You meet the best people in bathrooms...

Tonight, I had two equally important yet slightly conflicting events that I needed to attend: my weekly volleyball game (yes kids, I STILL play) and the Zombie Prom at the Delancey. Because the volleyball game was at 6:30 and the prom at 8, I decided that I could make both. Yet this included changing rapidly and without modesty in an elementary school bathroom after 3 hard fought games of volleyball.

And this was what happened during this brief time:

Me, changing openly in front of the door.
Nice girl from the other team enters the room, I apologize for changing out in the open.
She says "Its ok, I have to do the same"
We both rapidly change, throw on makeup (in my case, zombie makeup) and make small talk.
Turns out, we're going 6 blocks away from each other (on the complete opposite end of the island)
We decide to share a cab
In the cab, I decide that I don't have on enough zombie make up, so I ask said random stranger to apply it for me.
She does an awesome job/Zombie Prom is saved:
















I love strangers in New York :-)

Dance your cares away! (clap clap)

I finally took it upon myself to go crazy this Halloween and actually create (aka SEW!) my costume this year. This is particularly crazy because, as anyone in my 8th grade home ec. class knows, I cannot sew. It's not like I don't try, but it took me an entire 40 minute class period to sew one button onto a pair of shorts.

I've decided to be Wembley from Fraggle Rock:









I'll post the pictures of me wearing the costume tomorrow (I'd do it now, but my hair is braided to provide an 80's 'do for the Zombie Prom tomorrow). I'll just warn you all that my sewing skills leave much to be desired, and the nose + styrofoam crazy eyes are more than just a bit phallic...but isn't that what Halloween is all about? No?

For today, I'll leave you with a link to Daddy Likey's Halloween costume/story contest (or at least the first segment) because my story actually made the cut for runners up. And although others may have better stories, that was, in retrospect, the best Halloween ever (happy almost birthday, little bro!!!)

Love is more than just a game for two...

Being well aware of my Miranda Rights (do you get those if you aren't currently being arrested?), I'm going to refrain from many of the details of this weekend, now being referred to as "Best. Weekend. Ever."

I would just like to expound on some reasons why I adore our nation's capital:

1. When my train arrived late, I needed to take a cab over to Georgetown for the rehearsal. While most cab drivers in New York will either ignore you completely, scream obscenities at tourists or ramble on inanely for your entire ride about how they want to try out for (no joke) Indian Idol, my DC driver regaled me with his views on the upcoming election (including the congressional election, largely ignored in the current situation). Although I was frustrated that I was running late, I was at least entertained with a conversation about "Sam the guy who is not really a plummer."

2. The Tombs. The alley behind the Tombs. Another awesome cab driver. 'Nuff said.

3. The inability to figure out an elevator or order a pizza within the confines of the district.

4. My beautiful friend Dani, her amazing friends and family, and her perfect wedding :-)

5. The ability to be insta-celebrities. In New York we ignore REAL famous people. In DC, dress up really pretty, take some pictures in front of the Capitol building and sing "L...is for the way you look at me" and you'll have flocks of tourists staring and asking in Spanish to please take your picture.

6. Wearing pearls and singing the Georgetown fight song outside of a chapel as the only way of calming a jittery, but excited bride.

OMFG! Chuck Bass + Britney Spears = True Love

Hate me all you want, this is the best commercial ever. Of all time.

My friends are so smart :-)

Thank you Jacki, for so eloquently discussing what has led to many of our mid-20's fears of inadequacy. Life IS moving very quickly, but hopefully we have plenty of time to still realize our dreams.

What does it mean to settle?

At first, I wanted to hate this article.

Then, after taking a shower to wake up/cleanse myself from this seemingly anti-feminist rhetoric, I re-read the article again. Now, I understand that I am not the demographic that Gottlieb is giving her advice, but at 25 and still waiting for that elusive second date, I'm not that far away. It feels like yesterday that I was moving into the city as a fresh faced 22 year old, and I have a strange sense that I will feel the same way 3 years from now. Life is moving very quickly, so I can't rely on the "I'm still young" excuse much longer.

It's certainly not that I agree with everything Gottlieb is saying. Most importantly, her article does make the dangerous assumption that all women want to be mothers. This is untrue, and unfair. I feel as though the social pressure to WANT to be a parent is one of the biggest problems that women face today. Not all people want to be parents, not all people SHOULD be parents, so we should not force people into feeling that their lives are unfulfilled without offspring. And the point behind this article is that women should settle so that they can have a partner in raising children, so those women who do not feel as though children are a part of their future should ignore this advice entirely.

But that brings us to those women (myself included) who do want something that at least resembles a traditional family. Should we start to worry at 25, 30, 35, or beyond? We have been taught to pursue our career dreams and that family can wait, but how long can it wait, and can we ever have both? Is the sage advice from Sex and the City true: "The key to having it all is to stop thinking it would look like what you thought it would look like?" If this is true, shouldn't we all be privy to this advice, not just our 30-something counterparts? It is in this that I believe Gottlieb makes some interesting, important points.

However, I find issue with one key term: settling. This word has basically lead all women to believe that they can never find passionate happiness if they don't meet their "soul mate" before the age of 23. This is painfully untrue. I don't believe in soul mates, but I do believe in kindred spirits. And, with the increasing population in the world today, there just can't be that many different personalities. Thus, anywhere you go you will be able to meet and connect with a person with whom you are compatible. It IS NOT settling to date/marry someone who doesn't exactly "turn you on" 24/7, because that sort of passion is fleeting. In fact, to me it seems far more like settling to shack up with the first person who makes your stomach flip. When Gottlieb states "Marriage isn’t a passion-fest; it’s more like a partnership formed to run a very small, mundane, and often boring nonprofit business," I believe this statement to be mostly correct.

So, what does this mean? To me, it requires we take a good long look at how we define the term "settling." If you marry the first person who shows you any interest simply because you feel your biological clock ticking, then this is settling. But when you realize that you can look past a man's imperfections (just as he, guess what, looks past yours), then this can really be seen as intelligent and mature. So ladies, don't settle -- just be understanding enough to know that no one is perfect, no relationship is perfect, and that you have to try hard to make a partnership work. There is no such thing as Mr. Perfect, but that doesn't mean that Mr. Imperfect can't be Mr. Right.

You say you want a Revolution? Well, you know, we all want to change the world...

During my early morning ritual of blasting my ipod to ignore the depressed Wall Street suits surrounding me on the rush hour 4 train, my shuffle function chose Country Joe's "F.U.C.K cheer/I-feel-like-I'm-fixing-to-die rag." I found myself thinking, as I often do when one of these late 60's hippie anthems pop back onto my radar, "Why doesn't my generation have an artist that could call us into action with music? Have we failed to unite because no one has challenged us to ask 'War (uh, good God, ya'll), what is it good for?'" I know that we have a tendency to glamorize the hippie culture, but let's be honest, my parents' generation really knew how to come together when they believed that things mattered.

And this lead me to thinking about last night's presidential debate (try to follow my train of thought here, people). Not even the debate, so much, but the coverage afterwards. While watching *all* of the pundits praise Obama, I was legitimately shocked to hear the phrase, "We can't call this election yet though, folks. Don't forget that Barack Obama is black." Now, although this sounds like an intensely racist comment (and, lets be honest, it is), these pundits went on to explain that Senator Obama could lose UP TO 6 POINTS based on his race alone. This, for our great country, is sickening. But then, the ray of light: "But also, lets not forget how important the youth vote is here. And when you look at the youth vote, race goes completely out the window." And there it is. Maybe we didn't unite in the way of previous generations, but we still have our legacies. While our parents had the chance to vote for those who would make equality possible, we are the living, breathing proof that it's working. So, 20 somethings out there, please vote, and vote for who makes the most sense in your life. But, please, take a second to appreciate that our generation may be the first to truly view race as a non-issue. And be proud of that.

For all of you Joe Six-Packs out there playing a drinking game: "Mavrick" *wink*

I've been speaking to people (at least somewhat) intelligently about the VP debate for the past few days. Now I've decided, screw it. This is exactly what watching that debate felt like:

What's that thing where doctors make you feel better just by talking to you? Bedside manner? Yeah, yours sucks, dude.

I've been so wrapped up in the excitement (and horror) that has been this season's political campaign/economic crisis that I've let this slip just a bit. So back to the idiosyncrasies of living in New York.

So I have had this flu that just refuses to quit (I still blame Sarah Palin). I'm usually pretty anti-medication, but it took a turn for the worse this Thursday morning and I decided to bite the bullet and just go get myself some antibiotics. Yet, what for some might be a relatively routine doctor's visit, for me was all but a three ring circus. For a bit of a back story:

I just began going to this doctor's office, and I actually really like the people, but the service is *slightly* questionable. Like last time, when I tried to have my blood drawn, and two nurses took about 15 minutes to decide that I do not have one vein in my entire body. Oh, until nurse number two felt around the side of my arm and said, "oh, well, this might be a vein. I mean, it COULD be a tendon..." Needless to say, all the blood stayed in my arm that day.

Which brings me to last Thursday. I awoke with lymph nodes the size of golf balls and the inability to swallow, which I explained to the nurse who was examining me. "Let's do a rapid strep test," she suggested, which of course made sense to me. She tried to do the test once, but due to my relatively pronounced gag reflex, gave up and handed me the swab. I proceeded then, to DO MY OWN strep test. Fine, I thought, this can't be that weird, right? I'm not sure I did this right but it should be ok.

I was then called into the doctors office, and as I was walking down the hall, the nurse who had "taken" by rapid strep culture yelled/whispered down the hallway "the test is negative!" Well, that's good news, but seriously? Everyone just heard that. So much for confidentiality. Also, I began to question my ability to swab my own throat.

The doctor sat down with me, and she was a lovely woman, but I couldn't help but notice that her bedside manner was just a little too friendly. Like when she said, "ew" when she looked at my throat the first time, and "wow that's ugly" when she looked again. She then proceeded to ask "are your tonsils normally that huge?" (really? i'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I HAVE A SORE THROAT!) and acknowledged that I "can take as many aspirin as I want, at any time." She did another culture (by herself this time!) and informed me that it would take 48 hours for the results. And then, she proceeded to write me a prescription anyway, on "good faith" that I wouldn't fill it until I found the results. Even after she assured me that "the rapid strep test is almost never wrong." Thanks! Could you write me a script for Vicodin too, on the off chance that I break my leg on the walk to the subway?

However, I took the prescription happily, and filled it before I got the results. In the end, you know your body better than any doctor, and my symptoms assured me that the DIY rapid strep culture was wrong. And what do you know, as I was listening to my voicemail last night, the friendly voice of the woman who told me that ODing on advil was safe and my tonsils were ugly informed me that, "yeah, you're going to want to start taking those antibiotics about now..."