appear to have much in the way of furniture.
Recently, I’ve noticed his apartment goes completely dark around 8:30ish. I don’t know what he’s doing in there, but I can only imagine it involves a telescope that rivals the Hubble in both size and intensity.
But what a blockbuster movie he’s watching!
I mean, who can resist when I get home at night, tie my hair up in a ponytail and change (behind a closed bathroom door) into sweatpants? Who wouldn’t want to be a fly on the wall as I bask in the soft glow of a laptop while paying bills, or catching up on work, or blogging? And really, how could you NOT be riveted as I devour microwave dinners at my coffee table and burn through marathons of bad reality TV on my DVR?
Needless to say, this is the most boring pervert ever.
So, before the inevitable happens and he fashions a 3-piece skin suit from my flesh, I would like to publicly establish my wish that Tiffani (hold the Amber) Thiessen play me in the made-for-TV movie. I’d like it to follow in the grand cinematic tradition set by Mother, May I Sleep with Danger, Baby Monitor: Sound of Fear, and Do You Know the Muffin Man?
Please also cast Tracy Gold as his nosy neighbor who reports a foul odor and Kelly Lynch as the detective who shoots from the hip and goes with her gut. And Tori Spelling should make a guest-starring appearance as the jealous co-worker who openly wishes I would just disappear.
Every thriller needs a red herring.
As for the Creepy Peeper, they should find someone stubby like Jason Alexander. But my story might be too pedestrian for him. So lock Joey Lawrence in a closet full of Whoppers for a month. He'll pop out all pale and bloated and will be perfect for the part.
Whoa.
So before this hurricane knocks out the electricity... tell me, who'd play you in the Lifetime movie of YOUR life?
tags: city life, entertainment
Here, I’ve decided to discuss the creepy Peeping Tom who lives across the way. My windows are like his personal giant movie screen.
I first noticed him a few months ago. It was hard not to, really, since his apt is directly across the street, on the same floor as mine. He used to hang out over his terrace (occasionally eating a banana or what appeared to be a bowl of soup) to watch me. For hours. Like a 200lb paperweight.
And he wasn’t shy about staring. I felt like a brisket.
At first I thought, this guy can’t possibly be looking into my tiny 550 sqft studio. There must be a naked pilates session happening in the apartment directly above mine. And then he waved.
At me.
Since I didn’t reciprocate his friendly gesture, he retreated to his living room, where I could see him perched on the arm of his couch like a large bird. There he sat, night after night, with all the lights on and the terrace door open. He doesn't appear to have much in the way of furniture.
Recently, I’ve noticed his apartment goes completely dark around 8:30ish. I don’t know what he’s doing in there, but I can only imagine it involves a telescope that rivals the Hubble in both size and intensity.
But what a blockbuster movie he’s watching!
I mean, who can resist when I get home at night, tie my hair up in a ponytail and change (behind a closed bathroom door) into sweatpants? Who wouldn’t want to be a fly on the wall as I bask in the soft glow of a laptop while paying bills, or catching up on work, or blogging? And really, how could you NOT be riveted as I devour microwave dinners at my coffee table and burn through marathons of bad reality TV on my DVR?
Needless to say, this is the most boring pervert ever.
So, before the inevitable happens and he fashions a 3-piece skin suit from my flesh, I would like to publicly establish my wish that Tiffani (hold the Amber) Thiessen play me in the made-for-TV movie. I’d like it to follow in the grand cinematic tradition set by Mother, May I Sleep with Danger, Baby Monitor: Sound of Fear, and Do You Know the Muffin Man?
Please also cast Tracy Gold as his nosy neighbor who reports a foul odor and Kelly Lynch as the detective who shoots from the hip and goes with her gut. And Tori Spelling should make a guest-starring appearance as the jealous co-worker who openly wishes I would just disappear.
Every thriller needs a red herring.
As for the Creepy Peeper, they should find someone stubby like Jason Alexander. But my story might be too pedestrian for him. So lock Joey Lawrence in a closet full of Whoppers for a month. He'll pop out all pale and bloated and will be perfect for the part.
Whoa.
So before this hurricane knocks out the electricity... tell me, who'd play you in the Lifetime movie of YOUR life?
tags: city life, entertainment
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