Happy New Year

I said last year at this time, "It can only go up from here". I'm (insert emotion here: proud? thankful? thrilled? relieved?) to report back that "it", in fact, has.

I still hate New Year's Eve and the pressure that comes along with it. In my early and mid twenties, the pressure was mostly centered around finding the coolest party and having the best time ever, which never ever came at a price below $100. The objective over the last few years has been to find a more low-key good time, but that comes at an even higher price because "sophisticated" often translates into "dinner". And there's just as much pressure if not more, because somewhere along the way we all picked up on the notion that a good New Year's Eve would mean a good year ahead, and a bad New Year's, well, let's just kill ourselves now because next year is REALLY going to suck.

Don't even get me started on the New Year's kiss.

Traditions and pressure aside, I can't ignore the fact that 2005 was a great year. (Prefaced, of course, by a good New Year's - just kill me now, please.) Let's reflect - in 2005, I:
- up and quit my high powered NY PR job
- moved across the country by myself
- got my dream job - an in-house position - with almost as much power but none of the stress
- dated an actual guy for over five months!
- made new friends
- bought a car! Re-learned how to drive! Aggressively!
- basically took every comfort I had and turned it on its head and thrived at the challenge

Of course, there have been some growing pains:
- I miss my east coast friends tremendously. I fear I will never get back the time I missed or make friends like that again.
- I find that having a low-stress job is not satisfying. Apparently I liked being abused by higher-powered bosses and clients and am bored with this "quality of life" concept I so thought I wanted. Then again, maybe that's because I don't have as much of a life out here to enjoy.

But overall, I will remember this as the year I took control of my life. Until now, most of my major decisions were made for me. Camp and college were largely influenced by my aunt Barbra, as was a big part of my decision to move to New York after school. The fact that most of my friends were moving there as well only pushed me toward the same direction. Jobs all came easily, positions seeming so tailor made for my experience that in hindsight I can't imagine it any other way. Apartments and living situations all but fell in my lap, and I never suffered for a social life, thanks to the most active unofficial alumni network I couldn't have ever imagined in my wildest dreams.

Was I a fool to let it all go? Or did LA choose me, like I suspected it had after my first visit here not even two years ago? I still believe the latter, but would appreciate any insight that 2006 might allow.

Happy New Year!

Holiday recap, abridged

A week away from blogging and my mind is mush. It's possible my mind is like that, however, because - thanks to an early morning cross country flight and the three hour time difference - I've been awake for what seems like a day and a half, yet it's only 1 pm in LA. Welcome to my longest day ever.

The trip home was a good one. I made enough plans with friends and family to keep from getting bored, although a good deal of the trip was spent lounging on my mother's couch watching reruns of Law and Order. Not that I am complaining. Casa Dalton is the best deal in town and has a great restaurant to boot.

The annual Holden Hallmark Christmas was happily celebrated with 35 of our closest friends and family members. I'll post some pictures under "My Family" photo album (look to the right), along with some others I took this week. While I've always enjoyed getting together with family, it meant even more to me this year seeing as I live so far away from it all. Really, though, why does it have to be so far? I always say that if I could just pick up southern California and put it somewhere in Connecticut, everyone would be happy.

Alas, I'm across the country again, and feel somewhat guilty about the fact that I am happy to be here. It's 65 degrees and sunny though - can you blame me? The first thing I did after dropping my bags was change out of my Uggs into flip flops and walked in my t-shirt to Starbucks (mmm, I missed my Starbucks!) for an iced coffee. It's not just the weather I love, but the lifestyle. And while my apartment is still fairly sparse and could use more decor, it has sunlight streaming through its many windows. Nothing else could make me feel more at home.

Oops, I did it again

Open mouth, insert foot. Pretty soon I am going to have to change my name to Meanie MacBlogger. I see anger management classes in my future.

Seriously, though, toughen up, people.

Weather Wonderland

On the first day of winter my weatherman said to me: Today will hit a balmy 78 degrees!

Between this and NYC's transit strike, do I even have to say how happy I am to be here right now? Even Gawker can't make me feel otherwise.

A heart three sizes too small

Last night I made our store manager cry.

I didn't mean to, I swear. She had forgotten about a conversation we had had a few days earlier, a conversation that didn't even matter in the long run, just would have clarified a simple question she had for me that I apparently answered with great bit of attitude. Oops. I mean, the conversation lasted maybe 45 seconds, and I didn't give it a second thought. Ten minutes later she came out of the bathroom in tears, pulled me aside, and said through a sob, "I just want you to know that you really upset me," and went on to tell me how much I hurt her feelings. I wanted to die. At that moment, I would have sharpened the knife for her to insert into my heart, because I honestly felt like the meanest, coldest, most insensitive person on earth. At Christmas.

I can't remember the last time I felt so bad - it was probably during my Mean Girl days in high school. I apologized profusely, tried to explain that it wasn't a big deal and that I didn't mean to sound so harsh if I did. She's been under an enormous stress with the holidays and had already cried once that day, so she was willing to accept my apology and move on. But I didn't stop feeling bad. In fact, I couldn't feel anything but mortified, utterly ashamed at myself that I upset someone to the point of tears, so I apologized to her again once I could get my thoughts together and say something that would hopefully sound meaningful. Even though we talked things through, I went to bed last night feeling absolutely terrible, the most horrible person to walk the face of the earth.

It's bad enough that I could make someone so upset with just the tone of my voice or the look on my face, but isn't it just as awful that I wasn't even aware I was doing so in the first place? My first instinct is to blame the New York in me. For seven years I worked with some of the toughest bosses, the toughest clients, and once I learned to let the abuse roll off my back, I wore it proudly, like a badge of honor. That's the only way to get by in New York. But geography is no excuse. There's no room for that kind of attitude at my current job, and even if there was, shouldn't I try to be better than that? I should, which was why I apologized twice last night and once again today over email. And things are fine. But not in my head.

Moving to LA was supposed to help me become more patient, more laid back, and I suppose it has in some ways. But if I can't blame geography on my weaknesses, can I expect it to help give me strength?

For Christmas I would like Mean Girls on DVD and a lump of coal in my stocking. For New Years I would like to be a better person.

Waiter, I'll have the sacrificial lamb and the bittersweet just desserts

I am fascinated by the passing of time. I think it started when I was forced to graduate from the comfort of college and move into the grown-up working world, where fraternity parties only existed between million dollar corporations. A fish out of water, I longed for my former life, and thus became obsessed with what I had been doing exactly a year ago to the day. My first August in the city brought memories of the first days of senior year when I'd get wasted with my friends at the bars; December recalled dating Brock and getting wasted with my friends at the formal; in March it was dating Alex and getting wasted with my friends at DKE. For the record: I drank a lot in college, but it hasn't seemed to affect my memory a bit. Now what was I saying?

Even though I eventually grew happier in the city, I never stopped comparing my life at the time to the life of a year prior. We all do it to some extent - otherwise we wouldn't be talking about 4 years after September 11th, or 25 years after John Lennon was killed. But evidence that I do this with some degree of OCD can be seen on this blog, where single every month I find cause to say, "x months ago today I moved to LA". (By the way, 9 months ago today I really DID move to LA. Ha! Like how I fit that in?) I guess I feel the need to mark even the most trivial of anniversaries with some recognition, for fear that if I don't, the memories will be lost forever. And even bad memories are better than no memories, because they serve as a reminder as to how far we've come.

As my life has improved over the last nine months, I often find myself looking back to a year ago with relief that I escaped that existence - the tiny apartment, the miserable work environment, the hassles of living in what's often considered to be the toughest city in the world. I again found myself feeling that way on Friday, when we had our office holiday party. Last year's holiday lunch was two hours of tension-filled torture, a power struggle between interoffice cliques and genuine distaste for the company. In comparison, Friday's party was less a forced affair and more like lunch with 13 of my closest friends. I marveled at my luck to find a job where everyone in the company is nice, the environment is supportive, and we all not only get along, but actually like each other.

The irony is that the warm and fuzzy day quickly felt empty, as soon as the party was over and I was alone again. Oh, I had plans - my weekend was booked solid, in fact - but not with the people I would have necessarily chosen a year ago. After last year's miserable holiday lunch, I found solace in my cousin's annual holiday party where I saw familiar faces, then met Kristin out for a late night of - what else - drinking, peppered with a rousing rendition of Christmas carols. And that's the thing - with as many friends as I have made in LA, there is no one with whom I'd want to be singing Christmas carols at 3 AM.

A year ago we were all living in the same city. While I thought I understood the sacrifice I was making to move here, I guess I underestimated how hard it would be to actually do so. I suppose we all make sacrifices for the things that we want, but at what price, Christmas carols? Surprise 30th birthday parties? Being there for a best friend's engagement? Will it have been worth it? I'll let you know a year from now.

Are you there God? It's me, hungry

I just passed a couple eating lunch outdoors at the sidewalk cafe near my office. Their heads were down in silence, and at first I thought they were examining their pizza for something (hairs, dirt, who knows). Then I realized they were praying. Oh. My bad. I don't suppose their grace went anything like this:

We thank thee father for the many blessings you have bestowed upon us today, especially the extra cheese on this here slice of pizza. Bless us, o Lord, with your gift to make the calories not count. Give us the strength to order the salad next time.

No, me neither.

A face for radio

I have mixed feelings about admitting that over the last six months of my morning commute I have become a regular fan of Howard Stern. I change the channel at bathroom jokes and some of his more annoying sidekicks, but when he loses the 7th grade humor, he's brilliantly funny. And, as someone who makes their living dealing with the media, I have a sincere appreciation for his interview style and the way he can coax just about anything out of any guest.

So I'm pretty bummed that he's leaving terrestrial radio for satellite, yet enjoying the onslaught of press he's getting for the move. Part of my enjoyment has come from seeing the physical persona of a radio personality on a visual medium. While I've caught glimpses of him here and there on E!, I still think of him as he portrayed himself in Private Parts - long shaggy hair, crooked nose. I didn't REALLY realize how much he'd physically changed until this press tour, and I have to throw some things out there for discussion.

First, he's had an obvious, albeit good, nose job since the early years. Since it's Howard, I'm inclined to think it may be reconstructive (i.e. from a sucker punch) than cosmetic (vanity), but then again, if I were getting this kind of publicity, I wouldn't stop at my nose. Next, his hair has gone from 80's rocker to 80's housewife, and the whole look just reminds me of Barbra Streisand. If the mirror really does have two faces, I guess he can be considered Funny Guy.

I am the gimp that stole Christmas

In an effort to prove to no one but my vain self that my fitness level could, in fact, be judged alongside 20 year olds (just keep me away from that 30+ bracket) I totally overdid it on Sunday. Between the Santa Monica stairs and the squats I did in the gym before that, I'm now incapable of walking without uttering an "ow" in tandem with every step I take. I guess that's what happens when muscles are so tight they don't move along with their respective joints. At least it's only my muscles, this time.

Spiderman sighting

I always hear about celebrity sightings on the Santa Monica stairs, but never actually had my own until today: Tobey Maguire! A while back he had made news (well, gossip columns) for gaining a lot of weight, but he looked as slim and slender as I've ever seen, if not downright skinny. Despite some facial hair, I recognized him almost immediately, and my hunch was confirmed when I overheard his familar voice say something to the guy (his trainer?) behind him. I never actually saw the Spiderman movies, but have seen him in plenty of other roles, including The Cider House Rules, The Ice Storm, and Pleasantville (all fantastic movies, by the way), and there's no mistaking the almost-childlike, glee-filled voice. And if he can sound that happy running up the SM stairs, then I want the number of his trainer.

I'll take a gym membership and a time machine, please

I had my Equifit assesment today, the complimentary fit test Equinox offers to determine how much more money you should give them to have a personal trainer whip your fat, sloveny ass into shape. It's a smart tactic, actually. Pinch my fat rolls and break me down, then give me a free training session to build me back up. Just watch me try to keep my wallet in my pants when it's over. I'm a sucker for slim.

I'm actually in pretty good shape. Not that I was worried, but I've never actually known my body fat (22.1%) had my blood pressure written out for me (120/78), or competed in a push-up contest (I could do more than 30, which, being off the charts, registered as "excellent". Yes, I'm bragging.) One thing did irk me though. They break down results by age group, and while normally I would be thrilled to still qualify for the youngest (20-29) bracket, I don't feel that my fit level shouldn't be judged under the same standards as that of a 20 year old. At less than six months away from 30 (ugh), I found myself actually wanting to be bumped up a bracket so my cardiovascular fitness score would be considered "good" and not just "average".

Remind me of that when, on the night of June 1st, I'm making a list of ways to commit suicide rather than face the dreaded birthday.

Ode to Kristin on her 30th birthday

To you, I present, haiku:

Happy Birthday, Kris!
Twenty-four we are, no more.
Centro-Fly has closed.

But thirty is good.
It means we can live without
waterbugs. Hooray!

I got you the gift
Of a ride to the Hamptons.
Seats are for wussies.

Unless you'd rather
Go back to the Jersey Shore.
Todd Scrod says, welcome.

I hope you have a
Wonderful birthday, Kristin.
Friends we are for life.

Chestnuts Roasting

It's (finally) beginning to feel a bit like Christmas, or at least like Christmas might be approaching in a month or two: the temperature has dropped in the mornings and evenings to a chilly 45 degrees, give or take. The days warm up to the low 70's, as we've been having continuous sun, but since the days are only getting shorter, I find myself bundling up a lot.

What, you didn't want a weather report? Fine. Here's some news: I discovered that my car has butt warmers! What fun! Where has this technology been my whole life? Like, especially when I lived in the northeast!?

They always said I was "special"

At work we have this tradition of taking every new hire out to a company lunch, at which point we ask them to share something about themselves none of us would ever guess. This can be nervewracking for people just joining our team, and to warm them up we'll usually go around the table and share our own unique quirks, which we've all shared at lunches past. This inevitably turns into a game where we all try to remember each other's oddities, i.e. "Tanya was a backup dancer for En Vogue!" etc.

Among my co-workers, we have a hotel operations manager who sneezes when she eats carrots, a product development manager who rinses her toothbrush over 20 times when she brushes, a (male) graphic designer who was a college cheerleader, an accountant who moonlights as an antiques dealer, and so forth. At my lunch back in May, I completely drew a blank, and lamely told the story about how I got public makeovers for both the Today Show and Harper's Bazaar.

Since then, of course, I've thought of much more interesting quirks to share, like that I am a closet soap opera fan or that I am afraid of fish - alive, dead, on a plate with a side of wasabi, whatever. Today, as my boss broke into Christmas carols in the midst of a group envelope stuff, I thought of another: I can sing the entire song "Let there be Peace on Earth" in sign language. I don't know any other sign language but, thanks to my fifth grade teacher Mrs. Lane, I can sing a four-verse song using only my hands. Which, if you've heard my singing voice, is probably best for everyone involved.

Weekend highlights

This weekend marked the official opening of the Equinox in Westwood, and it is truly the nicest workout facility I've ever seen. It's so nice, in fact, that I feel like I need an upgrade in the lifestyle department just to validate my membership.

I remember thinking that the Pasadena branch was above and beyond; this club makes that one seem ghetto by comparison. The size and set-up of the main floor are similar, but here, each piece of equipment is brand spanking new. The locker room is furnished in dark cherry wood, and has a comfy lounge in case I wanted to catch up on must-see-TV. While the Pasadena branch has a windowed wall, the view overlooks Pasadena; here, an entire wall stretches over Wilshire Blvd, the UCLA campus, and the Santa Monica mountains, offering something else to look at beside the new flat-screen TV's. Can I move in?

I would say that that would be the highlight of my weekend, but it wasn't. The real highlight was seeing the movie "Walk the Line" on Friday night. I don't go to the movies too often because I don't usually like them all that much and certainly don't like having to get there early to get a decent seat only to have to listen to someone else chewing popcorn in your ear for 120 minutes. But I had heard this one might be worth it, and, for once, it was. It was the first movie I've seen in a loooooooooong time that I didn't want to end. Everyone keeps talking about Reese Witherspoon's performance as June Carter Cash, and yes, she was excellent, but I think the true star was Joaquin Phoenix, maybe because he had more to prove. I'm now obsessed with all things Johnny Cash and I would gladly see it again, which says something.

Happy Blog Birthday

My baby blog is one year old today! I am so proud!

I am actually kind of proud. When I started this a year ago simply as "Lori's Blog", I had no idea what to expect. I wasn't writing with any readers in mind, but only for the sheer enjoyment of seeing my thoughts written out - thoughts deemed too trivial to express any other way. At the time I only read two blogs: Dooce and my uncle's Roasterboy. The two couldn't be further apart in content, but they each offered something I wanted a part of: the ability to make people laugh over the banalities of everyday life, and the easy connection with family and friends despite a literal and sometimes, figurative, distance.

For the first nine months of life as a blogger, I experienced little, if any, shortage of topics. Moving across the country is good like that. Now that my life has become fairly normalized again, however, I sometimes struggle to think of blog-worthy items to write about. Not because my audience won't be interested, but because I'm just not. How many nights do you sit down to dinner to find there was nothing about your day worth sharing?

The funny thing, though, is that the blog has become a habit - just like sitting down to dinner every night, I look forward to writing throughout the day with my mind always on the lookout for a tasty topic. When I post twice, I feel guilty, like I'm overindulging, and if I skip a post, I'm anxious, edgy, hungry for the experience.

Despite all the food metaphors, I've come to view my blog as a healthy discipline, mainly as a way of improving my writing - although, for what, exactly, I'm not sure. That I now have a year's worth of memories captured in print is beyond priceless, and beyond my initial expectations. And that I have managed to meet my original two goals for this blog, well, that's just dessert.

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for year two!