Concerned?

Nothing like getting a notice in the mail that there's a problem with your tax return!

Especially when you're compulsive like me--I nearly had an aneurism when I started reading that my refund could be reduced and fines could be incurred if corrective action isn't taken within ten days! (which judging by the date of the notice has already passed-why I outta!) You can imagine my panic. My mind started racing... what did I do wrong?... I knew I wasn't up to this... I knew I'd make a mistake...I TOLD my dad I didn't want to do my own taxes (never mind the fact that my masters was in tax and that I do lots of taxes)--I just don't like the accountability when it comes to doing my own.

So apparently my subconscious felt the same way and took a stand by not signing my return. Thank heavens that's easy to fix: One signature later and I'm fully compliant! I'm not going down like Capone.

Fair-Weathered

I remember people telling me that moving to New York in January was not a great idea. They said it was cold and dreary and that I might get depressed. They said how much better it would be to come in the spring. I thought they were exaggerating the influence of weather and the seasons, but now that spring has sprung I see what all the fuss was and is about! While I was unaware at the time of any alleged depression due to winter in the city, the light-hearted freedom I now feel makes me wonder if I wasn't in fact suffering from some circadian rhythm defects that have now been most blessedly healed by the sun! So as to take full advantage of the double blessing of weather and freedom from work, ali, maria and I rented bikes and took a spin around the island. A spin, however, doesn't do it justice, as what started out easy became quite a workout by the end of our 4-hour tour, which took us down the Hudson around the financial district and back up the East River... [refer to either of their blogs for undoubtedly better descriptions--biking apparently made me too tired to write about biking]

Note to self: sucking on a lollipop in above fashion makes your face look very weird and may not be a best practice for future pictures. Just maybe. Or definitely.


Amateur Night at the Apollo Theater in Harlem with Laura and her fun ward... I had a harder time with the "boo"-ing of participants than I would have expected. I was so excited at the prospect of heckling, but when it came down to it, I just wanted to cheer for everyone and I wanted to go give the people who got "boo"-ed off a big hug. I sat there worrying about how in less than 5 minutes we were undoing the years of self-esteem building that some darling mother has slowly and steadily been working on for years!


Followed by a rooftop afterparty with delicious food... LOVE it!

So HAPPY SPRING to all!

Tempering Expectations for my peace of mind…

I’ve had a bit of blogging paralysis of late, as evidenced by a complete lack of posts these past few months. And while I’d love to blame it on busy season (my favorite excuse for everything these days and a semi-annual undisputable justification for tax accountants everywhere to get out of unpalatable jobs and activities), I can’t! I’m not a true PwC employee as yet. I haven’t really weathered a busy season. Somehow I avoided it. But as with all things you read here, please don’t tell them! Although I haven’t adjusted to this whole idea of working yet (and wouldn’t mind getting to stay home and sleep in again), I HAVE become quite accustomed to those direct deposits they take care of for me and the things they enable me to do and better yet, eat!

Recently I’ve been getting some definite flak for failing to update, and that’s made me wonder… what IS the reason that I never write. And I’m realizing that it all comes down to expectations, and my fear of failing to meet them. So I’ve decided that if this blogging bit is going to work for me I need to make a few things clear before I proceed…

And that is the blaring fact I am just plain old Liz Hansen, the one who’s kind of OCD, kind of lazy, kind of nerdy, kind of indulgent, and kind of indifferent to hair and make-up. Living in New York hasn’t changed that. I’m still me. I don’t hang out with celebrities. I don’t see celebrities, or anyone of import for that matter… except for the guy from SNL, who I SHOULD know but don’t… [see cute Sarah’s blog for pics]

So for all my Utah loves, these updates from NY may not be the astounding adventures I’m sensing that you want me to produce. And to all my NY friends, I am undoubtedly not as cool and chic as you… I work for an accounting firm for crying out loud… can you say Albert Brennaman?

So please no expectations.

Tribute to the 79th Street Laundry People!

Since moving to the city a month ago, I've discovered all sorts of phenomenal things about living here... but today I am particularly grateful for what I am afraid is an often over-looked and under-appreciated aspect of the New York City lifestyle. And that is the freedom from doing my laundry! At first I thought it was amazing when I was able to drop off and pick up my laundry the next day, but this weekend I discovered the absolute ideal... same-day pick-up and delivery service--meaning that I can call the darling couple that runs the 79th Street Laundry Service and they'll send someone over to pick up my dirty clothes. For just one extra dollar they'll come get my 22-pound bag of laundry (seriously, 22 pounds!) and return it later that afternoon with the most impeccable folding job I've ever seen! I'm telling you... these people are incredible! If it were a publicly traded company I would DEFINITELY invest, as opposed to my company's various 401K funds for which I have no passion whatsoever!

P.S. As Kate Connolly now-Anderson so astutely pointed out, it's Cadbury mini-Easter egg time, and considering the early Easter we're facing this year, I recommend you follow our lead and stock up now before you find yourself in a post-Easter funk without any of the world's greatest creations! But I would NOT recommend that you do what I did by putting a bag into your desk drawer (the BIG bag) and eating it egg by egg (only pulling out two or three at a time) until it's gone and you spend the evening embarrassed and nursing a stomach ache!

Waiting on my Montage: Cue The Music

Apparently I live in New York, where every morning I wake up surprised by my surroundings. And every day I find another reason that I love the city. And every day I get more and more nervous about the impending busy season.

And any time people ask me about living here I feel like such a poser. I don't wear cool clothes. I don't know what a hedge fund does. I don't make a million dollars. And what's worse--I don't even care to make a million dollars... All of which are exile-deserving flaws, so I'm trusting that you won't tell. It'd be a shame to be kicked off the island after finally finding an apartment and signing a year lease! (Which consequently is for an apartment you are all invited to visit. I say invited because I'm trying to sound polite and hospitable, but as I get more desperate and homesick for all of you, this will likely turn into more of a demand--so start saving money for your flights and broadway shows now. Consider yourselves fairly warned.)

So… there is a definite movie-like quality to living in the city. As I'm essentially walking through the scenes of You've Got Mail, I feel undoubtedly like I'm in a movie! as an EXTRA, which is serious cause for concern. I ought to be the LEADING LADY of [my] own life!'---true words of wisdom from an adorable (albeit fictitious) old man that struck a chord and prompted Steph to create a phenomenal playlist-gumption.

But alas, until the music starts playing, the romantic interest enters, and time starts flying (all while I'm getting movie-star-skinny AND becoming extremely competent at my job with seeming ease), I'm stuck in the real world where I have to grow up one day at a time. So if only my ipod hadn't broken I could turn the music up really loud and PRETEND that my life had its very own montages that fast forward through some of the tough going and would help me wake up on the other side of April 15th.

2007 wrap up

It's been a good year! And how could it not be when it was rung in with matching pajamas and good old pot and pan banging? I've been thinking about the collages Cath inspired our apartment to make in January... it's been fun to have a visual representation of my resolutions for the year. And while mine was practically a formulaic spreadsheet compared to the creativity of everyone else's it was a healthy exercise for me to use that other side of the brain (I always forget which side is which) at least once in the year, nevermind the fact that since January 9th I haven't even attempted a creative thought. And looking at it now, I think my collage is a pretty good representation of the year... Luckily I had the foresight to make "laziness" seem like a virtue by putting it in as a resolution (and boy did I outdo myself there). However, unfortunately my 2007 flossing record is less than 100%, but maybe next year's collage can give me better gum hygiene along with the perfect body that has also eluded me despite my including both in last year's goals. I guess that putting them on a piece of paper and then eating brownies for the next 364 days with only intermittent flossing doesn't really constitute change in either area...

And one last thought: I'm learning from Linds' example and my prior failures. Dating was featured (albeit subtlely) on Linds' collage last year, and she's been dating the most remarkable young man practically ever since. I completely overlooked dating on mine and I'm neither in like nor in love with anyone as the year comes to a close. Coincidence? I think not! But don't worry, I'm taking the proper precautions in this year's version (and just think... if linds' relatively small plug for relationships on last year's collage turned out so well, just think how successful a life-size promo will be!)

The Miracle of the Milk:

I would like to pay tribute to something I have grown to love since moving back home, and that is… my parents’ uncanny ability to constantly keep our house stocked with milk! Growing up I always took this for granted, as a sort of obvious (albeit unwritten--what were the founding fathers thinking?) right, but after the BYU years which included untold numbers of Sundays waking up to a cereal craving and a lactose-free fridge, I see my parents’ service as a true gift. And from my left-brained accounting perspective I really can’t make sense of how they can account so perfectly for variable milk consumption, which fluctuates drastically depending on brownie and cookie dough levels and would be extremely difficult to predict considering my impulsive treat-making tendencies. So in short, I’d like to send this ‘thank you’ into the void and express appreciation for what has become a small miracle in my life. No wonder I’m questioning moving out… who will take care of the milk?