Friday, August 29, 2008

More information about my travel preferences and celebrity predilections than probably anyone needs to know

Whenever I travel to New York on business, I always try to take the 7 AM Jet Blue flight out of Burbank.

Jet Blue is, especially in these trying times, by far the best airline. Seats offer a fair amount of legroom, the planes always seem newer and brighter, and, most importantly, there are working TV's at every seat. Delta offers seat-back TVs on a handful of jets; however, and I say this from a lot of experience, they very rarely function.

Burbank is a small, friendly, civilized airport, and even though it's farther away than LAX, I more than make up for the drive time when I can quickly navigate through the tiny terminal.

And while having to wake up at 4:30 AM to make a 7:00 flight may sound like a God awful inconvenience, that's really the best way to do it. There's no traffic at 5 AM, and shorter lines to heed. Plus, the later the flight, the greater chance for delay. This proved true on Tuesday, when the FAA had a small midday meltdown and grounded hundreds of flights across the country. I had already been in the air a few hours by that point and, thankfully, wasn't affected.

But what I really like about the early flight is that, so long as I don't sleep on the plane, it automatically acclimates me to Eastern Standard Time.

Usually.

I've been a mental mess since waking up Wednesday morning, and despite the fact that I'm now back in my normal time zone, I can't help but still feel more than a little bit off.

Sleep patterns aside, the trip was fantastic. The event was one of the best I've ever done - not because of me, this time, but because of the partners who hosted it at our spa. I saw a lot of friends, but, more importantly, had quality time, which, sometimes, in New York, gets compromised.

I didn't have much time to spend outside the hotel, but the weather was gorgeous - in the 70's, crystal clear, zero humidity. In my one venture across the street, I ran into David Schwimmer, and he looked good, amazing in fact. Wearing a worn-in, frat-boy baseball cap and muscle tee that showed serious guns, I did a double-take. I'll never forget how douchey he seemed when I met him four years ago, but after being blessed with the vision of those biceps, I've easily, already forgiven.

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Monday, August 25, 2008

Dumbfounded - or maybe just dumb

I've been living in this apartment for three and a half years, and just tonight, discovered that the mirror above my bathroom sink opens up into a medicine cabinet.

There's a joke in here somewhere about wasted space. I'll leave you to make it.



Sunday, August 24, 2008

Here's the juice

Thank you thank you to everyone who commented and emailed me suggestions in response to my last post. I am still combing through all the details, but I have a pretty good idea of how I want to schedule the rest of the trip. Additionally, three people in my office have been to Peru and Machu Picchu, one of whom is a native, so they have all been ripe with recommendations. And, randomly, Elle has a whole story this month on where to go in Lima - at least, for good shopping - so that was a pleasant surprise I uncovered just pages into their monster four pound issue.

At this point, my biggest concern about Machu Picchu is whether I will ever be able to spell it. Seriously? I've been researching it for weeks now and I still can't write it without looking online to confirm which word has the extra "c".

Before I get too excited about Peru, however, I have another trip to get out of the way. I am headed to NYC this week for a quick work jaunt that should be good and hopefully not as exhausting as some of the others.

Additionally, this week, the Cringe book is coming out, and I'm a bit nervous about what to expect. There is a Today Show segment planned, and I imagine some talk in the blogosphere, and I have no idea what, if anything, will link back to me. Last summer, when I found out that five of my entries were being used, I freaked out a bit, and tried to get the author to take them out. No go. Instead, I gave a pseudonym so as to avoid my real name coming up in Google; but I gave this blog address for credit, figuring I might at least pick up a few readers. Back then, though, half my high school wasn't in touch with each other on Facebook, and the chances of anyone I actually wrote about reading it, were low. Now, however, there may be cause for me to start my Peruvian vacation two months early, shamed into hiding deep in the Amazonian jungle.

If I'm so embarrassed, why am I writing about here, you ask? Because I'm in a freaking book, that's why! Despite the fact that my 10 year old mind still makes me cringe, I'm really excited to see this stuff in print. Dignity is overrated.

Finally, and relevant to nothing, I would like to tell you that I spent $10 on orange juice this weekend. No, I didn't buy a few gallons of Tropicana or my usual Trader Joe's version. I was at Whole Foods, and apparently misread the price tag. Seeing as the juice was organic and fresh-squeezed, I thought $4.99 was reasonable for a "once in a while" treat. Not until I got home and looked at the receipt did I realize I'd just spent $9.99 on juice that expires in three days.*

Hopefully I'll be more adept in my Peruvian purchases than I am at picking my perishables.

* It wasn't until I wrote this post and went back to look at the juice that I realized it expires on Wednesday. And I'm leaving for NYC on Tuesday. So I poured myself a big glass because I can't let $10 juice go to waste. It is, hands down, the most delicious orange juice I've ever had. But for $10, they could have at least put vodka in it.

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Thursday, August 21, 2008

Perusing my options - with your help

I haven't been much inspired to write this summer, but I think the next few weeks will give cause for a more frequent series of interesting posts.

The first news I'm excited to share is that today, when I should have been busy working, I was booking a trip to Peru! Yay!

Some background: Ever since I got back from my amazing Cabo trip last year, I promised myself I would start taking annual vacations. For my entire adult life, I have complained that I never have enough vacation time, don't have the money, can't ever coordinate time off from work. All valid reasons, but really, just excuses. Excuses that have kept me from some of the amazing life experiences many of my friends have had by now. You could say I've developed a slight case of passport envy.

I'm going in October with my friend Heather from New York, so we were primarily looking in South America because it's about equidistant between the two of us, and the weather would work out with our timing. From the first time I ever heard about it, I've been fascinated by Machu Picchu. I've heard that the land is very spiritual, which I love, and am intrigued that it is so remote, one literally must take a plane, train, and an automobile to get there.

We booked our tickets today, in and out of Lima, but still have to book hotels, our mini tour to Machu Picchu (3-5 days) and possibly other day tours/trips around Lima (2-3 days). I would love any suggestions you guys might have, including, but not limited to, the following:

- Can you recommend any good (reputable) tour companies we might look into for the MP trip? There are so many online, it's overwhelming, and I don't want to end up on Dateline as the posterchild for what NOT to do when booking an online vacation.

- Other than TripAdvisor, can you recommend any good websites we might research the above information?

- What are things we might do/see in Lima? Should we consider a tour company for sightseeing, or is it easy to walk around and see for ourselves?

- Does anyone have Intro to Spanish on audio I might borrow? I can't imagine purchasing a Rosetta Stone just for a vacay, but I would like the option of not spending the week sounding like an asshole.

- So, I booked my flights (which were surprisingly inexpensive on Hotwire) and I have about an hour layover in Panama City, Panama. I was concerned that wouldn't be enough time, what with customs and all, so I called, and they assured me it was enough time, that the airport was small, the airline was the same and would transfer my bags, and they wouldn't have booked the flights that way if the time was too tight. I found the airport online, and it does seem small - the size of Bob Hope in Burbank, which is tiny and delicious and my favorite departure option. But do you want to rain on my parade and warn me otherwise? That you have done the same thing and no, an hour is not enough time for an International layover? You can tell me. I can change the flight. (I would rather not, though.)

Any other advice or suggestions are appreciated. I'll keep you posted as we continue booking and the trip gets closer. But, just so you know, there's a lot going on between now and then...

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Sunday, August 17, 2008

Pocket full of sunshine

In my last post I mentioned that I quit cheerleading a few times. At one point I was afraid of competition, at another I had just had enough, but what I didn't mention was that through all of it, I was never particularly good at it. I mean, I got by, but, having never been a dancer or exceptionally coordinated, I was usually one of the last to learn the cheers, and when I did, was often half a move behind everyone else.

Exhibit A:



Possibly the best thing cheerleading brought me, however, was my friend Miya.

She joined the squad my sophomore year, and we immediately gravitated to each other, became fast friends. We'd spend time before practice ogling wrestlers in the gym, and time after practice making friends with the bad boys from adjacent towns. Despite all the high school debauchery, however, what I liked most about Miya was that she was one of the most normal, down to earth girls I knew, a breath of fresh air from some of the personalities on our cheering squad.

We lost touch for a few years during college; then, in 2001, we were randomly reconnected in New York. We were back to spending weekends together, be it in the Manhattan clubs where she worked as a bartender, or in the Hamptons where she worked the scene. She seemingly knew everyone, or at least knew how to befriend everyone, what with ten feet of personality packed prettily into a five foot frame.

So imagine my excitement when she moved to LA a year after I did. I had built a bit of a social circle here by that point, but most of those were new friends, having known me for a few months, or, at most, a few years. Having her here was like heaving a sigh of relief; I didn't have to audition so much for friends anymore, or tell stories from adolescence no one could quite understand. She knew me back when I wore braces and teased my bangs and, god help her, liked me anyway. For the first time since I moved 3,000 miles away, I finally felt completely at home.

(video enclosure)

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Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Winners never quit... they just find something better to do

I realize this makes me part of a very small (and possibly unpopular) minority, but I have watched not one minute of the Olympics. I just have no desire. No interest. I'm not watching anything else, other than Project Runway; I just can't understand why I am supposed to get excited about a sports broadcast that runs non-stop, 24-hour-a-day.

I used to enjoy watching the Olympics when I was younger, especially the gymnastics and diving portions. Come to think of it, though, I'm sure I only watched because my mom did, and this afforded me an excuse to curl up in her big bed in the only room of our house that had an air conditioner. I don't think I ever actually cared about the competition, itself.

I did like watching the gymnasts, though, if only because I was one for a while. From the time I was four until I was seven or eight, I took gymnastics at the local center. I was pretty good, too - could do all of my splits, front and back walkovers, and all on a balance beam, no less! I was basically an energetic monkey who loved any excuse to hang upside down. I quit, though, weeks before what would have been my first competition. I was just too scared to have to perform a routine in front of people in case, God forbid, I messed up. Goodness knows that suburban parents are cruelly unforgiving of talentless eight year olds.

I don't know what reason I gave my mom for wanting to quit, but she never questioned it. Years later, when I was a cheerleader and could have benefited from having mastered that elusive back handspring, I always regretted not sticking around just a little bit longer.

By then, though, quitting was natural for me. After I gave up gymnastics, I convinced my mom to let my join an after-school ski club. I lasted one lesson. In seventh grade, I kickstarted my cheerleading career and liked it enough on the "B's", but ultimately chose not to try out for the eighth grade "A's". It wasn't because I didn't enjoy it, but because the A's did Competition every year and I just didn't have the interest. Or the courage.

Ninth grade was soccer, which I liked well enough; however I wasn't very good at it and quit after the first practice of my sophomore year when it was clear I'd be stuck back on JV. I quit cheerleading for good halfway through my junior year. I went up to the coach after a basketball game and quit on the spot - no reason, no warning, no notice. I was just stressed out. Plus, I knew I'd never make Captain the following year, and cheerleading, by then, had lost its charm. I had spent three years doing it and my life was no closer to a John Hughes movie. The boys in my high school were all still more Cameron than Ferris.

Sports were never fun for me. While I had friends on the squad, on the team, I always felt that sports were a hindrance to my social life rather than the gateway to it. It was an obligation I felt I had to endure for college apps and social standing, but when it came down to it, I much preferred spending my weekday afternoons watching soap operas or scoping slackers at the mall.

Ironically, it was when I finally quit everything that I ultimately found myself.

After I quit cheerleading, I became obsessively fearful that the sudden lack of activity would lead me to get fat. I started walking everyday with my neighbor and close friend, and the following year, we took aerobics. By the time I left for college I was a regular in the gym, and only grew more so as I feared the Freshman 15 and favored the eye candy that spent time in the weight room. I was often the only girl.

The Stairmaster and bike led to the treadmill, and ultimately, to my running outside, which is what captured my passion for the sport. The summer before my junior year of college I was living in Boston, and didn't want to spend money on a temporary gym membership. Instead, I started running the Charles every day. At the start of summer I couldn't make it a mile; by the end, I was running for 20 minutes straight which, I know now, was at least two. It was the proudest, most exhilarated I'd ever felt, and now, more than ten years later, I'll still never forget it.

And of course, all these years later, I have never quit running, never quit the gym. It's in my blood, in my bones. It is almost definitely a hindrance to my social life - if I wasn't so anal about going so often, I'm sure I could find more time for dates, friends, hobbies. But when I don't go, I feel off, ugly, soft and atrophied, and that's no way to present myself.

There is no real point to this post. Or, at least, I am too tired to make one. Just my stream of thought as all of these gymnasts and athletes have been in the news this week, while I slave away at the gym working off last weekend's indulgences. I say that like it's a bad thing, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

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Sunday, August 10, 2008

Golden Girls

I was going to start this post by saying that if tanning were an Olympic sport, my mom and I would have easily qualified for the bronze medal this weekend. Then, as the thought ran through my head and I chuckled at my own bad joke, I realized that the joke wasn't mine at all. I had directly quoted Blayne, from last week's episode of Project Runway.

Joking aside, it was a GORGEOUS weekend, and my mom and I spent a day and a half at the beach, soaking up the sun. We both have olive-toned, Mediterranean skin, and rarely burn, so by the end of yesterday we were both looking like we'd spent the summer yachting on the Adriatic, not just sprawled out on the sand in Santa Monica. I thought it fitting to have dinner at Sunset Plaza, where we blended in seamlessly among the Europeans.


(And don't our tans look fabulous against the white tablecloths?)

Her flight delay on Thursday night turned out to work in our favor, as it helped acclimate her to LA time. Often she'll visit and be wide awake at 4 AM; this time, she slept in every morning until 7! When we weren't beaching, we were shopping or eating, or driving from shopping to eating. We spent about an hour on Facebook, gawking at my high school class, and more time just laughing over scrapbooks and memories. She left around 1 today, and I spent the afternoon relaxing before winding down the weekend with an evening run through the neighborhood.

So I guess if I really wanted to rate the weekend, it would easily have garnered a gold.



Thursday, August 07, 2008

Oh, little darling of mine

The good news is, my mom is coming to visit me this weekend!

The bad news is, her flight has been delayed by three hours and now I am picking her up at the airport at midnight.

It's not that I mind making the trek; I just feel bad knowing that it will be 3 AM for her and she usually wakes up around 5:30. I'm 32 and complain about jet lag; she's 58 and I imagine even more sensitive.

Then again, maybe not. I tend to baby my mother a bit, forgetting she's lived an entire life before I grew up enough to realize it - one which included marriage, childbirth, divorce, running her own company, raising a hell-raiser like myself, and a number of other monumental markers that I couldn't even begin to imagine going through, spoiled, overgrown woman-child that I am.

I probably could have called a cab for her, but I hate the idea of her getting off the plane, being confused by her surroundings, and not knowing exactly where to go. I always make sure I am at the front of the line, elbowing the town car drivers behind me to ensure no one blocks me from her view. I have, in essence, become her, or at least my grandparents who used to mortify me by doing that when I would fly down to see them in Florida. I was 18, 21 years old, and my grandparents would still be the first ones at the gate, waving frantically as I walked off the plane, making sure I saw them and didn't have a moment where I felt confused or scared or lost.

So that's where I get it from.

I'll bring snacks, of course, because I imagine she must be hungry after sitting on a plane for ten hours, four of which were on the runway with no dining service. I'll wait for her luggage so she can go outside and have a cigarette, the single point of contention that ever allows me from truly enjoying her stay. Not the waiting, of course, but the smoking. The habit she's embodied for the last 40 years that clings to her clothes and my couch, and stands between us as the only thing she will never sacrifice for me. It gives her pleasure, reassurance, satisfaction. So few things in life do, I have to grant her that. I get it. But I don't have to like it.

We'll take it easy this weekend - no wine tours or tourist traps this time. We'll hit the beach and do some shopping and maybe see a movie. Enjoying the time together. Which I hope won't be compromised due to jet lag.



Wednesday, August 06, 2008

During which the finish line concert may start three hours after the finish

You may recall that last year, I had a little bit of fun with the Nike Run Hit Remix and MC Hammer finish line concert. Well, this year, it looks like Kanye West is on the line-up, and I am in! Who is with me? Leave a comment or email me if you have any desire.

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Monday, August 04, 2008

Whatever mileage we put on, we'll take off

So, I made it back from Atlanta without any dead bodies in my airplane cabin. Or getting shot at in the clubs. Not that I went to any clubs. I was in Atlanta for less than 24 hours, and due to the nature of my business, never left the grounds of the airport.

I went to work on Friday, but came home and crashed as soon as the day was over. This was the first weekend in a while that I had all to myself, and I really wanted to take advantage of it. By doing Absolutely Nothing.

Saturday I woke up, got my brows done, went food shopping, cleaned my apartment, went to the gym, went out to dinner, and saw the movie Hancock. Going in, I had thought I had known the premise - that Hancock was a surly superhero - but I thought he was saving people from the end of the earth. In New York. It wasn't until halfway through the film and the characters were still in Los Angeles that I realized I had been confused with I Am Legend. Hey, Will Smith - typecast, much?

After that movie, I came home and watched The Elephant Man on HBO. I have memories of watching that movie, hands covering my eyes, when I was maybe eight years old. This was the first time I'd seen it as an adult and could really understand the storyline. What a brilliant, heartbreaking film. Also scary. I had to watch the last half hour of Ferris Bueller to lighten my thoughts before I went to bed. (Because, after two weeks, I am sleeping in my own bed again! With the lights off! Like a normal person!)

Sunday I ran more errands, and found myself at a Linens-N-Things which was going out of business, and the entire store was 40% off. I got a 15-piece knife set (for all the cooking I do!) for $11.99, and spent about an hour in the bedding department where they had my favorite sheets on sale for such a steal! The only problem - every single set was for a King bed. Do you have a King? If so, I highly suggest you run, not walk, to that store and pick up a few sets. I'm talking 600-thread count sheets in normal, neutral colors for at least 40% off the regular price. I was so sad I couldn't find any for Queens.

That afternoon I got a pedicure, then found myself with about an hour to spare until my yoga class would start at the gym. I figured I should probably take advantage of the time and do some cardio, but I was afraid to put on socks and sneakers in case that might smudge the polish. Instead, I opted to wait for the class, where I could just show up to the gym in my flip flops, toes and pedicure exposed. Naturally, as I walked up the stairs to the locker room, I tripped over the flimsy shoes and stubbed my toe, thereby chipping said polish.

You'd think with my amazing grace that I'd be struggling more with this yoga thing; I realized early on, though, that one of the things I like about yoga is that I am surprisingly good at it! I've always been very flexible, and, since I've lifted weights for so many years, find myself able to get into and hold many of the advanced poses. I'm not particularly coordinated and struggle with balance, but I am no worse, and often better than, many of the people in the class. Of course, one of the main principles of yoga is that no one is better than anyone else and we all just do our best; but I am competitive when it comes to fitness and I get a kick out of the fact that I can practically put my leg behind my head ALREADY. Bring it, suckas!

Sunday's class was super-challenging and a total sweatfest and at one point, I burst into a spontaneous giggle. It just felt so good. I've experienced a runner's high before, but this was pure, unabashed giddiness. Bring. It.

After such a relaxing weekend, I felt balanced and even energized today, and had a fantastic run tonight on the treadmill. It's like, after finally having a handful of days in which I am totally in control of what I eat, how I exercise, and how much time I have to relax and rejuvenate, my body and mind are on an entirely different playing field. I feel like a finely tuned machine, fully in charge, rather than some supporting character that's just showing up for her mark, reciting her lines, and going through the motions without having any time to heed Ferris: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

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