readers, now find me at a new blog address

So far, it's only one person, one city...but am told that will change...am now only writing at this address...in case you are still reading...enjoy!

http://twofriendstwocities.blogspot.com/

pre-dinner drama

It’s Gail’s birthday tomorrow.  Tonight we are going to Mr. Chow’s to celebrate.  We have a 7pm reservation.

It’s 6pm, and I plan on leaving around 6:30.

Shower?  Check.

Makeup?  Check.

Clothes pressed and ready?  Check.

Camera?  Check.

Gift?  Check.

Umbrella?  Check.

Wallet?  Missing.

I check everywhere.  All my handbags.  The entire apartment.  It’s nowhere.  When did I have it last?  This morning I dropped off shirts and sheets at John’s Cleaners.  I call and the owner answers.   He undoubtedly is not named John, but something more like Li or Jing or Wei. In English that is difficult to understand, he says,

“We have it.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask.

“I thought we just drop off on Saturday with rest of laundry.”  And then he adds, “You have not much money in wallet anyway.”

No, but my credit cards and license and Metrocard are in it.  Really.  Li/Jing/Wei was going to wait three days without calling and then just deliver my wallet with my laundry?  I am speechless.

I run to the cleaners, get my wallet, and miraculously make it to the restaurant on time.

The rest of the evening is lovely.  Gail, statuesque at over six feet, arrives on time.  She’s been to this restaurant before (with Mick Jagger, no less) and suggests we let the waiter choose for us.  It’s a wise recommendation.  We begin with cocktail champagne with lychee fruit.  Delicious, as is the rest of the meal.  Rice, green spicy prawns, string beans, something that looks like swordfish ravioli, and two desserts:  a medley of three sorbets, followed by a chocolate mouse cake with a scoop of ice cream with a raspberry sauce (and a candle, of course).

I have no doubt we’ll be celebrating each other’s birthdays at 80.

readers relate

I wake up to two emails from friends (younger than I am) regarding my post from  yesterday.


One headlines her email with:  I can top your story from yesterday


At hand surgeon's office about my wrist pain. The 30 year old Physician Assistant is doing the pre work. After she does my medical history and preliminary exam, she asks if I've had any changes in my personal life.  I say, "Like what?" and she says, "Any new grandchildren?"

Seriously, that hurt more than the wrist pain.

Do I look like a grandmother?


The other emails me with the following:


Same thing happened to me.
I was talking to a neighbor on the street, chatting happily for 15 minutes.
She walks away and a garage attendant says to me,"That your daughter?"
"Excuse me," I say, thinking surely I didn't hear him properly.
He repeats the question.
I want to put my head in an oven.

She is 36 years old.
I decided she looks 18 and that it was a compliment after all.
Its all in the perspective!

a bad non-meeting

Today I am meeting with someone who worked for me six years ago.  Laura is smart, beautiful, stylish, and exceptionally competent.  She now has a big job at a media company.

I spent some of yesterday prepping…organizing the presentation, getting a manicure, and having a leg wax.  I spend much of today reviewing the presentation, making copies, etc.

I wear my new skirt, style my hair, put on mascara, and leave the house feeling good.  I get to Laura’s office and the lobby receptionist greets me by saying, “Hi, are you Laura’s mother?”  Laura is about 32.  Sure, I could be Laura’s mother, but I was hoping if I looked like any of Laura’s relatives, it would her sister and not her mother. 

Then, no one can find Laura.  After a ten minute or so wait, it is determined that Laura is not in. 

I later get a phone call and an email with profuse apologies.  Laura is mortified.  I tell her I’m more devastated by her lobby receptionist than by her forgetting our meeting.

We reschedule for next week.  I need time to recover.

a new skirt

I cannot resist a good sale.  Or better put, I can only resist a good sale by not showing up for it.

Saks is having a major consolidation sale.  Big signs announce savings up to 70%.  There’s even an express elevator straight to the ninth floor. The world’s in a hurry to spend money.

I spend a long time rummaging through misplaced sizes and designer clothes randomly thrown together.  Ambitious shoppers have overtaken any attempt at organization.  I end up trying on…and eventually buying… a light gray skirt by Pauw.  It’s a shiny, crinkly material and on the short side.  But it’s unusual and my fellow shoppers approve it.

I take it home and get three different opinions by three different friends over the course of a few days.

Friend #1

Take it back; you don’t need it.  Where would you wear it, anyway?  It’s too dressy for running around in and too short for a business meeting.  It’s not worth the money.

Friend #2

I love it.  Keep it.  It’s sexy and playful.  She even sends me an email later that says,

Your natural presence is very fun and a little flirty.  I think this is a very good thing.  … It is at the core of your personality…so, that’s why the skirt looks great on you.  It looks *happy.*

Friend #3:

It does nothing for you.  The material reminds me of curtains.  

Majority wins.  I go back to Saks and return the skirt.  But while I’m there, I do some more rummaging.  This time, I find a gorgeous size 4 Yigal Azrouel skirt, marked down 70%.  It’s tight fitting, a good length, a beautiful turquoise, an edgy material, and a perfect fit.  Without having to ask a single person, I know I'll be keeping it.

I'm back already

I can’t escape from writing. 

As long as anyone is interested in reading (thanks for the very nice emails), I will continue to post.  It just might not be everyday.

going on hiatus

I'm going to take a break from writing for awhile.  It takes up a lot of time, and really, my life's not all that interesting.  That, and the real issues in my life I can't write about, as I would then be invading the privacy of others.


I sometimes fear I chronicle life more than live it.

an easy recipe

I cut a recipe out of People Magazine for an easy to make shrimp dish.  There are several reasons I do this:

    Alexander and I both like shrimp

    It’s low in fat and calories

    I have shrimp in the house, having recently bought a bag of colossal-sized frozen shrimp from Costco

    I have all the ingredients needed already in the house

    Prep is easy, and cooking time is only 10 minutes.

Basically, here’s all you do:

    Place uncooked shrimp in an oven-proof pan.

    Add chopped garlic, lemon, olive oil, cut up tomatoes, fresh parsley, and a few red pepper flakes.

    Cook for 10 minutes, and serve.

not all geniuses are created equal

I usually love Apple, but not today.

Mid-May

I have a problem with my computer.  It keeps freezing if I leave it for awhile. The mouse and keyboard work but the computer doesn’t respond.  I bring it in to Apple; they keep it for a couple of days to try and replicate the freezing.  They conclude there’s a problem with the logic board (whatever that is) and replace it.  I have a 90-day warrantee on the repair, which is good, because my three-year Apple Care runs out in mid-June.

Last Week thru Last Night

The freezing begins again.  On Sunday I bring my computer to the Genius Bar and the Genius I get is Francoise.  He doesn’t seem particularly interested in solving my problem, particularly since he can’t replicate it.  I try for about an hour while Francoise helps the many others in need.  Finally he agrees to take my computer in.  "This could take 2-5 days."  I leave empty-handed feeling I've left a good part of my life behind.

That was on Sunday.  For the past two days, I have felt lost.  No scale and no computer.  Yes, I have an IPad, and yes I have an iPhone.  But c’mon; it’s not the same as having a computer.

Last night around 10:30 I get an email from Apple. 

Thank you for bringing your Apple product to the Apple Store Grand Central for repair. Your product is ready. Please arrange for pickup in the next 7 days or contact the Apple Store Grand Central at (212) 284-1800, if you need to make other arrangements. Please remember to bring a photo ID. We look forward to seeing you. Thank you, Your Apple Store team, Apple Store Grand Central

Today

I get to the Apple store early, actually excited to get my computer back. “So what was the problem, and how did you fix it?” I ask.  The doey-eyed hipster with the raindrop tats on his legs looks at me sadly and says, “I’m sorry.  They couldn’t recreate your problem.”  In other words, “Here’s your computer back, same as when you dropped it off.  Sorry.  Next?”

Needless to say, this news does not make me happy.  I ask to speak to whomever is in charge.  It doesn’t take a lot of explaining for Don, the manager,  to see how wrong this non-solution is.

Don asks me to wait while he runs a few tests.  He determines my problem is in the hard drive.  Don must be more genius than the other geniuses. I wait an hour or so while the new hard drive is installed.

I come home and transfer all my data from my Time Capsule, and fortunately, the transfer is a breeze.  Now I just have to hope the problem is solved.

lost

I grew up without a scale.  I never weighed myself; I was always thin.

Then, in 2009, I discovered, much to my horror, that I wasn’t thin anymore.  I joined Weight Watchers and someone gave me a scale; they actually had an extra one.  I lost the weight I wanted to, and stepping on a scale became part of my morning routine.

While I no longer weigh my food or calculate points, I still weigh myself almost every morning.  It keeps me in check.  I try to stay around 122.

I haven’t been on my scale since Friday.  That morning I weighed 123.  Also on Friday the guys from ABC come and lay my bedroom rug.  I stay in the other room and don’t rush in when I hear a rather loud kerplunk.  I yell out, “Everything okay?”  I get back, “Yup, everything is good.”

Today I get on the scale.  104 pounds.  Amazing.  19 pounds lighter without even trying.  I step on the scale again.  Now I’m 114.  Then 111. I'm the Incredible Shrinking Woman.

I call Conair.  I have no idea what kind of warrantee they offer, but with no argument at all, the Customer Service rep tells me to send back the scale and Conair will replace it.  Just like that.  

I hope I don’t gain 10 pounds while I’m waiting for the new one to arrive.

a must read

I’ve always been a reader, and a writer, of sorts.  I think that’s why I majored in English.  My mother always says, “You should be a writer.”  Her belief in my writing abilities is based on the clever birthday and anniversary card sentiments I sometimes compose.  Not exactly the skill-set needed to be a great novelist.  


But I do appreciate great writing (especially when coupled with great story-telling).  I remember the devastation I felt when reading William Styron’s Sophie’s Choice.  I can still picture sitting in my backyard on a lounge chair, while in high school, reading Exodus by Leon Uris.  I always thought if I had a daughter, I would name her Jordana.  And then there is John Fowles’ The Magus.  I read it the year after graduating college.  I’d be afraid to read it again for fear its memory would outshine its reality.

And now, in 2012, Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn comes along.  This book is clever and witty...the kind of book you wish could go on forever.   It’s hard to imagine someone brilliant enough to have conceived its story and characters, and then be so funny, too. 

I wonder if Ms. Flynn can write a killer birthday card?  Ya, probably.

a universal truth about men (maybe)

Wake up this morning and go into the bathroom.  The sink is dotted with tiny black stubble hairs.

Next I walk into the living room.  Alexander’s computer is on the floor, in a tent position.  A wrapper of candy he bought at Duane Reade at three this morning is on a table.  Across my living room sofa are two abandoned shirts, still on the hangers from the cleaners.  The third he took and wore last night. That shirt sits crumbled up on a chair in his bedroom.   The plastic holding the three laundered shirts together is on my dining table.  A half-drunk bottle of Poland Spring water is on a living room side table.  The pillows on my sofa are tossed randomly about.  The place is a mess.

I’m reading and loving Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn.  Both the story and the writing are excellent.

The book is about a woman (Amy) who disappears from her husband (Nick).  Here is one of Amy’s diary entries two years before her disappearance.  The words in parentheses are mine; the italics are Amy’s.

I have never been a nag.  I have always been rather proud of my un-nagginess.  So it pisses me off, that Nick is forcing me to nag.  I am willing to live with a certain amount of sloppiness, of laziness, of the lackadaisical life.  I realize that I am more type-A than Nick, and I try to be careful not to inflict my neat-freaky, to-do-list nature on him.  Nick is not the kind of guy who is going to think to vacuum (fluff up the sofa pillows) or clean (the toothpaste off the bathroom counter) out the fridge.  He truly doesn’t see that kind of stuff.  But I do like a certain standard of living--- I think it’s fair to say the garbage shouldn’t literally overflow (the piled up newspapers in the living room should be brought to our basement for recycling), and the plates shouldn’t sit in the sink for a week with smears of bean burrito dried on them (the Cuisinart Griddler shouldn’t sit on the counter for hours with the unwashed crusted-over grill plates).  That’s just being a good grown-up roommate.  And Nick’s not doing anything anymore, so I have to nag, and it pisses me off:  You are turning me into what I never have been and never wanted to be, a nag, because you are not living up to your end of a very basic compact.  Don’t do that, it’s not okay to do.

I read this excerpt to Alexander.  He is not amused.

nice compliment from questionable source

I’ve just come from a meeting.  I’m wearing a slimming black Wolford skirt and striped top.  My hair is shiny and straight.  I’m feeling good.

A man passes me on the street, comes right up to me and says, “You look lovely.  Just like Rita Hayworth.”  Over the years I’ve been told I look like a lot of people, but never this raven-haired siren from the 40’s.

Still, it makes me feel good.  As for my admirer….well, he resembles someone more current…

do not buy this

The thermometer hits one hundred. Alexander arrives home from work and his shirt is soaked through.  The weather is miserable.

I buy salad ingredients for dinner; Alexander is eating with his grandparents.  I’m not hungry until 8:30, and by then I don’t feel like preparing anything, even a salad.   I go outside to get a slice of pizza.  On my way, I feel guilty so I stop by a Subway.  I’m attracted to something called Chicken Teriyaki with Sweet Onions, 380 calories for 6 inches.

I buy it, but as I watch it being prepared, my interest wanes.  The chicken teriyaki looks nothing like the kind you’d get at a Japanese restaurant.  Instead, picture little brown pieces of shriveled up chicken that’s been sitting in a non-refrigerated bin all day.  The sweet onion is a sauce.  Really.  I had envisioned onions sautéed in a sweet sauce of some kind.  What was I thinking?  I have the server include a slice of Swiss cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, vinegar and honey mustard.

But the time I get home it’s almost 9, and now I am hungry.  The sandwich is as bad as I thought it would be.  It tastes like bread filled with honey mustard and something rubbery.  I make up for it by creating an enticing dessert: strawberries mixed in with some chocolate mouse and a dollop or two of whipped cream.  It’s great, but it ruined my plan for a low-cal dinner.

I love you, Terri

The Background

Last September I had my 9 X 12 living room rug cleaned by ABC Carpet and Rug.  I also bought a new rug pad.  I was thrilled with the outcome; my rug came back looking brand new.

In May I bought a 9 X 12 remnant rug (also from ABC) to replace my bedroom rug that is beyond shabby.  To save about $350, Alexander picks the rug up this weekend and my handyman promises to lay it.  

The Problems

Problem #1

My living room rug bunches up and I am constantly asking Alexander to help lift the furniture so we can smooth out the rug.  At first he thought this was amusing.  “OMG; you are right.  Sam was over yesterday and couldn’t believe how the rug looked.  He said he couldn’t come over again until you fixed it.”  Comical comments like that eventually evolves into, “Why do you even care?  I can’t see it.  You are being ridiculous.”  But I look at the rug buckling in places and it drives me nuts.

Problem #2

My handyman hurts his back, so he can’t lay my bedroom rug.  None of the other workers in the building can do it either.  “I’m sorry, the building won’t allow it.”  I go to a nearby carpet place and they will do it for $350.  Alexander says he’ll do it (with a friend) and I agree to pay them $100.  But they will have no idea what they’re doing.

The Solutions

So now I have two big rugs in my living room:  one that is buckling and one that is rolled up and easy to trip over.

I really don't know what to do, but then I get an idea.

I call ABC Carpet and Rug and am transferred to Terri who handled my account last September.  I explain the buckling problem and she immediately says, “No problem.  We can send someone out to re-lay the rug.”  I cannot believe how accommodating Terri is.  I’m expecting some protest about it being almost a year since the rug was delivered. Had she protested, she’d have been right.

Then I mention the new rug I want laid in my bedroom.  “Sure, the guys can do that.  But we’ll have to charge you a $100.”  I am thrilled.  “When can they come, “ I ask.  “How’s tomorrow or Friday?”  I must be dreaming.  Are there really people this helpful?

I thank Terri profusely, and hang up, wishing I could install duplicates of her at the cable company, the phone company, the electric company, and anywhere else where good customer service is required.

pasta on a hot night

We are in the 4^th heat wave of the summer.  Today was again around 94; tomorrow is expected to be the same.  In winter, the colder, the better.  So I find this weather particularly brutal.

Tonight, I have plans to meet two friends…Ellen and Brenda…for dinner.  These plans were made weeks ago.  Had I known what the weather would be, I doubt I’d have chosen Al Forno, a pizza and pasta place with nice outdoor seating.

We meet at 8:30, as Brenda has to work late.  We chose to eat inside and the restaurant is loud.  I wonder if that’s an age thing, as lately it seems many restaurants are too loud for decent conversation.  We decide to stay after Ellen checks out the restaurant next door and concludes that that one is even louder.

The food is excellent.  We decide on splitting the restaurant’s specialty salad, and then get one of the lighter sounding “family style” pastas of Capellini Siciliana:  angel hair pasta with shrimp, sautéed in white wine, olive oil and garlic. It’s delicious and plentiful.  I end up taking some home for Alexander. 

The entire meal, with one drink, three diet cokes, one coffee and two cappuccinos totals $75 including tip.  Brenda takes out her calculator to compute the per person charge before realizing we can divide 75 by 3 without one. 

I come home about 11, and am now able to provide Alexander with his second dinner of the night.

book club

My Book Club meets monthly, though I haven’t been since March.  I don’t always like the books the group chooses.  Usually it’s because the books chosen are more literary than I prefer.  This from an English major.  But I did read tonight’s book, By Nighfall by Michael Cunningham, and I’m anxious to discuss it.

Our Book Club is an interesting mix of very intelligent women.  At one time, our children attended the same public elementary school, Manhattan New School, or, PS 290.  Now our kids are in college.

We get together about every five or six weeks.  The book club was already in existence when I joined in September 2004.  A few members have dropped out over the years and one or two have been added, but a core group of 7 still meets regularly.  It’s always more about the socializing than the discussion of the book, since the topics we discuss are generally more interesting than the book we’ve chosen.  Tonight is no exception.

We meet at Penny’s.  She has a beautiful terrace that’s as large as my apartment.  The city lights sparkle around us.  For two hours we catch up.  Our conversations tonight are not frivolous.  We talk about aging parents, and how one member’s parents may have to move back to New York, something they don’t want to do.  Another briefly touches on an upcoming doctor’s appointment that could result in cancellation of a long-planned vacation.  Another has a child, a rising senior, who decided to blow of her junior year of high school.  What will this mean for her college options?  Another has a son who, after his freshman year at a top college, wants to take a year off and find his passion, or at least his lost focus.  But money will make taking a break impossible.  Should he be made to go back if he really thinks he’s not ready?   Someone else is still recovering from a now ex-husband who, after a long marriage, decides to move out and then moves directly in to a much younger woman’s home.  Life is full of surprises, and those surprises are not always good ones.

By the time we get around to the book, it’s almost 10.  That discussion lasts about 15 minutes.

I truly enjoy the women in my Book Club. The book itself is just the excuse to get together.

good customer service

So I call Wolford’s today about the skirt I wore for the first time to Jason’s party on Thursday…the one I bought at a half-price sale on June 4 …the one that rode up further than any skirt should go…ya, that one.  

I explain my problem to Katie, a very nice salesgirl at the Wolford boutique on Madison.  At first, she can think of no reason for the skirt to perform that way, but then says, “Maybe the skirt is too small.”  What has the Cape done to me? Could the skirt have fit perfectly a month ago and not fit now? 

I’m not happy with the thought that I might be larger than a month ago, but I am happy with Katie’s willingness to let me return the skirt for the larger size.  I go to the store, trade my size 36 worn skirt for a new 38, thank Katie, and come home and Google the Wolford size conversion.

So I went from a size 4 (36) to a size 6 (38)?  That’s okay.  I don’t think I ever really was a size 4.

I just hope the next time I wear the skirt it stays put.

roommate issues

Alexander and I mostly get along.  But today he says to me, “If we were married, we’d probably be divorced by now.”

He doesn’t like:

• That I don’t like his coming home at 3:15 am, and only after I text him and tell him he has to come home (like he did last night).
• That I wake him at 11, or later, and am annoyed for his having wasted half the day.
• My “nagging” him about going to the gym…a summer membership he just had to have,  that I am paying for, and that he only reluctantly goes to. 
• That I don’t like the rap songs he likes to play that are filled with misogynist lyrics and vulgar words.
• My reminding him to, “Take the trash downstairs,” or “Empty the dishwasher,” or “Fluff up the pillows on the sofa,” or some other mundane chore.
• My wanting to talk about his life.

In short, I think Alexander wishes he had a studio.  Or at least that he wasn’t sharing his living quarters with his mom.

Today I say to him, “How about this?  Let’s pick one habit we don’t like in the other and see if we can then change that habit.  Okay, you go first.  What one habit would you like me to stop doing?”

 “Talking,” he says.

 I’m  rendered speechless.

alexander cooks dinner

All week, Alexander has been wanting to make dinner, but it hasn’t worked out. Today it does. 

Early in the day we agree on fish, and Alexander picks up two filets of flounder at the Farmer’s Market.  Neither of us has ever made flounder.  In fact, never of us has ever eaten flounder.  But we want something light and healthy and not too expensive.  Flounder is a low-calorie, low-mercury fish, and costs only $10 for two filets.

I find a simple recipe online for baked flounder.

Before beginning dinner, Alexander needs assurance.  “If I cook, you’ll clean up, right?”  “Yes,“ I tell him.

Around 7:15, Alexander goes to Agata (our local grocery store) to buy fresh rosemary, lemon, white wine, scallions, and mozzarella.  At 8, I’m thinking, dinner should be ready soon.  Instead I hear, “Okay, I’m starting now.”

I take a bath.  Alexander knocks on the door to ask about the scallions.  “Do I need to wash these?”  Yes, I tell him, and then show him which part of the scallion is the best part.

Soon after, Alexander asks how to squeeze the juice out of a lemon.  I suggest cutting it in quarters.

Then the rosemary question.  “Mom, I just cut this up and wash it, right?”  “Right.”  It’s now 8:30.

Next he comes into my bedroom and says, “I don’t understand this part of the recipe.  It says, ‘Crumble a piece of waxed paper.  Put under water and then open paper over the dish.’  I don’t know what that means.  Can you do that?”  I do.

While the fish is cooking, I come in and make a tomato and mozzarella salad, with the fresh bright red heirloom tomatoes I bought today at the same Farmer’s Market that sells fresh fish.   

When the timer goes off, I hear, “Okay, can you check and see if it’s ready?”  We decide it should cook for a couple of more minutes.  “Ok, how do I reset the timer?”

And then, when the fish is finally ready, “Can you put them on plates?”

At 9:06 we sit down to dinner.  By 9:13, Alexander is done.  Everything is delicious.  Alexander wants to cook more often and I’m happy to let him.  

Here's the recipe:

Fillet of flounder (cod or sole)

Scallions

White wine

Lemon juice (1/2 lemon)

Salt and pepper

Rosemary

Parmesan cheese

Spray bottom of glass pan with non-stick spray.

Chop scallions and cover bottom of pan with same.

Place fish in pan so that none of it covers another piece. 

Pour white wine and lemon juice over the fish. Sprinkle salt, pepper,

and rosemary on fish.

Grate fresh Parmesan over the entire fish.

Crumble a piece of waxed paper. Put under water and then open

paper over the dish.

Bake at 400 degrees for 7 minutes.

Take paper off and bake another 5 minutes. Serve.

hair today, not tomorrow

In September of 2007 I got my hair straightened using a keratin-based formula.  Basically, the process is this:

    Wash hair

    Dry hair

    Add formula

    Use a flat iron to dry it stick straight

Then, and this is definitely the worst part, you have to wait three days before washing it.  My face looks drawn and ugly in stick-straight hair.  But after washing it, my hair is shiny, soft, easily managed, quickly blown out, and never frizzy.  I love the results of this process.  In fact, I used to mimic them in high school by ironing my hair.  Stick straight is okay on a 15-year old face.

Since 2008, I’ve been getting a keratin treatment about every six months, though my last was in October.  I am way overdue.

About a month ago, I purchase a Groupon for $99, significantly less than the normal $250 cost.  I have never heard of the salon that is offering the Groupon, but a friend of mine has had her hair done there and was happy with the results.  I research through Yelp, and determine that Julie is the best stylist there.

The place, Sergio Limpopo, is clean.  While the owner is surly, I very much like Julie.    In fact, I like her so much that I talk to her through the entire one-hour process, something I rarely do.  I much prefer reading.  But Julie, who is from the Ukraine, is filled with interesting stories.  And, she is a knowledgeable and proficient hairdresser.

I decide to pay the $27 upcharge that allows me to wash my hair after 24 hours (vs. 72).  But then Julie tells me that if I can wait 48 hours before washing it, the results will last longer.

So, here’s my hair today.  I’ll be in hibernation for the next two days.