Sassy Peach in the City

Flowers!

2012-02-15T11:52:00.000-05:00

No, not for Valentines Day. Those were from Chelsea for my birthday, but you were fooled for all of like, three seconds right?

I had the best Valentine's Day ever. After a theatre education event, I ordered paneer makhni and naan from my fave Indian joint (delivery--a treat!). I enjoyed a previously-chilled personal-size bottle of blueberry infused Koskenkorva from real-live Finland (as in, I brought it back from the country). And I topped it all off with a PBS documentary on gang prevention and a C-SPAN viewing of the 2013 budget discussions in the Senate. Amazing.

Showdown With The Albino Pigeon

2012-02-14T09:25:00.000-05:00

Have you ever seen an albino pigeon? Most people haven't, but they are stalking me because I see them everywhere. They are white and a muted red with red eyes. The other day I saw two together, which I think is a sign, a sign that I should have just let the pigeon pass me by.

The first one I ever saw was outside of my apartment on my way to the subway. It gave me pause but I continued walking. Until it didn't move. I heard Wild West music in the background, you know, the ominous whistle. We looked into each others eyes, knowing one of us would have step aside. I took a step forward. He didn't move. I took another step. Now I was right in front of him. It was a showdown of the highest order.

He took one look at me, rolled his beady little red eyes, and flew away. I won that round, but every day when I pass him I feel some sinister plan has been hatched and is brewing.

He has put his little friends on me--I see albino pigeons everywhere. The east side. The west side. Downtown. I am pretty sure it's not the same little dude, but he has friends, and lots of them. The odd part? No one else has noticed them. It's like a CIA movie.

Cat Watching TV

2012-02-10T09:53:00.000-05:00

Happy Friday. What this means for you is Henry Picture Day. Mostly because I have something to say about being stalked by avian life forms but that will need to wait until Monday since I have a lot to say and not a whole lot of time in which to say it and there is a 70% chance it will come off as a conspiracy theory even though it is totally true. I also need to shower since I am meeting people for a work lunch and apparently it's normal to show up clean to one of these things. Harumph.

Happy Wednesday.

2012-02-08T10:39:00.000-05:00

YOU'RE WELCOME.

Space Travel For Dummies (read: me)

2012-02-07T14:53:00.001-05:00

I picked up an extra babysitting gig yesterday for a six-year-old. We took the bus home from Hebrew school and he turns to me and asks, "Why is it darker out now than it was when I was in Hebrew school before?". What he meant was why it gets darker earlier than in the fall.

I asked him if he remembered when we set our clocks back a few months before and he nodded. I then explained in six-year-old terms the concept of the earth spinning on its axis and gaining one minute each day, therefore the necessity of daylight savings time. He was raptured.

He pauses, thinks, then asks the best question I have ever been asked: "Have you been to space?"

No, I reply, I work in theatre.

"Then how do you know so much?" he asked. I reply, because I went to college. And high school too.

That, gentlemen, is how you win over a lady.

- If there are typos, I blame autocorrect. Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch.

If You Display One More Picture of Your Uterus On Facebook I Will Never Speak To You Again

2012-02-06T10:53:00.001-05:00

I don't like seeing your guts online. Also, your kid doesn't look like you, it looks like kidney bean. Because it's in utero.

If you scroll down my Facebook feed you will see a slew of uteri as profile pictures, wall pictures, or line drawings.

Seriously, there is no reason for you to post sonogram pictures for your entire group of 856 "friends" to see. I am going to start posting my lung x-rays on my wall and proclaim, "LOOK AT THAT PNEUMONIA! Almost four years clear!"

Guest Blog: Henry Keeps It Real

2012-02-01T13:31:00.000-05:00

I have too much work today to blog. So instead, Henry would like to say something.


What up bitches, I'm Henry. Mom told me I am a celebrity up in this biz-ness. Just keep it real and so will I. I love fish from a can, clean towels to lay on, and spooning on a cold night. If you have any ladies who are looking, hit me up. You can call my people, which is my Mom. I will see if I can fit them into my Google calendar.

The Day My Boob Threatened The Safety of Others

2012-01-30T09:53:00.002-05:00

This morning I commuted through Houston to come home to my cat (for company), a cold beer (for my hangover), and The Wire (for awesomeness). After going through the body scanning machine I was pulled over for a pat down. Well, this is just stupid, I tell the officer who is holding me back from my luggage. Why did I just go through radiation if you are going to pat me down anyway? He tells me the radar picked up something. Whatever.

To be clear, I am not 100% opposed to the scanners. I don't give a shit if TSA can see my lady goodness because they can get the same view walking down my street. I don't like to shut my blinds. It's a waste of energy if I am just going to open them again to enjoy waking up to the sun. So yeah, get a good look boys.

What I am opposed to is the concentrated skin exposure to radiation followed by a pat down. I should have just asked for the f&@$ing pat down in the first place. I also have no problem with getting pat down. It's no different than my morning commute really.

It brings me back to this trip, where my sister posed a serious threat to national security. When TSA pulled her over she was all apologetic like because that's how she is. If it were me, I would have been like, "Look Officer Krupke, this is a vital tool for survival. You never know when you will need it. For example, if I were to order a red wine and the stewardess was all like, 'Totes, one second,' then she comes back all sad-like and says, 'Ma'am, I'm so sorry, but I left my wine key in Atlana,' and I'm like, 'No worries sugar pop, use this!' and I bust it out and people in the adjoining seats cheer and the stewardess cries with delight and I'm a HERO and everyone is so congratulatory that I'm all like, 'Give the plane a round on me!' because it turns out the rich oil baron sitting next to me (in coach, natch) is so impressed with my intuitiveness and my guile (wait until he discovers my wit!) that he proposes right then and there with the ring he carries around in his suit pocket just in case this very thing happens so I can afford to buy a round for everyone, or at least my fiancé can. So see Officer, it's super important."

What was it that made TSA's radar go off on me, you wonder? TSA Jane tells me to look back at the picture the scanner took; there is a yellow block on the area in question. My right boob. Suspicious little fucker--I've been on to him since early 2006. Glad to know TSA confirmed my concerns and isolated the threat. As long as my boobs join me on flights I will be asking for a pat down.

Because nothing says "vacation" like being felt up in the morning by a man in uniform. I will wear my lacy bra.

- If there are typos, I blame autocorrect. Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch.

Workout of Champions

2012-01-27T09:00:00.000-05:00

My doctor told me I need to do more weight-bearing exercises. I couldn't agree more, as I would like my arms to more resemble Hillary Swank's than my grandmother's. After all, I'm attending a wedding next month and it's a great opportunity to showcase my guns.

So I came up with a new workout plan that fits my schedule and my lifestyle.

Cancels out the calories, no?

DrunkToberFest

2012-01-24T09:27:00.000-05:00

So this one time, I went home and we had our own Octoberfest, but since that title is kind of under copyright or whatever we renamed it to something I can't recall, so I renamed it here as DrunkToberFest because I am in charge of my blog and can do whatever I damn well please unless it involves libel but whatever you smell so shut up.

Here are the pictures to prove it happened. I have captioned them to provide context. Because when you see people wearing a viking hat you typically need context.

Julia rocks the Viking Hat while Shana and Karen watch.

This is just us. Notice me in the background refusing to be ignored by the camera.

If Chris wasn't taking a picture of someone taking a picture then it just wouldn't be a party, y'all.

Brooke is texting.

Erin has a go with the Viking Hat.

Shana and Mike win Cutest Couple of DrunkToberFest 2011.

We are happy people, damnit.

It's not a party until Nicci starts conversing with the horse head on the porch.

Cat-On-The-Floor (With Mom)

2012-01-20T07:18:00.001-05:00


He may be a shithead in the morning, but I still love him. I particularly love that he will roll on the floor with me taking pictures after I've had a few glasses of wine.

Richard III

2012-01-19T11:41:00.000-05:00

Last night I had a date with my sister and my friend Chelsea to see Kevin Spacey. Yes, the rumors were true. I went to see Richard III at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.

I will preface this by saying two things. First of all, I am a proud subscriber of BAM. I am always thrilled with their work and their customer service is outstanding. Every single time I have had the smallest issue it has been resolved quickly and to my liking, and for this I will continue to be a loyal subscriber. And no, I can't become a member because I already spend all my disposable income on the actual tickets (and by disposable income I mean my credit card.)

The second thing I want to say is that I don't review theatre (even though I see a ton of it); I only review books. So yes, it's true, you rarely read on this blog about the shows I see. But Richard III is an exception, as it was f&$@ing phenomenal and I need to make sure you know this.

Kevin Spacey as Richard was hands down the best performance I have ever seen. EVER. I was shocked and I was creeped out and was glad to not have to catch the train alone. I didn't want to sleep because Richard is creepy. And how timely the show was, with it's themes of absolute power and the terror of despotism. I was blown away and I paid attention the whole time.

Sam Mendes is a ridiculously genius director, and I woke up thinking about this play. I can't say enough about it--so get your tickets and get your butt there. Bravo to BAM for securing this piece and holy cow holy cow holy cow. Amazeballs.

The Backyard Fire

2012-01-18T12:03:00.001-05:00

I know you all have been waiting anxiously since last week's mention of the backyard fire to hear the story, and my apologies for taking so long. As Sister Hazel so succinctly says, "Life got in the way." Yes, I am a Sister Hazel fan and damned proud of it.

So harking back to my senior year in high school, I had a high school sweetheart. His name was Brian and he was wonderful, and it didn't work out for reasons that were mine but please know that he is happily married with child now. I sit here blogging about my single life, but this is a matter for another day. Back to the story.

Brian was a year older than me and came home from college every other weekend to see me. My parent's rule was that if he was over he could stay until. I was prudent about following this because my parents were allowing me to go to Athens to stay with Brian for a full weekend once a month. However, this particular Saturday night Brian and I fell asleep in front of whatever movie we were watching, and I woke up close to 1am. I freaked out, woke him up and told him that he had to get out--now. He was also prudent about following the midnight request and he booked it out. I went to sleep in my bedroom upstairs.

About a half-hour later my mom came in my room and yelled, "Get up NOW." I sat strait up, exclaimed, "Brian left! He's not here! We fell asleep!" I thought she was mad about missing curfew and she thought Brian was in my bed. My mom says, pointing out my door, "No, fire."

I walk out my room and look out the picturesque windows. We have beautiful two-story windows that look out onto our backyard which houses huge trees, a creek, and my brother's playhouse. Except this night, I viewed a fire. A big one, overtaking my backyard. My mom had me get my brother and sister out of the house while she called the fire department. My dad was downstairs behind the house hosing down the base of the house--by the time my mom awoke, the house was catching fire, and to this day you can see the char marks.

The firemen came, put out the fire, and the investigation ensued. What came out is that the fire was started by a cigarette in our pinestraw. What they think happened is some teenagers cut through our backyard and dropped it in the pinestraw, and since we happened to be in the middle of an official drought, the pinestraw was tinder. It erupted in flames immediately and the rest is history.

But what is astonishing is that had Brian and I not fallen asleep and had I not awoken when I did, my mom would not have woken up. We have a security system, and when Brian left it beeped with the door opening and closing. I then set the alarm, which beeps for thirty seconds to allow you time to leave the house. This brought my mom out of a deep sleep and caused her to get up to use the restroom.

Wild, huh?

Leak = Bathroom Renovation + Firemen

2012-01-17T10:10:00.000-05:00

I am not quite sure where to begin. There was a leak downstairs, and Crazy Pants didn't want to call the plumber. Long story short, it turns out it was the 95 year old lead pipes that just fell apart and the plumbers couldn't reach them through the ceiling; we had to rip out the bathtub. Oh yeah, and there's that part where the leak got into the electrics and I had to call the fire department who sent two trucks with lights and sirens and the whole she-bang. Then we ripped out the bathtub and Crazy Pants was fighting the plumbers who wanted to replace everything under the tub since if it leaks again she will just have to rip out the bathroom again. She finally gave in.

I am tired and I don't want to deal with her Royal Nutness anymore. Just fix the goddamned thing and stop fighting. It costs money to own a home.

Some visuals for your Tuesday morning. And no, we aren't finished yet. This will be another week or so.

Awards

2012-01-15T22:48:00.001-05:00

Tonight while watching the Golden Globes, I turned to Henry and assured him that if I were to win a GG I would definitely bring him up on stage with me.

"Of course, Mom. Because it would be me winning the award. I will be bringing YOU on stage with ME. Stupid human."

Such a diva, that feline.

- If there are typos, I blame autocorrect. Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch.

Cat-In-A-Bag

2012-01-13T08:13:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I think about spawning. Usually it happens when I see cute pictures of my friend's kids and I am all like, "Hey, you know what? My kids would be even cuter because I am me." Then the urge passes when I realize they will grow up to be humans who talk and stuff.

So in the meantime enjoy my cat-in-a-bag. Unless you look closely you might not notice him and accidentally take him to work with you or something.

If he can't see you, you can't see him. It's a law of nature.

Movies at the Museum

2012-01-11T10:33:00.000-05:00

People who visit the museum that shows art that is modern take their movies very seriously. Once the lights go down if you shift in your seat you get yelled at.

I went to see Albert Nobbs there last week with a friend and when we got up to leave this woman was blocking me from letting me walk past her in the aisle to catch up with my friend. She even stopped and wouldn't let me past her even when I said, "Excuse me." Then she walked slowly and diagonally in order to keep me from passing. It was odd and bitchy, but it's the museum.

The escalators were being worked on so we all had to take the elevator. I notice this horrible woman next to us, meaning that she will be on the same car as we will be. My friend and I get on, move directly to the back, and once the elevator is full the woman in front of us turns to the horrible woman and tells her how rude she is and that she is an idiot. A small fight ensues among the 65+ set with names being called all over the place. Then this 65+ man behind all of them yells, "Ow! You are on my foot." Then he turns to my friend and winks.

We can't stop laughing because this is too much. If you want entertainment, head to the museum that shows art that is modern and see a movie. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Way To Screw Up, Amazon.com

2012-01-10T10:52:00.001-05:00

An Open Letter to Amazon.com

Dear Amazon,

What I want to say to you right now is along the lines of, "Get your shit together." How disappointing it has been over the past four days to work with you and you can't get my order right. Over the course of said four days and countless hours on the phone you have managed to screw up royally, make a difficult situation even more difficult, and anger me in the process.

On Friday afternoon I rolled my ankle (thereby spraining it) and took a nosedive into the pavement. I landed on my beautiful new purse, scratching the buckle, but worst of all I discovered not long after that my Kindle was smashed (for lack of a better descriptive word). As you can see from my Amazon account I am what is referred to among my circle as "an epic reader" and I have grown over the past 13 months to adore my Kindle. So I call Amazon for help. Every online posting I read spoke about how helpful you would be. Maybe helpful to them--but you lacked helpfulness with me.

I call on Friday to see how much this is going to cost me and decided to sleep on it. $65 is a lot of money for me--I am most certainly the 99%. This amount of money represents hours of work for me in my non-profit job that I adore, so I do not take this purchase lightly. I decide after a few hours of thinking to bite the bullet and I call and speak to an associate who promptly sends my order through. However, she only confirms my billing address, never my shipping (of which happens to be different), and when I receive my confirmation email I see you are shipping my Kindle to my parents home address--where I do not currently reside. Now, if you had offered me free shipping I would have said nothing, but you charged me for shipping!!! I wanted my Kindle to come to my correct address or I wanted a refund for shipping.

When I call and express this sentiment, I am offered both. The lovely associate I speak to reroutes my package and refunds my shipping. This associate promises to call me at 1pm the next day to follow up. How kind, I think to myself. Things will work out after all.

Until I receive an email yesterday afternoon informing me that my package is "undeliverable" and is being returned to sender and a refund will be issued. I am quite hot under the collar, as I never received that 1pm phone call, and I will not even get my Kindle to boot! I call Amazon at approximately 10:45pm and proceed to have the most frustrating 30 minutes of my life. Here are the details in one long sentence:

After being transferred the nice lady I was connected with worked with me but couldn't issue a "replacement" Kindle for the one being returned until it was actually returned so she tried to put another one in my basket but in order to get the $65 price had to issue some sort of credit but the credit was too much so it took some time but it happened then there was difficulty because my original Kindle was a gift and it was going to therefore mess up my mom's account so after figuring that out she went to charge me and for some reason the billing address had changed to my boss's company credit card but then when we got the right one figured out the card went through as saying the billing address was wrong so she wanted me to use a different card and that's not how my finances roll so I got angry and canceled the order.

Was that frustrating for you to read? Yeah, that's what my night was like last night. I cancel the order because at this point saving $14 off a new Kindle isn't worth the time and frustration of dealing with your computer system anymore. I go ahead and order the new version this morning only because I have a gift certificate that I needed to use. Otherwise I would have headed to the Nook. I prefer the design of the Kindle, but I have seriously thought twice about doing business with you again.

I am often asked if I like the Kindle--whether it's on airplanes, subways, or doctor's offices. I am asked at least twice a week. And you better believe I will be clear how horrible it is to try to get a replacement from you. I have no qualms about passing business off to your competitor.

Best wishes in the future,

Nicole Lorenzetti

The Morning I Called The Fire Department

2012-01-09T11:15:00.000-05:00

This morning, around 6:20am, a fire alarm was going off. Not just any fire alarm (and not one in our house), but one that screamed very loud, "Fire. Please leave immediately." (How kind, you are thinking--a fire alarm that politely asks you to evacuate!) It was coming from somewhere on my street, so I threw on my boots and coat, grabbed my phone and glasses and went out on the front stoop.

I couldn't figure out exactly what building it was coming from, and as of late I am not very keen on fires. There are a handful of things in life that I take super seriously, and they are, in no particular order:

Choking
Cancer
Jeremy Renner
Fire

Since, after a few minutes, it seemed that no help was arriving, I dialed the emergency number we are familiar with. Just a few minutes later, right before the fire trucks show up, the alarm stops. My luck, right? The firemen walked around for a while and couldn't find where it was coming from. So they left.

Then I started to wonder if I made the right choice. I came to the conclusion that yes, I did. When it's about human lives, it's always better to play it on the safe side. I would rather be an ass who made a mistake than be a guilty party to someone's injury or possibly their life.

My (unfortunately) extensive experience with fire has taught me not just the destruction of it (that would be my office recently), but the devastation that comes with it. Fires are one of the most frightening experiences ever (other than dying of pneumonia). They are serious stuff and should never be taken lightly. The office fire was just my most recent experience. Four years ago I evacuated a building full of 400 students due to an electrical fire in the basement of the building we were using. And in spring of 2000, my backyard went up in flames and was caught in the nick of time by my mother who to this day swears an angel tapped her shoulder. I say it's because I had my boyfriend over.

But you will have to wait for that until tomorrow.

Jessica & Matt

2012-01-06T08:22:00.000-05:00

I swear on my life, if some man ever does this for me he will get walloped. Strait in the kisser. I almost threw up when I saw this. It's in Atlanta by the awesome beer store Erin, Jacob, and I went to prior to Girl's Night Drunktoberfest.

Clearly I lack the romantic gene as well as the commitment one.

Small Purse Problems

2012-01-04T10:11:00.000-05:00

Santa brought me the most beautiful purse for Christmas this year. And by "Santa brought me..." I mean that I picked out the purse I wanted at the store and my mom bought it in front of me. That's how the Zetti clan rolls.

So anyway, it's a beautiful over-the-shoulder leather bag. It's small. Like, it-holds-my-wallet-and-my-phone small. I love it--it is keeping me from over-packing and wearing my shoulders (and back!) down. But I have been forgetting that I have it with me.

Several times over the past week I have been on the train and gasped audibly while I began searching for my purse. Oh yeah, stupid, it's over your shoulder. I am just so not used to this enough that I think I have left my purse on the subway platform, because, you know, I do that regularly anyway.

Welcome to small purse world, Nicole. It's nice to meet you and your super thin Kindle.

Looking Back: 2011

2012-01-03T10:32:00.000-05:00

Happy new year! Ok, yes, it most certainly is January 3. But you know what? I was busy doing nothing the past couple of days and couldn't bring myself to turn on the inter-web. So you get this post on this Tuesday, January 3. Deal with it.

My high points of 2011 include...

I turned 29, which means I am closer to 30 than anything else. Thank God. Don't get me wrong, my 20's have been fun, but my 30's are going to be so much better. Also, I had a kick-ass birthday dinner with some amazingly wonderful great friends.

Newport, Rhode Island for a weekend in July.

My award, bitches!

(Award for what? You ask. For being awesome at my job. No really, it was a theatre education award.)

I saw Book of Mormon!

[No picture due to copyright regulations. Ugh.]

I went to Los Angeles and co-ran programs with the amazing Mike Nelson.

Jackie and I traipsed to Belgium, Luxembourg, Holland, and Germany. Still more photos to share!

And finally, the Muppets came out with their first movie in years. God bless America. Meh-nah-meh-nah. Wacka wacka, bitches.

Don't get me wrong, there were some low points as well. Irene (as in Hurricane) is the bitch who stole my birthday. I--against my better judgment--accepted the property management position at my apartment and now am stuck with Crazy Pants the Landlord and her high-school-gossiping-cheap-ass-ways. Hopefully I can get out of this soon. I fell hard for someone who turned out to be a super jerk--but he is somewhere far far far away right now, so there will be no Awkward Ex Encounters any time soon. Oh, and there was that whole office-destroyed-in-a-fire-part.

I learned a good bit this year. I learned that there will always be horrible dates waiting for me around the bend. There will, however, be some good ones. Those you don't hear about since nice guys don't deserve to get blogged about. I learned that people come first, not things to own and not things to do. I learned that at the end of the day, what you lose in a fire is just stuff--and while it can be devastating, if no one is hurt then you made out pretty well. I learned the gift of grace, and I learned who friends are--and whom some aren't.

I learned that I have a deathly, paralyzing fear of commitment (to everything, but relationships in particular)--but with the right person I am willing to man up and make it happen. I learned that I hate online dating and I never want to do it again unless I get a book deal. I learned that I love having long hair and that studio living rocks my world.

So happy 2012 everyone. This is the year, I can feel it. For what? Not sure. But it's definitely the year.

Happy Between Holidays

2011-12-29T10:00:00.000-05:00

It's that weird time between Christmas and New Years where you really don't want to get any work done but still have to look like you are accomplishing something. So I leave you with Henry, white as the non-existent snow.

Well, ok, I was going to leave you with Henry but instead the picture won't upload and now I've broken your heart. I'm sorry--I will make it up to you soon with a great story about how I almost took a chick out on purpose at the airport and another story about how much my family drives me crazy.

Happy Christmakah.

2011-12-23T10:31:00.000-05:00

This is the "Merry Christmas, bitches" post. Don't get overexcited or anything, because it's not the "Nicole's Year In Review" post. That's next Friday. Which means I should probably start thinking about that now, or at least going back through my planner to figure out what the hell I actually did during my days (and nights) in 2011.

But that's not the point of today's post. I want to wish you all a very merry holiday this weekend if you do in fact celebrate Christmas. If you celebrate Hanukkah, my apologies as I missed the beginning--so happy fourth night tonight! If you celebrate Kwanza, I apologize further as I am not even sure when this begins. Finally, if you are an atheist, I got nothin' for you. You know, since you celebrate nothing and all. And don't tell me you celebrate Christmas, because that's just a serious cop out. Buy yourself presents, don't steal someone else's holiday that you don't even believe in. That makes you mean on top of grumpy.

I am heading home to Atlanta for the holiday which should be a blast. Yes, y'all, I will be live tweeting Christmas dinner with wine coming out of the fridge at 11:52am. It comes out of the fridge because we start with white--it's lighter, and therefore more OK to start drinking before noon. I can't wait to see my little bro and hound him about his new girlfriend. (NEW??? Don't you mean "girlfriend"? There's a first for everything!) Lucy the ~~Terrorist~~ Terrior will be there, my puppy ~~malcontent~~ neice who will be flying with my sister and I tomorrow morning. My dad and I have three movies on the docket for the week--War Horse, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, and Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close. I can't wait to see my mom either. And my aunt (mom's younger sister) and my uncle (mom's older brother) will be there too.

I am looking forward to a newly replenished underwear stash, as Santa has a practical side. I used to throw fits when I was a child about receiving underwear for Christmas, then I became an adult and realized how awesome this was because good underwear is expensive.

I am looking forward to the gifts I picked out for myself the day after Thanksgiving when we went shopping for our own gifts. Have I mentioned how awesome my mom is?

I am looking forward to the holiday phone call with Grandma Lorenzetti where she calls me an old maid and asks me if I am looking for a boyfriend. This holiday season I will tell her that I have a girlfriend as I have recently discovered I am a lesbian and I am converting to Judaism in order to marry her in a non-denomenational ceremony. We will raise our children Jewish and give them ethnic names from Scandinavia and Russia. This should prevent her from ever asking me about getting married again, or it might kill her first. Merry Christmas, Grandma.

Merry Christmas, everyone. Stay out of trouble, drink lots of wine, and spend time with your family.

Clop Clop

2011-12-22T10:43:00.000-05:00

So remember that time last week when I remarked on my worry that I would run out of things to blog about now that I am working from home?

Have no fear. There are horses in Queens.

I am sitting here checking email this morning when I hear clop-clop, clop-clop out my window. I think to myself, "Those are horses! No, no way those are horses. This is Queens. There are no stables around here. Why would there be horses here?" The clop-clop, clop-clop gets closer, so I peek out my window.

Lo and behold, there are two policemen on horse back just strollin' through my neighborhood like they haven't got anything better to do. I am safe, y'all. I can't say the same thing for you, though. You don't have police on horseback traveling through your suburban neighborhood.

Baby, If I'm The Bottom...

2011-12-21T18:58:00.000-05:00

I am currently getting ready for a date (that I am actually looking forward to!) while listening to the Anything Goes soundtrack. Because what screams, "I'm excited!" more than "You're The Top"?

I would like to propose that Mike Nelson and I duet on one of those stupid network talent shows with this lovely little ditty that I adore. I would be Reno Sweeney, of course! Don't I just scream lounge singer?

To put this number in context, Reno Sweeney and Billy Crocker and they team up while flattering each other in only the best way that Cole Porter knows how.

The Grace of Gifts

2011-12-19T14:29:00.000-05:00

I have learned quite a bit over the past month, but the greatest lesson has been the grace of gifts.

For those of you unfamiliar with recent events, my office was destroyed in a fire the weekend before Thanksgiving. You can read about it here. We were able to get in a week ago Friday and collect what we could. My desk was essentially destroyed as it was right across from the origin of the fire; I took one look at my desk and told the clean up crew to not even bother trying to save anything. I couldn't tell the difference between a mug and a piece of paper. Among so many things that had sentimental value, I lost Garfield, who was given to me years ago by a good friend and has traveled with me from office to office:

Through the miracle of whatever higher power you believe in we were able to recover our archive of plays from the 1980's and forward. Incredible. Most everything else though was ruined in some form or fashion, whether it be by flames, smoke, or water.

We have moved forward though and are not looking back. (Most of the time, anyway.)

However, one thing that will stay with me always is learning the grace in giving. I have been guilty of saying, "I wish I could give more!" whenever donating to friends' causes. It's the truth--I wish I could give more than the $25 I have available in disposable income. I wish I could give $500 to fight leukemia and lymphoma or breast cancer or to arts organizations that are dear to my heart. If I could I would. And I mean it when I say I wish I could give more, with my whole heart.

But I have learned this year that it's not what you give, but that you give at all that means everything. Whether it's $5 or $50, $2 or $25, your giving means you have made a sacrifice somewhere. It means you gave instead of saving; you gave instead of spending it on that awesome coat you wanted. Every donation, regardless of the amount, has meant so much to me and in turn my organization. I understand why my friends tell me, "I wish I could give more." But I want each and every one of you to know that what you have given is more than enough. It has been giving from the heart, and that means more to me than I can write in words on a simple blog.

Thank you.

A Lorenzetti Thanksgiving

2011-12-15T11:18:00.000-05:00

This is how we roll, people. I live tweeted. It was incredible. I am including some tweets in the post to give it some heft. You know, legitimize the whole operation.

The dining room table before we descend upon it in our carnivorous ways.

Hour 2, Bottle 1 down. About to pop open the Cabernet. Remember kids, this is a marathon, not a sprint. #familytime #HappyThanksgiving

I believe this was bottle #3, but I can't be sure.

Dad, re: me: "We should cut her off at the third bottle." #familytime

My thankfulness is directly proportional with the amount of wine I've had. #familytime #gobblegobble

Mom cooks, Dad supervises. It's a typical Lorenzetti family holiday.

Dad: "I need kudos." Me: "1996 called and it wants it's slang back." #familytime

This year Laura made the potatoes. Usually it's my job, but I was promoted to brussel sprouts this year.

"I have a Master's of Science. What do you have? A Master's of Good Looking? You're not ZOOLANDER." #family #happythanksgiving

My brother also worked hard on preparing dinner. By reading blogs I pulled up on his laptop.

My dad: "That's what we'll blame our lack of parenting skills on. We're Scientologists." Re: not disciplining your kids. #familytime

Isn't she a beaut?

"He basically looked like Pat Boone on LSD." My dad rocks.

Best dressing ever. Bacon...yum...

Dad: "Your mom and I are just excited when we hear you girls have gone on a second date." #familytime

Broccoli salad. Yeah, right--who wants greens at the holiday table?!?

Dad: "You can't have kids! You dumped your damn cat on us! I'm ok with taking the kid out for ice cream then sticking it on a plane."

Always the Sister Shubert rolls, sweet potatoes, and mashed 'taters.

The final spread. Go team!

It may not be easy to get home for Turkey Day, but it's worth it. Imagine me times 5. That's what we call, "Holiday Dinner." So grateful.

Wins and Fails at Home

2011-12-14T12:01:00.000-05:00

Some of you might not follow my Twitter feed. And for that I say, "Shame on you. You are missing the best 140 characters of your life when I can get my iTouch to connect to Wi-Fi." You can find me at @niccilor.

I have discovered that working from home has its wins and its fails.

Wins include, but are not limited to:

Henry is a great lap warmer. I have downgraded his title to "Office Assistant" from "Education Assistant," because it turns out he can't type. This means he is far less helpful than he is cute.
I can sing really loud and the only people who care are my downstairs neighbors who are too ashamed to admit that my singing is that bad so they won't say anything at all.
I can download horrible music from the era of the 1980's and fist-pump my way through my fourth cup of coffee and no one will ever know. Which is a shame, since I am a jade belt in Master Fist-Pumpage.
The ability to rap to said horrible music without judgement is grand. You can ask my best friend Erin--it's shocking how I have the ability to know the words to every song imaginable from the 1980's and '90's and 74% of songs from 2000 - 2008.
I can make up different cliches that Henry might say in response to my inquiries on the conflict in the Middle East. I read the news, y'all, and it's important that Henry stays up to speed for our lunch break discussions.
I can get caught up on my NPR Culturetopia as well as my story of the day podcasts. I fell behind in early 2009 so I have learned today that Slumdog Millionaire will be a big Oscar contender this year. I am pumped.

Fails are strictly limited to (you know, since I rarely fail at anything):

Apparently I do not have enough have enough similar music to Flo Rida's "Low" in order to create a genius playlist. Where did I go wrong?
I have had my printer for a week and it's still not set up. It makes a great foot rest, but most importantly, I need a cord to connect the wireless printer. Fail, HP, fail.
I still don't know all of the words to "We Didn't Start The Fire."

Happy Wednesday, everyone. It's only 10 days until Christmas Eve, which means presents, Italian food, and wine in my household.

The Overeager Brit

2011-12-13T08:13:00.000-05:00

So this guy I wasn't going to write about. He is genuinely a nice guy, only slightly overeager. But this weekend I hit a breaking point.

The Overeager Brit contacted me on the dating website and while maybe not 100% my type, he seemed genuine and kind so I thought he was worth a test drive. You know, that sensible car you should get even though you really really want a Ferrari or even a Cabriolet. We communicate, and he is far too overeager in our initial emails. Try every other day, asking me how my day is. I only respond to every two or three emails because, well, I'm busy. And frankly, I don't need to be that accessible to someone I am casually dating.

We set up a date last Wednesday (the day is important as we move forward with this tale), and it's a nice date. I felt like I was talking the whole time--and it's because I was. I would ask him a question, he would give a short answer, then turn the tables back on me. There were some other quirks, but overall the date was fine. He's not my type, so I was wondering how to get out of a second date without hurting his feelings.

Because apparently he was ready to propose after the first date. 20 minutes after we separated I received an email telling me what a lovely time he had and that he wants to follow my book blog and he wants to follow me on Twitter and he wants to see pictures of my cat and he can't wait to see me again and oh my gawd this is too much can we take a breather please. I know I am going to hold off at least a day before responding. Except that the next afternoon I get another email saying all the same things but not the same exact email. Whoa dude, breathe with me.

So fine, I think I will just reply sometime that weekend telling him that I had a good time but he's not my type. Until Saturday night. When he emails me again asking me how I am and how my weekend is going and he had a lovely time and wants to go out again. Jeebus. I decide to shut it down the next morning eeeexxxccceeepppttt...he emails me again. That's right, people, 20 minutes after email #3 comes email #4.

He says that he has tried to make friendly contact and he hopes he hasn't offended me in any way and that he only had a great time and wants to see me again and if I don't feel the same way then maybe we can be friends because I am such an awesome person and if he is not the guy for me he wishes me best in finding the one who can unlock my heart and he knows that we are both big on space so he will give me mine while I make up my mind but he sure hopes to hear from me.

Dude. Whhhhhhhaaaaatttt? You are big on space? If that much neediness is "space," I hate to know what "attachment" is for you.

I write him that I have been away from my email and I don't have a smart phone where I have constant availability. I told him I was overwhelmed by four emails in three days as we only met for one date a few days back and that I needed some breathing room. I felt smothered.

Don't worry, kids--it only took about 10 minutes to hear back from him. Apologizing for being too keen and he understands and he hopes to hear from me in the future if I want to go out again with a smiley face by his name which means no hard feelings.

Do I feel bad? Of course, a little, because I am me and that's who I am. I care about people's feelings when they are actually nice people. (And most of the guys I date aren't, so you know...) But I need space. I need to breathe. I need communication, but reasonably. Deep breath. Deep breath. Namaste, bitches.

Working From Home...

2011-12-12T12:16:00.000-05:00

Looks like this. Henry kisses, all day. I am a lucky lady.

Blow Up Beds

2011-12-09T11:27:00.000-05:00

Everyone loves SkyMall. It's a proven fact along with Yetis (as in Big Foot) and stinky cheese being automatically the best choice at the fancy grocery store on the Upper East Side.

So last night I was "taking the edge off" (read: finishing a bottle of wine I just happened to have opened the very same night) because the day had been a little rough--what is up with copyright infringement anyway???--and I decided to do some online investigating. For men this means stalking chicks they dig and for women this means shopping. And I'm not a shopper, I'm a buyer (much less drama involved, I just hit "confirm" and BOO-YA), and I need a fold-up bed, so why not go drunk shopping?

I need a fold-up bed because when people came to stay with me they need a real place to sleep, not the sleeper sofa business with the badass memory foam mattress I tricked it out with. And by this I mean that I want to sleep alone. I'm not married for a reason, kids. It's because my side of the bed is the whole bed.

So I do some investigating and damn this stuff is expensive. I can't have a rollaway like the classy hotels because I have nowhere to store it in the long run. That's why I have a sleeper sofa--business on the outside, party on the inside. Storage solutions rock my world. So I need a better solution. Then I remember that I am always stuck without reading material for takeoff and landing on plane flights because I am up on technology and have the first wave Kindle, so SkyMall is my bestie right after whatever celebrity is featured on this month's Airline Magazine of Choice.

And then all of the sudden I'm like, "Hold the phones! I always wanted one of those blow-up-fold-in-on-yourself beds!" So I head to SkyMall and lo and behold, they make twin size blow-up-fold-in-on-yourself beds that stores in a rolling toolbox!!! It's like my birthday and Santa Clause all rolled into one pretty little air mattress package.

So watch out, 2012. You are getting one of these. Stop being jealous, Mike Nelson. One day you too will be a grown up with the ability to buy an air mattress that may one day turn into your real bed if you keep this up.

Working From Home

2011-12-08T12:14:00.000-05:00

For those of you who haven't heard yet, my offices were destroyed in a fire a few weeks ago. I have been working from home since right before Thanksgiving, and I am severely worried that I am out of things to blog about. Now that I sit in front of my computer in the mornings after sliding out of bed, what on earth happens to me? Nothing. I am losing my touch.

I could tell you how awesome Coach umbrellas are. (And no, I didn't pay for it, but I would certainly now that I now how amazeballs they are.) The material dries quickly, the construction holds up very well against winds, and the quick press-and-release button is marvelous for simultaneously carrying a cup of coffee. I am a walking advertisement.

I could tell you what Henry has been up to lately. It turns out he only sleeps during they day except for those few minutes every hour where he wants me to feed him a snack. And looks at me with his big brown eye and I cave like a souffle after some stupid kid opened the oven even though his mom told him not to.

I could go into detail about my new Post It note system on the wall next to my desk. It's color-coded, y'all. And different sizes depending on the action needed. No, I didn't purchase new Post Its. It turns out I am a recovering hoarder and have a lot of office supplies I never used.

This makes me think to myself that I need another bad date to share. Because seriously, this isn't working. I need to break up with boringness. It doesn't go with my skin type.

Smurf Cousins

2011-12-06T08:00:00.000-05:00

There is a chance I am related to the Smurfs.

In September, Jackie and I hoofed it around Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands continuing on our Grand European Tour (2011 Edition). At the comic book museum in Brussels, the Smurfs are on display because it turns out they are Belgian just like me. That's right folks, my maternal grandfather's family hails from Kortrijk, Belgium (hence their last name "Courtright"). And did you know that the Smurfs hail from Belgium as well?

Suspicious, huh?

Let's talk proof positive. I love all things miniature, particularly furniture. In fact, I have a super awesome dollhouse sitting in my parents' basement as I write this. See the miniature Smurf house here:

I once played on a miniature piano that looked suspiciously like this one.

There are five people in my family as well, and we often fight just like this depiction. Hmmm...

And finally, the creator of the Smurfs, Peyo. We could def be related.

Single in the City

2011-12-02T11:53:00.000-05:00

This week's Time Out New York is dedicated to relationships in the city, one of our favorite subjects here on this blog. It was a fun read, but there was one article in particular that made me go, "Oh, I need to share it with my readers." It's about settling versus not settling in the city. I have linked to the article there, but I want to share a particularly meaningful passage below.

As faithful readers, you are well aware of the challenges of dating in the city. The amount of douchebags present and single at any given time is always at least double that of non-douchebaggery. We live in a city of what's-next, whether it's the next best burger, the next best happy hour, or the next best museum exhibition. (Although really, what could beat Alexander McQueen's Savage Beauty at the Met? Nothing, me thinks.) This also applies to dating, and I am no exception. On dates, we look at each other across the table thinking, "Is this as good as it gets?" And honestly, it's a mutual thing. (Note to readers: Lily Burana, on whom I have the world's biggest girl crush [I reviewed her books here and here], wrote a great article in '98 on a very similar subject you can find here.)

So when I read the argument by Mr. Toal below I was thankful for his ability to put into publication so beautifully why I refuse to settle. (Mom, you should definitely be reading this post right now.) So I would like to thank Mr. Toal and tell my non-TONY blog readers what he has to say.

"Being single in New York allows you to enjoy, with impunity, everything the city has to offer. When you're in a relationship, your spare time gets eaten up quickly, and if being with that person isn't more fulfilling to you than spending an entire afternoon wandering around the Met or playing on your intramural dodgeball team, you should rethink your relationship status. And the idea that all of the good ones are taken is false. Consider this: There is a constant influx of new people drawn to NYC's endless parade of options, many of whom are as single and intent on meeting someone as you are. Just becauswe it seems like everyone is spoken for today doesn't mean it will be that way tomorrow. New Yorkers love nothing more than a challenge, especially when it comes to love." Drew Toal, Time Out New York December 1 - 7, 2011

It's a great sentiment that I am thankful for his expressing. So thank you, Drew. And I encourage my readers to click on the link to the article above and add your thoughts to the mix. To settle or not to settle?

I think I will keep holding out. Thanks, though.

Balloons!

2011-12-01T11:07:00.000-05:00

This year my sister and I flew home Thanksgiving morning so we missed the parade. My mom recorded it, but it just doesn't have the same magic. So to make up for it I went to the balloon blow up event the night before. Here are some shots I got. Enjoy!

Poor Snoopy is getting old!

Spidey!

Smurfs

Kermit, oh dear sweet Kermit.

Who has huge feet. You know what they say...

Fun fact--the balloons have to lay flat in order to not lose air.

Nothing screams "Thanksgiving" like Kool Aid.

AFLAC!

Sweet Snoopy.

Energizer Bunny--it goes on, and on, and on...

Buzz is so big he can't fit into my frame!

Toy Story dog butt--what a note to end on!

:-) LOL!

2011-11-30T12:46:00.000-05:00

I am a judgmental bitch. This might only be news for new readers of the blog. (SHOUT OUT TO THE NEW READERS!) I shudder at poor grammar, inaccurate punctuation, and other slights against nature. In fact, I am madly in love with the semicolon; I think it's a beautiful thing. I own that sometimes I falter; after all, we are human and not pre-programmed automatons (although I certainly asked for one from Santa Claus; we will see how that goes). (Also, that's a robot for those of you who have not taken your sorry behind to see Hugo yet.)

Anywhooooooo. I have announced that as of January 1, 2012 I will no longer be online dating. I know many of you will be disappointed, and if there is enough backlash I will continue to online date if only for the amusement of my readers. And free dinners, because I love food especially when it's free. Unless Crazy Pants the Landlord wants to take me to lunch, in which case no amount of free food would ever be worth that pain and misery. I digress.

Under no circumstances do I want to communicate with a law student who uses the emoticon ":-)" four times in an email. What, were all the rest of the emoticons on their lunch hour? No one was sad or having mixed emotions? And why the hell does your emoticon have a nose? Were all the emoticons without facial features busy not being used by normal people?

And really, if I am laughing out loud I am going to go ahead and "laugh out loud," you know, like without the air quotes or the "lol." Chances are good you aren't laughing out loud since the jokes about the campaign you worked on were probably more awkward than funny. So let's not "lol," ok?

I want people to start writing emails appropriately. What happened to normal human beings who grew up prior to the internet suddenly reverting to text-speak as if they don't know better. You didn't have a computer in your Kindergarten classroom, so act like it.

Never Say Never

2011-11-25T18:44:00.000-05:00

Never Say Never, y'all. At least where Bieber is concerned.

This is my sister (on the left) and I on our way to a movie...I can't remember when. Maybe last year, since there is scarf-age involved. We were just so excited to pose with the Biebs, we can hardly contain ourselves. Happy holiday weekend guys. I hope you have had a fun (read: wine-fueled) weekend with family. I know I have.

[I know, I know, my sister and I look like twins with me being the older, smarter, better-looking one. But don't make her feel bad (on the right for the visually impaired). I kinda like her. But please don't tell her, as it would be highly embarrassing to my rep. You know, my badass rep where I am tough and strong and love no one and nothing by my cat.]

Happy Cyber Monday!

2011-11-25T11:21:00.008-05:00

I am not shopping for Christmas today (full disclosure: I was 3/4 finished before I hopped my flight to come home Thursday morning); instead I bought myself a scan/copy/print machine since I am now working from home for the foreseeable future. This morning, instead of rumination on whatever is on my mind, I want to share with you one of my favorite songs. It's from The Wedding Singer, the musical version. This song is one of my favorites of all time because I think it is a perfect description of what I would like, one day when I am done loving the single life.

The quality is so-so due to it being a recording from a performance in the park. It's still beautiful, though.

Happy shopping!

Gratefulness

2011-11-24T11:05:00.003-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving, faithful readers. It's that day of the year where I express my gratefulness on my blog. But don't for a second think that I am not grateful for everything I have and for everyone in my life on a daily basis. The love I receive through little things--emails, texts, thoughts, chats, drinks, letters--sustains me and never fails to humble me.

I am thankful for my health, and I am thankful for my brain.

I am thankful for Henry, my One-Eyed Wonder Cat (and he is thankful for my working from home!).

I am thankful for my parents, and my sister and brother.

I am thankful for my love of my career and the commitment to something I am so passionate about.

I am thankful for the roof over my head, healthy food to eat, and movies on my computer.

I am thankful for my friends who sustain me, love me unconditionally, and make me strive to be a better person.

And I am deeply grateful to all of you, blog readers, who make this effort worthwhile. I write for myself; it's my time, my center, and my passion. But without you, it would just be lost in the ether. I owe you a debt of gratitude for your devotion and your eyes that connect to your brain. Thank you. As Kelly Clarkson so aptly put it, "My life would suck without you." Each and every one of you.

Happy Thanksgiving.

E/E Returns

2011-11-23T10:52:00.000-05:00

Ok, ok, maybe I shouldn't have even said, "yes," after the whole name switching debacle. But he called, we spoke, and he seemed pretty normal on the phone. Then he impulsively says, "If the next two hours are going to be as great as the past 20 minutes, why put off the inevitable?" I am not a big fan of cliches, but I figured why not. It's like ripping off the wax strip from your upper lip--it's gotta come off at some point, so just yank that shit so you can put some soothing gel on it.

He calls back to check on the location we are meeting and remarks that it will appeal to my vegan sensibilities. To which I reply, "Oh yeah, my intensely vegan requirements." He says, "Oh, you are a vegan?" To which I reply, "God no, I love bacon." This leads into a lecture on the health hazards of bacon including lumpy testicles and why Israelites have a lower incidence of cervical cancer. I was seething inside because I clearly know a bit more about this subject than him (particularly about cancer and female reproductive parts and HPV) because I could easily tear apart this argument like it was a piece of paper, but I bit my tongue rather than lash out because I am a lady (sometimes). I should have canceled the date at this point. I never like to be lectured, and I don't have to justify my eating habits to anyone other than my nutritionist, which I don't have because I eat a vegetable-based diet and lowered my cholesterol on my own through diet. So shut the f*** up.

Against my better judgment I meet him for dessert. I will spare you the aching details, and will bullet point the highlights below.

He stared at me when I spoke. I found it creepy.
He spoke about how his last date was "practically a 10 in every way," you know, she was brilliant and gorgeous and had just trained for a triathalon, but she just looked like his mom at 23 so it was a no-go and why are you even talking about this on a date with another person???
He asked about my "great dates this year." It was awkward, but I answered anyway.
He was rude to the host. Apparently he can't sit next to other people in restaurants because it "makes him clammy." Does he realize he is in New York City and you have no other choice? I think it's a power trip. One of my biggest deal-breakers is being rude to service.
He spoke about our next few dates, like what we would do. I was like, dude, can we just get through this one first? I am not marrying you yet (or ever).
I was searching for conversation, and when we were on the train I saw advertisements for a show I am looking forward to in January (Richard III). He asks me if I would like to go with him. In January. Dude, I am not scheduling a date with you in two months! Also, it's kinda a big show, meaning that if you didn't already have tickets last month you can't get them for a reasonable price now. Which is why I already have tickets.
When I used the word "grateful," he goes, "Grateful implies that you are religious. You aren't religious, are you?" It was rude and disdainful. My response was that 'grateful' does not imply religion, to which he responded that according to Webster's dictionary definition it does (which is patently false, I looked it up). While I would not call myself "religious," I do have a deep respect for individual belief in whatever you wish, and I can not stand to be around immovable and anti-religious people. Believe what you want and respect others. Otherwise, you will never come close to coming home to meet my family and friends. EVER.
I think it's horribly awkward when you are asked to evaluate a date when you are still on it. This isn't conference presentation or a class; it's a date. Never ask me how I think it's going mid-date.

These are just the highlights. He was also super sketchy about what he did for work, naming about seven things but never nailing down one. He also asked if I had Googled him, which I hadn't even thought of and most certainly didn't care enough to do, but it means he probs Googled me. Which creeps me out even further.

Then last night, at 12:15am, he texts me, "so, what were your thoughts?" Under no circumstances is it ever appropriate to contact me that late, and never ever EVER should you ask someone for feedback after a date. I will not be responding, but I am sure I will have more to report in the next week. Ugh...so...tired...

The Sassy Peach Premieres It In Style

2011-11-22T00:07:00.000-05:00

The Hugo marquee outside the Ziegfeld Theater.

Yes, that's whom you think it is. His name rhymes with Carton Score-Says-He. And yes, those were our seats. I can't say I love watching a movie from the front row, but here it was worth it.


Don't our 3D glasses make us look like the famous director? Ok, never mind, you're right. We are much cuter.

Happy Friday!

2011-11-18T09:02:00.001-05:00

I am at present on a bus en route to Boston. It was an early morning, but I am looking forward to my 36 hours there.

If you have a suggestion of something I absolutely have to do tomorrow, tweet me (@niccilor). I want to sit on Harvard Square and feel smart, maybe pick out a PFH (Potential Future Husband) or create a new social network. 'Cause I am so technological and all.

Have a great weekend, kids!

- If there are typos, I blame autocorrect. Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch.

E/E

2011-11-17T10:39:00.001-05:00

Today's post is so ridiculous I can't stop laughing as I think how to explain this...

Ok, so I am on this new matchmaking website. (Which I am now really super over right now after I got an email from my person telling me that I should take off one of my headshots where I am making a goofy face because it's "not doing anything for me," to which my response is that it's me--I should try to be something I'm not to get a date? No, thank you. I will be me the whole time [rather than a facsimile of me] because, well, one day a special fella is going to have to figure out anyway, and it's a lot of work to pretend to be practically perfect in every way to only come clean later.)

Anyway, I digress. So this one guy kinda caught my eye, my matchmaker said his matchmaker thought we would hit it off, so I emailed him, and we go back and forth until he (duhn-duhn-duhhhhhh...) asks to speak on the phone. "Oh, no," I think to myself. "How am I going to get out of this one." So I reply with my usual, "I'm not a phone talker, but if you want to call to set up a date that would work." He replies, "Which would you prefer?" Huh? This guy is clearly not good at communication; the rest of his emails were perfunctory and uncommunicative and I was just overall annoyed at this point. Before I can respond, he calls and leaves a voicemail.

Some other email communication happens, and I tell him I will call him that night around 9am (I meant pm, but was doing some writing and not paying close enough attention). He writes back, "As in 5 min.? What are your work hours?" This totally didn't sit well with me. I am getting the feeling that he is nit-picky and a jerk, and I already dated one of those (no need for another, thank you). Ugh. I clear up the misunderstanding and call him that night.

He has this weird Google Voice thing where it announces that I'm calling. (WTF? Are you that self-important?) I get his voicemail, leave him one, and call it a night. I am severely over it at this point and want to drop him like a bad habit. I get a text a couple of hours later:

left phone at work. just got back.. my name's not eric...

Yup, when I left him a voicemail I called him, "Eric." His name is, "Evan." I cracked myself up. Because that's some funny stuff, y'all. This is why I hate the telephone. We have never met in person, he doesn't sign his emails with his name, and I mix up names all the time. But because he doesn't know me, he doesn't understand this. And I don't have the patience (or care enough) to take the time to explain to him that I'm not an asshole, I had just told him that I would call so I was calling even though I had enjoyed a few (read: more than three) glasses of wine. And I can't get anyone's name right ever. So I am just going to pretend none of this happened, including the emails. Whoops.

Half the Presents, Half the Fun

2011-11-16T13:55:00.000-05:00

You want to hear something that’s kind of a crock? Not kind of, it really is. One day if I am forced to get married, I will get half the presents even though I will be inviting double the people. Here’s how the math breaks down.

For every wedding I have been to, I have bought one present, from me to the couple (two people). With no date at any of these events, I have shouldered the burden of the gift. I have done this repeatedly, over and over again, for an on-average three weddings a year since 2004. I was one guest, purchasing and presenting one gift.

Now that pretty much the entirety of my friend pool is married, I will (assumedly) have to invite their significant others to my non-existent (hopefully ever) wedding. And I don’t get two presents, one for each person who comes—I will get one present per couple (meaning two people for those of you with limited vocabularies). Meaning that I invite two people, and I get one present. Even though I was one person and got them one present. This is turning out to be a mighty unfair joke. It’s like a pyramid scheme, and I’m getting screwed out of material goods.

So from here on out, every wedding I attend I will give half a present. A pair of candlesticks? You only get one, bitches. I get to keep the other one. A set of flatware? Hope you aren’t planning on having more than one of your “couple friends” over. I will create a shelf full of half-given wedding gifts and revel in it with pride.

Look At That Face

2011-11-15T09:29:00.000-05:00

How on earth could you not be in love with this animal? For real though. He is such an angel when he sleeps.

Yesterday I said to Henry, who often thinks he is Catzilla and climbs up the back of furniture as if he is a rogue CIA agent looking all dangerous and stuff, that we might need to rescue the stray kitten in our neighborhood and find it a good home. He looked at me (with his one bad ass eye) and said, "No way, Jose." I said Henry, there is no Jose here. He replied, "I now dub you Jose. I love you Mom. No siblings wanted here."

Moldy Wine

2011-11-11T09:48:00.001-05:00

I called my mom last night on my walk home from the subway, and here's how the conversation went.

Me: "Hey mamma, how would you feel about mulled wine for Thanksgiving dinner?!?"

Mom: "What wine?"

Me: "Mulled wine."

Mom: "Mold wine?"

Me: "No, mulled wine."

Mom: "Why would we serve moldy wine?"

Me: "No, mom, mulled wine, as in spices in wine heated on the stove top."

Mom: "Oh, mulled wine. I was thinking, 'Eh?' Why on earth would I ever want to drink wine with mold in it? I like mulled wine!"

Me: "Mom, you are getting old. Plus, you also just sounded like your parents there."

Obnoxious Alex

2011-11-10T08:35:00.001-05:00

After there was Anxious Bobby (squared), there was Obnoxious Alex.

I am on this dating website that uses actual human matchmakers, and I am digging it thus far. I like that I have someone to run guys by first so that I don't waste my time emailing them only to discover they want someone tall, European, with an accent. (This is true story. I stopped being tall and European in 2003.) I had my first matchmaker date last night with Sir Lancelot, but that post will have to come later. Right now it's all about Obnoxious Alex.

I get this email from OA on Monday night:

How are you i came across your profile and i would like to get to know you message me

Oh, the grammar horror. It was painful to read. But ok, let's check out his profile. Exceeeeeeept...no can do. I can't see his profile. It's set to private. So I write OA the following afternoon:

Hi Alex,
Tell me more about yourself; I can’t see your profile so the floor is yours!
Nicole

He responds Tuesday evening with a paragraph-long missive (horrid grammar included) about how he is honored to introduce himself, his name is [Obnoxious] Alex and he is such a connundrum. He loves the outdoors but doesn't mind staying in for a movie. He has to have a girl with looks--but they aren't everything. He wants someone honest yet caring--someone who is able to communicate yet can keep up with his wit and charm. And I seem like a good match for him! Oh yes, he tells me this. Then he hits send, but writes me back again thirty minutes later to ensure that I know he has now fixed his privacy settings so I can see his profile. (I swear on my life, he said those things. I have a penchant for exaggeration, but I can't make all this up!!!)

Which I most certainly click on--and I discover he is 25. As in, years of age. Like, younger than my sister. The fact that he looks like a douchebag is far less important than the idea that I was writing my name on homework while he was breast feeding in the maternity ward. (What? I was smart for my age!) Oh, and his profile is all about how a chick can be the one for him if she meets all 74 quality points he is looking for, including that part about keeping up with his wit and charm. Dude. He goes to comedy clubs. You know? Wit. Charm. Keep up.

Then, a mere 13 hours after his last email, he writes me this.

what do you think Nicole?

I think no, no, no. I despise pushy online daters. More than the age thing or even the douchebag thing, which I think is inherent in the online-dating-pushiness.

I write him back:

Hi Alex,
Thank you for getting back to me. I have to be honest with you; I am looking for someone closer to my age.
Thanks,
Nicole

I could say something about how obnoxious (haha, get it???) he is, but instead I decide to nip this shit in the bud. Or, so I thought. A few hours later:

I’ve heard that line before sadly it’s only a 4 year difference not a big deal and i don’t see why it would be.

Dude, get a grip. Are you BAHsil reincarnated? If I say I am not interested, arguing with me will not make me change my mind. Like, "Oh yeah, that's a great, solid point--let's go out. I changed my mind. Your wit and charm so won me over." Um...no. Never.

Help Me Help You

2011-11-09T09:30:00.000-05:00

I got this email from American Express this morning:

Nicole, Let Us Help You Pay Down Your Bill!

I didn't bother opening the email, because I don't understand how this "logic" works.

What are you going to do, AmEx? Pay me for being cute? Give me another credit card to transfer my money so I can run this card back up again? Eliminate my balance? Me no comprehende.

Because, you morons, I can't pay my bill down without money. It's not like I am holding out on you. I don't have the money to pay down my bill other than what I already give you every month. Geniuses.

How Does It Work, This Defriending Thing?

2011-11-08T11:04:00.000-05:00

Recently a friend of mine and I had a falling out (for lack of a better explanation) on Facebook email about a conversation that was had on my Facebook wall. (This is already sounding like ridiculous horse shit, isn't it?) I am not here to assign fault or even give you any revealing details, because it's not fair to her (it was a private conversation) and that's not the point of this post, anyway. This post is about the super-smart questions my friends bring to the conversation.

I was talking over what happened with someone who doesn't know the above mentioned friend (and I still think she is one, by the way), and I mentioned that this fallen-out friend had defriended me on Facebook. (Unfriended? Exfriended? Whatever the correct terminology is!) I was not offended--it was certainly her prerogative to do as she wished and I respect her decision. So anyway, I was talking to Jackie about it, and Jackie brought up a good point. "I have an odd but important question," she says. "If someone de-friends you on Facebook, do they de-friend you in real life? How does this work?"

Jackie had a very good point to which I had no answer. I was not and am still not not sure. There is a very funny article about Defriending if you click the link, and I find it very funny and enjoyable. (The article, not the defriending question.) But back to Jackie's inquiry. I am not sure of the answer. I have been defriended before, and I have certainly done defriending myself. Frankly, I rarely notice that I have been defriended unless I specifically look for someone. But when a real-life friend defriends you, does that mean the real-life friendship is over, or just the electronic social media one that isn't really all that real in the first place?

This is a question that I can guarantee you our generation never thought about prior to age 25 and/or the invention of Facebook (whichever came first for you). It just complicates things and brings on ridiculous blog posts like this one, which I hope made you think. Maybe you have an answer you want to share, or maybe you are just as confused about the intensity social media as I am.

Excessing Recyclers Need Not Apply

2011-11-07T14:03:00.001-05:00

I got a message last night from someone who is a prophet of moog (???), who liked my profile. So this morning I clicked on his profile pic and read through what he wrote. It's not good news.

He doesn't like excessive recyclers. Ok, so you only like "partial recyclers?" Like what, cans are ok, bottles are good, but if you try to recycle your paper it's over! Trees don't need help, y'all. They replenish fast enough on their own. I don't understand this. Fine, so you don't want a crunchy hippie who wears hemp and sings around a campfire. But you don't want someone who recycles too much? For real? I had no clue there was such thing as an "excessive recycler." Apparently the Prophet of Moog feels there is. And I am afraid that I fall into this category, folks. Hi everyone, my name is Nicci and I am an excessive recycler. (Hi, Nicci.)

He then goes on to say that he will not accept any "Obamanoids." My poor editing program on this blog doesn't understand what that word means. In replacement it suggests "Amandi's," "Ozymandia," and "Osmond's" among other choices. Apparently if you voted for Obama, he will not be interested in you. This means that you will not be able to have a rational and intelligent discussion with him because it's Ron Paul all the way, y'all. There is no other candidate. Go team!

How do these people find me??? How on earth did Prophet of Moog read my profile and think, "Yeah, this girl likes to throw shit away in a trash can, like a real red-blooded American?" Let's slam some Coors Light and crush the cans on our heads for a first date. Then we will throw them away in the trash can. 'Cause that's how real men do it.

Paper or Plastic?

2011-11-04T09:22:00.000-04:00

The bagging ladies at my grocery store hate me and refuse to even look at me because I don't take their bags. I hate plastic bags and only keep enough in my house to use in my garbage can or to "take care" of the litter box, so when I go to the grocery I don't want to take a double-bagged sheet of plastic home to hold three cans of cat food. It's such a waste. And they always double bag, even if you are buying a single apple, because, you know, it would really suck if that apple was so heavy that it will tear a hole in the plastic bag. One would think that instead of using two bags all the time that management would be like, "Hey, you know what might save money? If we spent it on better bags so we would only use one at a time!" But that doesn't happen so now my bagging ladies hate me.

Every time I go through the line and I say, "I will just throw my stuff in here," referencing my purse, the bagging lady gets super huffy and gets all stank-eye on me like I just kicked her puppy or something. Then often she (and it's always a "she") starts taking out her tip money and counting it in order to remind me that I am not tipping her for not bagging my groceries in double bagged yellow plastic. Even when I bring my own cloth sack, they refuse to pack it without really thinking that I would tip you if you would bag in my cloth bag. But no, that doesn't occur to them so I bag my own groceries, then they ignore me even when I say, "Thank you!" when I leave the line. They ignore my thanks. That's not really neighborly, now is it?

There is no need to be bitter because I don't want your bags. It's not personal, it's not like your bags aren't good enough. I just don't need a ton of plastic hanging around with nothing to do in my house except tempt Henry the One-Eyed Wonder Cat to rustle it in the morning so that I will wake up and give him his Fancy Feast which, funny enough, came in said plastic bag. It's not personal, ladies.

The Perfect

2011-11-02T13:22:00.000-04:00

A few years ago I had a crazy boss, and one afternoon she and I took a lunch with our consultant because I had a desire to improve my program (silly rabbit...). I only kinda respected our consultant; I didn't always agree with what she suggested (quite bluntly), but I respected her history in arts education even until I realized she was full of crap, but that's another story for another day.

But this post is about inappropriate things said by those above me. We were talking about my program, and I said something to the effect of, "In a perfect world..." to which our consultant replied, "Wouldn't the perfect be nice?"

Then my boss chimed in:

[imagine hand motions and an excited voice during the last section of this speech]

"We are always searching for the perfect. The perfect apartment, the perfect job, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect orgasm. The perfect, the perfect, the perfect!"

I couldn't believe it. Did she really just say that? In front of me? I realize that the consultant is one of her best friends, but how inappropriate was that???

Irrelevant!

2011-10-31T11:03:00.000-04:00

Apparently I don't care enough. Or so says an online dating website. I was answering quiz questions about my preferences on just about everything, and here is the response that popped up:

Try marking more questions as important!

Our matching system works because we find people who care about the same things you do. Marking lots of questions as ‘irrelevant’ doesn’t help us find your potential matches.

The more questions you mark as important, the more you’ll like your matches—and the less you’ll sit through dates with people you can’t stand!

— Staff Robot

Yup, folks, that's right. The Staff Robot doesn't think that I care enough. These quizzes give you two choices; for example, one question asked me if I enjoyed talking politics. I click the "yes" button, then click both "yes" and "no" for answers I will accept from someone, because really, I don't care whether or not he enjoys talking politics or not. If he does, we'll talk politics. If not, we'll talk something else, like basket weaving. I usually click "irrelevant" on the level of importance on these questions because, seriously, I don't care if my partner is kinkier than me or if he can spell "maleficent" correctly or any other thing these silly user-generated questions brings up.

But apprently the website cares that I don't care. So now I care deeply about everything. I care whether he thinks morality is universal or relative, I care whether or not he would like to be weird or normal, and clearly care immensely about whether or not he believes in government subsidized food programs. I mean, hey, wouldn't you if some computer generated avatar just told you that you suck?

Not an @$$hole

2011-10-27T10:24:00.000-04:00

I am not an asshole. This means that sometimes I have a hard week because things affect me.

I was mean to someone on the subway. And I felt really bad. Then karma got me back when some woman tripped me on the street...on purpose. True story. After I left the deli and merged into the crowd, she stuck her foot out and tripped me from behind. She muttered under her breath, "That's what you get." Seriously? I was just body checked back to middle school. She must not have liked my down vest.

Last night I had dinner with my friend Jim (hi, Jim!), and he said something very poignant. He said that we must get walked over sometimes because we aren't assholes. And I think he's right.

On my way home, I swung by the grocery to pick up some milk and I was passing by the apartments on my right, a man on the third floor was abusing his wife. With the window open, no less. The words that he said to her were so heinous I don't want to repeat them here. It broke my heart for many reasons, not the least of which was because there was nothing I could do.

Sometimes I wish I were more hard-hearted so that things like this or the woman who did the tripping wouldn't bother me.

My Brother The Klepto

2011-10-26T13:27:00.001-04:00

On Saturday night I was hitting the sauce before work (oh, come on, don't act surprised--you know house managing is so much easier after a glass of wine...I care less), and I called my mom for a chat. Nothing screams "relaxed" like a glass of cheap red and gossiping about the family.

My brother calls her on the other line and Mom tells me she will call me later. A few minutes pass and she sends me this text:

"Someone took Ryans jacket at the wedding. So Ryan took his. He is working out the trade. Have a good night. I love you."

Funniest shit ever. First of all, my brother is a riot. This doesn't surprise me, but my mom is just so, like, whatevs. You know, just a typical Saturday evening in the Lorenzetti household.

So I write back, "Best. Text. Ever."

She responds, "Really? The best?"

To which I reply, "Do you have any idea how funny that is? You say it so nonchalantly. Like, your brother sought out revenge on a drunk klepto. He's making it right though."

This is her response: "Such a good boy."

I love my mom.

- If there are typos, I blame autocorrect. Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch.

Lies, I Tell You

2011-10-25T08:53:00.000-04:00

I pass by a store font church on my way to and from the subway. They have this book in the window with the subheading as such.

"What if you are an object of unstoppable love?"

Wait--you are telling me I'M NOT?!? I was mislead!!!

The Return of Anxious Bobby

2011-10-24T10:10:00.000-04:00

Oh, boy howdy, I do not even know how to begin to tell you guys this. I am half embarrassed, half so completely amused that I can't stop giggling. Let's get down to business.

The other night while house managing I was tired of reading my book (it was a 3.5 hour show, which lent itself to a solid 2 hours of book-goodness each night) so I decided to hop on the dating website I have been on for a while and rate some guys. There is no pastime I enjoy more than judging other people.

So I rate some guys, which apparently alerts them when I rate them a 4 or 5 star rating, and one of them emails me to say introduce himself. I write him back a perfunctory email, and when I receive his response it doesn't sit with me well. It's like I have read this before. What was irking me was the repetitiveness of his response with his first email; he was asking generally the same questions I had already answered in my response. I sat on it for a day before writing back.

This morning I am still curious, so I go through my old messages and see we have communicated before, and I never wrote back because...it's Anxious Bobby! I swear. He even wrote me the same opening email. If you want to read it, just head to the original post. Nothing has changed.

I am horrified that I have now done enough dating through the inter-web that I can no longer recognize men that I have been ignoring. Yes, folks, it's true. I thought I hit a low point with Bahhhhhhh-sil, but apparently I can go even deeper into the earth.

Bless my heart.

Design Goddess

2011-10-20T12:22:00.000-04:00

I need to start a line of stuff. To sell at a high end store like Macy's or Kohl's. You know, like Martha does.

It might end up at TJ Maxx, but I can dig that. I love my some TJ Maxx. But that's not the point of this thought process.

I need to find additional income, and I am too lazy to really look for it. I am enjoying having free weekends far too much to actually do manual labor like house manage or retail. I would rather sit on my behind and design stuff. I don't really have any design experience with home goods, so that's out of the question. I am also not really adept at sewing machines, so a clothing line isn't a great idea either.

If you can think of something I would be good at designing, holler at me. Artisan cheeses, perhaps?

Meal Time for Henry

2011-10-19T10:20:00.000-04:00

I recently decided to switch Henry to wet food based on the fact that cats really aren't supposed to eat carbs, and that is all dry food is made of (read: corn products--shocker, huh?). Turns out cats should be eating a raw meat diet that is composed of 80% water. No wonder Henry has a "food gut" that looks like he enjoyed a few extra tall pilsner's the evening before.

Now that I have been feeding him Fancy Feast while trying to figure out how to make food for him at home, he already looks so much better and is so much sweeter in the mornings when asking for food. He looooooves his Fancy Feast. He smacks his lips, too. It's kind of adorable.

Last night he tried to play with his wet food like he did with the dry food. He does this thing where he reaches his paw into the bowl and pulls out a single piece of kibble, then bats it around the studio floor and attacks it before eating it. Such a good little hunter/gatherer. Not going to lie, it's mighty hilarious and it provides me with hours of entertainment in the evening. Well, he can't quite do it with the wet food, but it is equally hilarious to watch him pull out a piece of wet food then lick his paw because it's dirty, then have the food stick again because it doesn't roll like the kibble. Wonderful fun, I tell you.

The best part though? It takes him upwards of two hours to eat a few ounces of food. He no longer shoves food down his through to meet cravings! And he is full on distracted that whole time, pushing the can around the floor with his cute little pink button nose. It's the best thing ever.

Dating In Context

2011-10-18T14:33:00.000-04:00

I got to talking with a good friend the other night ("Hi, KR!"), and a snippet of our conversation (her end) went like this:

"And now I'm just overanalyzing things. Did I say the right thing? Did [he] like me? Think I'm good enough? Really, this could be it. There has been a trend--almost all action has happened on Fridays, so I think I will get a call in a couple of days."

(Don't worry Karen, this note will make it clear that it's not a direct quote. Everyone, this is not a direct quote. It's a summary, but pretty much the same thing as what actually happened.)

Karen wasn't talking about dating though. If she were that would be, like, super awkward since she's been married for ~~400~~ 8 years. No, Karen was talking about a job interview.*

I have said for years that dating is like interviewing for jobs--you have to get dressed up, you have to smile a lot, you can't get too drunk, and you have to be on your best behavior. You are seeing if you are a fit for him (or her!), and vice versa. You know, or at least you should know, that if you see something you don't like that it will never get better, it will only get worse, so quit looking on the sunny side of the street. It's a "fit test," and you are the fit model.

The funniest (and also most painful) part? You only get good at it with practice. There's no book you can read (sorry, myriad of authors who write dating tip books [gag]), and there's no mirror you can truly practice on (like you practiced for your first kiss all those years ago--you know who you are). You just have to dive in and go for it. Until you retire like me, anyway.

So I will raise my glass of red (because you can really only have one in these circumstances) and give a big ol' cheers to all of ~~you~~ us who are still dating and all of you (not me!) who are looking for new jobs. I don't envy you, that's for sure.

*Note the insertion of "he" in the quote above. Replace one word, the context completely changes.

Pants On The Ground

2011-10-13T19:33:00.000-04:00

Today on my way to work, my usual commute was disrupted by Pants On The Ground. Not your beloved songster from Atlanta, mind you, but a crazy man with his pants on the ground. As in around his ankles, no undies, standing on the street corner with his arms above his head. Not being arrested, or even talking to any one in particular, just pants on the ground, arms in the air, talking to himself.

Nothing like your friendly neighborhood crazy to make your morning complete.

To Spawn Or Not To Spawn

2011-10-12T10:14:00.000-04:00

Yesterday World War III broke out at work, and I'm not talking my office job. The nine-year-old I babysit went all Mean Girls all me when I wouldn't give her the answer to her math homework. And not just, "I'm mad at you because you are making me learn things," but like, "You are stupid and ugly and my grandma has a better memory than you." That is a direct quote.

Babies are cute. They are super cute. Mega cute. And you can get baby jeggings for them, which I think might be worth spawning for. I once read somewhere (and it's hard to pin down where because I never stop reading) that the reason babies are ridiculously cute is because parents would abandon them otherwise, evolutionarily speaking. Then by the time they start mouthing off, you are already attached and can't physically abandon them because you are emotionally conjoined. I agree with this evolutionary observation, as evidenced by my parents not dropping me off on the side of a freeway in 1994 when I very much deserved to be.

I see my friend's young kids, and they are super adorable and they make me think, "Yeah, you know, maybe I should listen to my biological clock and have babies before age 40." Then I babysit and think, "Having children is an awful idea--maybe the worst ever." I tried to coax my mom into an agreement where I pop out a grandkid for her, raise it until six or so, then hand it off to her until the kid is emancipated at 18. She didn't go for this.

Kids are complicated. I think if I just stay single I will never have the legitimate urge to spawn.

Alcoholic Much?

2011-10-11T10:54:00.000-04:00

This morning the woman next to me was drinking a beer out of a paper bag. This does actually happen.

She wasn't homeless or shabby looking at all. She looked like she was going to work. She had her reusable bag next to her and looked like you and me. Just with a green beer-filled bottle full of alcohol-goodness for breakfast.

Welcome to New York, y'all.

Public Service Announcement: October

2011-10-07T15:35:00.000-04:00

Ladies of the world:

Despite whatever high-end name you have bedazzled on it--velour tracksuits and sweatsuits are never appropriate in public. They are trashy and uncalled for. If you leave your home in the morning, please get dressed. Preferably in clothes that are made for public consumption.

For example, you would wear jeans. You could also wear leggings, although please keep in mind they are not pants and should also have something over them covering your rear end.

But most importantly, stop wearing velour pajamas in public. It's gross.

Dating Standards

2011-10-06T10:10:00.000-04:00

I have been going back and forth online with this guy, and he suggested speaking on the phone. I am not a phone-talker with online dates. I just think it's a waste of time for us to speak for an hour, then go on a date and it not work out. I would just rather hit up the date. Also, I can't tell if I am attracted to you on the phone, so that doesn't really work out for me. I am big into pheromones. Other people's pheromones in conjunction with mine. And no, Mom, I won't grow to be attracted to him. Anyway.

I just know it isn't going to work out when the guy asks to speak on the phone. It just means that we are on different wavelengths, and statistically speaking it's never worked out with anyone who has asked to speak on the phone. I am, like, 0 for 52 or something like that. (I would also like to point out, as a point of reference, that it has also never worked out with anyone I met online, or anyone at all, really, so I might want to reconsider my standards.)

A friend and I are talking, and I tell her that, disappointingly, he asked the dreaded question. "Want to talk on the phone sometime?" Another one bites the dust.

Her reply: "Just don't end up in a closet smoking pot with him, then find out he only has three fingers."

Happy Birthday, Jackie!

2011-10-05T11:39:00.000-04:00

In honor of my amazing friend Jackie's induction in to Club 2-9 today, I would like to offer her a birthday post.

Jackie, you will always be welcome to take ridiculous amounts of pictures of cathedrals.

I appreciate your attempt at keeping me dry by purchasing me a poncho. Just because it made me sad to wear plastic on my body doesn't mean I love you any less.

Happy birthday, awesome friend. I adore you. Danke, as well.

Where's Henry?

2011-10-04T09:00:00.000-04:00

When I leave home in the morning, Henry often gives me a look of confusion and desperation. The other morning, this is what I got instead. It was a game of "Where's Henry?"

I Love To Dance

2011-10-03T10:15:00.000-04:00

I dance when no one's watching.

Let me expound.

This isn't like that silly-inspirational-bullshit saying, "Dance like no one's watching." I do that too, but that's not what I'm talking about.

I dance when no one's watching. Oh sure, I often dance when people are watching too, but I do my best moves in private. The best, you ask? Tell me more, you say. In the morning in the office, when I am the first one here. Always in soft shoes so the crazy real-estate dudes downstairs don't come up and yell at me.

My "putting lunch away in the fridge" dance moves will slay you.

Want to Meet In New Jersey?

2011-09-30T10:34:00.000-04:00

I think my time on this dating website is not long for this world. Here is an exchange I just survived.

So there is this guy John, and we write back and forth a bit. I am not engaged at all by his writing. (Come on, people, I am a reader and a writer so I need to be engaged by what I am reading. I can feel Matt nodding his head in agreement right now.) But ok, fine, some people just aren't good at expressing themselves in words.

But then he wants to talk on the phone. I don't do that. So I write back that I am not much of a phone talker; maybe we can meet up for a drink instead. He writes back:

Hi Nicole,

How's it going? Sure, I'd like to meet up for a drink or dinner with you. Do you think you'll be venturing into Northern NJ anytime over the next week or so? Maybe we could meet somewhere in East Brunswick or North Brunswick in NJ? Let me know what you think....you can text/call me at XXX-XXX-XXXX if you'd like.

Have a great night,

John

Ummm...no. I will not be going to New Jersey anywhere for a date. I would like to insert here that there is nothing wrong with NJ. I have wonderful friends who live there (Jaime and George, Jennifer and Mike) and I would gladly go to NJ for them. I will not, however, under any circumstances, leave my city for a date. With someone I am not even excited about.

GO TO NEW JERSEY FOR A DATE?!? What the hell is he thinking? I live in NEW YORK CITY for crying out loud! Going to another state requires me to purchase a different form of payment for a different form of transportation!!! What reason on this planet would I have for being in Brunswick, whether it's East, West, Left, or Right?!?

And you are courting me!!! You should offer to come to me, you selfish prick. Are you so lazy that you just want to walk out of your house to meet me, requiring me to travel an hour to see you? What, do you think we will get dinner then you will take me home for first date sex? Screw you and your horny notions. I don't do that kind of thing (often).

Thanks, but no thanks. I wrote back that I am rarely in New Jersey so I didn't think this would work out. Dating Retirement will stay as is for the present.

Open Relationship

2011-09-28T10:47:00.000-04:00

A few months back, my dear friend (whom I will call Willfred here to protect her identity) decided she wanted to set me up with her friend Damon*. She touts his good qualities--he ran away to join the circus right after high school, then found himself and entered med school (or some variant) after college graduation. He is just right for me, and it doesn't hurt that he lives in Atlanta so I will fall in love and move home. All of this sounds great, so I give my go-ahead.

I have to take a last-minute trip home to say goodbye to my grandmother, so we make plans for the big date then. So I do what every normal, red-blooded, twenty-first century single lady does and I do some Facebook research. Now, some people call this stalking, but I call it "internet research." I find his profile.

First and foremost, he doesn't understand privacy settings and their importance in our everyday world. I can see everything. Including...his relationship status. Which is, "In a relationship." With a real-live girl. Whose profile picture shows the two of them happy as clams. My jaw drops.

I text Willfred: "Is Damon in a relationship???"

She replies, "Not exactly."

What do you mean "not exactly"? Either you are or you aren't!

I text back, "Expound."

She goes on to tell me in a phone conversation later that evening that the relationship isn't working and they are allowed to see other people. I ask if the girlfriend knows they are allowed to see other people. Willfred says she doesn't know.

Close match.

*Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the innocent and the scumbags. Not always the same people.

It Gets Better

2011-09-27T09:59:00.000-04:00

We all know it does, but it's hard to see when you are a teenager.

This morning I decided to chill and drink my coffee, and I had the Today Show on. Jamey Rodemeyer's amazingly strong parents were interviewed by Ann, and I was moved to tears. Jamey is the young man who took his life two weeks ago after severe bullying regarding his sexuality. What broke my heart the most was hearing that at a school event following his death, his sister and his friends started chanting his name in memory, and in retaliation several other students started chanting that he was better off dead, which is similar to many posts he received prior to his death. Seriously???

Here is where my rant comes starts: Where are the parents of these awful children? Why are they not monitoring their child's internet usage? What are they doing when they hear that their child has written, "You are better off dead," on someone's internet anything? If my child were to do that, there is a slight chance someone would have to call child services. Where are these parents, and why is it acceptable in their household to say things such as this to anyone, regardless of the reason?

In my household growing up, these things were unacceptable. My parents never had to say that it was, or why it was, we just never said such things. I never heard racial slurs until I was an adult and heard my grandfather say the n-word. I was shocked beyond belief, because I never had any clue. Maybe I was naive, maybe I have always had too much of a conscience, or maybe I have just always cared a little too much. Hell, I can't even handle the thought of a mouse being caught in a trap. I am sensitive, ok?

My parents raised me to respect and care for others regardless of their race, color, or creed. (Sexuality wasn't really discussed in the '80's, so you can give them a break on that.) It was never overt, and I can never remember talking about it, but I do remember being bullied. I think we can all recall a time when we were. But I do remember having respect for humans instilled in me.

So where are these parents? Why are they so not present that they don't even know they are raising future Americans who rely on bigotry and hate to feel superior?

The worst thought about all of this? Maybe they already do know. And maybe they don't care. This thought makes me want to jump ship and move to Europe.

I am amazed, truly, by Jamey's parents and their crusade to not let their son die in vain. They are an inspiration, and I admire their strength and resolve. Watching them this morning made me want to be a better person. If I could, I would thank them profoundly for sharing their story and in turn, their son.

Dance Dance Rat-olution

2011-09-26T09:41:00.000-04:00

I love dancing rodents.

Let me explain.

Ever since first seeing those electronic toys in the late '90's that were hamsters who rocked out to whatever song you wanted to (remember those?!?), I have been in love with rodents that dance. Toys, animations, green screen, costumed, whatever. I love dancing rodents.

Sure, cats are cute and so are dogs. But they don't have what it takes to captivate me for hours. There is even a website devoted to hamsters dancing. Seriously. Laura and Ryan, you know what to get me for Christmas this year.

Yesterday I treated myself to a movie after having to do some work in the office, and this commercial came on. I can't get enough. I went home and watched it three times. Dancing hamsters, people! They are amazing.

Lost Henry

2011-09-23T09:55:00.000-04:00

A couple of nights ago my neighbor, Vivian, stopped by on her way home from work. We chatted while I cooked up and served some shisito peppers and we let the cats (she has two) meet in the hallway. Henry and Dexter, the cat upstairs, are like long lost brothers when they get back together. It's quite cute.

We eventually go our separate ways, saying goodbye closing our doors. Henry is weird sometimes ("sometimes," you ask...) and he was hiding when I locked up.

A few minutes later I hear a knock on my door, and open it up knowing that it's Viv. But I was not expecting her to say, "Missing something?" While holding my cat in her arms. I crack up at the sight.

Yup, Henry jumped ship and snuck upstairs while we were talking in the hall. Thank you, Vivian, for bringing my boy back much to his chagrin.

It's Not Me, It's You

2011-09-22T10:21:00.000-04:00

As we move into fall and a season of renewal, I have some news to share.

I am breaking up. With television shows.

Look, it's not me, it's you. If things were different...if I had more free time...less brain activity...maybe this would work out. But things have to change.

Glee: The moment I knew it was over was when you finally came to New York--we were in the same city for once!--and you insulted my musical theatre idols, Comden and Green. You took their most famous song and ripped it to shreds, and I have never been so insulted on a date. Well, I have, but I mostly concerned with you. It's been a fun two years, but I think we worked better in the rosy-hued glasses I wore in the first year of our relationship.

The Office: Sometimes relationships just get old and stale, my friend. I still love you deeply, but it's time. You will always be a part of me, and I will think of you fondly. I just think we are better as friends.

Brothers and Sisters: I think you are really nice, and you share some really good stories--but you are just too much drama for me. We can't have just a simple conversation; it always has to turn into an argument. And I can't live my life that way. I have to be the drama queen, I can't be with one.

Some relationships are still working well...

Bones: Well, now that she's knocked up, I feel like I should stick around. For the baby and all.

How I Met Your Mother: Dinner conversation is never boring. Plus, I like your friends.

30 Rock and Parks and Recreation: Well, duh. We are like two peas in a pod! Best friends forever, that's for sure.

And, finally, I have agreed to a few new dates this season...

The Playboy Club: It was a good date, but I am not feeling the chemistry. Thanks for dinner, though.

Up All Night: The first two dates went very well, but I think you still need to find yourself. But I am definitely looking forward to our third. I think you are worth sticking by.

2 Broke Girls: This rowdy little piece is great for a weekend out. You know, you have your post-work dinner date, you have your Sunday in the park date, but this is your, "Oh hell, I gots to get out Saturday night and get wasted" date. And it makes me want to go ahead and pencil in every Saturday night for the rest of the season.

Most of all, I am thoroughly impressed with Two and a Half Men. You, bud, have stepped up the game. You booked a four star hotel room to celebrate our anniversary and then you ordered room service. I will definitely be sticking with you in the long run.

Keep Moving, Henry

2011-09-21T10:10:00.000-04:00

This morning, around 6am, I got very angry at Henry. He is super active in the morning and I often sleep with earplugs in to not wake up every 10 minutes. I couldn't find my earplugs last night, so a 6am wake up call it was.

After I make my coffee and sit down, Henry comes and sit beside me. I say to him, "Look Henry, we need to talk. Why do you have to be so bad in the morning?"

He replies, "I am good bad, Mom."

"No, Henry, you can't be like that in the mornings. It makes me grumpy. Why do you have to be good bad? Why can't you just be a good kitty?"

Henry responds, "Mom, ain't nothing gonna break my stride. Ain't nothing gonna hold me down, oh no. I've got to keep on moving."

When did Henry start listening to soft rock? Is he a Matthew Wilder fan?

(Lyrics from "Break My Stride," Matthew Wilder, 1983.)

TwitterVerse

2011-09-20T09:23:00.000-04:00

That's right kids, you have heard correctly.

I HAVE JOINED THE TWITTERVERSE!

I gave in, joined the twenty-first century, and signed up. It's great to have a place to share my completely irreverent thoughts. In fact, I might even do that cool thing where I put them on the side of my blog. Who knows?

Follow me: @niccilor

Nice Feet

2011-09-19T09:25:00.000-04:00

Right after I graduated from college I moved back home with my parents and took an internship with the A, Atlanta's mammoth theatre company. Since I was working in Midtown and living in the suburbs, I took (s)MARTA, the public transportation system. I would drive to (s)MARTA then take the train in to the A to avoid paying $12 a day to park.

One afternoon I was in a horrible mood so I slipped on my sunglasses and stared out the window on the train. I pull out my phone to see if I have a text from a friend I was meeting for dinner. The guy across from me, a rail-thin dark skinned young man with sagging pants and a do-rag goes, "I have that phone." This is the time to note that my phone is the super cheap Nokia that you get with proof-of-purchase or contract signing or whatever; it is certainly no iPhone (which is still five years away anyway). I say, "Thanks, it was the free phone." I continue with my stank-face look behind my sunglasses.

"Nice feet," comes his next comment. WHATTHEWHAT???, I am thinking. I have on a pair of the chinese slippers that were super popular in New York City in 2003, and am frankly freaked out that someone notices my nice feet. I mean, I do take really good care of my puppies...but that's not the point. It's just...weird. I say thank you. More silence ensues.

Mr. Do-Rag says, "What you doing all the way up here?" He is referring to why I am heading toward the suburbs. I say, "I just graduated from college and am living with my parents for now; it's a segue."

"A what?," he asks. Oh dear. Oooooooh, dear. I reply, "A, like, transition." "Oh," he replies nodding like I am Thoreau or something.

The train pulls in. Thank gawd. I try to get off as fast as possible while looking busy texting; it seems to work most of the time. But not this one. Mr. Do-Rag catches up to me and says, "Hey, you got a boyfriend?" While the perpetual real-life answer to this question is, "Well duh, no," the actual answer for would-be-suitors is always a resounding, "YES."

So I reply, "Yes, I do." To which he runs his eyes up and down my body, undresses me with his eyes, and says, "Lucky man." And walks off.

Segue, anyone?

Tax Deductible Dating

2011-09-16T12:16:00.000-04:00

I am going to start taking my dating expenses off my taxes. This is costing me quite a bit of money and it is, after all, work. I mean, it's not like it's easy or anything. Like most other jobs, it requires me to: look nice in appropriate wear; put my best, most optimistic face forward; and smile and nod a lot at people who are blowing smoke up my rear. Thankfully my current job is a bit more laid back than this (and I happen to like it, too), but for the most part you know this is how you roll.

Hence, why I feel I have the right to make my dating tax deductible. I would guess I spend somewhere around $250 a year paying for my own dinner, drinks, and entertainment while "interviewing" these subjects for the role of "boyfriend," "partner," and "PFH" (Potential Future Husband), and I should receive some sort of compensatory reward for my efforts. Hence, tax deduction. Instead of proposing a piece of legislation, however, I am just going to do it. I think I have a pretty persuasive case.

Sighing

2011-09-15T09:26:00.000-04:00

This morning when I logged on to my email, this subject line caught my attention:

niccilor, susquatch is checking you out right now!

You have a lot of questions right now, understandably so. Some of these might include, but are not limited to:
1. Who is niccilor?
2. Why would a susquatch be checking you out?
3. What is a susquatch?
4. How do you make it go away?
5. And who the hell was this email from anyway?

I have some answers for you.
1. I am niccilor. It's a long story, but I stupidly chose this name for myself more than a decade ago and I have a hard time remembering names and passwords, so this is the one I always use. No, I won't tell you my password.
2. "susquatch" is the user name on a dating website. Clearly a strong and virile suitor.
3. A susquatch is, as defined by this website, a "terrestrial animal, possibly a subspecies of humanity." This now begs a new question, which is: Did this strong and virile suitor mean to be a "susquatch," or did he mean to be a "sasquatch," which is Bigfoot? Either way, I am concerned.
4. Which one? The susquatch or the sasquatch? Either way I figured I would just run.
5. This email is from a dating website I am on. It's free, what can I say?

Is it any surprise that I am retired from dating? I mean, really?

The Lone Potato

2011-09-14T09:15:00.000-04:00

Yesterday when I left my office there was a potato in the middle of sidewalk. Everyone was just walking around it, pretending like it wasn't there.

It was a potato. Just sitting on the sidewalk.

Where did it come from? Did someone drop it? Will this prevent said person from making the gratin they are so looking forward to this week?

Was it dropped by a delivery man? Will the store it was supposed to arrive at be charged for it even thought it is suntanning on a sidewalk in Manhattan?

What happened to the potato after I left it behind? Did someone eventually pick it up? Throw it away? Take it home, clean it, and end up with a fully loaded baked potato?

What happens to lost vegetables in New York City?

My Dad is My Drug Pusher

2011-09-13T14:02:00.000-04:00

For those of you who do not know about my drug woes, here is the shortened version:

Once upon a time, a young (beautiful) woman was working as a freelancer and bought her own individual insurance policy. One hard day, the government screwed up a health care bill, passed it, and her insurance company (being the @$$holes they are) raised her premium to an outrageous number. So she had to switch plans to the cheapest one that will only cover a true emergency, such as the zombie apocalypse. This also means she was saddled with a $1,000 prescription deductible. These remain dark days, indeed.

Today I have been rather anxious (and in the medical sense, not the worrying sense) and I don't know why. Reverse culture shock? I wouldn't be surprised. So I go to knock back a Xanax. I am a sporadic user, only as needed. In fact, it has taken me three years to get through a full prescription.

But now I am down to 2 pills. This is not good, I think to myself. The cost of a doctor's visit plus the prescription--and remember, I have to pay full price for the prescription due to my deductible; no co-pay here--would be outlandish. Probably over $200. That's not worth it. But there are times where I just need the little white pill.

So I call Dad. He is also a sporadic Xanax user, and I ask him to refill his Rx for me. And he is so game. After all, he has grown-up insurance.

My dad is now my drug pusher.

I'm Back!

2011-09-12T13:59:00.000-04:00

I am home from Jackie and Nicci Take Europe Volume II: BeNeLux. I am madly in love with Amsterdam, and I had a great time everywhere else too. Here is what our itinerary looked like.

Saturday, September 3: Koln, Germany
Sunday, September 4: Luxembourg City, Luxembourg
Monday, September 5: Kortrijk, Belgium
Tuesday, September 6: Brussels, Belgium
Wednesday, September 7: Antwerp, Belgium
Thursday, September 8 and Friday, September 9: Amsterdam, Netherlands
Saturday, September 10: Koln, Germany

[See map to below. I like to keep this blog interactive and stuff.]

We are exhausted, Jackie and I. We were delayed 3 hours in Berlin on our flight home. My body is confused as hell. But my tummy is happy.

Here is what a map of Volume II looks like.

I basically ate my way through Western Europe. The best gratin ever (covered in camembert!) in Luxembourg; the best pommes frites on earth in Brussels (covered in curry ketchup and a creamy spiced mayo--ohemgee); yummy pasta and a Trappist beer (super strong...) in Antwerp; and stroopwafel in Amsterdam.

We saw some amazing museums, and we got a private tour through the house that Anne Frank and her family hid in. We got rained on in Amsterdam and we fought off colds (real-live ones) there too. I battled pinkeye in the beginning of the trip and discovered that socialized medicine rocks my wallet. (30 euro for the doctor and antibiotic? Yes please!)

We had the best time. Jackie, you rock my world.

Newport

2011-09-09T16:06:00.000-04:00

Today Jackie and I are wrapping up our adventure in Amsterdam, so I thought I would share some pics from my trip to Newport with Camille. We had a fabulous girls weekend in Rhode Island.

Rosecliff, the mansion where Cole Porter wrote Anything Goes.

An up-close view of Rosecliff.

Just a small porch for parties.

Camille enjoys the "man parlor" of Rosecliff.

Just another simple lawn. On the water.

If this is your view from you back porch, your life doesn't suck. Vanderbilts, I am talking to you.

For the record, avacados were not part of meals in the late 19th century.

My playhouse didn't look like this. But this is what being a Vanderbilt will buy you. An Asian Playhouse Pagoda.

Marble House. Alva Vanderbilt's summer "cottage".

Another cottage. For summering, you know?

Camille and I rock the International Tennis Hall of Fame. Beautiful!

The only public grass court in the U.S.A.

Camille in front of beautiful Main Street Newport.

Me in front of beautiful Newport Vineyard.

The Cliff Walk

Belgium

2011-09-07T12:04:00.000-04:00

Today we continue our travels through Belgium. Granted, I am writing this about a week out, but I have no doubt we are having the best time ever.

While I am gone, enjoy this photo.

Miss me yet?

Times Square In Los Angeles

2011-09-05T19:24:00.000-04:00

On the Saturday of the conference in Los Angeles we took the Americans we were leading through the world of theatre to see the new Cirque show, Iris. The show was outstanding and amazing, and to be inside the Kodak was just the best thing ever.

But the area in Hollywood where these locations were, including the Chinese Theatre and Walk of Fame was the Times Square of Los Angeles. People swarming everywhere, out-of-work actors dressed as The Hulk and Captain Jack Sparrow vying for your picture money, and every tourist souvenier is on sale.

But this place is smaller, arguably more dense, and difficult to navigate. I can rest easy now that I know Angelenos also have a tourist trap they despise.

Can I mention again how amazing the show was???

- If there are typos, I blame autocorrect. Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch.

ADHD Boy

2011-09-02T10:49:00.000-04:00

I had a date last week.

When he showed up to the bar 45 minutes late (he was stuck in traffic in the Tunnel), he blew in like the lanky-ADHD-riddled boy that I am pretty sure he is.

He sat on the edge of his seat as if he was about to jet back out. Which he kind of was. He had a friend to pick up at the airport in an hour.

I felt it was a rushed job interview. There was little getting-to-know-you. There was a lot of fast talking on his end. A lot of running his fingers through his hair to push it out of his face.

He drank a 7up and vodka. Not sure how I feel about that. I think I need a man who drinks beer. Beer is manly. I drink beer. Not sure what that says about me.

The date was a wash.

Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary!

2011-08-31T10:43:00.000-04:00

Irene couldn't steal my whole birthday. I didn't make it home to Atlanta due to Hurricane Irene, which really bummed me out to the 10th degree. I miss my family and my friends, but making grown-up choices is often times necessary and all the time sucky. What can you do?

Monday night some of my amazing friends met me for dinner: Camille, Becca, Nicole, Vivian, Chelsea, and my sister Laura. I had a great time being with people I love and conversing over a couple of beers. Thank you, fabulous ladies for just being there with me. It's all I wanted. Becca C and Jaime, you were certainly missed, but we do understand--Irene most certainly got in your way!

Today Henry and I celebrate our 1st Anniversary of Awesomeness as a Power Duo. That's right--one year ago I went to look at my now-home and my mom and sister brought Henry home from a street in Brooklyn. Can you believe it? What a difference a year makes! Henry the One-Eyed Wonder Cat and I have been kickin' butt and takin' names for a year now. I love him.

Thank you all for the love and well wishes this week on my birthday. All of you mean the world to me as friends and confidantes, and I am blessed beyond belief to be surrounded by such unconditional love. Let's blow this last year of my 20's out the water. Because you ain't seen nothin' like you've seen Nicci in her 30's.

Oh, and Steph--thanks for your email. Best birthday email ever!

Mike and Nicci's Excellent Adventure: The Final Day

2011-08-27T16:06:00.000-04:00

As Hurricane Irene approaches, canceling all of my birthday plans (I will blog about this on Monday), I will leave you with the final picture from Mike and Nicci's Excellent Adventure.

Day 7

Thanks, Mike. For everything. You are an awesome friend, fabulous co-worker, and the rock of all rocks when shit hits the fan. I appreciate your diligence. Remember, the better your choices the better your chances. Keep up the good work.

I will see you all on the flip side. The flip side being Monday, after New Yorkers survive our first hurricane in like, 52 years. I might be exaggerating; it may only be 51 years. Not sure--look it up. Since you will have internet and all, and I will be hunkered down with Henry.

First Quarter Results

2011-08-26T09:53:00.000-04:00

My pride in Vice President Henry continues to grow as his first quarter reports have come in. He continues to shine in his new area of expertise, and anecdotal evidence continues to support his success.

Last evening I was on the phone with my friend Mike who is still in Los Angeles leading Americans, and Henry was going nuts around his litter box. He was clawing at it and just generally being a nutball. After Mike and I hung up, I discovered he had been chasing a bug. He hunted that thing down and beat it to a pulp. Henry = success.

The rest of the evening Henry was on high alert. My whole conversation with Matt, which I had after the bug capture, consisted of my watching Henry stalk the premises. The slightest shadow had his running and pouncing. He most definitely secured the perimeter.

When I went to brush my teeth, he cleared the area first to ensure that his duties were being met. He is super awesome at this new role, and he is living up to expectations set forth in the job interview. Bravo, Henry. Keep up the good work and you will see a promotion before you know it!

The Great Earthquake of 2011

2011-08-24T13:43:00.000-04:00

I would be remiss if I did not exalt the fact that I survived The Great Earthquake of 2011. It felt like a rumbly in my tumbly, and one co-worker didn't even notice the ground shaking. She thought she farted. True story.

We were in our co-workers basement apartment retreating for work. It was small and unobtrusive, but we felt it. And then I got panicky.

Here's the deal...

The event itself wasn't traumatic. But I read this book some time ago called The World Without Us, and it completely freaked me out. It's a great book, and you should read it. If you are ok getting freaked out. Alan Weisman tells readers what will happen to NYC subways if an earthquake or other large disaster were to occur. And now I get panicky if my subway car even stops for a few seconds. I read this book almost three years ago. It's been a long three years.

One more thing before I go...you should find out more info on NYC earthquakes. No wonder I am constantly panicky. Xanax, please.

Mike And Nicci's Excellent Adventure

2011-08-22T18:03:00.000-04:00

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Where is Day 7, you ask? Stay tuned...

Up In The Air

2011-08-15T13:58:00.001-04:00

I want to share with you all the un-joyful I experiences at the airport on the way to Los Angeles.

As always, I checked in the day before and paid for my checked luggage. Like a good girl I printed my receipts and my boarding passes, read through the instructions for bag check, then kept everything organized. I rarely fly United Airlines so I prepared accordingly.

After my experience Wednesday morning I will fly United again when elephants are born periwinkle.

When I arrive, I have to check in at the kiosk. But I have already checked in online, I say. We don't know who you are, Customer Rep says. That's why you check my ID, I reply. No, that's not how United does things. So I have to check in AGAIN. Except the kiosk isn't reading my card, I am frustrated at the stupidity of the airline's logic, and Customer Rep is being obnoxious. I am super frustrated and get more and more flustered by her trying to take the card out of my hands. Finally I go to type in my confirmation. Number, and she says, "I will help." I say, "I will do it, please go away." Nothing is less helpful than a customer service representative who can't read social cues. If you are flustering me, go the &@$*~ away!

After I complete my wrestling with the kiosk, some counter worker comes over and says, "Nicole?" I reply yes, and he attaches th sticke to my bag and that's it. So basically United has made more work for the customer in order to make life easier on their counter people. Glad my business's money is going to good use!

So then I check the screens for my flight and can't find it listed anywhere at Gate C. So I walk over to Gate D to no avail. I ask the Army men and they are clueless too. I head back to Gate C and inquire with someone by security. It turns out United is far too important to important to share the Departures screen with everyone else; they need to have their OWN screen in an obscure location that is difficult to find. Of course! And on top of this, it'd hard to figure out because my flight apparently has FOUR DIFFERENT FLIGHT NUMBERS! So the number keeps changing. Brilliant, United.

At this point I had been at the airport for less than a half hour. United Airlines, you made my morning frustrating and miserable. I already only flew you when I had no other choice, and now I will only fly you again if you are the only airline left IN THE WORLD. And no sooner than that.

- If there are typos, I blame autocorrect. Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch.

Mike And Nicci's Excellent Adventure

2011-08-14T18:51:00.000-04:00

As Scar said, "Be prepared."

Inman Park Festival

2011-08-12T09:39:00.000-04:00

Since today is the start of our final summer conference and I am probably running around like crazy, I will leave you with this photo. E, Julia, and I went to the Inman Park Festival when I was home in the spring. We took this photo. And I love these ladies. Very, very much.

Then we participated in this fun. Such a great weekend!

Liar, Liar

2011-08-11T14:20:00.000-04:00

As a child I had a very active imagination. And by "active imagination" I mean I lied. Like, a lot. Similar to present day when I sometimes say things out loud just hear how they sound--which are not lies, just more funny because I say them with conviction then crack myself up. No, when I was a kid I told people things that were just flat-out not true to see if they would fly. And fly they did.

Like, there was the time that I swore up and down that I saw a burglar's shadow in my window in Dallas while my grandmother was staying the night. First of all, I can't remember my grandmother ever visiting. Second, the furniture was rearranged during this so-called stalking. And finally, the dead giveaway, was that the shadow looked like this:

No, you aren't seeing things. That is, in fact, the ubiquitous Neighboorhood Watch logo of the '80's. Not sure how that image ended up in what I suppose was a nightmare but felt super real. And since I told some friends that I saw a burglar outside my window, I couldn't very well go and backtrack on that, now could I? I had to roll with it. And I did, for many years. Like, until maybe last year when I finally owned up to the fact that it mayhavepossiblymaybemighthavebeen a dream.

Oh, there was also that time that my teacher told my mom how impressed she was that I had such a vivid memory. I must have been in second grade at the time, and my teacher told my mom about how I remembered tripping in New York City while we were there in December and feeling the heat of the sidewalks, even in the winter, that came from the trains below. We were in NYC that December, so it made sense. My mom was impressed that the teacher was impressed, and for years my mom had been retelling this story. Until last year, when I finally told my mom I stole that line from a Baby-sitter's Club book. Remember the Stacey McGill, the super cool New Yorker that got robbed of her super cool life in the city and was forced to move to the suburbs of Connecticut by her horrible parents? (This is adult me talking who is still bitter about her not being able to live the fabulous life she was clearly meant to live on the Upper East Side.) Yeah, that was a story Stacey told in one of the 1,892 books I read before I was 12. My mom was shocked because apparently I was very convincing.

My poor, long-suffering mother. After I secretly went to Claire's and bought myself a pair of fake glasses, I wore them to school and told my teacher that I now had to wear glasses. Frankly, if someone had told me how bad my eyesight would be in ten years I would have probably thought twice about this, but I apparently lack the gift of foresight (pun intended). Either that or I refused to believe my mom; both are plausible explanations. Anyhow, my teacher (don't worry, it was a different one than the story before) spoke with my mom soon after the glasses-wearing began and told her how well I was taking to my new glasses and how much better I was doing in school now that I had them. My poor, poor mother was very confused and told the teachers that I did not wear glasses. I had somehow managed to hide this new item from my mom, and now that I think back on it, my mom had specifically told me I couldn't have them. I am not sure that I wore them again after I was found out.

I also made up words like "brizzle." You know what a brizzle is--it's the mark left on your skin after you wear something elastic (like stretch pants, which were the only type of pants I ever wore) around your waist. A brizzle.

Mom, consider this blog post an apology. I hope you can look back and laugh.

Butterfly Kisses

2011-08-10T09:29:00.000-04:00

As I travel to Los Angeles today, behold this photo. It was taken over the holidays last year when my friend Matt came to visit. We hit up the museum that possibly houses natural history, and in the butterfly chamber I received a kiss from a butterfly.

It's a little hard to see, but it's on the left side of my head. Even butterflies love me.

Vice President Henry

2011-08-09T20:53:00.000-04:00

This evening I had the distinct honor and privilege of promoting Henry to Vice President of Pest Control Services. I would like to take the time to congratulate Henry on his new position.

This will be an exciting endeavor for this up-and-comer, and we have faith in him at NicciLor Enterprises. We regret that we are not able to compensate him monetarily at this time, but we have no doubt that as Henry begins to achieve the outcomes set out for him that we will be able to reevaluate our financial situation.

Small Children Ban

2011-08-08T09:22:00.000-04:00

New York City is not a place for small children. I think it should be a crime to bring them here. Wait, I need to add in a note:

[This post does not count toward children born and raised in the city. There is something beautifully endemic in children raised here; they understand the culture, the sidewalk dance, and the reasons why you don't eat street meat. They don't get in the way and they are basically little adults. So this post does not count small children who are natives to the city.]

That being said, let's continue. Yesterday I left my office, traveled up 5th Avenue to get to the museum that possibly houses art that is modern (take that alerts that come from the Googs). They were screening Suddenly, Last Summer and since it is based on Tennessee Williams' play and stars the Great Kate and Liz Taylor, I thought it would be a great evening. Plus I would still be home by 8pm and we all know I turn into a pumpkin at 9pm. I digress.

So I am walking up 5th and have to contend with Everything That Is Tourist. I have to pass by Rock Center, I have to pass by that horrible store that mass markets crappy clothes and naked teenagers (you know the one; you can't walk past it without temporarily losing your hearing and wondering why they are propagating live child pornography), and I have to shove through stupid people taking pictures with the idiot (subtext: out of work actor) dressed as Elmo. But worst of all, there are little people in the way. They are everywhere, and they have short legs so they don't walk fast. A parent can't make them run across the street to dodge a wayward cab, so said parent make them actually obey the "walk" sign. They also have the attention span of a gnat so they are often distracted by shiny things. Yesterday I almost flattened a few of them. Wee people, not shiny things.

Tourists are a mixed bag. On one hand, I am grateful for their revenue; we are a city build upon finance, fashion, theatre, and tourism. Their money keeps my industry going. Buuuuuut...I want them to realize this is my city, that I live here. It's not my playground and I don't stare at the tall buildings everyday. I walk because I need to get somewhere, not because the city is a sight to behold (it kinda is, but not in this post). People bring small children, drag them through dense crowds, then I almost run over them. I might have accidentally hit a wee person yesterday trying to get through a crowd. Small people will get trampled. It's a fact of NYC, like we all know the smell of a dead rat when we come across it. It just is.

So parents from the suburbs, beware. Small children should be banned from Midtown if only for their safety. They might get trampled, hit, or they might just catch on to our frustrated and bitchy attitudes we carry through crowds of tourists. I hear it's contagious.

Familial Communication

2011-08-04T11:03:00.000-04:00

We're just not that into it. Communication, I mean. And by, "We're not into it," I mean I am on the only one who bothers making sure people in my family know things. They aren't so great about telling the rest of us. Some examples...

My mom forgot to tell me the family cat died. How did I find out, you ask? My parents picked me up from the airport the day before Thanksgiving, and since my sister was on a later flight (you are wondering why, and I will tell you--it's because we don't communicate), my parents took me to dinner. While at dinner, my mom gets teary-eyed and says, "Christmas won't be the same this year without Sunflower." And I said, "Where did Sunflower go?" My mom gets an oh-shit look on her face, pauses, and says, "Oh. We had to put her down." I said, "When?!?" My mom replies, "About a month ago." My dad just laughs. Not because the cat died, but because my mom forgot to send me the memo. I ask my sister when we pick her up if she knew about this, and she goes, "Oh yeah, mom called me."

Then there was this little gem. I had booked a plane flight home Thursday late afternoon to help out after my mom's surgery--and my mom was on the phone with me when I booked it, so it's not like she didn't know I was coming. Then one day a couple of weeks prior, and while at brunch with my sister, Laura (that's my sister) tells me she is going home in a couple of weeks. I say cool, so am I, when are you going? Turns out it's the same weekend. Only my sister is flying out on a later flight that same Thursday and leaving on a later flight than me the next Monday (which is how I ended up in this quagmire). I asked why she didn't book the same flights as me, and she said because she didn't know I was coming home. Way to go, mom! Then my sister says, "But did you know mom canceled her surgery?" Nope, I sure didn't. Way to spread the word, guys!

Which leads me to this past weekend. The parentals were in town, and Sunday was QUEENS DAY. What that means is that we spent the day wandering around my neighborhood, got some Indian food (yummy!), and hit up my farmer's market. When we were sitting around my living room, I ask my sister about her upcoming week off. My mom told me she was forced to take a week vacation, so I start asking my sister about the days off, e.g., "Were they not going to roll over?" It ends up becoming a Who's-On-First situation that goes something like this:

"Was your vacation not going to roll over?"
"No." [Confused look on Laura's face, though not all that unusual.]
"Oh, that's cool. When does your new fiscal year start?"
"I don't know..."
[Mom interrupts here:] "Laura could either take the vacation days or the money. Guess which was more important to her?"
[Back to me:] "Oh that's cool, I didn't realize you got paid at the end of your fiscal year for your leftover vacation. I thought that was just when you left the company."
"I did leave the company."
"WHHHHAAAAATTTT?"
"Oh yeah, I quit my job."
"When???"
"About two weeks ago."

Turns out Laura quit her job and is going back to her old one. Way to communicate, guys. It's the way of the Zetti clan.