saturday night out

I’m going to a small dinner party.  Seven people.  All of whom I know.  It’s a low-key, easy group.  Still, I ponder what to wear.

Almost without exception, going out in winter means wearing black leggings and a cashmere top.  I rarely deviate from this outfit, unless I wear a black skirt or jeans.  But lately I’ve been feeling too big for either of these.  This is also a group of skinny, fit people.

I put on the leggings with a shortish black cashmere cardigan, look in the mirror, and all I see is ass.  It feels as big as Kim K’s.  So I change into a slightly longer sweater.  Not that anyone will notice either way. 

I take a shower and wash my hair, loving my new Speakman showerhead.  In fact, I love it so much I forget for a moment I have no shower door.  I end up with a bathroom that looks like Sandy just came through.  A total mess.

I am the first to arrive.  Andrea and Veej, the hosts, are old friends. Though I  know them well, I'm surprised by their culinary skills.  Andrea makes an amazing chicken marsala while Veej prepares eggplant parmigiana and roasted vegetables.  I’m glad I wore a longer top, as I feel my lower half expanding throughout the night.

I bring a pear tart from Agata, which is good.

But so much better is the apple tart that Silvia actually makes.  

Silvia is originally from Italy and is also comfortable around kitchens.  Not that the Italy heritage necessarily has anything to do with it, but the only other person I know well who is also from Italy is Sal, Alexander’s grandfather, and he too is a master in the kitchen.

But good as the food is, it’s never about the food.  It’s the people that make the night so special.  We all leave close to midnight, stimulated and sated.

a bit of a problem with home depot

Nothing goes as planned today.

Early morning

My New York Times isn’t delivered.  Perhaps I should have given the paperboy a bigger holiday gift.  It’s the second time this week.

M is coming for a few days. Last time she was here she implied (using kind, diplomatic words) that my bathroom was frightful.  It’ll be nice to show her the update; it should be done by the time she arrives on Sunday.

The medicine cabinet was supposed to be delivered (from Home Depot) a week ago today.  It wasn't. I speak to Rhonda who promises me its arrival today, between 8am and 12.  The contractors who are doing work in the apartment above mine have generously agreed to put the medicine cabinet in for me.

Around 8am

My phone rings. Caller ID spells the words Home Depot. I expect it’s the driver calling to tell me he’s in the neighborhood and will be arriving soon.  It's not.

It’s Cheryl calling to tell me my medicine cabinet is in and she’d like to schedule a delivery date.  Huh? Apparently Rhonda's absolutely-without-a-doubt promise was our little secret; no one else in the Home Depot organization knows anything about it. 

Cheryl apologizes profusely for Rhonda’s error and says she’ll look into it and call me back.  She arranges for a new delivery between ten and two today, absolutely positively.

Around 11

Mike, my wonderful handyman comes to install my shower door.  Finally.  It’s been two weeks and today is the day Mike promised to do it.  I don’t want my guest showering without a door.  Mike comes up, opens the huge box taking up half my living room, and says, “Miss F--- (I’ve known Mike for years and despite my insistence, he never uses my first name), I’m sorry, but this is far more complicated than I thought it would be.”  Mike, who can fix anything, and never ever gets flustered, calls me over.  “Look at all these pieces.  I’ve never seen anything like this.  I have no idea how to do this.”  I am looking at a million small pieces and pages of instruction.  It looks hopelessly difficult.

Now what? Mike says that he and Roberto, the building super, will have to look at it and see if they can figure it all out, but he’ll need time.  Lots of it.  So, it won’t be today. I hope it’ll be this month.

           1:50pm

My phone rings.  “Hi, this is Lindsay calling from Home Depot.  I just want to confirm your delivery for tonight." You gotta be kidding?  What happened to sweet Cheryl’s promise of no-later-than-two? Turns out Cheryl forgot to share our conversation with anyone.

So now, the contractors who leave at five will not be able to install my medicine cabinet before M arrives on Sunday.  And I have a shower door that Mike and Roberto have no idea how to put up.

I get Lindsay’s manager, Saika, on the phone.  After listening to my saga, she arranges for a store employee from Home Depot to come tomorrow at 10 to install the medicine cabinet.  Given the history, I ask her three times to confirm the time.  She does.

At 7pm, the medicine cabinet finally arrives.  Let’s hope the guy from Home Depot comes tomorrow at ten to install it.  After all, I’ve been promised he would.  And Home Depot never breaks its promises.

Addendum:

10 am comes; no one arrives.  I call Home Depot.  Stephen answers Saika’s line and knows nothing about an installation.  There is nothing in the system.  I am surely now in a Kafka novel.

I tell (not calmly) Stephen the brief history.  He tells me he’ll look into it.  He does, and by 11 he has the verdict:  The manager vetoed the installation because the store employee is not insured to do it, and their professional installers only do full kitchens and bathrooms.  Ok, but why did no one tell me?

Without going through the details, here’s the very acceptable result, now confirmed via email from Stephen, my new favorite person:

On Feb 22, 2014, at 11:32 AM, Steve @HomeDepot.com wrote:

Dear Lyn,

Once again I would like to apologize for the difficulties you have endured with delayed deliveries and missed appointments. My store manager has agreed to reimburse you for the installation charges you incur for your medicine cabinet and shower door.  You may forward the bill to him at …

back to school

I was the perfect student.  Disciplined.  Hard-working.  Curious. Striving for that A, and usually getting it.  I needed the affirmation.

I liked class projects.  Studying with others.  And the back-and forth of good discussion.  I was meant to be a student.  Although now, having not been one for over 30 years, I can’t say I miss it.  In fact, quite the opposite.  I feel my son’s angst when he has finals.  I fret over his papers (probably more than he does).  I am happy to be able to read some trashy novel instead of some fine piece of literature, if that’s what I’d prefer.  And I don’t at all miss the feeling of having to study when there is so much more I’d rather be doing.

I got the degrees I wanted and thought I was done with school.  Then I decide to get my real estate license and here I am again, back in school.  Sort of.

Today I spend four hours in front of my computer watching two YouTube videos on different selling techniques.  In the background I hear a news headline, “Sitting At Work For Hours Can Be As Unhealthy As Smoking.”

This is nothing like watching the hilarious YouTube videos I’m accustomed to clicking on. 

Jerry Seinfeld last night on Jimmy Fallon. http://www.newsday.com/entertainment/tv/tv-zone-1.811968/jerry-seinfeld-on-second-tonight-show-starring-jimmy-fallon-1.7130466. 

The baby that is moved to tears by her mom’s singing.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-A_jI7AIUUQ

Fake spokespeople auditions.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxIsaCpLVso

No, the YouTube videos I watch today are of a totally different ilk.  A bunch of people sitting around a table listening to one guy lecture.

Still, I suppose it’s better than actually going to class.  I get to read through all five sections of today’s Times, answer emails, participate in a BAFTA conference call, play a few games of online Backgammon, indulge in many games of WWF, read some reviews of books I’m considering, moisturize my legs, eat lunch, and try a Korean collagen face mask sheet (by Naisture) that Robyn gave me.

Only 13 online classes left.  26 hours.  Then 10 on-site classes. 20 hours plus another 20 in transportation time.   15 problem sets to complete and exams to take and exercises to do and 25 open houses to see and evaluate.  My goodness.  And the reward?   At the end, I will be allowed to begin work, where I’m told it could easily take six months or more before I earn any money.

Still, I am optimistic that it’ll be worth it.  Man, I sure hope so.

when routine is not routine

I go to my dentist/periodontist for a routine screening, and leave worrying about losing my tongue and looking like poor jawless Roger Ebert before he died.

The hygienist notices a dark pigmented thing in the area under my tongue.  I know it's been there for a very long time.  I am pretty certain that in my many visits to many dentists over many years, I have asked about this thing.  And I remember being told it’s nothing.  But still.

The hygienist asks the doctor to look at it.  He does, and then says, “Nice find Amanda.”  Now I am nervous. “I am 98% sure it’s nothing to worry about,” he begins, “but I’d like to be certain.  I think we should biopsy it.”  I am all for certainty when it comes to cancer so I agree.  “What does it involve, when can you do it, and how much will it cost?”

He answers the first two questions and sends in his assistant to answer the third.

“I’ll numb the area and then remove a piece to be biopsied.  Then I’ll put a stitch in that will dissolve.”  He can do it in a half hour if I want it done today.  It'll only take about five minutes.  Definitely.  I’d rather get it over with than have more time to worry about the results.

And so that’s what happens today at my routine cleaning.  The cost hurts more than the procedure.

So now, except for a little discomfort, I am the same as when I left my house this morning.  Except for one small thing.  A new worry.

chance encounter

1987, and we were going to change the world.  Honestly, we all believed we were going to be the Steven Jobs of toothpaste.

I was working at Lever Brothers, heading up the brand group for Extra Strength Aim.  We were a committed group of young MBA’s, making our mark in packaged goods.

Extra Strength Aim was a revolutionary new product.  

It had 50% more fluoride than any other toothpaste.  A true breakthrough.  Never mind that this extra fluoride didn’t translate to any discernible consumer benefit.  Still, Unilever was behind it in a very big way.  Sort of like Nigel Tufnel in Spinal Tap, explaining why his band’s amplifier is better than all the others because it goes to 11, not the usual 10.

Before launching ESA, we needed FDA approval.  Every word we spoke, on air, in print, and on packaging had to be reviewed and approved by Legal.  Legal, in my case, was the stylish and talented Nancy.  Unlike other corporate lawyers I’d worked with, Nancy was always on marketing’s side.  She was a master negotiator, and always wore the best clothes.  We worked together for about a year — through the commercial shoot on September 11 and the product’s introduction soon after.

Today I am about to cross the street at 79^th and Fifth.  I hear, “OMG, hi.”  I turn and see Nancy.  It’s been 27 years, and she looks exactly the same.  Very cool tinted black glasses.  An unstructured black coat.  A big leather purse.  We immediately begin catching up — we cross the street and board a bus together.  In 20 blocks, we cover a lot of history, but so much is left.  

Before saying good-bye, we promise to get in touch soon. Ironically, we are both on our way to visit our dentists.