Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Newsworthy

While Vaughniston mania continues in my office, it turns out I'm not the only one in the family getting press. My mom and her colleagues at Why Weight Fitness taped a segment today on Snyder's Stoughton, a local cable access show hosted by this guy. It will air Friday night at 7 PM on Comcast Channel 9 in Stoughton. My mom and I watched last week's episode while I was at home, and laughed from start to finish. Unfortunately, it's not meant to be a comedy. But, like we say in the business, all press is good press!

Another item that got press today was this: The Apprentice is filming Season 6 in LA. Hmm.

While LA certainly has its share of savvy, and sometimes ruthless, business people, it's hard to imagine our laid back beach culture as the backdrop for this kind of televised competition. If you've seen the Apprentice even just once, what you probably remember more than the players are the impressive shots of the cityscape - traffic whizzing by, clouds moving at warped speed, phallic buildings imposing on the mean city streets. As with Sex and the City, Manhattan is practically a supporting character, the ubiquitous overachiever who says little but does so much.

If our city were a character, I imagine it would be more like the captain of the high school football team - massively huge, good to look at, fun to party with, but a little slow. In terms of setting the scene for the show, I don't know that there's anything intimidating or "go get em!" about our landscape of palm trees, strip malls, and freeways; people don't even wear business suits to work. I'm predicting some incarnation of Baywatch meets The Boardroom, where all the female contestants look like Pamela Anderson and every task takes place on the beach. In bathing suits for DT's pleasure.

On the other hand, the tasks over the last few seasons have increasingly been centered around the entertainment industry, so the move makes a certain amount of sense. Maybe I'll audition.



Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Vaughniston sighting

I had an unbelievably exciting day. Apparently Jen Aniston and Vince Vaughn shopped at our Scottsdale store last night (yes, together), bought lots of Lather goodies, and gave me a juicy item to pitch right in time for the Holiday. Christmas came early for me this year!

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Monday, November 28, 2005

Now I know why he calls it "Reality Blurred"

What is it about reality television stars that makes them seem so approachable? Like you think you know them, but even more so, that they should know you. Is it that we see them week after week in emotionally charged situations - embarrassing themselves, sharing intimate confessions, triumphing against all odds? Or is just that we feel like they are one of us, a real person plucked from obscurity to enjoy a well-deserved 15 minutes of fame?

I was in the gym tonight, and overheard the guy next to me tell his trainer that his cousin was Kelly, the yummy delicious winner of the Apprentice, Season 2. My ears perked up, and as soon as I finished my set of tricep extensions, I jumped on that conversation like I had been part of it. Not that I was, of course. Like a puppy dog looking to please, I basically just reiterated what I had heard the guy say (you're his cousin?), that I loved the show (as if he had anything to do with the production of it), that Kelly was the only brain on that season, and that I once ran into Kelly in the supermarket in New York (as if that matters to anyone, anywhere).

I don't typically talk to people at the gym unless they talk to me first, and I don't spend too much time in general overthinking things I've said and wishing I could take them back. But really, what was I thinking? I kind of forgot for a moment that I've never actually met Kelly. Just watched him every Thursday night outperform his peers on a 13 week job interview. I must have come across like some celeb-obsessed starlover - a huge faux pas in LA to begin with, and even more pathetic when you consider that it is Kelly and not a real celebrity we're talking about.

Which is exactly my point. This gym guy could have been anyone's cousin, but I never would have said something if he were related to say, Ben Affleck (although we are both from Boston) or, to use a TV star with a similar level of weekly familiarity, Matt LeBlanc. I guess there's just something to be said about reality TV and my own personal obsession with it that makes me blur the lines between TV and well, reality.

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Sunday, November 27, 2005

Jet Lag

Today feels like the longest day ever. I woke up at 5 AM EST to catch my 7:15 AM flight from Logan to LAX. It left exactly on time, and, with the time difference, we arrived in Los Angeles at 10:15 AM PST. I was back in my apartment by 11 -around the same time I might get a typical Sunday started, only I had already been up for 9 hours and flew 2800 miles across the country.

It was an unusually clear day. As the plane came in for the landing, I kept waiting to pass through the obligatory layer of smog, but it never came. The view out of the window on the cab ride home was a stark contrast to the weather in Boston - the sky was electric Kool-Aid blue with nary a cloud in sight. I decided to take a trip to Target in West Hollywood, and while I can usually catch a glimpse of the Hollywood sign from the stretch of Santa Monica Blvd by my apartment, today it looked like it had gone through the outdoor equivalent of Bright Smile - the sign was so noticeable glaring I thought maybe it had been moved or enlarged over the weekend.

At Target I picked up some general necessities, as well as a DVD player for $49.99 (!) and a pilates DVD. I had planned on picking up some sort of yoga video to use on my computer's DVD player, but for only $50, well why not! I've never had a living room large enough to actually do an at-home workout, so might as well go all-out.

A shower, nap, and my fourth meal of the day later, I've now done the workout and am waiting for my Sunday night two-hour scoop of happiness in the form of Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy. I am still tired, and I pray that two hours of good television don't get me so wound up that I can't sleep afterward. This day just needs to end.



Tuesday, November 22, 2005

(A truly) Happy Thanksgiving

When I was in sixth grade we were asked to write a paper about our favorite holiday. Choosing Thanksgiving came naturally to me. For one thing, I really appreciated that you didn't have to be a particular religion to celebrate it. Some people who grow up half-Jewish and half-Christian might enjoy celebrating both sets of holidays with their respective families; but since I never felt particularly aligned either way, I usually just felt like an outsider during most holiday gatherings. Using my math, one-half plus one-half equalled something less than zero.

The subject of my paper, though, did not go into the complexities of split religion nor my split family; rather, it focused on the unique atmosphere of New York in November and the comfort it gave me to be there.

Six years younger than my mom, my "Cool Aunt Barbra" lived in Manhattan and would host many Thanksgivings at her apartment there. Among other reasons, Barbra was especially cool because she lived only a few blocks from the Macy's Parade, and every year I would get to go and see the huge balloons, celebrities, and to-do in person. As a child, I realize now, I was incredibly lucky. Not only to be able to go to the Macy's Parade, which some people may never get to experience, but to see it as a child, when it really is glorious and the anticipation just about kills you except that there is so much stimulation you absolutely couldn't die yet!

A good part of my paper tried to capture that sense of anticipation - of trying to fall asleep the night before, to waking up early that morning to get a spot, to walking straight across town thinking, "was the walk this long last time?", to arriving in Times Square and thinking after five minutes, "brr, it's cold... would anyone mind if I said I wanted to go home?" But just then, my mom would buy me some hot chocolate, and I'd be okay again. It was THAT kind of comfort that made Thanksgiving the best holiday.

And funnily enough, when I lived in New York, every November I would get a whiff of the air and be reminded of my childhood Thanksgivings there. It was some combination of the temperature, the air quality, and the smell of the hot dog carts wafting downwind. Even after I had lived there five, six years, and was utterly over the city, I continued to be surprised at the potent, but pleasant, reminder.

As an adult, I'm sure I'd have a different view of those Thanksgivings, and remember the airport hassles, weather problems, city traffic. Hell, these days, you couldn't pay me to fly to New York the day before Thanksgiving, sleep on a pull-out sofa, get up at 7 AM to walk in the cold to the parade, and do it all with a child, no less.

So I am thankful that I will always have those memories of New York, of the holiday, and of my family, before I was old enough to know better. I love you, Thanksgiving. And I love everyone who's reading this for caring. For that I truly am most grateful.



Boston or bust!

Super slow day at work made slower by the fact that I wish I was on a plane right now. You know I must be excited because I actually started packing last night. I, as a rule, never pack earlier than the night before a trip - or the day of, if I'm leaving late enough - because I'm never sure what I'm going to want to bring and don't want to risk forgetting anything by thinking I've packed it last night when really last night, I was thinking I would pack it tomorrow. But, since there's a 40 degree difference in temperature between LA and Boston, I felt fairly confident in that whatever I packed, I wouldn't go missing it today.

The weekend is going to go by so fast. To avoid feeling the same stress next month, I've decided to extend my stay through New Years, and fly back to LA on January 2nd. That's right, Boston - you've got me for 10 whole days next month! What ARE you going to do with me?



Sunday, November 20, 2005

Love Letter

Dear Grey's Anatomy,

What is it? What did I do to you that made you feel it necessary to make me cry every Sunday?

Was it that when I first saw the trailers, way back last spring, I thought, "What a lame show. They want to be part E.R., part O.C., for people with a low I.Q." Are you still holding that against me? Well, I'm sorry - I didn't know! No one did. Not even you ! I read in Los Angeles magazine that your original pilot had to be reworked to better mesh with the tone of then-happening Desperate Housewives. Whatever you were initially, you weren't snarky enough, or campy enough, or good enough to follow DH - so don't go thinking you're all that when really I had you pegged before your fancy writers and directors and ABC money made you all relevant and sensitive and stuff.

I'm sorry I'm so emotional. I can't remember exactly when it started. But I can tell you the second it got out of control, and that was the moronic yet amazingly emotional impalement show that aired Halloween weekend. I mean, I may have had some wine that night, and it may have been the week or so after a little bit of a relationship ended, but you know, I cried way more than I should have. Probably not so much for the way the cute impaled girl so bravely made jokes about her doomed condition than the way it really reflected the strength Meredith showed against Dr. McDreamy, but no matter what the reasons, I think ABC owes me a box of tissues and an apology to my neighbors who I may possibly have kept awake that night.

Even before that was the episode when Sandra Oh lost her bastard baby. Rather than stretch the throat lumping over 45 minutes, you packed the same amount of heartache into the last 2, where she's curled up in the arms of Isaiah Washington, their tiny silhouette against the hospital
bed a stark metaphor for her newfound vulnerabillity. Oh, it hurt so good.

Tonight's episode was tame by contrast, but I guess I read a lot into the Thanksgiving theme, wishing I was celebrating with my family in my favorite cranberry-colored J. Crew sweater. It's also possible that I read too much into Meredith's admission to Alex that she didn't want to be around anyone because she would spread the misery, and then I just felt SO bad for Izzie that her friends all stood her up, and really, if I'm going to have someone make me cry every week, they really ought to take me for dinner first or something. Or pay for my blepharoplasty.

So that's it, Grey's Anatomy, I love you and I hate you. But most of all I need to you convince ABC to bring back Extreme Makeover so I can get rid of these bags under my eyes, no doubt caused from my weekly meltdown. What do you say to corporate synergy?

Love,
Lori



Working out shouldn't be so much work

This was (hopefully) my last weekend trekking to Pasadena for the sake of going to the gym - my new gym in Westwood opens this Tuesday! In all likelihood I won't even go there this week, because I'll be home for Thanksgiving, but in two weeks it will be nice to drive only one mile -and not 25 - just to run on a treadmill. I ended up getting the California Access membership, which allows me to use any Equinox in LA, so I'll continue to use the Pasadena gym on weekdays after work, and go to Westwood on weekends.

This weekend was so gorgeous, I felt guilty spending any time inside a gym. Yesterday I didn't bother, and went for a run on the beach instead, followed by a mini-session on the stairs. I decided that's the best way to do it. I did 6 laps up and down - half of what I usually do - which was just enough to feel challenging yet not too much to get monotonous. Today, even though it was close to 90 and felt like a beach day, I dragged myself to Pasadena to get some weightlifting in. The ride itself wouldn't bother me if there wasn't the requisite traffic jam to slow me down. But, alas, that should be the last time I have to endure it - on a Sunday, anyway.

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Friday, November 18, 2005

Learnings

Eight months ago today I moved to LA. (I never tire of the variations of that phrase.) Here are the top 8 things I have learned thus far:

8. People out here are by far nicer than they were in New York. Having never lived my adult life anywhere else, I don't know whether it's more accurate to say that LA is a friendly place, or NYC is just a pit of despair. Regardless, UPGRADE.

7. The traffic really is that bad.

6. The weather really is that good.

5a. Never ever ever trust that the beauty editors know your product unless you're the one that introduced it to them. 5b. Always, always, always start with an event.

4. I had a dormant passion for food shopping. I go to Ralph's for the basics, Whole Foods for salads, Trader Joes for prepared foods, Target for cereal and snacks, 7-11 for beer, World Market for wine, and Bristol Farms when I want to overspend on anything. This is all the more interesting when you consider that I haven't used my stove a single time in 8 months.

3. Always have health insurance. Just in case.

2. A good gym is hard to find and should never be taken for granted. The word "friend" may also be substituted for "gym". And a friend won't ask for $105 per month for the commitment.

1. It doesn't matter how far I go, I'm never going to escape myself.

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Thursday, November 17, 2005

You spin me right round, baby right round

I'm on sensory overload when it comes to PR right now.

I'm two-thirds of the way through Everyone Worth Knowing, Lauren Weisberger's disappointing follow up to The Devil Wears Prada. The fact that I'm in the industry probably enhanced my liking for The Devil, but now it's what's keeping me from really enjoying Everyone. Oh, it's still a page turner. But the plot has an integral flaw, in that the first rule of PR is to stay out of the press - let the clients shine, and our fictional heroine is being pimped by her boss to garner more visibility for their firm. I've been pimped out for the sake of my clients, but never for the sake of the firm. Do we need to take a lesson from the Lee Anne DeVette school of public relations - when you garner nearly as much publicity as your client, it's never a good thing. Speaking of, that story made news in both the New York Times and Los Angeles Times this weekend. Granted, it's Tom Cruise, but I didn't think most people realized or cared about the spin doctors behind the scenes.

Then, we have this. Kim Stewart - Rod Stewart's daughter, Paris Hilton's second-choice sidekick, and, um, really nothing else. And Talan, who was, until June, in high school. Laguna Beach high school, but really, he had such a small part on that show it's a wonder he even bothered moving to Hollywood with the rest of the crowd. Pulling the ultimate publicity stunt - the sudden engagement after an "I-didn't-even-know-they-were-dating" relationship. Actually, I believe Wikipedia defines the ultimate publicity stunt as "exposing a long-forgotton sex tape", but I guess since Paris and Britney and Pamela already pulled that one, Kim went for the unoriginal third choice. (Number two, "the quickie wedding", has also been overused, by Nicky, Britney, Renee, etc.) At least (so far) they've spared us the fourth most popular publicity stunt - "getting knocked up" as pioneered by Gwenyth two years ago and gaining in popularity in 2005, by TomKat, Heath and Michelle, Bennifer II, and so forth. They should all be taking a lesson from Jennifer Aniston: she didn't do a damn thing this year except get divorced and she's GQ's Man of the Year. Or maybe Matthew McConaughey, who hasn't been in a movie for ages and still managed to snag People's Sexiest Man title.

I'm just so tired of all the crap that gets regurgitated day in and day out. Pet monkeys, Greek heirs, car crashes, pending divorces. Is it possible I've surpassed my own tolerance for gossip? I need a vacation.



Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Thanksgiving countdown

A week from right now I'll be home in Boston for the Thanksgiving holiday. Any other year I think I'd be dreading the hassles associated with holiday travel, but I'm just missing home so much right now I want nothing more than to be sitting among the cat hair on my mom's living room couch, glass of wine in one hand, tv remote in the other.

It's going to go by so fast. Maria is picking me up from the airport on Wednesday and we'll go out to dinner somewhere. I am spending Thanksgiving with my mom, and then that night I am supposed to see all of my high school friends and meet Cheryl's new baby, Drew. Friday morning I will see my dad for breakfast. Friday afternoon and Saturday I guess I will just relax, and then I am catching a super-early (7AM) flight back on Sunday because it was one of the only reasonably-priced flights left. By then I'm sure I will be ready to return, but right now I am wishing I had taken Monday and Tuesday off as well and just made a week's trip out of it. Work is slow enough that I actually could have done that, although at the time I didn't want to waste the vacation days.

I am taking a number of days off for Christmas, and am planning to be in Mass for a good 6-7 days then. Even that seems so short, but when I'm home, the time goes by so slowly. I'm so used to certain things - the gym, the internet, digital cable - and I get a little anxious without them. Plus, every Christmas it seems, 2-3 days are spent snowed in on the couch, unable to go anywhere. Anywhere except the fridge, where there is always another glass of wine ready for the taking.

UPDATE 11/16: I'm sorry. Apparently I thought yesterday was Wednesday. Wishful thinking I suppose.



Monday, November 14, 2005

Regressing

My inner 15-year old can't tear herself away from MTV tonight. It's bad enough that I skipped the gym in order to race home for the season finale of Laguna Beach, even though I already knew the "big surprise". That's okay. I'm officially so over Kristen and on Team LC now. I can't wait for The Hills. But I'll be skipping season 3 of traditional Laguna Beach. Did anyone else notice the spackled senior who looked no younger than 35?

And now I'm watching Seventeen, where Atoosa Rubenstein is playing some sort of mind game with the girls worse than anything I went through pledging a sorority. The girls all look completely traumatized as they sit eating lunch by Atoosa's pool in the Hamptons, and I actually feel bad for them. Does anyone feel bad for me that I care?

UPDATE 11/17: Apparently someone at MSNBC shares my warm fuzzy thoughts about Atoosa.



They must have seen my pictures

I didn't think we needed the EPA to tell us this. In other not-so-breaking news, it rains a lot in Seattle.



Saturday, November 12, 2005

Happy Trails

Today I hiked Temescal Canyon. You can see what I saw if you click on my new photo album which is located to the right under my profile. The canyon is located just off the PCH in the Pacific Palisades, and is known mostly for it's breathtaking view of the ocean from 1000 feet.

It was a challenging climb - practically a vertical ascent that had my calves burning right off the bat. That's a good thing, of course. It didn't take me long (45 minutes) to reach the top, although I was out of breath and wondered how someone who isn't in my shape could do this. Pat on the back to me.

The views were stunning - you can see for yourself. My favorite picture is here:

because at first it looks like this amazing city view, and then you realize that line running through the center is actually our famous layer of smog.

The trail itself was interesting. I've gotten used to Runyon Canyon, which is pure desert. Its location mid-basin makes for a sunny climb with only patches of shade, and plenty of cacti and other desert-type vegetation populate the scenery. The climb up Temescal was like that, alongside a cliff in the afternoon sun, but the trail down into the canyon was more like something you might see in New England, or regular old England, for that matter. The Pacific gives the air a moist, clammy feel, despite the warm temperature - it kind of reminded me of having a fever, albeit in a good way. The way up could be painted in various shades of sand and beige, set against a sky blue backdrop; the way down, however, would be a stark contrast of bright greens and dark browns. Both might be painted with earth tones, but they'd look like entirely different planets.

The descent, in all of it's New England-ness, reminded me of being in camp, where we were always forced to hike at least once per summer. I hated it then. Do any kids like it? I was too young to appreciate the scenery, and resented the forced workout. Shortly after I moved to NYC - and was virtually ripped from nature's womb - I decided that I LOVED hiking and convinced my boyfriend at the time that we should go. Born and bred in Manhattan, he much preferred shopping in SoHo to sightseeing in Central Park, but he still planned us a trip to Lake George and included hiking on the itinerary.

It was so miserable. The trail was tiny, muddy, moist, and mosquito-infested. We lasted half an hour before I said, "I don't remember hiking being like this." We turned around, got in the car, picked up a six-pack, and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon from the front yard of the B&B. It was enough nature for one day.

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Thursday, November 10, 2005

Bartender, this post is making me thirsty

I'm not a huge fashion person, but I get why people like Stella McCartney. She totally rocked Chloe in the late 90's, has done plenty of enviable things with her own line, and has that neat British thing going on. Rumor has it she even has a famous father. But what I don't get is why people in New York (and all over the globe) are falling all over themselves to pick up her new capsule collection for H&M. It's H&M, people!

I don't mean to knock H&M. I got a lot of stuff there - when I was 24: club clothes, accessories, anything trendy. And the prices were unbeatable- which was why no one minded throwing their H&M shirt in the garbage when it fell apart after only one wear. Don't get me wrong - if there were H&M's in LA I would probably still shop there if for nothing more than to keep abreast of what those crazy kids are wearing these days - but I would never get on line at 8 AM to fight with fashion people for a $30 shirt that's STILL going to fall apart no matter whose name is on it.

STELLA! (Artois, McCartney, it's a solid name.)



Wednesday, November 09, 2005

You know there's a wildly inappropriate title for this

One of the few things I miss about New York is the ability to get anything you want, anytime, anywhere. That need for instant gratification was actually part of my motivation to leave, since it made me outrageously impatient anytime I couldn't get my way. But surely it wouldn't be too hard to find a decent salad bar in LA, right?

Wrong. Apparently I WAS spoiled, having make-your-own salad bars populating every corner of Manhattan. There were the slim-pickin's salad bars at the Korean delis that served iceberg lettuce, leftover tomato slices from the sandwich counter, slops of tuna, and whatever else the manager could find and charge $5/pound for. Then there were the salad bars which offered more and better choices of things one might actually put in a salad, although these were still sometimes the subject of TV news investigations and once in a while made the papers for having traces of salmonella, rat droppings, or worse. One time I saw video footage of someone actually urinating in the cucumber/onion marinade. Yummy.

But what I truly miss (because let's face it - I never ate at those crappy places) were the "toss your own salad" bars, which is actually kind of misleading, since the beauty is that they toss it for you! For $5.95, you can choose among radiccio, spinach, or mixed greens, over 20 meat/cheese/vegetable/pasta/legume toppings, and then - this is the best part - they toss the salad with the dressing right there in front of you. You get well-rounded bites each time (no more digging to get to the good stuff) and every single delicious item of your choosing is perfectly dressed. Such a simple concept, so easy to execute, yet not found anywhere in Los Angeles.

I thought this was the healthiest food capital of the world. Didn't we invent tofu? Don't we have a governator that won some body contests once upon a time when tofu was being invented? Don't we produce more red wine than any other state in the country? And don't we have stick thin actresses walking around as a testament to all the healthy food we offer? Oh. What? They don't eat? Well, maybe if LA had salad bars like New York we wouldn't all be idolizing Mischa Barton.



Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Desperate Ploy?

I know Desperate Housewives has suffered a bit in the ratings this season (at least compared to last) but this sounds like a half-hearted attempt by the PR team to boost interest in the series. Hello, publicist for hire, right here!

By the way, did anyone else notice how Teri Hatcher's face seemed frozen in a Botox popsicle during her hysterical crying scene on Sunday? I've asked Awful Plastic Surgery to look into it.



Monday, November 07, 2005

Happy 31st, Hello Kitty

I still have writer's block. I'm attributing it to a lack of environmental stimulation, although it's possible that living in LA for eight months has finally led to the inevitable brain dump. I assumed that would happen over time, but, coming from NYC, I suppose I'm on the accelerated plan. So I apologize in advance if my writing seems exceptionally lame.

A year ago this week I was in town to celebrate Hello Kitty's 30th anniversary. (It was very important that we refer to it as an anniversay, not a birthday, because Hello Kitty is ageless.) It was the best work trip ever.

I was staying in the Mondrian Hotel for the second time in as many months. For reasons never made clear to me, I was given a room upgrade, and spent two nights sleeping in a suite larger than my current apartment. I SO felt like a rock star.

The party was held on a soundstage at Raleigh Studios (so Hollywood!) and I had invited all of my LA friends. Nicole Richie's fiancee was spinning, I was hanging with Aunt Becky, and, well, those were really the only two celebrities that came (DJ AM was being paid of course). It was five months before my official move date, and I was so amped I was literally jumping out of my skin with excitement. I hadn't yet shared my plans with my boss or client, however, and was biting back the words to tell them. A group of us went to Skybar after the party, and I think I told as many strangers as I could find just to get the news off my chest.

That night was electric. I was just so outrageously, incredibly, out-of-my-mind happy. Most of the gift bag items were lame - kid stuff - but I did keep the stuffed Target dog with a Hello Kitty collar as a token of the trip. He watches over me from the living room shelf and makes sure I never forget that amazing night.

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Sunday, November 06, 2005

Call the blog anything you want, just don't call it late for dinner

I have writer's block.

And a bad case of homesickness. Neither make for engaging reading material. But maybe if I had the right journal...

I went hiking yesterday back at Runyon Canyon and ran into an old friend at the top of the loop. It's amazing how in a city of so many million people, I can still run into fellow Orangemen - at the top of a mountain, no less.



Wednesday, November 02, 2005

It's all downhill from here

Seven months from today I will turn 30. To help me mentally prepare, my body has taken the liberty of acting its age - and I'm not just talking smile lines. My knee has been hurting for over a week now. I noticed it last Monday night in NYC when I kneeled down (knelt?) to stuff a gift bag and it hurt! I've never had a problem with my knees - even despite all the running I do -and it only hurt when I bent it in that way, so I figured maybe it was from the lack of leg room on the plane or something equally trivial.

A week and change later, it still hurts. Oddly, it doesn't hurt when I run (or walk, or hike - all things I have done this week); it just hurts when I bend it, stretch it, or try to flex it. Nothing appears swollen or bruised, but it feels different and doesn't allow me free range of motion. Cheers to physically shutting down, one body part at a time.

I know I shouldn't complain. I'm younger now than I'm going to be ever again. 30 is the new 20. I'm really 29 going on 19. SO WHY DO I HAVE JOINT PAIN?????



Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Maybe all I need is just a little Patience

In case you ever want to blackmail me, a useful thing to know is that I've kept a diary since I was 8 years old. My second entry ever (6/12/84) talks about playing Three's Company at Sharon Lake with Devin Quinn and Rebecca, and if that doesn't shed any light on why this blog is named after the Regal Begal, then I don't know what to tell you.

Diary entries were sporadic at first, (like, if I held hands in gym class), peaked between middle school and college (angst-ridden HOURS of John Hughes-worthy entertainment), and have been winding down ever since as my handwriting gets worse and fewer boys are thrown into my daily routine. At this point I basically just keep a journal around for posterity - kind of a tangible written record of how my dating life sucks in case I ever get lucky enough to forget. And of course where I print thoughts not relatable here for fear that my family will have me in a straightjacket before I can fully shut down the computer.

I'm sharing this Lori-ism because I was at a total loss for things to write about tonight, so I consulted my memoirs to see if November 1st had ever held any significance. I'm sad to report that over 21 years, it really didn't. I came across only one entry from 11/1, this gem from 1989 referring to our 8th grade Halloween dance (picture me with big bangs, braces, and a bad attitude, like, okay?):

"When Brian and I were dancing to the song 'Patience' by Guns N Roses, he sang some of it, I think, directed to me. He didn't sing all of it, just the parts that were sentimental, and quite coincidentally, close to our situation... So, I'm naming that as our song, instead of Heaven [Ed: by Warrant, duh] because this has more to do with us. It works out well though, because he told me he requested that song, and G-N-R is his favorite group. I love Brian 4-eva!!!"

Brian was my 7th-8th grade boyfriend. He dumped me a few weeks after I wrote that when he found out I had cheated on him at summer camp with a fast boy from Long Island. Our romantic dance, however, was captured for all eternity on page 48 of our 8th grade yearbook. And BTW, I look hot in that picture. : )

Happy Nov. 1!!!