Life with Frankenfinger

Now that the major drama has passed, I've become rather affectionate toward my injury. I think of it as a tender little battle scar, and am proud of the way it makes me look like I won a fist fight with a single sucker punch.

I checked with HR today, and sure enough, my insurance kicks in this Thursday, September 1st. Most likely I can use that toward the cost of getting my stitches out, although I don't think I can swing a retroactive credit (too bad). If God is not laughing at me right now, well then he really has no sense of humor whatsoever.

Not that I am in a position to be spending money, but I bought a digital camera yesterday. It was long overdue, and I just think of it as a purchase I made with money that will, as of the next pay period, be taken out of my paycheck for medical insurance. So, really, I'm breaking even. Okay, not really, but for as far back as I can remember, doctor's visits were followed by a reward. As a child, it was ice cream. After the beer bottle incident in college, I splurged at Victoria's Secret. So, given inflation and the evolution of "things that Lori needs now", a digital camera made perfect sense. And I can share the wealth with instaneous pictures of LA. As soon as I figure out how to work it.

One more reason not to do the dishes

I was having a great normal Saturday today, the first Saturday in a month that I have had all to myself just to sleep in, clean the apartment, and fit in a decent workout. I woke up at 9 or 9:30, got my coffee and a pedicure, and then started on the cleaning binge that I've been looking forward to all week (sick, what I look forward to these days).

I had just sprayed some Soft Scrub in the tub, and went to wash the dishes while the scrubbing bubbles took effect. Since I don't have a dishwasher in my apartment, I rarely ever use real (i.e. not plastic) dishware or silverware and thus never actually have dishes to wash, but since my mom was in last weekend, I figured the least I could do was let us consume wine out of actual glasses.

As I started on glass number two, it broke in my hand, and cut me deep in the knuckle of my index finger. I immediately started running the cold water, and I could see that it was deep. Not bone deep, but significant tissue deep. I was kind of panicked, because I knew this was no ordinary cut, but there was no one around, and I wasn't quite sure what to do. It was bleeding too much for me to drive to the hospital, not that I knew which hospital to go to anyway or how to get there. After 5 or 10 minutes, it slowed down enough that I grabbed my phone, and started dialing the address book. Of course no one answered, except one friend who was about 45 minutes away and therefore not much help. He actually wanted to call me an ambulance, but I didn't want an ambulance to come to take me away for a boo-boo, and plus, I don't have health insurance right now (eligable in about a week, I think, and stopped paying COBRA last month because, hey, nothing ever happens to me) and didn't want to incur any unneccessary charges.

At that point, my neighbors came home, and the girl next door ended up driving me to UCLA Medical Center. I sat in the emergency room for about two hours, and then they finally called me, took x-rays, and sent me home with four stitches. I've never actually had stitches before. I came close once in college, when a broken beer bottle cut into my arm as its owner was obliviously giving me a bear hug. (Anyone notice a theme here? "When alcohol attacks"? Oddly enough, I was sober both times.) But that time they just washed the cut out with vodka in the bathroom and gave me a butterfly bandage. By the time I went to the student health center the next day, there was nothing left for them to do but give me a tetanus shot (which, fortunately, was one less thing I had to get today).

So now I am bandaged, and it doesn't hurt, but it is on the knuckle of my index finger which kind of gets in the way of just about EVERYTHING I do. I am supposed to get the stitches out next Sat., which isn't exactly how I wanted to spend my weekend, but now I know to at least bring a book. And a sweater. That emergency room was freezing. Of course, earlier in the day, I had been complaining about the heat of my apartment. Life is funny like that.

It's been a long day

I've eaten the same pesto pasta for three out of my last four meals. I went out to dinner last night and was served a portion that could feed the entire restaurant. So I ate some for dinner, lunch today, and dinner again tonight. After dinner, I threw away what was at least two more portions that I figured wouldn't be good by tomorrow, at least not good for me anyway. Jeans are too expensive these days to have to start buying new ones.

In other exciting news, here are some pictures of Rebecca's new baby:


















He's wearing yellow in the hospital, because we were all betting it would be a girl and thus gifted an almost entirely yellow wardrobe. Note that by the time Mark is holding him at home, Nathan's already been changed to a white outfit. Cute hat, though. Smurflike.

Maybe higher gas prices are a good thing

I'm back in LA today, back in my own apartment, working from the dining room with my laptop and cell phone like the olden days of April, back before I got my job. I'm finally away from the gray skies of Hotlanta and dingy walls of the airport Renaissance, and back under the crisp blue air and California sunshine. Or something like that.

I was rather alarmed as our plane was coming in for the landing today, when the crisp blue air and imposing San Bernadino mountains suddenly gave way to a single murky layer of brown cloud that stretched as far as the eye could see. One minute I was looking at the mountains, remembering how only one year ago they were so new and exciting to me (mountains!) and how today they seemed so familiar and welcoming; the next minute I began noticing that the thin layer of cirrus clouds that separated the air from the earth had become laced with gray-black edges. Just as I began to make out the cityscape of Downtown LA and started to look for the Hollywood sign, we were engulfed in a blanket of smog. It was truly amazing how one second the air was clean and beautiful as can be, and the next, we're blindly moving through murk. What's really amazing was that it still seemed sunny, bright, and beautiful from the ground looking up.

So I can only imagine the toxicity report fifty years from now: record numbers of Angelenos dropping dead from smog inhalation after we were all out running, hiking, stair climbing, and so forth, all in the name of good health.

Hotlanta, part 2

Still stuck in the airport Renaissance, but at least the work day is over with and I'm heading out first thing in the morning. Our meeting ended around 1:30, so I came back here, did some work on the computer, and then got to indulge in the ultimate day-off/hooky-playing luxury: a full hour of daytime General Hospital. Ahhhh. I have only caught an episode or two since I started my job four months ago, because unlike in New York, my current cable service does not offer SoapNet. I could upgrade to get it, but the cost is significant, and to be honest, I don't miss it all that much. By 4PM today I was completely up to speed and not exactly pining to watch it again tomorrow (although with any luck I should be home by then).

I took a nice little nappy from about 4 to 5:30, and woke up to Rebecca calling on the phone. She and baby boy are doing fine and will go home tomorrow. It's almost 8:30 now and I'm ready to crawl back into bed for the night. My evening last night should have been uneventful, but I was woken up twice - first by Kinkos, next by the Kinkos courier who misunderstood the instructions to DROP OFF AT THE FRONT DESK - and then couldn't fall back asleep after I grabbed the unused pillow from the other side of the bed and smelled someone else's dirty hair. In a nutshell, Renaissance: DOWNGRADE.

Greetings from the Peach Tree State

I'm writing from my room at the airport Renaissance in Atlanta. I guess I've been lucky to travel well for business over the last few years, because this perfectly fine hotel room is actually quite depressing. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm in Atlanta for a business meeting I want no part of. In any case, I'm wishing I was back in LA and back in my cozy apartment. My cozy apartment is a little messy from my weekend with my mom, but it is a good mess. We packed a ton into three days, and it went by a lot faster than I expected.

Good news - Rebecca had a baby boy today! I still owe her a phone call but my day has been non-stop. Aside from her delivering a week early, the "boy" part was a surprise - most everyone, including me, thought it would be a girl. Welcome Nathan Brauning!

My second home is LAX

I'm leaving for the airport in a few minutes to pick up my mom. It's another weekend of me acting as tour guide and taxi driver. She leaves on Monday morning, and I was originally going to drive her to the airport, but now I am flying out of LA myself on Monday AM to go to Atlanta for three days, so I am going to arrange transportation for us separately. I just want it to be this time next week already. When I can have five minutes to myself. Arg.

The lure of the bullseye

I'm becoming more and more convinced that Target is fostering a virtual cult deep within the flourescent walls of their Minneapolis headquarters. Why else would I spend nearly $5 for a copy of the New Yorker - a magazine I have never, ever, read, by the way, not even for the cartoons - to look at nearly 20 pages of Target advertising? I am such a sucker.

Pictures from Runyon Canyon

Here's karma

...kicking me in the butt. Defamer Privacy Watch reports:

· Went to the LA Fitness in Westwood for my after-work workout tonight, and who was standing near the women’s locker room chatting with a trainer and some women in the jacuzzi, but Mr. Butterscotch Stallion,Owen Wilson! He gave me a quick smile as I entered the locker room. Saw him later on upstairs being really chatty with a few trainers, they seemed to know him pretty well.

Um, so I suffered at that gym for four months so he could show up AFTER I joined Equinox? Life really is so unfair.

My most recent celeb sighting was yesterday, at the Main Street Farmer's Market, where we saw American Idol's Ryan Starr (unfortunately not the same as Ryan Seacrest who I know was in Chicago for Glamorama) who most recently appeared on VH1's The Surreal Life. Pathetic, I know.

How to see LA in one day

Have two friends in town and nominate yourself tour guide and taxi driver.

Two of my best friends in the world were in town this weekend. Andra, my HS friend, and Heather, my college/NYC friend. Andra for vaca and the ECHS Concert, Heather for work.

11:00 AM - Andra and I go down to the Main Street Farmer's Market in Santa Monica/Venice to kill time until Heather gets approval on an edit.

12:15 - Pick up Heather at the Regent Beverly Wilshire, the hotel where Pretty Woman takes place.

12:45 - Arrive at Runyon Canyon, at the foot of the Hollywood Hills. Hike. for two hours. In the desert. Panoramic views of the city from heights of and above the Hollywood sign. Yum. This is why I moved to LA.

3:30 - Eat lunch at the Farmer's Market at the Grove.

5:00 - 7:00 - Relax, shower, nap, and revive at 10835 La Grange. Introduce out-of-state friends to neighbors. Out-of-state friends amazed at concept of friendly neighbors.

7:30 - Dinner at Baha Cantina in Marina del Ray. Ran into Gabe. Of course we had to have a run in. Update on the Delts is that Ryan has a throat infection and Jeff hates LA because he has no friends. Gabe was by himself. Heading to karaoke. Of course.

8:30 - Drive Andra back to ECHS concert coordinator friend Joe's in Lawndale/Manhattan Beach.

9:30 - Drive Greaux back to the RegBevWil in Beverly Hills.

10:00 - Collapse in my apartment and blog. Okay, watch Entourage, and then blog. Because there is nothing more quintessentially LA than Entourage, except perhaps The Comeback, its sad, pathetic, embarrassing aunt.

What a difference a year makes

Or, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

A year ago today I was preparing to go to Glamorama, Marshall Field's annual charity fashion show held in Chicago the second Friday of every August. They are preparing for it this year as I write this: tomorrow is the big day. My stress level was high - not because of any pressure my client put on me, but because of the pressure I put on myself. That's the way I've always been.

Now, I am preparing to go to San Jose tomorrow for my Chocolate Party, and the mindset couldn't be different. Not because I don't care about doing a good job - because I do - it's just that things are so much more relaxed. Maybe because my workload isn't exorbitant I had time to plan every last detail in advance (although I still don't know what I'm wearing or where exactly I am supposed to park at the airport), but I think its a general sense of comfort with things that I'm not lying awake at night worried about a certain stylist or celebrity or car service or crazy boss. Which I knew in my heart weren't really worry-worthy, but neurotic anxiety is only one of many wonderful traits I've inherited from my mother.

To that point, I just got blindsided with a huge writing assignment for Delta. I (obviously) want to do it well, but I have so much going on in the next two weeks - two friends and mom coming in and days off from work - that I am seriously worried about how I am going to knock this thing out. I am now going to Atlanta for three days, adding to my busy travel schedule this month. And the thing is, I know that I THRIVE on stress, and I'm not happy unless I'm worried about SOMETHING. So then, could I be any happier? Um, no.

Gym and I, month 1

For all of my initial hesitation, the Pasadena Equinox has really grown on me. Each day I've gone, I've enjoyed the gym more and more, to the point that I find myself now looking for excuses to stay a little longer, do one more exercise, one more set. I find myself actually smiling at people there; at LA Fitness I believe I frowned, if not growled outright. The other members seem to get better looking by the day, and I quite enjoy driving home at 7:30 PM, when the traffic is so light that my commute takes only half an hour.

So it's quite a love affair I've been developing over the past few weeks, but today I discovered yet another gem that helped convince me that Equinox and I are truly made for each other. In the bathroom, above the raised Kohler sinks, is a machine that dispenses mouthwash. That may sound so minor and maybe even ridiculous, but ever since I started running, in college, I've carried gum in my gym bag because I am so paranoid about the post-run bad breath. To the point that I hate speaking to gym people after the run for fear that I'll offend. But they get it! Equinox gets it! They also have single-serve deodorant in some sci-fi spray bottle pump contraption, which could come in handy I suppose, but the mouthwash contraption is there just for me. I am sure of it.

How to feel really rich

Move out of the most expensive city in the country.

Now that I have returned to LA and am back to spending only $1.50 on my daily Starbucks versus the $1.79 in NYC, Newsday has announced that workers in Manhattan make more money than anywhere else in the country. That may be true: I mentioned yesterday that I took a slight pay cut when I moved here, but I also point out that I have more money in the bank now than I ever did in New York in part because I am not spending $5 on a box of cereal anymore. I'm also not going on six-hour Saturday night drinking binges and paying upwards of $6 per drink. Thank God.

The downside of course is that I am also not able to spend my money here this year. I actually can't think of anything clever to say about this one -- I'm genuinely disappointed.

I would think that now, most of my money is spent on gas, as it takes about $30-$35 to fill up my tank, which I do every 4-6 days or so. I kind of felt frivolous about that until this weekend, when I saw that one 70-block (3.5 mile) cab ride in New York cost $11 - the equivalent of a THIRD of a tank. Imagine, having to fill up on gas every time you drove 10.5 miles - I wouldn't even make it to work! Sure there is the cost of having a car and insurance and all that, but at least I own the vehicle. I can keep it free of other people's trash and odors. And I don't even have to tip myself.

Why size matters

Because time just isn't as easy to measure.

Less than five months ago I had been living in New York for nearly seven years; L.A. was still a dream. But this weekend, the changes that have taken place in my life since then were most duly noted in terms of size, not time. Because how, in less than five months, could it be possible that I've settled so neatly into this new existance?

I arrived at JFK Friday night, and hopped in a cab to Karen's apartment, where a bunch of my girlfriends were meeting for dinner and drinks. Well, as many girlfriends as you could fit in a studio apartment, which in this case was five, plus one dog. My last apartment in New York was not much bigger than Karen's, but it's amazing how quickly I'd forgotten what that looked like, and have since gotten used the fact that my kitchen in LA is the size of my last bedroom in New York. No joke. The kitchen may, in fact, be bigger. Of course, I was overwhelmed by the warmth of my friends and the gossip that was shared and the way it seemed like no time had passed at all. And that is unmeasurable by any standard.

Saturday we did brunch and Central Park. I did more walking in a day than I would do in a week here, which is great, except that it was easy to remember why I hated New York when you are forced to walk by all the bad stuff and aren't just cruising by on the freeway with Ryan Seacrest chirping in the background. To be fair, I did actually experience a healthy dose of nostalgia and sentiment, since a good deal of our walking was in my old hood, the Upper East Side. The UES was where I spent the happiest of my NYC days, pre 9/11, before I moved away from the park, when I was young and fun and not young and bitter. Nearly every storefront held at least one colorful memory, and I felt like if I looked hard enough, I would have actually seen me and my friends galavanting through the streets of 1999, laughing and gossiping and looking for something - a man, a drink, a laugh, or all of the above. Obviously, little has changed.

Saturday night, we did dinner and drinks, which was also great, except for the fact that drinks started at 8 and continued until sometime after 2 or 3AM, and it would be fair to say that part of my reason for wanting to leave New York was to escape the ease in which this type of excess occurs.

Fortunately, my wooden leg is actually made of steel, and I woke up bright and early the next morning to get ready for Rebecca's baby shower - the reason I came back East in the first place. I took the train into Stamford, and was met by a hormonally tearful girl who looked entirely different than the girl who has been my best friend since the second grade. Rebecca is due on August 28, and she had told me that she had gained quite a bit of weight and was just about ready to pop, but I still wasn't prepared to see my life-long size 2 friend carrying around more than a basketball in her dress. That's not to say she didn't look good -- she looked amazing. Radient, blond, stylish, and prepared. But she looked like a grown up. And here I was coming off an 6+ hour drinking shift in the city. (Nine+ hours if you want to count the drink we had at Bounce at 5:00 after we randomly ran into Chris Frank on the street - of course I had to have at least one run-in).

The shower was interesting; I'll leave it at that, only because I have such weak baby-loving bones in my body that I don't want to risk sounding more self-absorbed than I already do. I stayed the night at Rebecca's, and helped her sort through the gifts, taking the tags off the clothes, etc. Then today, her parents had offered to drive me back to the airport, which was much appreciated, as it saved me over $50 in cab fare. (I should mention here that I somehow managed to spend $400 this weekend; that's only counting cash, and not plane fare or anything, so if you want to talk about the size of things, lets talk about the size of my bank account from when I lived in New York compared to my bank account now, despite the fact that I took a pay cut when I moved here).

So, it's 3:00 in the afternoon, Rebecca's dad is driving me to JFK, her mom in the passenger seat, Rebecca and I in the backseat like little kids. Part of me felt 13 years old again, talking to the Steckels like the second family that they are to me, except instead of being driven to the Walpole mall or the school dance, my friend has an 8-month old fetus in her and we are conversing about her next gynecological visit. With her dad. The 13-year old in me wanted to die.

The whole weekend was a reflection on my past, and while I am not abandoning that by any means, I just couldn't wait to come home to LA. I wanted my big apartment, wanted to get back to work, back to whatever semblance of a life I have managed to build up here through Tracy and Keith and driving and being the happiest I have quite possibly been since graduating college. And that is a sizeable statement if I do say so myself.

A heart that no longer lives in New York

I'm off to New York tomorrow for a quick little trip. My reason for going is Rebecca's baby shower on Sunday, so before that I will spend the weekend with Cara and Heather and hopefully see some other people from my former life. I have mixed feelings about going. Obviously I am excited to see my friends, but I am not really looking forward to being in the actual city. I'd be more excited if they were coming here.

Nothing caused me to want to move more than the thought of spending one more sticky August weekend in Manhattan. And it's not just the weather, of course. I find myself limiting my weekend shoe wardrobe to only what is comfortable enough for a day of walking around. I'm dreading the high prices of dinner and drinks that I never bat an eye at before the move, but now seem so frivolous and wasteful. I mean, I still look at restaurant checks out here and am continuously shocked at how low prices are compared to New York. And the whole idea of going from cab to subway to bus to train all weekend... I'm exhausted and I'm not even there yet! And yet I've only been in L.A. for five months - not even - when did I have so much time to get so settled into this life? I'm like a little baby with an old soul, or like a bitter ex-girlfriend forced to see her old boyfriend at a party. Am I bitter at the city or have I just learned to ask for more out of the relationship?

For someone that has only been in LA for less than five months, I consider myself beyond adjusted, and often, old-school. Case in point: a girl I've known since Freshman year of college is moving into the apartment next door to me. Because she mentioned to me that she was looking, and my neighbors mentioned to me that they were leaving, and the next thing you knew, it was a done deal. I just moved here myself; I have no business managing to find someone else an apartment! What/who do I know? Apparently, enough. And it is so fitting that she is Syracuse, and also in PR, and God, can my world get any smaller? But you know I love it. I don't know anything any other way.

Pictures from Memorial Day

One day I will get a digital camera and actually be able to post pictures while they are still relevant. In the meantime, isn't it amazing what you can do with a disposable these days?

Swag(geringly) Happy

Last week I arranged to have our new chocolate body products included in the gift bags for the media launch of a new chocolate company based in New York. It is usual for us publicists to exchange treats (all in the name of research and building a client base, of course) so I sent the chocolate publicist a number of my goodies, and I just today received her package. Wow - did she put me to shame. Not only did she send me a gift bag from the event - which includes lots of chocolate samplers, Chivas Regal Scotch/Whiskey samplers, and some other random treats - she also enclosed full size samples of some of her other clients. Her other clients are in the "Spirits" industry, so sitting on my file cabinet are now bottles of Jameson Irish Whiskey, Glenlivet Single Malt Scotch, and a brand of Vodka I have never heard of. This is all very exciting, although to be honest, I have no idea how to even drink Scotch or Whiskey. I consider them to be very "manly" drinks, and don't think I have ever tried either before. Oh well, again, all in the name of research.