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!
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, December 31, 2007
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!)
Saturday, December 15, 2007
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?
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?Thursday, December 6, 2007
Any Ideas? (Aside from cleaning my room)
Where does the time go? How does eight months turn into one and leave me nothing to show for the time but a few tests, a few trips, and a whole bunch of Café Rio stamps on my frequent diner cards! When I graduated and began my eight month self proclaimed sabbatical I had visions…But somehow reality is setting in and I’m realizing that my aspirations may have been a bit lofty and that I 
may have failed to live up to all of my many expectations.
I’m not trying to discount how amazing the whole experience has been. I wouldn’t go back and change any of it… (Europe, family/friend time, Sidney Bristow—all incredible). I’m just annoyed that I’m still me. Eight months is enough time to do most anything, but evidently turning myself into the perfect person is apparently up there in the long-term category with world peace and child-bearing… blast! (and wretch).
So now here I am with exactly *one month remaining, and I’m grappling with finding a more realistic view of what to accomplish with my time. My dad suggested writing a book (because that's realistic!). My mom suggested cleaning my room (in fact she’s instituted an incentive program in which I get paid for every bag of clothes I give away to the d.i.). Neither of which I’ve done. So if anybody has any one-month suggestions, I’d greatly appreciate them! Keep in mind my financial situation is fragile (or at least it was several thousand dollars ago). Now it’s in complete disrepair.
*A point of clarification: when I say one month left people assume I mean until my job starts, but what I mean is until my life ends! Selling one’s soul to the public accounting profession is not something you do lightly, and my coping mechanism thus far (for the anticipation alone) has been to assume the worst!
may have failed to live up to all of my many expectations.I’m not trying to discount how amazing the whole experience has been. I wouldn’t go back and change any of it… (Europe, family/friend time, Sidney Bristow—all incredible). I’m just annoyed that I’m still me. Eight months is enough time to do most anything, but evidently turning myself into the perfect person is apparently up there in the long-term category with world peace and child-bearing… blast! (and wretch).
So now here I am with exactly *one month remaining, and I’m grappling with finding a more realistic view of what to accomplish with my time. My dad suggested writing a book (because that's realistic!). My mom suggested cleaning my room (in fact she’s instituted an incentive program in which I get paid for every bag of clothes I give away to the d.i.). Neither of which I’ve done. So if anybody has any one-month suggestions, I’d greatly appreciate them! Keep in mind my financial situation is fragile (or at least it was several thousand dollars ago). Now it’s in complete disrepair.
*A point of clarification: when I say one month left people assume I mean until my job starts, but what I mean is until my life ends! Selling one’s soul to the public accounting profession is not something you do lightly, and my coping mechanism thus far (for the anticipation alone) has been to assume the worst!
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
A pack-rat no more thanks to... Oprah
Ever since watching an A&E biography on the rise of Oprah’s empire I’ve admired her success and envied her many houses. And yet, I’ve always questioned the worth of a career that is completely dependent on the loyalty of people who have nothing better to do between four and five every afternoon!
I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly announce how wrong I was! Her show is NOT just fun and games. It covers valuable, much-needed material. And only Oprah knows how to best provide such information to the masses. I’d go so far as to hold her up as a modern-day Guttenberg. Take her two-day special on hoarding… changed my life! It finally gave me the courage to get rid of all the junk that I have so 
meticulously organized into the most ridiculous files conceivable. YEARS of junk masquerading as worth-while stuff just because it was well-labeled into neat little files. Like the one with the muscle strengthening exercises from my speech therapy and tongue thrust sessions I had as a kid. What is so scary is how I deluded myself into saving them all these years… as though I thought I’d be needing to study up on the correct usage of a tongue-depressor or how to properly form ‘tz’ sounds! And what is more scary is that it was actually hard to get rid of them.
*Special thanks to my dad for hauling a wheel-barrow into the house to get rid of everything before I had time to rationalize potential uses for it all.
*And special thanks to my mom for allowing my dad to do so.
I’d like to take this opportunity to publicly announce how wrong I was! Her show is NOT just fun and games. It covers valuable, much-needed material. And only Oprah knows how to best provide such information to the masses. I’d go so far as to hold her up as a modern-day Guttenberg. Take her two-day special on hoarding… changed my life! It finally gave me the courage to get rid of all the junk that I have so 
meticulously organized into the most ridiculous files conceivable. YEARS of junk masquerading as worth-while stuff just because it was well-labeled into neat little files. Like the one with the muscle strengthening exercises from my speech therapy and tongue thrust sessions I had as a kid. What is so scary is how I deluded myself into saving them all these years… as though I thought I’d be needing to study up on the correct usage of a tongue-depressor or how to properly form ‘tz’ sounds! And what is more scary is that it was actually hard to get rid of them.*Special thanks to my dad for hauling a wheel-barrow into the house to get rid of everything before I had time to rationalize potential uses for it all.
*And special thanks to my mom for allowing my dad to do so.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
“Ohhhhh Mexico”
I remember apologizing for everything when I was 13. And I saw nothing wrong with it. I think I mistook apologizing as some higher form of politeness. I had no idea that apologizing when I had done nothing wrong was extremely annoying to those around me… well, now I know!In keeping with my resolution NOT to apologize when it’s unmerited, I refuse to start this post with an apology. That’d be annoying! But I haven’t come so far from my 13-year old ways that I can just leave my weeks of neglect towards this blog un-answered. That said, I was thinking an excuse might do the trick to satisfy my conscience…
So…I was cruising with Tiff in Mexico! And I would like to express my thanks (through this void that is the internet) to all those people that make cruising possible in its verb form. The week was simply divine. There was a comical moment (the night that we had our nerve-racking dinner at the captain’s table) when I kept slipping and calling our cruiseliner a boat and the assistant captain kept correcting me… “ship!” It felt like Pirates. Anyhow, Tiff and I have resolved that all of our friends need to ‘cruise’ together… we’re thinking May. How does that sound? Please RSVP promptly.
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