I thought Sandra looked pretty. I liked the pink lipstick.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Oscar results
Dan and I never went to our Oscar party but of course we watched the Oscars and played our pool. I was the winner with a score of 18-14. Did you have any doubts?
I thought Sandra looked pretty. I liked the pink lipstick.
I thought Sandra looked pretty. I liked the pink lipstick.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Gotta Dance!
Understandably, it's been a surreal week. I am not sure if Dan and I truly comprehend that Tom is gone. Sometimes we'll just be sitting there in our living room, our eyes will catch each others and we will shake our heads in disbelief, thinking the same thing. It all seems so stupid and senseless.
We were hoping to go to the funeral in Dallas, but the airfare prices were beyond our means, so we were glad when some of Tom's friends put together an impromptu wake at Chez Josephine, one of Tom's favorite restaurants. His father, mother, sister and twin brother were in town, so it felt comforting to pay our respects and have a drink with all of Tom's friends--he had so many. For a man who loved weddings, Tom hated funerals so having the occasion at the restaurant seemed fitting, especially since the waiters who were serving us actually knew who Tom was and said he was so great. Yes, Tom was the type to become a restaurant regular at a classy French joint, so it is perfect.
With Tom gone, it does seem to be the end of an era. Tom's roommates are probably giving up the apartment on Waverly at the end of the month (which was coincidence that their lease is over). We had so many great memories in that apartment, not to mention that it was the site for Dan's weekly poker game. Tom was kind of the center of poker in that group, so it's uncertain if or where the game will go on. And regardless, when we get together, apartment or no apartment, poker or not, it will always feel like there is someone missing.
To bring us some levity this week, Dan and I decided to go to our first dance lesson. We're not planning to do a formal first dance at our wedding, but we do want to look good on the dance floor, especially since most of the music will be New Orleans style, so we decided to take some swing dance lessons. Even though learning how to dance is on the 100 things to do list, let the record state that this was all Dan's idea. I had suggested a few months ago that we go away for the weekend, and he said, no, I want to use the money on dance lessons. He did all the research and booked our class. Not that I am complaining. I love it. My insta-love stems from 15 years of dancing school as a kid tied into my love of Gene Kelly and Hollywood musical dance numbers. It's my fantasy come true. I always wanted to be one of those girls in that old-school Gap khaki commercial.
Dan is such a perfectionist that I think he was little irritated that he didn't know how to dance after the first lesson. I hope that he doesn't get too frustrated because I like him as my partner. I think it's embarrassing that most Americans don't know how to dance (me included). I think it should be taught in schools along with foreign languages as a requirement. Dan wondered out loud if any of our other guests knew how to dance properly besides the older folk and the Europeans and then we remembered: Tom. He sure knew his way around a dance floor. At Kim and Nien's wedding, he asked Kim's mom to dance and I had already warned my mom, "hey, there's going to be this guy who you don't know who will ask you to dance."
We'll try to make him proud.
We were hoping to go to the funeral in Dallas, but the airfare prices were beyond our means, so we were glad when some of Tom's friends put together an impromptu wake at Chez Josephine, one of Tom's favorite restaurants. His father, mother, sister and twin brother were in town, so it felt comforting to pay our respects and have a drink with all of Tom's friends--he had so many. For a man who loved weddings, Tom hated funerals so having the occasion at the restaurant seemed fitting, especially since the waiters who were serving us actually knew who Tom was and said he was so great. Yes, Tom was the type to become a restaurant regular at a classy French joint, so it is perfect.
With Tom gone, it does seem to be the end of an era. Tom's roommates are probably giving up the apartment on Waverly at the end of the month (which was coincidence that their lease is over). We had so many great memories in that apartment, not to mention that it was the site for Dan's weekly poker game. Tom was kind of the center of poker in that group, so it's uncertain if or where the game will go on. And regardless, when we get together, apartment or no apartment, poker or not, it will always feel like there is someone missing.
To bring us some levity this week, Dan and I decided to go to our first dance lesson. We're not planning to do a formal first dance at our wedding, but we do want to look good on the dance floor, especially since most of the music will be New Orleans style, so we decided to take some swing dance lessons. Even though learning how to dance is on the 100 things to do list, let the record state that this was all Dan's idea. I had suggested a few months ago that we go away for the weekend, and he said, no, I want to use the money on dance lessons. He did all the research and booked our class. Not that I am complaining. I love it. My insta-love stems from 15 years of dancing school as a kid tied into my love of Gene Kelly and Hollywood musical dance numbers. It's my fantasy come true. I always wanted to be one of those girls in that old-school Gap khaki commercial.
Dan is such a perfectionist that I think he was little irritated that he didn't know how to dance after the first lesson. I hope that he doesn't get too frustrated because I like him as my partner. I think it's embarrassing that most Americans don't know how to dance (me included). I think it should be taught in schools along with foreign languages as a requirement. Dan wondered out loud if any of our other guests knew how to dance properly besides the older folk and the Europeans and then we remembered: Tom. He sure knew his way around a dance floor. At Kim and Nien's wedding, he asked Kim's mom to dance and I had already warned my mom, "hey, there's going to be this guy who you don't know who will ask you to dance."
We'll try to make him proud.
Monday, March 8, 2010
A real gentleman
I am sad to write that our friend Tom died over the weekend. He was 28 years old.
Tom was celebrating his birthday on Saturday night, as usual, with a party at his apartment on Waverly Place. It was a pretty low-key event by Tom's standards. Usually his parties are packed with tons of people, but this one was fairly mellow--maybe 10 people total. Dan and I hung out on the couches, had a few drinks and then left around one in the morning. About an hour later, Tom decided to fool around with a fire extinguisher and shoot at some unsuspecting people walking on the street. He went on the fire escape, lost his balance and fell six stories to the ground. The ambulance came right away, but it was too late. He didn't make it.
We heard about Tom the next morning, and now, even 24 hours after hearing the news, I still can't process it. How could this happen? Being one of Dan's poker buddies, Tom definitely became an important part of our social circle in recent years and we saw him all the time. How could Tom be gone, and in such a crazy way?
I never met anyone like Tom before. He was raised in Texas, and he prided himself to be a Southern gentleman. He was incredibly courteous and gracious in an over the top way, always giving compliments and doling gifts and going out of his way to make everyone happy. He loved to host parties and treat his friends to dinner. He was the one who took us out to The Yacht Club to celebrate our engagement and had a hand in organizing many gatherings and celebrations, including Dan's birthday at Peter Luger steakhouse.
A true romantic, he was planning to move to Paris this summer. He told me the night of his party that he wanted to go there and fall in love with a french girl. That was the sort of thing Tom would say with complete sincerity. He would tell me all the time how much he admired my relationship with Dan, and anytime he would come over our apartment and I would cook dinner for us, he would act like it was the most amazing thing in the world. The next day, he would always write me a thank you note. He was a very classy guy.
He loved weddings and asked about mine constantly. That night, as he often did before, he told me how he wanted to help out the day of the event, whatever I needed him to do, even if it was picking up our guests at the airport. Dan and I had talked about how we would ask Tom to help out, and last night, when I considered for the first time that Tom wouldn't be there, dressed in his seersucker suit and his signature flip flops (the ones he wore both summer and winter), I finally cried for the first time.
This morning, I found his email invite to the party in my in-box:
We never made it to the Highlands and as far as I know, no one brought anything to sign.
When Dan and I were leaving the party, Tom gave me a box of Italian candy he bought on a recent trip in Rome (he always remembered my sweet tooth), and shoved an entire bottle of Jaigermeister in Dan's hands to take home, just because. Tom walked us to the door, and Dan asked him if they would be playing poker as usual on Tuesday. "We'll talk about it tomorrow at the Oscar party," Tom called down the stairs. That was the last we heard from him.
Tom, on his recent trip to Italy.
I can't believe you're gone. We'll miss you.
Tom was celebrating his birthday on Saturday night, as usual, with a party at his apartment on Waverly Place. It was a pretty low-key event by Tom's standards. Usually his parties are packed with tons of people, but this one was fairly mellow--maybe 10 people total. Dan and I hung out on the couches, had a few drinks and then left around one in the morning. About an hour later, Tom decided to fool around with a fire extinguisher and shoot at some unsuspecting people walking on the street. He went on the fire escape, lost his balance and fell six stories to the ground. The ambulance came right away, but it was too late. He didn't make it.
We heard about Tom the next morning, and now, even 24 hours after hearing the news, I still can't process it. How could this happen? Being one of Dan's poker buddies, Tom definitely became an important part of our social circle in recent years and we saw him all the time. How could Tom be gone, and in such a crazy way?
I never met anyone like Tom before. He was raised in Texas, and he prided himself to be a Southern gentleman. He was incredibly courteous and gracious in an over the top way, always giving compliments and doling gifts and going out of his way to make everyone happy. He loved to host parties and treat his friends to dinner. He was the one who took us out to The Yacht Club to celebrate our engagement and had a hand in organizing many gatherings and celebrations, including Dan's birthday at Peter Luger steakhouse.
A true romantic, he was planning to move to Paris this summer. He told me the night of his party that he wanted to go there and fall in love with a french girl. That was the sort of thing Tom would say with complete sincerity. He would tell me all the time how much he admired my relationship with Dan, and anytime he would come over our apartment and I would cook dinner for us, he would act like it was the most amazing thing in the world. The next day, he would always write me a thank you note. He was a very classy guy.
He loved weddings and asked about mine constantly. That night, as he often did before, he told me how he wanted to help out the day of the event, whatever I needed him to do, even if it was picking up our guests at the airport. Dan and I had talked about how we would ask Tom to help out, and last night, when I considered for the first time that Tom wouldn't be there, dressed in his seersucker suit and his signature flip flops (the ones he wore both summer and winter), I finally cried for the first time.
This morning, I found his email invite to the party in my in-box:
march 6th marks the anniversary of the fall of the alamo. where 186 brave texians died after a collective YEE-HAW was said.
it is also my birthday. please prepare your wits, liver, and regret for an epic party. for it will be my last in new york, as I intend to move to paris this summer.
we will drink at waverly for most of the night, and may head to highlands bar at 150 west 10th street if we get bored around midnight.
tom
p.s. as a random side note, my notary stamp expires on march 13, 2010. it would be hilarious if anyone brought documents for me to sign at said party.
When Dan and I were leaving the party, Tom gave me a box of Italian candy he bought on a recent trip in Rome (he always remembered my sweet tooth), and shoved an entire bottle of Jaigermeister in Dan's hands to take home, just because. Tom walked us to the door, and Dan asked him if they would be playing poker as usual on Tuesday. "We'll talk about it tomorrow at the Oscar party," Tom called down the stairs. That was the last we heard from him.
Tom, on his recent trip to Italy.
I can't believe you're gone. We'll miss you.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
I've got cabin fever
We've been getting a lot of snow here on the East Coast this winter. It feels like every other week, we get dumped with a foot of snow. Just when it starts to clear up, it snows again.
It's not so bad living in New York City when there's a snowstorm. Besides for Central Park, the snow never seems to stick all that much. There are so many cars on the road, so people walking the streets and so many store fronts that do a good job of quickly clearing the snow off the sidewalks so the snow doesn't stand a chance here. Sometimes, the only way you can tell that there was a lot of snow is to look at the foot-high snow drifts on top of the parked cars.
Although the subways and buses run slow, they still run. You can still walk everywhere. A good pair of winter boots is absolutely essential if you plan to trek the streets during a snowstorm. Not really because of the snow itself but as protection from the dreaded slush puddles that form on the sidewalk edges. You have to be really careful. Some seemingly shallow puddles are really quite deep and there is nothing worse than watching someone (or finding yourself) with a foot ankle deep in a freezing cold ice bath. It happens to every single New Yorker one time or another. And yes, it's pretty much the most awful thing ever. (This phenomenon happens after heavy rain too but it's even more intensely horrible when there's snow involved). Most of us have learned our lesson by wearing proper boots but sometimes you aren't prepared so you have no choice but to hop, jump and leap over these puddles and just hope you land in a dry place.
By the time the snowfall ends, the snow lingers for a few days in piles in the corners of streets and sidewalks but it turns gray and dirty fast, disappearing in a matter of days. It's such a different experience from snow in the suburbs. I could visit my mom's house in New Jersey weeks after a snowfall and the snow on her lawn is still white and pristine as if it had just happened.
After a week of bad weather, I feel some cabin fever. Despite the city's functionality during a snow storm, it's the same as the suburbs. No one wants to leave their home if they don't have to. Any plan I had made to meet up with friends this was canceled. And even though I was getting a little stir crazy, I didn't want to leave my warm apartment either.
I finally put my boots on and dragged myself to the movie theater to see one of my Oscar movies when I came across this guy.
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He's cute, but I am ready for springtime.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Up
Every year, I win the Oscar pool and part of my strategy is watching all the best picture nominees. This year, the Oscar people have decided to make things "interesting" by having 10 best picture nominees instead of 5, which means a whole lot of movie watching for me the last few weeks. (Consider the fact that I had only seen one of the movies when the nominees were announced--yikes!)
"You're not going to see all those movies, are you?" Dan said. Um....yes I am! That's just what I do.
With two weeks to go, I have seen 6 of the 10 movies with plans to view all 10 by March 7. I am definitely getting my money's worth from my Netflix this month. Dan might be a stronger competitor this year since he has seen many of the films with me. (He's just DYING to beat me, just once!)
Out of all the movies we have seen so far, both Dan and I were completely smitten by UP, which is a beautiful movie about love and loss and following your dreams and letting go. It's one of the best movies I've seen in a long time.
Is it best picture worthy? You think I am going to tell you? Sorry, Charlie. (Or should I say, Sorry, Dan). I can't give away my secrets to Oscar pool domination.
Just go see it because it's good!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
February Update
Dan and I skyped with the Jacksons in Geneva over the weekend. So what have you been up to lately? they asked. Nothing.
We haven't spoken to them in months and we couldn't think of anything that has happened. It felt rather lame. Have we really been doing nothing? Impossible. It feels like it's been a lot of snow and snuggling and movies (or lately, the winter Olympics). Nothing much to report.
My freelance assignment ended last week. I was really bummed to leave. In four weeks, I had grown to like working there. Everyone was so nice in my send-off, giving me well wishes and I even got a thank you card. That means I am back in the job hunting mode, an all too familiar place, and I am just so, so tired of looking for a job. I feel more optimistic this time around, but I feel like this job hunting thing is like running a marathon and I am at mile 18 and it feels like there's still a long ways to go and it's never going to end.
I have been at the gym a lot. Five to six days a week--more often six--putting in my time. I am getting stronger and my pants are getting looser. I haven't changed my diet that much except that I cut out sweets and alcohol except for weekends, in moderation. I was reading or watching something about Michael Pollan talking about eating better and about indulging only on days that start with S. That's been working for me. And some times I break that rule too.
Valentine's Day, Dan and I were planning a quiet meal at home, but at the last minute decided to cross off something on our 100-things-to-do-list and head down to Curry Hill for some Indian food. We had a really nice meal with the exception of the man sitting next to us who spent an hour talking about himself to his dinner companions. We were definitely bored, so I can't imagine how they felt.
Heather had a birthday party on Saturday and so a bunch of girls landed at Alice's Tea Cup, where we enjoyed a wonderful selection of teas, scones, cakes, finger sandwiches. (It was a Saturday). If you are ever wondering where the women are in NYC, you can find them all at Alice's Tea Cup. Heather, who just gave birth three months ago, looks amazing and we all couldn't stop talking about her gorgeous mom boobs.
Me with the birthday girl.
Other than that, it's been a load of wedding planning which no one really wants to hear about, unless you are planning a wedding yourself or are the mother of the bride/groom. Just three months away....we're getting terribly excited. Dan was a little nervous about the Saints winning the Superbowl that maybe the city would burn down in all the excitement. But it seems like it's still there, in one piece, ready for us and our celebration.
We haven't spoken to them in months and we couldn't think of anything that has happened. It felt rather lame. Have we really been doing nothing? Impossible. It feels like it's been a lot of snow and snuggling and movies (or lately, the winter Olympics). Nothing much to report.
My freelance assignment ended last week. I was really bummed to leave. In four weeks, I had grown to like working there. Everyone was so nice in my send-off, giving me well wishes and I even got a thank you card. That means I am back in the job hunting mode, an all too familiar place, and I am just so, so tired of looking for a job. I feel more optimistic this time around, but I feel like this job hunting thing is like running a marathon and I am at mile 18 and it feels like there's still a long ways to go and it's never going to end.
I have been at the gym a lot. Five to six days a week--more often six--putting in my time. I am getting stronger and my pants are getting looser. I haven't changed my diet that much except that I cut out sweets and alcohol except for weekends, in moderation. I was reading or watching something about Michael Pollan talking about eating better and about indulging only on days that start with S. That's been working for me. And some times I break that rule too.
Valentine's Day, Dan and I were planning a quiet meal at home, but at the last minute decided to cross off something on our 100-things-to-do-list and head down to Curry Hill for some Indian food. We had a really nice meal with the exception of the man sitting next to us who spent an hour talking about himself to his dinner companions. We were definitely bored, so I can't imagine how they felt.
Heather had a birthday party on Saturday and so a bunch of girls landed at Alice's Tea Cup, where we enjoyed a wonderful selection of teas, scones, cakes, finger sandwiches. (It was a Saturday). If you are ever wondering where the women are in NYC, you can find them all at Alice's Tea Cup. Heather, who just gave birth three months ago, looks amazing and we all couldn't stop talking about her gorgeous mom boobs.
Me with the birthday girl.
Other than that, it's been a load of wedding planning which no one really wants to hear about, unless you are planning a wedding yourself or are the mother of the bride/groom. Just three months away....we're getting terribly excited. Dan was a little nervous about the Saints winning the Superbowl that maybe the city would burn down in all the excitement. But it seems like it's still there, in one piece, ready for us and our celebration.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Happy thoughts
I know that I have been a bit--how shall we say--missing in action. I don't think I have even snapped a photo of myself in 2010. So perhaps it's possible that I don't even exist anymore.
Thankfully this is not the case.
Because in the last three weeks, aka from the moment I started my new job, I have experienced a rebirth of sorts. I feel like I have crawled from under the little rock I have been hiding for months and rejoined the rest of the world. I am greatly appreciative of things that I used to take for granted: a 9-to-5 work schedule, taking a lunch break, enjoying a long weekend, even doing marketing work. My job has coincided with my new workout/health regimen, and for me, stretching on my yoga mat or running in the park is the best antidepressant. I feel content.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like things are perfect now. I am more than half way done with my freelance assignment, with nothing lined up afterward, and so another stretch of job hunting awaits. My stomach flip flops when I look at my bank statement. I have anxiety. For some reason this time, I have a lot of optimism that it will all work out. I have been interviewing fairly consistently and something has just got to happen. I am ready to work. I am ready for my life to go back to place. I just want to feel like me again.
I haven't been writing lately because I was stuck under that rock, and it was hard to articulate. Or really, I didn't want to articulate. Lately, I have been feeling shy about exposing myself so publicly. But now that I am starting to feel a kind of quiet joy in my day to day, I thought I would share it with you. That's something I want to write about. Be patient with me as I regain my footing.
Thankfully this is not the case.
Because in the last three weeks, aka from the moment I started my new job, I have experienced a rebirth of sorts. I feel like I have crawled from under the little rock I have been hiding for months and rejoined the rest of the world. I am greatly appreciative of things that I used to take for granted: a 9-to-5 work schedule, taking a lunch break, enjoying a long weekend, even doing marketing work. My job has coincided with my new workout/health regimen, and for me, stretching on my yoga mat or running in the park is the best antidepressant. I feel content.
Don't get me wrong. It's not like things are perfect now. I am more than half way done with my freelance assignment, with nothing lined up afterward, and so another stretch of job hunting awaits. My stomach flip flops when I look at my bank statement. I have anxiety. For some reason this time, I have a lot of optimism that it will all work out. I have been interviewing fairly consistently and something has just got to happen. I am ready to work. I am ready for my life to go back to place. I just want to feel like me again.
I haven't been writing lately because I was stuck under that rock, and it was hard to articulate. Or really, I didn't want to articulate. Lately, I have been feeling shy about exposing myself so publicly. But now that I am starting to feel a kind of quiet joy in my day to day, I thought I would share it with you. That's something I want to write about. Be patient with me as I regain my footing.
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