100,000 page views

I write mostly about nothing.  It astounds me that over 6,700 people, from all over the world, have read at least one post on this blog. 

I began writing on June 3, 2012.  I purposely did not want a theme.  That way I am free to write about anything I want.  And for those who read this, you know my topics cover a broad landscape. But mostly, it’s about living in New York, my friends and family, fashion, hair, and customer service.  All with a few photos thrown in.

Most of my readers are from New York, but in the 26 months I’ve been writing, someone from every US state has read at least one thing I’ve posted.  Except for South Dakota.  They are not interested in the day-to-day life of a Manhattanite.

The darker the color, the higher the number.

I need to think up something to attract someone from SD, along with someone from Antarctica, the only continent that has had no one reading this blog.  And I’m sure I must have written about the polar vortex this past winter. 

People from 81 countries have read what I have to say.

I wonder what someone in Nigeria would think about my problems with Time Warner Cable when theirs are so much graver. Do the few from Russia who read this blog (and there are a few) long for the freedom I have to even be able to write the stuff I do?  And do the people from Nebraska envy the life I live in New York or instead think, “Why would anyone want to live there?"

I am grateful to you, my readers.  As long as you continue to read, I will continue to write.  Even when I have nothing of substance to say.  Which, as you know, is mostly every day.

chatty cathy

I go for lunch at Pinkberry.  All the tables are taken so I ask a woman (I’ll call Cathy), sitting alone, if I can join her.  “Of course,” she says.  And within minutes of joining her, I feel myself disappearing. Cathy seems like a very nice woman. But today I think she just needs someone to talk to, and I just happen to be there.

In our short encounter, I probably know more about Cathy than I do some people I’ve known for years.

• Her son recently graduated from Horace Mann — same school as the one my son went to. 

• Cathy graduated Tufts — same as I, but different years; she’s four years younger. 

• Her mom died last year.

And then it becomes more personal.

• Cathy has the ability to "unsee" something she's seen.  For example, if she sees a dress that she wants to buy but shouldn't, she can unsee it.  "I used to do that with old boyfriends, after a bad break-up," she tells me.  I have to admit, this is a skill I envy. 

• Cathy’s family is planning a trip after they drop off her son at college.  “But we’ll probably end up doing what my husband wants; we always do.” 

• “My kids are younger than most of my friends’ kids; maybe that’s why I wanted to be an empty nester, “ she confides. “I remember when my kids were only 1 and 4, I already imagined how freeing life would be when they were out of the house.  But now that the day is approaching for my son to go off to school, I’m a mess.  I am really going to miss him.” 

• Cathy’s sister is a big executive in a very public industry.  I googled her and her husband; both are well known in business circles.  I am deliberately being vague as I don’t want Cathy or her family identified.  But in the course of talking, Cathy tells me that her sister, who is a billionaire (believable too given the sister’s husband’s last name), is not particularly generous.  While The Sister reached deep into her pockets to help her mom live out her final days in comfort, she also sent Cathy a Lucky Brand tank top for her birthday.  “People who have money really don’t understand those who don’t,” she says.

• Cathy’s brother, who lives on the west coast, was once a successful producer. But for the past few years he hasn’t been able to find work.  He also has a wife and kids.  The Sister has been helpful in providing support for the kids, but not helpful in offering work to the brother; they work in related industries.

• Cathy has two children, and it is clear she loves them both deeply.  But she believes she would have been a better mother had she had only one.  “In fact,” she says, “I wish I’d had only one child.”  I find this admission shocking in its candor.

All this, in the time it takes to eat a small yogurt with toppings.  Imagine what I’d have learned had I ordered a larger size!

snap back to reality

I always loved that Eminem song Lose Yourself.  Now that I’m no longer in a Cape state of mind, I keep hearing the lyrics Snap Back to Reality play over and over in my head. 

On the Cape, I am able to leave behind my worries.  But once I return home, they come raging back.  One worry overwhelms all the rest:  How can I earn a decent living?  I am good at many things, but making money is unfortunately not one of them.  I am much better at spending it.

I go into the office today.  I don’t know how to find buyers, and more importantly, sellers. Many brokers have told me that one thing I need to do, is to always give my card to anyone willing to take it.  “Expand beyond your current circle of friends and associates,” I am frequently told.

So I try.  Whenever I can, without being obnoxious, I hand out my business card.

On my walk home from work, I pass Rani Arabella, a little boutique across from my office.  In their window is the medium blue knit jacket I bought at Bergdorf’s for 75% off; they are selling it for 30% off.  But I love the pencil skirt they’ve paired with the jacket.  It’s a simple, navy pleated cashmere/wool.  It would go with half my closet, and makes a great outfit with the blue jacket I now own.

I go in and Rhonda (who looks more like an Ashley — long blond flow-y hair, thin, chicly dressed) helps me.

“How much is that skirt in the window?” I ask.

“I’m sorry, but that skirt’s not for sale,” Rhonda answers.

This immediately heightens my interest in it.

It turns out that this particular skirt is one of very few made.  It is not on sale; well, it’s not even for sale. But I ask, and Rhonda agrees, to call the company’s president.  After a rather lengthy conversation, the president reluctantly agrees to sell the skirt (Rhonda is a great salesperson), but he won’t discount it, because, “The price that’s on it is the wholesale price. Typically we mark up two and a half times from the wholesale price.”

I buy it.  And then I say, “Please let me know if you are ever looking to buy or sell an apartment in New York.”  As I am reaching for my card Rhonda says, “I work for Elliman (as in Douglas Elliman, arguably the largest residential realtor in NYC).   I’m a real estate agent too.”

Rhonda’s been a broker for many years.  Obviously, this has not been a good year for her.  When I tell her I just started in real estate, she looks at me sympathetically and says, “it’s a tough business.”

Today I read an article in New York Magazine that Uber is hiring women. Perhaps I should apply.

a brush with fame

I return to New York, and Zelia and I are going to the premiere of The Hundred Foot Journey. It’s more than a ten mile journey to go from a week of no makeup and cut-offs to a nice dress, uncomfortable heels, and a fully-done face. It makes me not want to go.  But I said I would so I do.

I arrive early, but already the area around  the Ziegfeld theater is gated off.  People are lined up hoping to get a glimpse of the stars. I feel special just having a ticket to get in.

Mostly people have come impressively dressed, though there are a few men who look like they have just come from the beach. 

Once inside, people are giving out free teabags that somehow relate to the movie.  We take a teabag and also some free popcorn and drinks.  The massive theater of 1,131 seats is full.  We see lots of people but no stars.

The movie is sweet.  As we are leaving, I notice Oprah standing directly to my left.  She is one of the film’s producers.  

I say something witty and charming.  “I loved the film.” 

She responds with equal wit and charm.  “Thank you.  I’m glad you liked it.”  

Wow.  I actually spoke to Oprah.  Very exciting.  Really.

Others are taking pictures so I do too.  I’m such a sucker for the famous. 

two days of rain

I don’t like iffy weather days on the Cape. But the last two days have posed no dilemma…lots of rain and heavy clouds. 

Non-beach weather almost always starts with gin—the kind you play, not drink. 

In another life, my mom could have made a fortune in Vegas.  She is definitely a better card player than I am, though my skills are improving.  My mom can remember every card played, and can even recall her hands from the past three games.  Me? Well, I can remember the last two or so cards played, and that’s about it.  But still, I am up five games to three.

I don't mind the rain.  

My mom and I drive to downtown Falmouth, or more precisely, Main Street. The street is dotted with stores, restaurants, American flags, and the Village Green.  This old New England town (first settled in 1660) still maintains some of its charm, despite the influx of tourists who visit in the summer.

 My first stop whenever I visit the Cape is always Maxwell's.  

I’ve been coming here for years, and am always greeted warmly by Dan, the owner.

My mom and I take advantage of the store's 50% off sale, and both of us get coats.  Mine is unlike anything in my closet.  It is not black or navy, but rather a 3-season geometric-patterned coat by Maliparmi, and Italian designer.

Mostly along Main Street are cutesy capey shops; these I walk by easily. .

And while I love lobster, its appeal as an ingredient has its limits.

After Maxwell's, my mom and I drive over to Mashpee Commons and have lunch at Bleu, my favorite restaurant here.  Its simple architecture belies its sophisticated fare.

After lunch, we walk around for a bit, then head home.  On the way, we stop by Crabapple’s, another favorite haunt. There, I pick up a chowder to go (their fish chowder is the best) and a slice of multi-berry pie... in case I'm hungry by dinner time.

As much as I love the beach, this is a pretty good way to spend a rainy day.  Or any day for that matter.  Just chillin' with my mom.