Brinks

I had a whole post written about how I was on the brink of flipping out today because I'm so STRESSED about my job search, my impending decision, trying to work while being absent and preoccupied, preparing for my trial on Thursday, and feeling an overwhelming sense of failure at my inability to get it together in terms of physical and spiritual health. Not to mention the fact that I keep having dreams about robbers trying to kill me and keep seeing people who look like the two muggers all over the city.

But, then it hit me. It could be a lot worse. Instead of a lawyer with two job offers, surrounded by loving friends and family who is about to be an Auntie for the first time, I could be a former superstar who seems single-mindedly determined to flush her career, reputation, modesty, money, family, health, looks, and all prospects of a comeback down the toilet.

Things aren't so bad after all!

President's Day

In 1776, Abigail Smith Adams (November 11, 1744-October 28, 1818) the second First Lady of the United States, and wife of John Adams, the second President of the United States, wrote to her husband requesting that he and the Continental Congress:

"...remember the ladies, and be more generous and favorable to them than your ancestors. Do not put such unlimited power into the hands of the Husbands. Remember all Men would be tyrants if they could. If particular care and attention is not paid to the Ladies we are determined to foment a Rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any Laws in which we have no voice, or Representation."

On this day of remembering two men who shaped the history of America, let's also remember that there were women working alongside them, though perhaps unseen or obscured in history, to build this country and to keep the male powers in check.

Women may have a history of being subordinated to the whims of men, yet they also have a history of being active agents, fiercely fighting to shape their own destiny. For every man that has ruled or lead a revolution, there has been a woman next to him, whether it be his mother, sister, daughter, lover, or wife. We have always been there, and we will continue to be. Men would do well to stop underestimating us on all levels, including our ability to be the next President of the United States.

The Hamptons Rule

I'm having a wonderfully relaxed weekend. I'm staying at a gorgeous house that won best architectural design in 1983 in which I have basically my own wing. I have a private bath, the most comfortable bed ever, black-out shades that work, and a beautiful view of the lake, rolling hills, and mansion-esque homes far off in the distance. Did I mention the sky? In Manhattan, you never see the sky. Here, at night there are billions of stars, and in the day an endless blue, cloud-dotted expanse above you. I have the sense that I'm on the edge of the planet, surrounded by things larger than myself that make me feel strangely relaxed and protected; very different than being surrounded by the glittery, super-charged embrace of Manhattan.

I've been spending my days sipping coffee, napping, and assisting Rumi's bf in the kitchen. He's an incredible cook, and I've been picking up tips left and right. I've probably learned more about cooking in the last two days than I have in the last thirty years. No offense intended Dad and Mom. We've made chocolate mouse, slow-cooked salmon with a watercress sauce, mussel soup with a brandy-saffron base, parsnip-mashed potatoes, seafood salad with a cognac sauce, ceaser salad, and a delicate asparagus soup. I've been photocopying recipes and jotting down cooking tips in my journal. I finally get why people love cooking. I finally see how relaxing and enjoyable it can be.

Later this afternoon, Rumi and I are going to drive through some of the other towns and go shopping in East Hampton. We might also catch a movie before dinner, and then perhaps grab a drink with my girl friend Pele and her boyfriend, who also happen to be out her for the weekend. I'm so glad I left the city this weekend! Bravo to all of you for your excellent advice!

Off To The Country

The majority spoke, and the Hamptons it is! I'm leaving in a few hours and I'm looking forward to it. The wisdom of my decision was confirmed when, twenty minutes ago, Rumi's bf called to ask whether I liked lobster. Um, yeah!

I have mild anxiety about leaving for the weekend, but I'm countering that by bringing some work with me. My contested divorce case is once again set to go to trial next week, so I want to do some additional research on equitable distribution, which I can very easily do from Rumi's bf's computer in between relaxing, shopping, bubble baths, runs on the treadmill, and getting wined and dined. How cool is my roommate for inviting me along? She's awesome.

I hope you all have a wonderful Friday night, and stay tuned for a Hampton's update. If you're lucky, I'll replace my digital camera and upload some photos. (Curses to the evil thieves that are messing up my blogging!).

P.S. Question: I need a category title to describe my general going out activities in New York, including bars, restaurants, clubs, etc. "Fun" and "NYC" are too general, and "dating" doesn't cover all the non-boy fun I've been having in the city. It could also include daytime activities like museums, etc. Does anyone have a good category name? I know, my life is so rough to have to worry about such questions. :)

To Hampton or Not To Hampton?

Thanks to all of you for being so supportive! You guys are awesome. I felt better today. I saw CG, didn't get scared on the subway, and went in to work for a few hours, where I proceeded to listen to Alien Ant Farm's "Annie Are you OK?" on repeat while chucking half of my office into a recycling bin. It was productive, and all I could manage in terms of working. It's impossible to work when I feel like I'm in the midst of a garbage heap. I also talked to Prue which was awesome. I miss you Prue!

Once I was back at the office, I started to worry about normal things like: which law firm's offer I should accept, how soon could I give my two week's notice, where was I going to go on vacation, did I have to finish that last project (that I haven't even started) before I quit, would my new firm let me start in April, and how was I going to make sure I was in the country in time for Bean's baby's birth? So many questions, and so few answers at the moment.

Meanwhile, my roommate ("Rumi") invited me to go to the Hamptons for the weekend to stay in her boyfriend's gorgeous home, walk around the shops in Sag Harbor, and laze around the house reading and relaxing. Rumi's bf loves to cook, and I'm sure all of the food would be amazing. It would be me, Rumi, her bf, and bf's friend, an older gentlemen who has absolutely no designs on me (I swear). Rumi has emphasized that there are "no rules" and that I could sleep in and laze around all I liked. And, the house has internet access.

Sounds like a dream, right? Then, why can't I decided whether I should go or not? I have this mild feeling of anxiety (I'm so sick of feeling anxious!) when I think about going, but a similar feeling when I think about not going. The cons are that I need to do laundry, I might feel trapped all the way in the Hamptons, I'm feeling like I just want to stay close to home - probably a side affect of last weekend's anxiety-provoking incident, and I have some work that I should do in preparation for a hearing/trial next week.

On the other hand, it's the Hamptons, it's a lovely invitation, a change of scenery might do me good, I could do work on the computer at the house, I have no plans in particular for this weekend, and if I get antsy I can hop on the jitney back to Manhattan. (Omg, I can't believe I just used the word "jitney" in a sentence!). Plus, it might be nice to be around people. If I stay, I will no doubt end up hooking up with or thinking about hooking up with a boy. In addition, I could do some shopping in Sag Harbor and replace some of the belongings the nasty thieves took from me. I'm not ready for the East Village any time soon, but Sag Harbor could be fun.

What do you think? A) The Hamptons, or B) Laundry and Potential Boy?

Thursday Thirteen #28

Thirteen Things Stolen From Me

1) Black Kenneth Cole purse ($100).

2) Purple Hobo International wallet ($100).

3) Eye glasses and case ($400).

4) Digital Camera ($400-500).

5) Memory stick containing months of pictures that I hadn't yet downloaded, including pictures of Bean's baby shower.

6) My social security card.

7) Assorted make-up including this, this, this, and this (approximately $75).

8) All of my credit cards and my ATM card.

9) My expired MI license, frequent flyer cards, health insurance cards, gift cards to Pottery Barn and Bed Bath & Beyond, and an unused merchandise credit.

10) Recently purchased unlimited rides monthly metro pass ($76).

11) My journal, which thankfully contained only two entries.

12) Approximately $60 in cash ($60).

13) House keys, mail key, Legoland wizard key chain, Tar Heels bottle opener key chain, NYSC pass, and assorted other keys.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It's easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

To The Scum Of The Earth That Robbed Me

Dear Scum-of-the-Earth,

Until our paths crossed on Sunday evening, I had been having a really spectacular weekend. I had gone out with friends on Friday and Saturday night and had had a great time. I'd made out with a cute boy on Friday night, and then met the same boy for brunch down in Soho on Sunday afternoon. I had enjoyed myself at brunch, and then had a delightful time walking around Soho with the boy window shopping and stopping at random chocolate shops. I know this is of no interest to you because you're a junkie who, until you stole my purse, probably didn't have any money to shop at chocolate stores in Soho. But, since you're not pointing a knife at me right now, I really don't care whether you're interested or not.

I had been to the fragrance shop on East 7th Street, between 2nd and 3rd, many times before, and I had always had a lovely time. The owner of the store and the women who work there are wonderful women, filled with positive, calming energy. The first time I went to the store, my little sister, Bean, and I discovered it together. She's pregnant now, and I'm about to be an Auntie. Since Sunday night, I've thought at least 1000 times how grateful I am that Bean wasn't with me on Sunday. The thought of you putting her in danger makes me nauseous, and it also makes me want to kill you. I would have done my best to kill you, even though you were holding that knife, if you had done anything threatening towards her.

Before I found the store on Sunday, I had been wandering around trying to remember it's address, talking on my cell phone and not paying terribly close attention to my surroundings. If I had paid close attention, I would have seen that it appeared to be a normal, chilly, sunny winter afternoon in the city. People were moving quickly through the streets, bundled up in great big puffy coats, scarves, and mittens. I didn't have my mittens on because I had been holding my phone, and my hand was red and chapped from the cold wind.

I had had an argument with my Dad about an hour before I met you. I was telling my Dad how happy I was, and how much fun I had been having the last couple of months. I also told him that I was excited about quitting my job and that I was looking forward to going on a trip for a couple of weeks. I got frustrated with him because he said that maybe I was having too much fun, and that I should settle down first and then go on a trip together with someone. You probably don't think that's annoying, because as you so eloquently conveyed, you care nothing for me, my personal safety, or the sanctity of my things, but I thought it was super annoying. Listening to him tell me that I should settle down made me feel like I had demon claws scratching down the surface of my eyeballs like nails on a chalkboard.

It was offensive and it made me angry. You don't know this, but just a few short months ago I got out of a bad relationship, where the boy in it didn't treat me well. He made me sad a lot of the time and prioritized everyone and everything else above me. Since the break-up, I've been awesome, though. I've been so strong. I've been letting myself heal, giving myself space to deal with my emotions, making positive changes in my life, and even dating. I have not been drinking too heavily, I have not been having destructive meaningless sex with boys, and I have not been trying to rush into another relationship just for the sake of having a relationship. My Dad should be proud of me for everything I am doing and for everything that I'm choosing not to do. And, when I'm fucking happy, he should be happy for me. He certainly should not crush down my happiness by telling me that I'm doing everything wrong, that I'll regret my life "passing me by" because of all the boyfriend-less-fun I'm having right now, and he sure as fuck should not do everything possible to remind me that there are negatives to being single and 32. Not when I'm so god-damned happy about it.

Newsflash: I know what it means to be a woman. I know that fertility rates go down after 35. I'm aware that, ideally, I would like to fall madly in love with someone and have a crop of babies with them; preferably beautiful little girls with long braids in their hair, but I'll also take boys, just as long as their healthy, happy, and open to feminism. But, guess what, try as I might, I can't just snap my fingers and make Mr. Amazing appear before my eyes. And, guess what - and this is what I think my Dad just doesn't quite get - even if I could, I wouldn't do that right now because I don't want a freaking boyfriend right now. I just got out of a fucking relationship. What is so god-damned wrong with having fun being an independent, happy woman?? Frankly, unless you're a cute, sweet boy-toy with no strings that doesn't make me cry, I'm just not that in to you at the moment.

After I got off the phone with my Dad, I called my brother but he wasn't at his computer, and then my mom so that she could look up the address of the fragrance shop. I was really proud of her because she looked it up on Google with no problem, and in just a few minutes I was only blocks away. During the ten minutes of our interaction, you didn't know this, but I have a lot of people in my life who love me, and who I love. I have a mom, a dad, two brothers, a little sister, an Aunt, cousins, and some of the most amazing friends, all of whom would have been hurt if you had hurt me. I'm about to have a nephew. You could have deprived him of one of the coolest Aunts ever, and for what? Because you wanted enough cash to get another hit? You're pathetic and you make me sick. You had a mom and dad once. What happened to them? Where were they and while you were threatening me with a knife and your partner was rifling through my purse?

I had been in the fragrance shop for about a half hour before you and your partner came along. It was just chance that I was still there when you arrived. I might not have been there at 6:00 pm on a Sunday afternoon if I hadn't gone to brunch in Soho that day, if I had gone to only one chocolate store with River instead of two, or if I hadn't been feeling so happy and energized that day and been in such a mood to walk around the city, despite the cold. I had been chatting with the salesgirl about what scent to get, and then another customer came in and I let her go ahead of me. She was a small woman who loved the scent of roses. I was in no rush, so I browsed while the salesgirl helped the other woman. She left the store about two minutes before you arrived. I'm glad she wasn't there when you got there.

As you saw, probably from casing out the place prior to deciding to hold it up, the fragrance store is a tiny boutique filled with pretty things. The walk space in front of the door, between the wall and the cash register is only about two fee wide, and the store in its entirety is only about 12 feet deep. There's not a lot of room in there. Because of all the delicate perfume bottles and sparkly lights blocking the windows, it's hard to see into the store from the street if you're just passing by. But, you weren't passing by. You were there for a reason.

I was standing right in front of the door when you buzzed to be let inside. I had been leaning on the glass in front of the cash register, letting my eyes wander around the store as the salesgirl mixed up my scents. Your partner, the short one, passed by behind me and I glanced to my right at him. He seemed out of place in a fragrance shop. He was dressed in a big, black puffy jacket that looked a little shabby, and he looked poor. I told myself not to stereotype. I thought to myself that he was probably getting something little for his girlfriend. He was looking away, and he said "We don't want any trouble," just as the salesgirl said, "Can I help you?"

Then I heard you say, "We're not gonna kill you," and turned to look at you. You were standing right next to me, with your back against the door, blocking it, and you were holding a knife out in front of you pointed at me and the salesgirl. The knife wasn't that big; it only had about a three-inch blade, but you were still pointing it at me, and you had brought up the subject of my death. That wasn't nice of you. You were calm and serious, and your eyes looked flat and vacant to me. Your face was light-skinned and you were Hispanic, like your partner, and you looked gaunt and weathered. I feel like you had something rough on your face, like salt and pepper scruff or maybe a scar, but even 15 minutes after you were gone, I couldn't remember exactly what you looked like. I remember the emptiness of your eyes, I remember the knife, and I remember how big you were.

My first thought when I realized what was happening was "you've got to be kidding me," but I obviously didn't say that. Instead, I backed away slowly until I was out of range of the knife and kept my eye on you. When you told your partner to take my bag, I felt like crying, mainly because it had my digital camera in it and it had tons of pictures on it that I hadn't downloaded yet. I just bought that camera a few months ago! For a second, I thought about resisting. I thought about grabbing one of the perfume bottles and smashing it across your face. I calculated the few feet that separated us and considered what the chances were that you would be able to slash me with the knife before I could smash you in the face. Then I realized that my eyes were level with the middle of your chest. I was wearing 2 1/2 inch heels, which means that you were at least 6'4". Your arms were longer than mine, and you were too tall. You would have likely killed me, if I had lunged at you, so I didn't resist. I told myself not to be stupid and let your partner take my bag from me. It made me sad.

You're partner was a dick, by the way. He grabbed my purse and started rifling through it and obviously saw that there was a lot of stuff in there that wasn't worth anything to you, but he took it all anyway. I asked him a couple of times not to take my camera, but he just replied, "Sorry, mamie." Please tell him when you see him next that I'm not his fucking "mamie," and that he can go fuck himself.

I can understand that you took my cash and my digital camera (even though you could have left the memory card for me), and I can even understand that you took my wallet with all of my credit cards in it. But, I'm really fucking pissed that you took my entire bag. I liked my Kenneth Cole black bag with the silver buckles, and I really liked my cute little purple Hobo wallet. In addition, I can't fucking see long distance without my glasses. Do you have any idea of how expensive glasses are? Mine cost about $400, and you're not going to be able to sell them for anything. They were my first pair and they came in a really cute half purple and half yellow case. You're also not going to be able to get any money for my half-used bottle of origins eye cream, my lip-fusion lip gloss, my chocolate flavored lip gloss, my journal (that thank god I had been remiss in writing in since I started blogging, so ha!), or any of the other random things that I had thrown into my purse as I rushed to get ready to go meet River that day for brunch.

And, what about my keys? What kind of a sick fuck are you that you had to steal my fucking keys. We're you trying to terrify me further? We'll, you'll be disappointed to know that I changed the locks to my apartment late Sunday night, so even if you do crawl out of your drug-infested hole down in the East Village and scrape together enough of my cash to come all the way up to the Upper East Side you're not going to be able to get into my apartment. You would be able to check my mail - which I currently can't since you have the fucking mail key - but that's going to be fixed shortly, so don't get too excited.

The keys are replaceable. What's not replaceable is the Lego wizard key chain that I bought in Legoland ten years ago while visiting my relatives in Sweden, or the big orange tar heel bottle opener that my brother got me several years ago. I really loved that wizard, and I liked my bottle opener. And, what about my gym card? You were big, but you didn't look like the New York Sports Club type. You could have left that and saved me a little bit of the effort I've had to go through to replace everything that you took.

While your friend was going through my bag, I felt helpless, but very calm. All I could think of was my camera, and all of the pictures I hadn't downloaded. There were pictures of Bean's baby shower where she looked radiant and beautiful. While I was watching your friend handle my things, I could see you talking to the salesgirl, telling her to open up the register and give you the money. You were only four feet away, but I don't remember the sound of you speaking, except for a few bits and pieces. I was concentrating so hard on the knife, and on my stuff. I heard the salesgirl say, "Sir, I don't understand Spanish," which didn't make any sense to me because when you had come inside the first thing you did was tell us, in English, that you weren't going to kill us. The salesgirl told me later that you told her to give you her cell phone and she told you she didn't have one. Then you told her, "If I go back there and I find a phone, we're going to have a problem." That wasn't nice to threaten her like that. She was 5'5" and sweet, and you scared her badly. By the way, she did have a cell phone. It was in her pocket, and as soon as you and your asshole friend left, we used it to call the cops.

During the time that you were in the store, the only time I felt a flicker of fear was when you told us to go to the back of the store and get down on our knees. When you said that, it was the first time I thought that this might get ugly, that I might actually have to fight for my life. I was still calm. I knew I was going to fight, and I knew there was no way in hell I was going to the back of the store or getting down on my knees. I felt vulnerable enough as it was, thank you very much. Neither the salesgirl nor I moved to do what you had said, which was the first time we had resisted in any way. We acted like we didn't understand, moved farther away from you, and kept watching you.

When you and your friend moved to the door, I realized that you had wanted us to go to the back, not to kill us, but so that you and your friend could get a head start. When you pushed against the door and it wouldn't open, things could have gotten dangerous, because I don't think you realized that when you rob boutiques with buzzers, someone will have to buzz you out in order for you to escape. Maybe that will make you think twice about robbing little boutiques in the future. I'll tell you candidly that after this experience, I think the whole buzzer system is completely fucked up. When the salesgirl buzzed you and your friend in, we were all basically locked in there together. God forbid you had forced us to go the back and we had started to scuffle. God forbid I had tried to run away from you, had made it to the door with you behind me, and then couldn't get out because there was no one there to work the buzzer. These are some of the thoughts that are going through my head three days later thanks to you.

When you and your buddy ran out of the store, the salesgirl and I stayed frozen for a few seconds. You left the door swinging wide open, and by then it was dark so I couldn't see what was happening outside. I couldn't see where you were, and I was scared that you were going to come back. I didn't want to move because, though I don't remember you saying anything, you had made it clear that we were not supposed to call the cops. I didn't want to give you a reason to come back inside and hurt me.

After only a second though, I yelled to the salesgirl to call the cops, and she yelled at me to shut the door. I ran to the door and slammed it shut, shouting to the salesgirl, "Is it locked? Is it locked?" My body was suddenly shaking. I still had my cell phone in my coat pocket, and I got it out and looked at it for a second feeling dazed. I didn't know who to call because the salesgirl was calling the cops. I called River, because I had just seen him, and then I called my brother Frey. They were the closest big, strong boys that came to mind.

The cops arrived in a matter of minutes. They were on top of things, trying to get my information and all of the details of what had transpired. One of them made me tea. I tried to hold the cup but my hand was shaking too badly. I started to cry a couple of times. I remember Frey telling me over the phone that the important thing was that I was OK. I dutifully told the cops everything I could remember, while other cops talked to the salesgirl. She was freaking out and crying, and telling me how sorry she was. I kept telling her that it wasn't her fault. The cops put me in a squad car and searched the neighborhood. They know your type. They're pretty sure that you're a junkie from the area that was either living in one of the homeless shelters or the projects farther down on the East Side. Unfortunately, we didn't see you. Later, I walked with another cop around the neighborhood trying to find my purse that the cops were sure you ditched shortly after leaving the store, but again, we had no luck.

The rest of that night I was detached and disoriented, but on top of things. I looked at mug shots, filled out paperwork, cancelled all my credit cards, and arranged with my room mate to have the locks to our apartment changed that night. I kept thinking that it could have been worse and that the important thing was that the salesgirl and I were OK.

The next day, Monday, I felt fine, but very disconnected from what had happened. I also felt exhausted. I emailed my friends to let them know what had happened and where, to remind them to be cautious. I'd lived in this city for over two years with nothing like this happening to me or my friends; I had gotten very comfortable and felt very safe. My friends start calling and emailing me back right away, wanting to know how I was doing, and I told them all the same thing: I'm OK, I'm shaken up, but it could have been a lot worse. I must have told thirty people on Monday that it could have been a lot worse.

On Tuesday, I went to an interview at a law firm. Unlike you, who believes in stealing, I have a work ethic, and I've been working at a job that I hate for over 2 years. However, in January, I started looking for a different position, and because I'm smart, educated, confident, and about 100,000 other things that you're not, I quickly discovered that I had options. By the way, since we're on the subject of our differing backgrounds, I'd like to point out how ironic it is that you chose to rob me. I'm a liberal. I actually buy into all that shit you hear about the sociological causes of crime. I feel sympathy for people like you who were maybe abused growing up, who might be addicted to drugs, who, for whatever reason, have not had the privileges and opportunities that I've had in my life. I should say, I felt sympathy for people like you, because now, not so much. I'm aware that I'm stereotyping, but guess what, I don't fucking care.

Poverty, drugs, and a lack of choices are not excuses to take what's not yours. There are good people and there are bad people, and you're a bad one. I don't care if you're poor. I don't care if you're addicted, and I don't care if you were abused as a child. You are a fucked up individual how had no right to do what you did on Sunday. You had no right to rob a store, to take my purse, or two threaten two people smaller than you with a knife. You probably aren't aware of this, but you're going to have really, really bad karma for what you did, and I'm glad. Maybe that will make me have bad karma, for being so unforgiving of you at the moment, but right now I don't give a shit. You are dangerous, you are violent, you do not abide by the laws of a civil society, you could have seriously hurt me or the salegirl, and I hope the cops nail your fucking ass. This whole experience makes me realize once again how I could never be a public defender. Public defenders play an important role in our justice system, but it's not the role I'm meant to play.

In terms of how I'm doing now, the last two days have been rough. After my interview yesterday, I went to the bank and changed all of my accounts. Good luck using those cards, Asshole. In between my interview and going to the bank, I stopped at a Starbuck's to get a coffee. I've been in Starbuck's probably thousands of times in my life, and before yesterday I've never been afraid in a single one. Yesterday, though, I felt anxious the minute I stepped inside the store. I looked at everyone in the store for a few seconds, staring many of them in the eye until they looked away. I'm sure I looked mean, but what they don't understand is that I have no intention of having more pieces of me stolen away. There was one man in particular, a shortish, heavyset Hispanic man in workclothes and a thick coat, that made me nervous. He was standing right behind me in line, and I kept looking at him. When I ordered my coffee, I stood on an angle so that I could watch him. I have no intention of letting another psycho with a knife or gun sneak up behind me.

The sense of anxiety and hypervigiliance stayed with me throughout the day. It was hard walking through the crowds, and it was very difficult to take the subway. People made me nervous when they walked up quickly behind me, as every single New Yorker does in their rush to get to where they need to go. It's winter and everyone in the city, including me, are wearing big puffy black coats. A few times, I saw men that matched your build and stopped dead in the street to watch them, trying to see if they were you, or if they were up to something bad. One guy stopped suddenly in front of me on the sideway and I nearly jumped out of my skin. On the subway, I started feeling nauseos because I was standing next to a big guy who kept looking at me. By the end of the ride, I was pushed up as close to the glass as I could get. My entire body was clenched tightly, ready to punch him in the face if he made a move against me.

I don't like this. I don't like that because of you, I felt scared walking around the city yesterday. I don't like that I'm watching myself act like a stereotypical trauma victim. Yesterday, when I started crying in Grand Central, the rational part of my brain was telling me that I had been in shock and that the experience was finally hitting me. The logical part of me was saying that it would be ok, and that I would feel better as soon as I processed the experience. But, the other part of me, the part of me that's actually somewhat traumatized - if I can even say that word - doesn't give a shit about rationality or logic. That part just feels scared, upset, and wants someone to come hold me while I lie curled up in my bed crying.

Today was a tiny bit better. I spent most of the day in my bed, crying in the morning, and then sleeping in the afternoon. I'm not worried about myself because I know that I'm just processing what happened and that I have to give myself space to do that - even if I do end up looking to myself like a stereotypical trauma victim. I'm not sure if I'm going to go to work tomorrow, but I'm going to see my therapist. I don't want to be outside at night, so I'm going to a morning appointment.

Here's what I don't understand: You didn't do anything to me. You threatened my life, you pointed a knife at me, you stole everything of value that I had on me, and you made me feel scared, but you didn't do anything to me, at least not physically. Nothing really happened. You didn't physically hurt me. You didn't even touch me. So why am I upset? I could understand anger because you are a fucking asshole, you made me feel scared, and you took all my stuff, but I can't understand feeling afraid when I walk into a store, or worried that someone else is going to do the same thing that you did. It seems to my judgmental mind like I'm having a somewhat illogical reaction to all of this. Logically, I know that your are abnormal, and that most people are not like you. Most people I see on the streets of New York are not planning to hold up a store or steal someone's purse. But, nonetheless, you've made me afraid.

I feel scared. I don't want to walk on the sidewalk and have to wonder about the person walking behind me. I don't want to have to eye the escape routes in a store before going into them, and I don't want to know that I would be trapped in a store that had a buzzer on the door if another pair of men one day decided to rob it while I was inside.

I don't think I have anything else to say to you at the moment. I think you are a worthless human being, and I'm really angry that you stole my stuff and made me feel afraid. You're a total fucking asshole for taking my camera and for robbing me of my pictures, and you're a total dick for taking my glasses. I mean, who robs someone of their glasses? Could you be more of a of pathetic bully if you tried? I have no doubt that you already have a miserable life, and from the looks of things, you deserve it. I hope that the cops catch you, and throw your ass in jail. I really hope that they catch you before you try to pull something like this again. You made the wrong choice when you decided to rob that store and me, and you will suffer for it. Even if you don't believe in Karma, I do.

Sincerely,
Buttercup

P.S. Thank you to the universe for protecting me and the salesgirl. Even though these dicks have made me afraid, temporarily, I am extremely grateful that we were not hurt and I know that I will feel better eventually. I also know that in time I will get over being pissed and sad that my purse and all of my cute little belongings are probably lying in some snow-covered ditch right now. ASSHOLES. Thank you also for the NYPD. They did a great job and they were all quite sweet and attentive.

Friday Night Notes

Here are a few things that I learned last night:

1) Stripper poles can be a lot of fun, but it's really hard to master them.

2) Bahama-Mamas taste so good that you can drink 5 of them and not even realize it.

3) A girl who will run downstairs with you to the restroom of a bar so that she can give you her cute black shirt and change into your sweaty, cowl-neck sweater so that you can look cute for a boy that you may or may not want to get close to later in the evening, is a true friend.

4) This is a cool place.

5) It's not always bad to recycle boys, particularly if the boy in question is a smoking hot black man with a shaved head, smooth skin, and big muscles, and snuggling with him always makes you think of candy because it's so damn delicious.

6) Soho looks eerily beautiful at dawn.

Job Hunt Angst

I had another interview yesterday, with Bachelor #5, the firm that my friend Em is going to. She just came back from volunteering in the Philippines, and she starts work on Monday. I talked to her today and she is so excited to not be coming back to our firm. It was wonderful to hear the happiness in her voice. I want that.

My interview yesterday took about 3.5 hours and I met 5 people, all of whom seemed genuinely nice and seemed to have lives outside of work. Two excellent signs. One recruiter found Bachelor #1 and a different recruiter found Bachelor #5, so now the two recruiters are getting a little antsy. In this game it's expected that you work with at least two recruiters, but now each of them is trying to sell their find. It's slightly annoying, especially since one of the recruiters did way more work. If I end up going with Bachelor #5, that recruiter will get a windfall.

This job hunting thing is stressful. Ever since Bachelor #1 gave me their offer, I've been a ball of anxiety. I know that it's fear of the unknown, but knowing that doesn't make it easier to deal with. My mom, dad, and brother all say that if I pick a place and don't like it, all I have to do is quit. Although I could do that, I would prefer, for once, to feel like I have chosen a law firm wisely.

My major fear is that I'll get into a place that's as bad or worse as my current firm. Some might think that would be difficult, but on the contrary, it's a big risk. Most firms in NY work their associates like dogs, and most expect ridiculous hours. In addition, things haven't been that bad for me lately at my firm. I've been coming in between 10 and 11, Dragon Lady doesn't bother me anymore, I've been doing a lot of pro bono, and since a case that I was on settled, I've kind of been coasting. This last week, I hardly billed anything. Instead, I logged a ton of hours on blogging and checking out celebrity sites.

Not that I want to continue down that path of unmotivated slothfullness, wasted potential, and mediocrity. Ideally, I would like to feel invested and engaged in my work. But, I sure as heck do not want to leave my firm under the current circumstances for a place in which I'll be expected to work hours comparable to what I should be working at my current firm - if I was a good associate.

I'm still filled with ambivalence about the idea of going to another firm. I know it's strategic and I know it makes sense for me right now, but I still worry that it's a step backwards or sideways, as opposed to forwards. Forwards being the public interest job of my dreams where I could do women's rights work full-time.

Today, I reached out to two other contacts about public interest work, and asked one of my friends to forward me more information about a potential reproductive rights job. I wouldn't feel right about hopping to another firm without at least giving any available public interest opportunities/connections a shot. Assuming they don't pan out, I will most likely have to choose one of the firms I've been interviewing at. They all want bright-eyed bushy tailed hard workers who want variety, responsibility, and the chance to develop their legal skills.

Two years ago, I was exactly what they now want. Now, I only pretend to be that. According to my recruiters, the one truth I can't say is my main reason for leaving my firm: I want to work less hours, in a better environment, and have a better, more balanced life. I'm not allowed to say that because the law firms I'm interviewing at might assume that I'm lazy and just want to go to their shop to loaf around.

It's ridiculous that saying you want a balanced life means to many that you are a slacker. The fact is, under their definitions, I am a slacker. I came into the firm being the total opposite, I gave them my blood, and I got nothing worthwhile in return. So, I'm not interested in doing that again. I want to leave at 7:30 most nights and I want my weekends for myself. I want to work to live, not live to work. Maybe I won't be able to do that as a corporate lawyer in New York. Maybe it's silly for me to even try. But, for the moment, that's what I guess I'm trying to do.

This just in: The recruiter who is poised to get a windfall just called. Bachelor #5 really likes me and wants me to come meet their managing partner on Tuesday. That's actually flattering that they're moving so quickly. Hmmm.... Bachelor #5 might be pulling ahead.

Thursday Thirteen #27 (Lost)

Thirteen Thoughts/Questions About The Season Premier of "Lost"

Spoilers Below !!

1) I'm so happy it's back!

2) Couldn't they have shown a little bit more of Kate and Sawyer making out in the recap? I missed it the first time around. I'm deprived!

3) It was interesting how they pointed out that all of the characters are lost in their own lives, in addition to being lost on the island.

4) Why do the Other's leave the Frenchwoman alone? Remember, she hasn't seen Others, except for Alex, but she's heard them whispering. Although, now that we've seen the Others, I don't think that they're the ones who have been doing the whispering. Maybe that's the island instead.

5) Who is the leader of the Others? Is it Ben? Is it Tom? Someone else?

6) Is Alex the Frenchwoman's daughter?

7) If so, does that mean the Frenchwoman's husband (and Alex's Dad) - who she supposedly killed - is alive and running the Others? Or, perhaps the Others took Alex from the Frenchwoman when she was young and the leader raised her as his own.

8) Juliet appears to have been involved in fertility experiments, including an experiment on her sick sister. If the Others were planning to destroy the world, except for themselves, maybe they thought it would be a good idea to have a fertility doctor around who could help them reproduce in a post-apocalyptic world? Her ex-husband was such an a#%hole.

9) Judging by the timely demise of Juliet's ex-husband, apparently the Others were as seemingly all-powerful and all-knowing off the Island as they are on it.

10) Juliet's captivity explains her confusing behavior towards Jack, and the fact that she told him to kill Ben on the operating table. So, the Others are working on some kind of top secret project, so secret that they forcibly recruit people and then keep them prisoner? But, how can they trust Juliet to do the work she's supposed to be doing? I finally feel sympathy for Juliet and a spark of interest in her character.

11) They didn't show enough of Sayid, so right now this guy is still at the top of my list of super hot Indian men. Don't worry Sayid, I'm confident that will change after next week's episode when you race off to save Jack and remind everyone how dangerously sexy you are.

12) I don't think the Others were conducting a real experiment on Alex's boyfriend. It looked to me like they were punishing him and trying to drive him crazy. Or, perhaps it's a way to break him down psychologically to make him more pliant?

13) Why did Jack make Kate recite the story of that surgery? It was a little too neat and contrived, with her reciting and him performing a similar surgery at the same time. There was no reason for the Others to hear about a time that he had been afraid but ultimately successful.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It's easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Spider Solitaire Will Be The Death Of Me

About a year and a half ago, around the time that I had just gotten back together with EXBF (Part II), when I was really struggling with my job and feeling depressed, I decided to go on the anti-depressant Lexipro. I didn't notice anything at first, but after a few weeks I realized that I had gotten into the habit of playing spider solitaire. I don't mean just a few games. I mean playing games and games of spider solitaire for hours at a time. I remember one night where I played almost 4 hours. I kept losing and trying again, or winning and trying to beat my score. This was before blogging and knitting, and before I understood how to identify when I was feeling anxious.

After a couple of weeks, I happened to mention to CG what had been going on. She was immediately interested in my sudden change of behavior, a change that had corresponded with going on the medication. Prior to Lexipro, I had played spider solitaire on occasion, but usually only when I was visiting my Dad in Texas. It's an addictive and competitive game and he loves it. During that time, when I got totally hooked, I was really anxious. I was so stressed out about work that I couldn't really work. I was overwhelmed and instead of tackling each piece step by step, I played spider solitaire and ate up hours of my days. I'm not sure if it was the stress or the Lexipro that was responsible for all the solitaire playing, but I do know that the Lexipro didn't help matters. Soon after discussing it with CG, I went off of it and my solitaire playing calmed down.

Since then, I've been off and on another low-dose anti-depressant from time to time. I'm not a fan of taking pills, and I believe firmly in the idea of working through problems in therapy, as opposed to drugging oneself, as a long-term solution. However, after trying medication this past year, I now understand the benefits of medication. Not as a long-term solution, but as a temporary solution that can help you work through all of the junk you need to in order to get to a better psychological and emotional place.

One of my friends recently said, while we were discussing the topic of medication, that she would not want to be drugged in order to deal with her problems. Her view of medication, I think, is that it temporarily eliminates feelings, and creates an alternate, less stressful or less painful, make-believe reality. From that perspective, medication is not something that helps one deal with reality, but rather something that hides truth under a layer of artifice.

I was afraid of something similar when I first tried medication, and in the early months I questioned how I was experiencing being on medication all the time. For example, when I felt less anxious and less sad, I doubted my feelings and talked to CG about my fears that what I was feeling was not real. I worried that I was "not sad" not because I was actually happy, but because I was on drugs. It was a scary thought because I don't want to live my life in a delusional la-la land, and I certainly didn't want to be figuring out serious life issues like the fate of my relationship and my career with emotional blinders on.

When EXBF and I broke up, I had just recently gone back on an anti-depressant. Between all of my problems with him, and all of the stress from my job, I had been in a bad place and I had been crying on an almost weekly basis - usually because of things he had done that made me feel insignificant and unimportant. One of the things I'm still angry about is that he kept hurting me, even though he saw what his actions were doing to me. He was so selfish and unkind. But that's a different subject. I'm glad I was on an anti-depressant during the break-up because, looking back on it now, I realize how fragile and vulnerable I was at the time. Thankfully, I had a lot of support, mainly from my family and friends. But, therapy and medication were also a part of that support.

At no point have I felt like being on medication has dulled or obscured any of my true feelings. It hasn't irrevocably changed me, turned me into someone else, or blinded me to things in my life that are a source of happiness or pain. I was on medication when EXBF and I broke up but I still cried for weeks. I still felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest when I thought about losing the future I had thought we would share. The medication also didn't stop me from getting annoyed and angry with my brothers over Christmas when they drank too much, getting sad for one of my friend's recent losses, or feeling a ton of anxiety about work. Nor has it stopped me from feeling incredibly happy about all of the positive changes going on in my life, and all of the wonderful people I'm lucky enough to have in my corner.

The medication helps me muddle through my emotions, and helps me keep my anxiety in check, but it doesn't eliminate anything. Everything I would feel were I not on medication is still there, and I still feel it. That's why, on occasion, I find myself picking up my mouse and starting up another marathon game of spider solitaire, as I did tonight.

This afternoon, I learned that I had received an offer from the law firm that I liked the best (Bachelor #1). The firm will want an answer by 3 weeks at the latest, so suddenly I'm back to having a countdown. If I decide to go with this firm, I will give my two weeks notice in less than 21 days. I could give my two-weeks notice next week if I wanted to. Initially, when I got the call, I treated it like I usually do really good news: I felt relieved. A few minutes later, I felt a rush of elation and started thinking, I'm almost free!!! Then, a few hours later, the feelings of panic and uncertainty set in.

In addition, I have to admit that the dating thing is also making me feel a little anxious. What about if I actually end up liking someone? Do you understand that my heart is still crushed? Although in practice (so far) dating has been fun, no one knows what's going to happen. Likewise, no one knows what's going to happen in this new job, in the event that I decide to take it. It could be a wise choice, or it could be a stupid one, but there's no way to know except to just do it. It's intensely nerve wracking. Where are the spinners of my destiny when I need them to drop me a few hints?

So there you have it. I'm slightly anxious about the idea of dating, and I'm really anxious about making a change at my job, even though a part of me has wanted to leave for over 2 years. Even though everything is going well, and I'm making great progress, I'm so anxious that I've been playing spider solitaire, in my chilly bedroom, for over an hour and a half while the TV is playing downstairs. Clearly, I need to be more heavily medicated. That, or I need to start going to yoga on a regular basis, get a new book, buy those 7-sized knitting needles so that I can start my new project, or go to the gym instead of waiting for the handymen who don't show up to repair my skylight.

I know what CG is going to say already. She's going say, "Change is very stressful; even good changes bring stress. Don't you think it makes sense that you were feeling a little anxious once you found out that you were going to have to make a decision about a new firm?" She's so smart.

For tomorrow: Pilates, running, another interview, a NEW LOST (!!!!!), and no spider solitaire.

Kernals of Dating Philosophy

After my steamy date on Thursday, I went out on a pseudo-date on Friday with Em's friend, the very tall, very sweet, boy of North Indian descent. By the way, the reason I mention people's races, nationalities, and cultural backgrounds is because I find it interesting. I've always dated all different types of boys from lots of different backgrounds, including White, African American, South American, South Asian, East Asian, Persian, Pacific Islander, etc. Lately, I've had a thing for brown boys, especially South Asian boys. I blame this of course on EXBF, who despite all of his faults as a partner had beautiful brown skin, a chiseled mouth, and pretty, long-lashed eyes.

After dating an Indian boy on-and-off for 3 years, I suppose it's not surprising that I'm still attracted to Indian boys. I like the culture, the family values, the religion, the beautiful saris, and the boys' smooth, hairless, brown skin and long delicate hands. South Asian boys are nice to kiss because they never leave scruff-burn on your chin. After each of my make-out sessions with Navy Boy - who is an attractive, stereotypically masculine, white boy of German descent - my chin was peeling for days! A girl can not walk around with a peeling chin. It's just not attractive and it raises a host of awkward questions.

Getting back to my pseudo-date on Friday. I met Em's friend for a drink at a wine bar and then went to see "Pan's Labyrinth," a dark fable about doing what you know to be right instead of blindly following (evil) orders. (Another message from the Universe about the evils of LFL? Perhaps.) Did anyone else see that? What do y'all think? The wine bar was cute, the movie was interesting, and overall I had a pleasant evening. But, there was no chemistry. He walked me to my apartment at the end of the night and before any awkwardness could occur, I leaned in and hugged him and thanked him for the evening. We're both Capricorns; it would never have worked. He's a wonderful guy and I genuinely would love to be friends, but I can't see any further dating happening. Hopefully, we'll be friends.

After spending Thursday and Friday with boys, I spent the rest of the weekend with my girls and had a wonderful time. On Saturday, after going to the gym for the first time in months (Yay!!! Lass, I'm coming for you!), I went out for dinner with two of my girl friends to a vegetarian restaurant in the East Village called Angelica Kitchen. The restaurant was awesome! The food was delicious, healthy, and creative, and instead of wine I had carrot juice with fresh ginger. Yum. After dinner, we went for dessert to Mud, a super cool coffee shop with one of the best brownie desserts that I have ever tasted. It was to-die-for.

My two friends are amazing, strong, sensitive, incredible women. We talked a lot about relationships, dating, and the wonderful things about being single. All of us are in similar places, having ended long-term relationships and now excited about being on our own and perhaps a bit wary about getting involved any time soon. One of them asked me why I had decided to go out with Tapas Boy on Thursday, as I have no desire to get into a relationship at the moment and I also have no intention of have random sex with anyone with whom I'm not in a relationship. Her question, in effect, was: Why would I want to go out on a date if I don't want it to lead anywhere either emotionally or physically?

It was a good question and it made me think more about where I'm at in terms of the dating thing. The same question came up a day later while I was out with my friend Pele, having drinks at the Stone Rose Lounge at the Time Warner Center, trying to ignore the Superbowl, talking about her latest boy, who incidentally, is acting like a total sketchball. A month into them dating and being intimate, he tells her that he's had a girl staying at his apartment. As if that wouldn't have been sketchy enough, the girl has been sleeping in his bed! Next to him! In any other city, actively pursuing a woman while having another woman sleeping in your bed would be unquestionably outrageous. In New York, there's this odd acceptance of that type of sleazy behavior, particularly on the part of men. There's almost this assumption that when you first begin dating someone, they'll be dating someone else and probably sleeping with someone else. Instead of kicking his ass to the curb, my friend has been trying to "play it cool" and to not act like an "oversensitive psycho girl." Um, hello. When boys act like lying sketchballs, it is not psycho to kick their asses to the curb. It's eminently reasonable.

Am I the only girl in the city who believes that people should finish one relationship before moving on to the next one? But, even I can't draw a super hard line there because in the last three weeks I've hooked up with one boy (Navy Boy), kissed another (Tapas Boy), gone out on a date with another one (Em's Friend), and agreed to meet another one for a drink (Em's Boyfriend's Friend). I'm almost as bad as them!!!

But, I'm not in relationships with any of those boys. For me the critical distinction is that I'm not sleeping with them, I'm just dating them. The reasons I'm not sleeping with them are numerous. For starters: (1) I don't want any diseases, (2) I'm not ready for that level of intimacy, (3) I don't want a relationship right now and I don't want to sleep with someone unless I'm in a relationship, and (4) dating would not be fun for me if it was causing me any anxiety, and sleeping with someone you don't know is a surefire way to cause yourself a heap of anxiety. Some of this reasoning is admittedly circular, however, that's where I'm at.

To answer my friend's question, I want to date because it's fun. Not because I want a relationship, not because I want random, meaningless sex, but because it's fun. It's fun to go out in the city. It's fun to try new restaurants and bars. It's fun to salsa dance with a hot boy. It's fun to have male attention, and it's fun to learn more about different men. It's fun to feel sexy and beautiful while flirting with a handsome man, particularly when the last boy I gave my heart to stomped on it repeatedly, ground it into the floor with the heel of his shoe, and then tossed it aside. My heart is still healing, and I know it's going to take a while for it to feel completely whole. But, I see no reason why I shouldn't have a lot of fun while letting the healing process work its magic.

OBIM And I'm Tired, Cold, And Cranky

Today was one of those days where the minute I woke up I just wanted to go back to sleep because I knew it was not going to be a good day. It started with me waking up, after only 7 hours of sleep and a series of intense nightmares, feeling groggy and exhausted. Things did not improve upon leaving the warmth of my bed. The skylight in my bedroom has a leak and wintry air has been pouring into my bedroom for the last two weeks. The bathroom is worse. Because there's no heater in the bathroom, and because I don't like to sleep with doors a jar (fear of dark spaces), every morning when I open the bathroom door I'm greeted with a burst of damp, frigid air. It is so not fun to get naked in there.

I was supposed to go to an interview at 9:30 am so I dressed in my standard skirt suit. Oh my god, nylons were such a mistake this morning. On a normal day, giving myself a half hour to get to Times Square would have been plenty of time. However, this morning, on the coldest day ever, there was not a single free cab on the UES. I walked six blocks and waited for 20 minutes, and didn't see a single empty cab. By 9:20 my thighs were so cold that they were burning, my nose was bright red and dripping, my eyes were watering, and my head was pounding (lack of caffeine and frustration). I was a mess and I was late! I ended up running home so that I could get my recruiter's number off of my email and ask them to cancel for me. With 5 minutes notice! It will be a small miracle if that firm reschedules. It would have bothered me more, except that I was too cold to care.

From there, the day continued to go downhill. I trudged around town looking for winter boots and had no luck. In between shoe stores, I stopped by a few clothes stores and tried to find something cute. Trying to find something "cute" does not work well when trying on something entails stripping off 5 layers of bulky clothes and you feel like you look like hell. I really was not a pretty sight. I have no idea what I was thinking, and I think that was precisely the problem: It was so cold that my brain was not functioning properly.

I tried to wake up by having some coffee but continued to feel like a groggy zombie all day. In one of today's few successes, I dragged myself to Home Depot and bought plastic to cover my windows, light bulbs, and picture hooks - all things I've been meaning to get for several weeks. Though it was sheer misery trekking home with all of my bags, it was worth it. My bathroom window is now covered with insulating plastic. Hopefully, it makes a difference.

The other major success of the day was that Luis, the handyman, took a look at my skylight. Unfortunately, Luis thinks that the skylight is the product of shoddy installation, and that the only way to fix it properly is to replace the damn thing, which obviously the building is not going to do. Especially not in the dead of winter. I explained, as sweetly as possible, that I just need a temporary fix to get me through the winter. Although Luis had reservations about the plan, he lined the skylight with a layer of sealant and promised to be back tomorrow with "something stronger." All of my hopes for a warm winter now lie in Luis' hands. I'm crossing my fingers that he finds a magic solution between now and tomorrow afternoon when I have to take off yet another afternoon from work to attend to my apartment issues. If my skylight isn't fixed soon, my firm is going to start thinking that I'm up to something.

Despite the grumpy tone of this post, I actually had a great weekend and have lots of things to report in the categories of the gym, dating, books, and movies. I'm just too cranky to write about all of that right now. Tomorrow, I'll fill y'all in. Now, I'm off to chill while watching the new episode of "Heroes." (Gypsy and Lass, I'm a convert). After Heroes, it's off to bed for me. Come hell or a leaky skylight, I'm going to go to bed at a reasonable hour tonight and a get a solid 8 hours of sleep. Tuesday will be a better day.

Salsa Dancing Is Hot

I had a ridiculously fun time last night on my date. I met my date for sangria and tapas at a cute Spanish place north of Union Square and then went out for drinks at a salsa place in the East Village. His stats: He's a few years older than me, in finance, and dances salsa. He's smart, interesting, and more than a little sexy.

As we didn't meet up until 10:00 pm, and as it was a school night, I had fully intended to have an early night and be back at my place by 1 am at the latest. However, dinner went very well and one thing lead to another. We had decent conversation which lead to a drink at the bar, which lead to a discussion of other cool places to go, which lead to me agreeing to go for one more drink at the salsa place in the East Village. That was at 12:30 am.

The salsa place was so much fun! He of course is an awesome dancer. In between sipping Caipirinhas he showed me how to Merengue and salsa. I didn't mind watching his hips at all. When we weren't dancing, we were chatting, drinking, watching other people dance, and just having a great time. There was a kiss, and it was damn good. I didn't get home until 4 am!

On my way home, in the cab, he texted me to say that he had a lot of fun and that an encore was definitely in order. My sentiments exactly.

I think I could really like this dating thing.

Thursday Thirteen #26

Thirteen Things About My Week That Are Making Me Smile

1) I've been busy this week. I had three great job interviews, and I'm starting to see the light at the end of this job. Yay!

2) I've felt absurdly happy since Sunday, and it has nothing to do with a boy.

3) Navy Boy made me a mix with Alien Ant Farm's version of "Smooth Criminal." I've been playing it on repeat at my desk for days while doing hardly any work. I love that song.

4) My TV's sound stopped working last night, and though I was tempted by Navy Boy's kind offer to come over (with wine) to fix it, I wisely declined. I told y'all this wasn't going to happen again any time soon.

5) Instead of a steamy late-night make-out session, I took a relaxing bubble bath and had some quality me-time. All the pleasure; none of the strings. Purrfect.

6) On Monday, CG gave me a CD with three guided meditations on it. She's the greatest therapist ever.

7) I had wonderful conversations with my family and a bunch of my girl friends. I love all of the women in my life (and of course my Dad and brothers) and feel so lucky to have their support, wisdom, humor, and love.

8) I've been having so much fun living with my new room mate. We spent hours the other night drinking wine and talking about jobs, boys, sex, and everything else under the sun.

9) I've realized I only need men for sex and sperm, and since I have this, and don't want a baby anytime soon, I don't need them at all at the moment. That's possibly the greatest, most liberating thing ever.

10) Em's friend asked me out for this Friday. I have tentative plans with my girl friend, so don't think I'll go but it still made me happy. He's sweet and it would be fun to hang out with him again.

11) I'm going out with an older boy (34) tonight for sangria and tapas. He's tall, cute, successful, and so far has been polite. The thing I'm most excited about is that the only thing I'm expecting to get out of the evening is a few drinks, some good food, and some good conversation. Should be fun.

12) There's a new, delightful piece of eye candy working at the Origins in Grand Central. I met him this morning when I popped in to get a new eyeliner and cleanser. He was so cute that even though I'm fairly certain he's gay, I flirted back outrageously and ended up buying this, this, this, this, and this. He was so cute and such an excellent, attentive, knowledgeable salesman. Yum.

13) Based on the past month, I'm really liking being 32 and single. How cool is that?

One thing not making me smile: My switch to the "New Blogger" last night. Grrrrrr.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It's easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

It's Raining Potential Suitors!

I've been running around town like mad, trying to find a new match. If I could find a new relationship that I feel positive about by February 14th, that would be perfect! So far, all of my dates have been basically successful. Out of the 6 "first dates" that I've been on during the past three weeks, all of them wanted me back for date #2. I only wanted to continue to get to know three of the six, so I tried to let the other ones down easy. I'm sweet like that.

On the first date, everyone tries to make a good impression while subtly feeling out whether they enjoy each other's company. It's important to be witty and engaging, and to show the proper amount of interest. If you show too little, you might come off like a cold fish, and no one wants that. If you show too much, you run the risk of appearing desperate. Along those lines, no one wants to hear about your failed past relationship, at least not at this stage. You don't want to be negative too quickly or you might scare off a good thing. Later, as you get to know each other better, you can divulge those type of details, but not until you know that they're really interested.

To my great surprise, I enjoyed almost all of my first dates. I was really nervous before the first one, mainly because I had been in a committed relationship for the past couple of years and hadn't had to put myself out there in a long time. Luckily, what they say about never forgetting how to ride a bicycle is completely true. The minute I sat down with the first guy and started conversing, I remembered how good I am at chatting people up when I want to be. The trick is to be confident, but not arrogant, and to ask them a lot of questions about themselves. Everyone loves to talk about themselves. Also, a little flattering and an encouraging smile go a long way to making people feel comfortable.

I charmed the pants off of Bachelor #1 and left knowing that he really liked me. I would have been stunned if he hadn't called after a day or two, and of course he did, just as expected. My date with Bachelor #2 didn't go as smoothly because he was a bit of an ass. He was rude, obnoxious, arrogant, and had a rather obvious Napoleon complex. He made all these comments about men who were bigger than him and how he was just as good as them. I don't want someone who isn't comfortable in their own skin, or feels the need to compete with other guys, so I told him I wasn't interested in going out again before he had the chance to ask me.

Bachelor #3 seemed awesome at first. He was European, projected a very relaxed vibe, and seemed super smart. For most of our date, I had a wonderful time talking with him and felt very sophisticated. However, at the very end of our date, he made a comment that made me think he might be a bit of a workaholic. Even though the rest of the date had been great, the red flag made me nervous. In my last relationship, I overlooked a lot of red flags right in the beginning of the relationship that I shouldn't have, and I don't want to make the same mistake again. Bachelor #3 really liked me and was ready to jump into a serious relationship after only the first date. If it hadn't been for that red flag, I would have been totally psyched about his interest, but ultimately I had to go with my gut and decline his offer.

Bachelor #4 was a great guy, but I got the sense that he was a little too... small. Regardless of how people try to sugarcoat this issue, size really does matter. Even if suitors have a lot to offer in other departments, if they're too small, chances are it's not going to work out. I gave it a shot with him during our date, and tried to get a sense for how I would feel in the event that we moved forward. Ultimately, I decided that it just wouldn't feel right and had to tell him that I wasn't interested. In declining, I was politely vague. He knows he's small and he doesn't need me pointing out the obvious for him. Despite his size, I so enjoyed meeting him that I almost sent him a card, rather than a simple email, but then decided against it. Mixed signals are never a good idea.

I agreed to meet with Bachelor #5 because a good friend of mine had gone on a date with him and really liked him, and thought that we would make a good match. I could totally see why my friend liked him. He was mellow, unpretentious, and a genuinely nice guy. I got the sense that he works hard but takes plenty of time off to enjoy life. A few things he said made me think that he might be too small for me, and that he has a slight complex about wishing that he was a little bigger, but overall I got a very favorable impression. The fact that he's recommended by my friend is key, because in New York there are so many of them and it's hard to get a true sense for who they actually are. On the spot, he asked me back for a second date and I agreed. I believe in giving nice guys a chance.

I didn't bring this up on my date, but my last relationship was with a flashy alpha-male type, and frankly I'm so over the whole more-superior-than-thou attitude. He didn't care about nurturing our relationship or supporting me when I needed it, and I always got the sense that he was looking around. It was like he had hordes of eager, naive little girls just waiting to fill my spot. He didn't care about me. All he cared about was himself. But, I digress. My point is, after being taken for granted for so long in my last relationship, I'm ready for a nice guy who will love me and treat me right. It's possible that Bachelor #5 could provide that relationship. I'm not sure, but I'll give him until date #2 to decide.

I was excited to meet Bachelor #6 because he has a reputation for being open-minded, socially aware, smart, friendly, and not too career-obsessed. On top of that, everyone who has met him says that he treats the women in his life superbly. He's also baby-friendly and not shy about showing it. Isn't that refreshing? I was not disappointed; this guy was awesome! Size-wise he's on the large side but I think it would still be a comfortable fit. I could definitely see a relationship with him evolving and I was thrilled that he called a few hours after our meeting to ask me back for a second date.

On the second date, things become a little more serious. Everyone's still trying to make a good impression, but there's more probing into backgrounds, values, and what each person is going to bring to the potential relationship. It's still about having fun, but the stakes start to go up pretty quickly. People don't want to become involved in something if it's not meant to be, so they start showing little pieces of themselves to test the waters early on in the game. It's always better to know sooner rather than later. However, a second date is still too early to lay everything out on the table, so there's still a lot of mystery. This is good and bad, depending upon how soon you want to commit yourself to a new relationship, and how sure you want to be about your new partner when you decide to commit to them.

I've only been on one second date, with Bachelor # 1, and it was great. He was just as charming, smart, and pleasant on the second date as he was on the first. I learned more about him and it seems like he works considerably less hours than I do, which is exactly what I'm looking for. I would love to have a relationship with a man who's not obsessed with his work. I'm so over that scene. I'm a little hesitant because I'm not sure if he's being completely honest with me, but I'm definitely interested enough to go out on another date. He might be ready to get into a serious relationship with me, but I probably won't know for a few days. I'm not going to call because I don't want to pressure him; plus, I have other suitors to keep my busy. Once he's declared his intentions, I'll be in a position to figure out what kind of guy he really is. My fingers are crossed.

Who knew that hunting for a new law firm could be this much fun?

Pleasantly Guiltless

I'm feeling quite adult, organized, guilt-free, and generally happy today. Plus, my cold is almost gone. Yay! I have a call-back interview with a firm that's a contender this afternoon and I'm planning to do a pilates or yoga class after that as a treat for myself.

That's my new thing: rather than looking at this or this as a treat, I'm trying to view things that are actually good for me as treats, like all the things I've been meaning to do - yoga, pilates, me-time, journaling, eating healthy, exercising, yadda-yadda-yadda. You get the picture. If Lass can do two classes a night (one of them being "Butts & Guts"), then I should be able to do one class per week! I feel optimistic about it working tonight. Wish me luck.

Speaking of being healthy, I saw this and according to Popsugar's test, I'm a failure. I must drink more water. I had started carrying my purple nalgene bottle around with me again, but this morning left it on my bookcase. Curses, foiled again!

In other news, as some of you may know many of the top NY Law Firms have been announcing some incredible salary raises, causing a scramble of salary hikes across the board. When I saw the increases, I started feeling nauseous for several reasons, mainly because it's a ton of money, I expect they'll work us even harder than they had been doing before, and it does make it slightly harder to walk away. Plus, what I do is not worth that much! (Except for my pro bono work which is worth that much, but not to the firm).

That all changed after I learned two things. First, my little brother, who has a successful insurance business going, is well on his way to making as much as I'm making, and will probably surpass me in a couple of years, if not sooner. I have no problems making at least as much money as my little brother for the time being. Like I said, he's going to cruise past me shortly, which is perfect because then he can buy the beers when I have my public interest job (Note: He often already buys the beers. He's a good brother who takes care of his sister that way).

Second, I got my paycheck today. After the government, the state, and the city had plundered my earnings, I was left with approximately 40% of my salary. They took almost 60%!!! It's almost enough to make one become a Republican (kidding). But, seriously, I no longer have any guilt about making as much money as possible at the moment, especially if I'm allowed to keep only 40% of it.

Do you hear me United States? Do you hear me New York? I battled Dragons this year and you took 60% of what I earned!!

It makes a girl think about moving to Texas.

Oh Bollox, It's Monday Again

I was having such a pleasant weekend. Even though I was sick! I rearranged my bedroom, cleaned the bathroom tiles, listened to music, did laundry, napped, rested, rested, and rested, watched SATC reruns on HBO, and read my book. All in all, I did an excellent job of listening to myself and was feeling much better by yesterday afternoon. Go me!

I was feeling so much better that I decided I was up for going to my book club meeting and then meeting a friend of Em's for dinner/drinks. The book club meeting was great. We discussed "Everything is Illuminated," over tea in a cafe on the Upper West Side that John Lennon used to frequent. More on the book later, but for now put it on your reading lists if you haven't already read it. It's worth it.

Then I met Em's friend at another nearby cafe for dinner (salmon-avocado salad, a glass of white wine, and a shared chocolate dessert). Em's friend is a very tall (6'5"), smart (also a lawyer), sweet guy of North-Indian descent. We had such a nice time that I agreed to go for a drink after dinner to a nearby bar, the Shalel Lounge. The lounge has a very cool subterranean feel and is accented with attractive Moroccan inspired decorations like hanging lamps and cushions. It was super-cute. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best idea to have a Jack and Ginger (or so my glands are telling me this morning), but at the time that's what myself was telling me to do. I listened, what can I say?

So, now it's Monday again. I feel as if I'm off to the Executioner's block. Again.

Update: I just read Go Fug Yourself and Popsugar and feel considerably better. I'm now ready to face the day. Thank god for meaningless celebrity gossip. I don't think I could get through the work-day without it.