that big annual test

Every year I get anxious when it's time for my all-important test, the kind that requires no studying.

My annual mammogram.

Every year I go to Rosetta Radiology. I have been going there for years,. The staff is friendly and competent. The wait is generally short. It's nearby. And they give results soon after the tests, in my case, both a mammography and sonogram. Oh, and it's easy to remember their phone number — it's exactly the same as mine except for the last digit. I'm frequently getting calls from people hoping I can schedule or cancel their appointments. 

I sit in a small waiting area with other like-woman. We are all dressed in hospital-issued blue wrap tops. While I'm waiting, a male doctor walks by, pokes his head in, smiles at one of the women near me, and gives her a thumbs up. Okay, I get this isn't the most professional manner of conveying medical news. But in this case, who cares. Just as long as it's good. I'm assuming he wouldn't use a thumbs downif the outcome were different.

I go in for my mammogram. It doesn't take long before I'm back in the waiting area. I'm only half way throught the business section of  the Times when a female doctor calls me out. She smiles and tells me, "So far, so good."

A short time later I get called in for the sonogram. That, too, doesn't take long. And mercifully, the doctor is back in within just a few minutes to again tell me that everything is good. Though I had no reason to be fearful, I still feel so much relief.

I leave the doctor's office like one does after a great workout, or a nice spa treatment. Relaxed and renewed. 

And grateful to have passed the big test.

PART THREE (of six): the interview

Today's my big interview (is that what you call it?) with six execs from the production company.

I have three big decisions to now make:

Do I spend the money to have my hair blown out?
What should I wear?
And how should I get to Brooklyn Navy Yard?

As for my hair, I decide to do it myself. I have all the tools to do a great blowout —just not the talent. In the end, my hair looks bad. Bushy and frizzy and unstyled.

I debate among three outfits. The email I receive from the studio says, "We'd love to see your natural style and sensibility," whatever that means.  

I consider jeans, a white graphic T, and an Iro fringed little jacket. But it's hot out (high 80's) and the jacket might look like I'm trying too hard.

Next, I think about a form-fitting slinky black dress. But then I might look like I'm going on a date, rather than interviewing for one.

I end up choosing a flowy-dress I like.

Taking Via for $10.83 becomes an easy choice. 

I arrive at the Brooklyn Navy Yard early. I could be in another country. It all feels foreign, industrial, and pretty deserted. Kind of like I remember East Berlin when I was there in the early 80's, when there was still a wall.

I 'm told to bring an ID and a letter authorizing me to be there, and no one checks either.

I find the building. No security. And just walk in through some unmarked door. It doesn't look like anyone creative would be working here.

But behind the doors, there's a buzzing, contemporary vibe. Very unlike the bleak hallways outside.

I meet with six people, includng the executive producer. Everyone is so nice. It's all very comfortable. Really kind of fun.

And the best part? 

My skype tape has been sent to the studio. They liked it enough to have me now go to the  — I think — final steps. A background check and psych evaluation.

I'm excited, a little apprehensive, and nervous all at the same time.

But I'm up for a new adventure, and this could certainly be one.

now you can...

Okay, it was far more complicated than I thought it would be. But I finally figured out how to add a place on my blog so my posts can be emailed to you directly. Just go to my site:

NYC Diarist

And you'll now see a place to add your email address.

Whenever I add a new post, it'll be directly emailed to you. 

Hope you'll sign up. 

And join me on my escapades seeing movies, selling clothes, arguing with merchants, playing words-with-friends, meeting strangers, and a host of other exhilarating adventures through the streets of New York City and beyond.

And if you do sign up, I'd love to know.  Thanks!

PART TWO (of six): I tell my son

Barbie calls and tells me she is submitting my skype tape to the production reps. 

But now I'm starting to have doubts. Do I want that much of my life out there? What if I come across miserably? What if I look wimpy on TV?

I tell Alexander.

"Oh, wow. That's so exciting," he says. Maybe you'll be a breakout star. Like Snookie for old people."

And then he goes on.

"Hey, maybe they'll follow you around — get to know a little about your life."

"Here's Lyn at home. Her friend is coming over soon. They are going to watch a movie. Let's watch with her."

"Lyn's now playing Words With Friends. She's a great player. Let's take a look."

"Is anyone helping you?" That's Lyn at work; she's so articulate.

"Lyn's having an argument with Verizon. Let's listen in and see if she'll get her refund."

"Here she is at a BAFTA screening. Let's watch as she announces the film and tells the audience to turn off their cell phones. She's good, isn't she?"

Okay, okay. I get it. My life is boring. At least to my 25-year-old son.

While I'm on the phone an email arrives.

Hey Lyn, 

Great news - the producers from team Studio X want to meet you! See below for info, but also reply and confirm this time still works for you.

I make the first cut.

so many ups and downs

Before I started working in retail, I knew to expect certain things. But the one thing I wasn't prepared for was the emotional volatility of the job.

When I walk in on Friday, I need to prepare myself mentally before looking at my numbers for the week. In the days that I don't work (Monday through Thursday), I can only lose sales. There is never any upside.  No one ever walks in, buys something, and says, "Oh, by the way, Lyn should get credit for this sale."  No, there is only downside. To date, 25% of my sales result in returns. That's a lot of changed minds.

This past Friday is slow. But then around 4pm, the gods send me the perfect customer. She is absolutely lovely. Lives in another country. Is leaving Saturday. By her own admission, never returns anything. Likes designer clothes. Looks amazing in everything she tries on. Then buys most of it. So Friday ends up being an exceptional day. 

But then comes Saturday. The city and the store are empty. I think there are more salespeople on the floor than there are customers.  The day feels endless. 

And now today. It starts out slow but turns into a decent day — not incredible, like Friday, but then not dismal, like yesterday. 

Who would have thought that just selling clothes could be such a wild ride?

small world story

A few weeks ago I post a story about a friend of my sister and my friend, M. I call the friend Jan.

Surprising Acts of Kindness

I'm outside, doing what I know I shouldn't do. Walking while looking at my phone. 

I see a text from Brandon, my old boss whom I adore, and who now works at the Saks store in Boston. I love hearing from him, and rather than rush through a read on the street, I decide to savor the text for when I get home.

But then I get a call from M as soon as I walk through the door. 

"I have a great story for you," she begins. 

"But first, have you gotten any calls from anyone?" 

I am assuming she means, has anyone we both know called you today to tell you a story of something that happened to me that I think you'll like?  Since neither of my sisters has called, nor my mom, nor any mutual friends, I answer no.

So she begins.

"I was shopping with Jan today, and we stopped by Saks."

And then I remember.

"Stop," I tell her. "I did hear from someone today. My old boss Brandon. But I haven't read his text yet." 

"Go get it and read it to me," M says.

And so I do.

I have to admit, as funny as this story is, it's the last line of the text that gets me every time!

PART ONE (of a six-post adventure): casting call

Prologue:

I have a little story to tell. And though I know the end, I won't tell you just yet.

The posts that follow are written in real time, as the story unfolds.
_______________________

A good friend of mine calls around four.

"Hey, do you want to be on TV?"

Of, course, I've always wanted to be on TV, or in the movies.

Well, a friend of her son, has a sister, who's a producer and is working on a project about dating. "Can she call you?"

"Sure,"I answer with no hesitation. Even though I barely date.

So the sister calls. We talk for a few minutes. The show has been greenlit by a major studio. She asks if I'll have a skype interview with a casting person representing the production company. I'm a little shy, and hate skype, but hey, why not? I'll interview and see what happens. We set up the call for 7:15.

I have  two hours to get ready.  I put on some makeup. Throw on a black leather jacket over a white top, and download skype. I'm already nervous. 

A young and vibrant producer I'll call Barbie calls. She gives me a little background and we begin. I think I spill too much. But after most comments, Barbie exuberantly responds, "Awesome." Or, "That's great." I hope I'm doing well. And gee, I hope I didn't disappoint when she asks if I have any tattoos and I have to say no.

Barbie asks me if I have any deal breakers in men I meet. I hadn't really been thinking about dating so I wasn't prepared for the question. And my answers sound stupid, even to me.

"I don't want anyone who has bad grammar." Why didn't I just say I want someone who is educated?

"They can't be sick." I mean really, couldn't I have just said, "I want someone who lives a healthy lifestyle?" It's not like I'm going to be matched (If I'm chosen) with someone who needs an oxygen tank to breathe.

"They can't be fat."

"No comb-overs."

"No smokers."

"I'm lucky. I have a lot of very smart, funny, accomplished, friends. I'd like to date a male version of them."

"Oh, and they have to be financially secure. I don't want anyone poor."

"And I'd prefer if they lived in the city."

"And Jewish would be nice, but not required."

By the time I'm done with my list, it's no wonder I don't date.

The call ends after about 45 minutes. I think it went well, but now I have to wait and see.

If Barbie thinks I qualify, (and that's a big if), she'll submit my skype tape to the production company and then they will decide if they want to interview me.

After we hang up, Barbie asks for 15-20 pictures. I don't have 15-20 pictures to send.

I look through the ones I have and see tons of me when I was using efudex and my face looked monstrous. Or all the ones I have when my face was healing from mohs surgery. 

But I have almost no solo pictures from the last few months. So I find a few with me and other people. Cut them out and send Barbie five photos.

Now I'm just waiting to hear back. Just like after a date that I think went well. But did it?

doubly sweet

I am on my way to a BAFTA Screening Committee Meeting. We only meet three times a year; I am the Chair. 

Throughout the year, we bring in over 90 films for our members, many with Q&A's with A-list talent. We work with all the major studios, and many of the smaller, independent ones. And we coordinate with film and TV professionals who moderate. There are 10 of us. Everyone on the team is accomplished, hard-working, and smart. It's my dream job! 

Before the meeting, I stop to pick up an ice-tea at a little french sandwich and pastry shop nearby. I pay for my ice-tea, and am then tempted by an unhealthy pain aux raisins (a spiral pastry with raisins). I decide to buy one for breakfast. It's $3.26. The person behind the counter hands me one, and it's warm.

"Did this just came out of the oven?" I ask. "OMG, it looks so good. Too bad I'm not eating it until tomorrow morning."

I pay for the pastry, and begin to walk away.

"Ma'am." Ma'am." I hear from behind me.  I turn around and see the young woman who had just helped me motioning me to come back.

She then takes out a second pain aux raisins and hands it to me in a bag. "Here," she says. "Now you can have a warm one now AND one for breakfast too."

Nikia's smile and thoughtfulness totally make my day.

lesson #1

After months of trying to coordinate, finally, today, I have my first canasta lesson.

Five of us meet. The group was supposed to include people I know, but they all decide to meet for four, evening classes in June. I don't want to wait, so this afternooon I get together with a very nice group of strangers.

I contemplate what to wear, fearing that the others will be attired in "ladies who lunch" type outfits. In the end, I throw on a pair of jeans and a white T, and am relieved to see the others are similarly clad.

The woman hosting lives near Fifth Avenue, in a beautiful apartment that feels more like a house. There are too many rooms to count. 

Sharon, our instructor, is no-nonsense, patient, organized and well-informed. She knows the subject and has much experience teaching it. It's obvious from the start that she's going to be great.

For a game that is relatively simple, there are so many rules and exceptions. It feels like every card played is interrupted with, "Oh,  this is probably a good time to tell you about the Rule of Five."  Or, "It's important to keep track of the number of sevens played." All this and I'm thinking more simply. Like, "What's the value of an ace again?" 

By the end of two hours, I feel almost dizzy from all I just learned: the plays,the opening requirements, how to count points, the complicated ace, the scoring, the pros and cons of sevens, what my partner is doing, what my competitors are doing, when to pick up the deck, when not do, and a lot more.

I just hope that when we meet next week for lesson number two,I still remember pieces from today. 

one of those days

Yesterday I make an online payment to a CitiBank credit card for $500. My account is debited twice for $500 each. It's an annoying, time-consuming effort to get it corrected.

I go to Agata to buy dinner for the next two nights so I don't have to go after work: half a cooked chicken, roasted yams, a couple of tomatoes, and brussel sprouts lightly sauteed. $17.

Get to work and am greeted with $2,000 in returns: 1/3 of what I earned last Sunday (the beginning of this week).

By the end of the day, I am totally spent; my feet are killing me after almost 20,000 steps in booties (not sneakers). I start to help someone at 6:45, planning to leave on time by 7:15. Instead, I end up leaving at 8:15.

I don't get home until nine. Hate eating dinner so late, but at least all I have to do is heat it up.

Walk in and see the Agata bag with my groceries on the kitchen counter — there since 10am. 

I google, "How long can chicken stay out unrefrigerated?"  Two hours max, before bacteria starts growing. Same answer for cooked yams and brussel sprouts. The two tomatoes are the only things that are safe. I reluctantly toss everything else.

I go back to Agata and re-purchase dinner.

Come home and there are huge blinking lights in my windows. 

Con Ed is doing some repairs. I go back out and ask them to turn the top lights off. 

"Sorry, ma'am, we are not allowed to."

"How long are you going to be here? The lights are blinking directly into my apartment?" 

"We don't know; a couple of hours, at least."

Okay, in the big scheme of things, I know these are minor annoyances. 

I go to bed late, with my alarm set early.  Harry and Meghan are getting married tomorrow. 

By then, my small annoyances will be forgotten as I watch what I know will be a spectacular event.

more people say yes than no

Finally. After thinking about it for a year, I  purchase the Nikon D5600.

Amazon makes it easy: five equal payments, all interest-free. 

I was going to throw out my Nikon D80 body (purchased in 2007) that no longer works, but thought instead, maybe someone wants it.

So I post it on Craig's List. 

My Nikon D80 (body only with battery and charger) doesn't work. I have no idea if the repair will cost a little or a lot. But if you want it, it's yours. No charge.

Within 10 minutes, I have 7 texts of people who can come by and pick it up. By 7pm it belongs to Min, a pleasant man who'll be using it for its parts.

Today I go out to test my new camera. 

I approach people on the street with a simple, "Hi, can I take your picture?" I'm surprised at the many sures I get in response. Whoever says New Yorkers are unfriendly is just plain wrong.

A few do ask why, and then I tell them, "I just got a new camera and want to try it out."

So here are some random New Yorkers, strolling the Upper East Side around noon today.

I have a lot to learn about this camera, but it's nice to know it works fine, even when set on automatic.