vote early and vote often

"Always vote for principle, though you may vote alone, and you may cherish the sweetest reflection that your vote is never lost." ~ John Quincy Adams

Only one more day to vote on the beard poll on the sidebar. Stand up, raise your voice, and be counted. Virtually. Because every beard counts. And so does every vote.

Creepy McCreeperson

Today I have a touching story to tell. Sit back with your warm beverage, take a sip, let out a sigh as you exhale, and enjoy. Friday morning horror storytime.

[aside: so I just remembered that today is in fact Thursday, not Friday... but since Friday is the best day, lets just pretend for a minute shall we...]


I drink coffee in the morning. This was always an occasional thing, never daily. Until about three months ago. Here in the big apple we have Starbucks like everyone else. We have coffee shops and bodegas. But we also have coffee carts. It is a glorious thing to behold. A little enclosed cart with a person standing inside to serve coffee, tea, pastries, and depending on the cart, make egg sandwiches. In the neighborhood where I work we have several coffee carts. And I've tried them all.

[this is a pic from google images, not the Upper Eastside]

There are two carts directly across the street. I used to get my occasional cup of morning joy from one of these carts. But there is always always a line. And why should I stand in a line? I am an Uptown Girl. I deserve better. Obvi.

I tried a coffee cart about a block away, it is on my way to work and close enough that the coffee is still piping hot when I get to my desk. This coffee cart almost never has a line, and the coffee is delish. I found my place. And, of course, I soon became a VIP at this coffee cart and a loyal daily customer.


My coffee man is very friendly. Sometimes too friendly. Sometimes borderline inappropriate. Sometimes downright creepy. Would you like me to share some examples with you? Oh, ok, no problem.

Examples of Creepiness:

1. Creepy McCreeperson tells me on a regular basis that he likes my eyes. As he stares into them and I avert said eyes. Today he told my walking buddy, "I see stars in your eyes", or something like that. In fact, it makes me feel a little better when he comments on her eyes in addition to mine.


2. When I pay my $1.25 for a large coffee with a large bill (aka a $5, $10, or $20) rather than exact change, Creepy McCreeperson says, and I quote, "Oh, big spender. You taking me out to dinner tonight?" This is followed by a restaurant suggestion such as McDonald's or The World Series. This is what he says every single time I use a "large bill". Every. Single. Time. I now have my clever response down to a science. I reply, "Sure, I'll meet you at McDonald's. See you there".


3. One Monday morning, our convo went like this:

Creepy: How was your weekend?

UG: Not long enough... How was yours?

Creepy: Good good. I had a dream about you.

UG: Oh.... haha... [awkward laugh]

Creepy: Yes, on Friday night you were in my dream. But then I woke up
and you weren't there.

UG: [walks away speechless]

And there you have it folks. Why do I continue to get coffee from Mr. McCreeperson? Thank you for asking. I love the speed and ease in obtaining my coffee. Creepy McCreeperson knows exactly what I want and gets it ready for me as I'm walking up to his cart of creepiness. I love that.

And why don't I know his real name by now? Well that is clearly due to his creepiness. As a daily customer, I would typically ask his name and tell him mine. However McCreeperson already gets too familiar and personal. I don't want to encourage him. Or his dreams.

The truth is, when it comes down to it, I really don't think Creepy is such a bad guy. I think if I actually took him up on his dinner suggestion McCreeperson would most likely turn me down and say something like, "oh no no no, I'm a family man, I have a wife and kids in a foreign land or possibly an outer borough." I think he is all talk. And hey, who doesn't like getting complimented on their eyes over coffee everyday?

The End.

Now get back to work and try to help me remember that today is Thursday, not Friday. I still get to see Creepy McCreeperson one more day this week.

run it

Last night I had my third running class. 3 down, 7 to go. woohoo...

After the first week was too easy, I switched groups from 'basic intermediate' to 'intermediate'. I really must be on the cusp because while that first class was easy peasy, my new class pushes me to my limit. And then some.

It reminds me of gym class. Or any sport I ever played. Or that memorable effing Field Day in 8th Grade when I got voted off the team. While humiliating, it was truly a relief to be removed from the team by a jury of my peers. Because then I could stop embarrassing myself and causing our team to lose by dropping eggs off of spoons, scoring baskets for the wrong team, missing the baton hand off in a relay, and whatever else I did in my attempt to be an athlete.

Yes, my running class reminds me of all of these times that I felt inadequate, lagged behind the rest of the group, and singlehandedly made my team lose in an athletic event. This happened quite often throughout my life and put a huge damper on sports in my mind.

Did you read that right? I said in my mind. I thought about it too much and too seriously. Never enjoyed the game, the fun, the camaraderie because I was too busy worrying about how stupid I looked. I was uber self conscious and aware of how completely uncoordinated and lamespice I was.

I found this quote a few months ago and may or may not have previously posted it on Own It... "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well. " ~Pierre de Coubertin

In my running class I am reminded of those times in my life when I had trouble keeping up with the group physically, and when I would mentally give up (and physically give up whenever I was allowed). But as of today I am owning it. I've been owning it with my running since February and I am so proud. I run to be physically fit and to challenge myself. I run because I can. So many of my patients would kill to be able to run (or walk). I run because I am grateful for my life and for my health. I don't want to look back one day and think "why was I so sedentary? why didn't I just get out there and use the life in me?"

It should come as no surprise that I am the very last runner in my group. Yep, I'm the slowest. I spend all 4 miles trying to keep up and not get left behind. Last week I ran right behind an old man with white hair (maybe 65-70 years old?) until the end of class when he smoked me. I told myself that "hey I may not be able to keep up with these young whippersnappers in their 20s, 30s, and 40s, but at least I can run like a 70 year old". Apparently I was mistaken. I don't run like anybody but me. Yesterday that old man was in a faster group...and I missed him... like the desert missed the rain.

"The most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle". Well, I'm struggling with my running. But I do think it is important in my life and so it is worth the struggle. Sort of reminds me of a book Lovey has been telling me about, the Kosher Sutra, living in the now and embracing the tension of life.

Also, I bought new kicks last night. I ascribe to self-bribery tactics. If shopping for sneakers gets me on my feet and moving... how can I not?

so many options, so few actual ideas

Halloween is fast approaching and I still don't know what to be*. Besides glamorous and important, but that goes without saying.

It is a big holiday for me, and the costume is of course clutch. I'm hitting a road block. And I don't like this indecision one bit.

So, here I am. Four days until lift-off. Sans ideas. And that's where you (my loyal public) come in... please help me!

I have some specs, obvi.

1. My costume should be simple to put together- aka if I need to purchase something it should be easy to obtain and fairly low-budget. I mean, I'd rather spend my money while out celebrating the holiday than on the costume itself.
2. My costume should be clever (preferably). I like anything that is a play on words, but not so complicated that no one understands it. Last year I went as Facebook. Strangers wrote messages on my back (FB Wall) all night. And I listed my age as 21. That was a perk.
3. My costume should be flattering to the figure but not slutty. You know, all the other girls have that covered. Slutty nurse, slutty superhero, slutty blogger, slutty prostitute. It's passe.
   
   

My youngest sister suggested that I go as Kate Gosselin from Jon&Kate+Eight. Our convo went like this:
Lil Sis: Can I have your blessing to dress up like Facebook this year?
UG: You have my Uptown Girl stamp of approval [ **UG APPROVED**]. Any ideas for me?
Lil Sis: A girl in my class is dressing up as Kate from J&K+8. You could do that.
UG: That is so mean and sad! Plus the hairdo...
Lil Sis: I know, I know, but its funny.

I declined. And let me just say that I am expecting a lot from you bloggers. There are quite a few of you loyal fans that make yourselves known and others out there that lurk [read: read the post but don't comment]. If there is a time to comment with an idea, that time is now. Any idea you have is appreciated!!!!

*disclaimer- I am a grown woman that likes to dress up on Halloween, yes. But this is NYC, it is a big thing. It is a huge night for going out. In my hometown the holiday is for kids only, but here it is for us grownups. And I do use the term grownup loosely.

how to make a girl blush...

This morning I met with a patient to discuss all sorts of private medical matters. Due to HIPAA I cannot disclose any of the juice. What I can tell you is that this dear old man made me blush.





At the end of our convo, Mr. Patient Man handed me a chocolate bar and said... "you look so skinny, you'd better eat this".



I'm not making this up. He really said that.

Skinny.
Me.



Outside of dreamland (and maybe blogland- thanks to *Rita*), no one has ever referred to me as skinny. On top of that, I am feeling particularly bloated today. And this patient is very skinny himself. I mean, I could break him if I bumped into him. I could knock him over if I exhaled in his direction.


I thanked him, blushed, pinched myself, checked behind me for a candid-camera-crew, and replied that "well, no one has ever called me that before, but I'll take it". I told him I'd share the chocolate bar with my coworkers who are in fact skinny minnies. And I walked away attempting to see myself the way Mr. Patient Man sees me. Even if Mr. Patient Man is just an old charmer. Even if Mr. Patient Man has an eye disease that left him almost blind so that my actual body is blurred out when he looks my way. What matters is that he sees me as I am: a woman in need of chocolate. Could he be my personal elderly Mark Darcy?

A Boot-y Update

I tried on boots this week at my shoe store of choice in any given situation: Bandolino. And the experience confirmed my suspicion. I need to stick to that mid-calf height. Beautiful Bandolino had a pair of boots that I just loved but they happened to hit just below the knee (not mid-calf). I tried them on (because I'm oh so open-minded). And something just wasn't right. I ran through the list of problems and it came down to this: the height of the boots was super duper un-flattering. They made me look fat.

In case you think that sounds ridiculous, you are wrong and I will explain my rationale... basically the point where the boots hit shortens the look of my legs. My legs end up looking very very short and the eye is drawn up to my hips and middle section. Which is a bit curvy to put it nicely. I'd hate to offend my curvy midsection as it seems to have a vendetta against me to begin with.

So, my hunt for the perfect ideal fall boot continues. I took Anna's advice and purchased some Target boots online today. I decided that for $34.97, and considering the decent boot-user reviews, it couldn't hurt to make the plunge and get a pair of cognac mid-calf boots that are cheap and not real leather and actually biodegradable. I feel my carbon footprint disintegrating as I type this. At the very least I will get to try them on and either return them or freecycle them. Or if they fit well, I will have a pair of boots to hold me over until I buy some nicer ones that can withstand NYC weather (cold November rain).

On a side note, how sad is it that I have to shop Target online because there are no stores in Manhattan? I just shed a tear on behalf of New Yorkers everywhere. We are a Targetless island. But, alas, it is the weekend so I'll have to save the complaining for its rightful time and place: my Monday morning commute.

hunt for black leather october

As the Uptown Girl that I am, I of course need to set the example for fall fashion. My public looks to me for guidance in this very department (among other/all departments), obvi. But, blogger friends, I have a tiny confession to make.

Please brace yourself and try not to think less of me when you read this...


I am in need of boots. And a new purse. Shocking, I know.


I'd like some flat boots that hit mid-calf. Although I'd like them in a yummy reddish-brown color, it seems more practical for my everyday sophistication to instead seek and purchase black boots*. Leather. Do you ever go into Aldo's or some other shoe store that sells loads of leather boots and just go around smelling all that real leather? Neither do I. That would be weird.


As for the purse, I'd like something practical while still chic. The problem with my current collection is that my bags are either too big or too small, and those that are the right size are too heavy for my dainty frame even when empty (and i do tend to carry way too much crap in my purse regardless of size). Like Goldilocks, I'm looking for a bag that is just right. Right size, neutral color, convenient pockets, and impeccable style.

What I've researched via online shopping has been very promising. But I want to try on the boots before buying, and see the quality of both the boots and purse in real life. I just don't trust that the item will be as spectacular in person as it is in the airbrushed online photo. And my feet are a work of art. Original and in need of that perfect fit. I developed a new habit awhile back in which I do not buy shoes unless they fit well and are comfortable. It has drastically changed my shoe shopping and my closet.



I also do not buy a shoe or any accessory or piece of clothing unless I love it. When I'm in that dressing room admiring myself in some outfit I'm trying on in the 3-way mirror, I often remark "like-not-love". That determines whether or not I will make the purchase. I grew sick and tired of buying and then not wearing. Tired of seeing that item that I liked-not-loved when I tried it on and trying to find a time to wear it but instead growing frustrated with the waste of money, time, and space, and the growing dust on said item.



This brings me back to my oh-so-important point. I adore the boots you see below! I originally saw them on Say yes to Hoboken. They are Victoria's Secreat. And catalog/online ONLY. Is it worth the risk of ordering the boots and then having to send them back? I am not so great at that returning items in the mail part. They are beautiful though, even if I can't try them on, even if they are much higher on the leg than what I'm hoping to find. To buy or not to buy online? To risk or not to risk? That is the question. What is your opinion?

[these boots are so yummylicious! i swoon. i die.]

Please feel free to give me links and/or leads to any boots and/or purses that you think I will love. I plan on taking time out of my hectic schedule to smell a lot of leather shop this weekend and would really like a successful hunt.

*keep in mind that I wear a lot of black, never chocolate brown, and occasionally red-brown, tan, or beige.

ahhh blogger

Blogger hates me. We have a love-hate-relationship. All I want is for Blogger to love and appreciate me, save my posts, let me comment on other blogs, and not close out all my internet screens at random. Maybe flowers once in a while? Is a dinner-date too much to ask?

I pour so much love into Blogger and I give Blogger countless hours of time, attention, and tender loving care. I give and give and give... sometimes I cry at night thinking about this sick co-dependant relationship I'm in. And it hurts. Love hurts.

Oh now I have that song stuck in my head from "Wedding Singer". No not the song entitled Love Hurts. Remember that Boy George wanna-be who sang Do you really want to hurt me... do you really want to make me cry... over and over? Yeah, it is now playing over and over in my head. On repeat.

If any of you, my public, has any pull with Blogger, please put a word in on my behalf. Or with a company that will sell me a laptop for cheap- your choice.

Happy Saturday Blogland!

Uptown Girl Review

Last night I met a friend at a fairly new Upper Eastside eatery. I'd been there once before for coffee and a pastry, but we went for a little after-work snacky snack.

Gina La Fornarina, on 2nd Ave between 81st and 82nd. From the first time I passed this place on the M15 bus, I knew I had to pay a visit. It was summer and the entire front of the restaurant was open. There was a sea of white walls, ceiling, tables, chairs, shelves, bar, everything. And the tables overflowed onto the sidewalk. It didn't look like your typical "sidewalk seating" section, but just an extension of the seating inside. And I fell in love a little bit. It made my mind travel to some far off European city.

Now that the Big Apple is in the midst of an undesirable nor'easter, the outdoor seating is no longer an option and the restaurant's outer wall is a row of windows. Last night, already drenched and freezing, I was overjoyed to get to Gina's and step inside this warm peaceful atmosphere. After my body adjusted to the temperature I started to freeze again. Unfortunately, they had a window-wall panel open and I was getting a brisk breeze. Not nice at all. I'm not sure if the restaurant was actually freezing due to the open window, or if I was personally freezing in my rain soaked pants and converse kicks. The world may never know. The world does know this: I complained to the waiter and eventually the window-wall panel was closed and I was relieved of the gusty wind, but still cold.

I think deep down I am a glittering socialite diva. But even deeper down I am an elderly lady. The evidence: once I get cold I can't shake it, can't warm up, I think it is in my bones. My bones are cold and my body is shivering from the inside out. Also I have grey hair beneath this hairdye, my bones creak, and I listen to music from 40 years ago.

This sparkling diva has an announcement to make. You must MUST check out Gina la Fornarina. Because aside from the fluke weather issues, it is a find. It has yummy coffee, drinks (dying to try their Bellini), and food. Last night we shared this interesting focaccia pizza with bread on top and bottom, stuffed with ricotta cheese, tomatoes, arugula, and truffle sauce. It was unbelievable and I had to stuff myself. No choice really.

That said, my favorite part is actually the European atmosphere. There is no rush, and I felt as though we could stay there all night chatting and munching, like the table belonged to us. I've passed by several nights when there are couples or groups sitting there relaxing enjoying a bottle of wine and felt the urge to go join them (but I resisted).

[not the best pic, but I swear it was delish]

That is my two cents on my favorite fall find. Check it out and let me know what you think. Better yet, lets go together. I'd be happy to let you take me out for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or drinks. Because that's the kind of girl I am.

you will giggle...

at this post by Ann. And in case you're wondering (I know you are), I'm ordering one for every day of the week. I am such a shopaholic sometimes...

Dear Sam Champion,

[view from my office window today]

Dear Sam Champion,

It is raining today. And quite chilly. I had to wear my pea coat and carry an umbrella. I forgot my rainboots at home. Lamespice. But, Sam, I am 80% ok with that because in exchange for crap weather today I have a special request...

If its not too much trouble, I'd like you to make sure it is nice and sunny all weekend. That means no rain from Friday afternoon until Monday morning. Rainy days and Mondays always get me down, and I really would like a kickin weekend.

I'd really appreciate it if you'd arrange some sunshine for me, Sammy.


xoxo,


<3 Uptown Girl <3

what is the worst that can happen?

Sometimes when I'm nervous about a situation I tell myself "what is the worst that can happen?" or "whatever happens here, there are def worse things in life".

I'm sure you can remember a moment when you felt anxious and had to calm your own nerves, sooth yourself, and maybe even lie to yourself a little to avoid a panic attack. Am I right? Of course I am.

Last night was my first running class and admittedly I was quite nervous in anticipation. During the work day I started my familiar mind games (I play mind games with myself, and I like it). I told myself that it would be fine, that there was nothing to worry about. I made a mental picture in my head.

I asked myself:

Self, didn't you remember to bring your running attire to work so you can go straight to class?

Self, don't you know exactly where to go for the first day?

Self, don't you have ample time to make it to the class and won't you be extremely early?

Having answered all of these questions correctly and realizing that I can be condescending even inside my own head and then feeling a bit of pride over that fact, I took a deep breath. And I calmed down.

It was short lived, however. After a minute or two my mind began to race all over again. I can be so rude to myself sometimes, you'd be amazed. For all you moms out there, I can only compare it to this: you have a cranky baby, you finally get the baby to sleep, you place the baby in the crib and walk away, you sit down and take a breath and relax for about 1 minute and then the baby starts screaming all over again. I do not have any children but I am a big sister and a lifelong babysitter. I think that makes me an expert in these matters. Anyway, yes, in the scenario my anxiety is the baby.

So I decided to pull out all the stops and move to the next level of calming myself down. I ran thru a list of "what is the worst than can happen". It went something like this...

Really, it is a running class for goodness sakes.

If I'm late I will simply try to catch up with the group.

If I miss it all together, I will just skip it and go next week.

If I can't run as fast as the others and they vote me out of the class I will simply go back to running on my own after the coach gets my digits.

If I'm freezing in my long-sleeved-tee in the non-Indian-summer-weather I will warm up as I run.

I will eat a banana on the way to class so I don't get starvation hungry as I run.

I will be sure to use the ladies' room prior to class (for obvious reasons).

If the hunky coach pushes me really hard and I start feeling faint as I'm running, I will go sit down and be fine in a few minutes.

If I trip and fall I will sprain my ankle and scrape my knee... or tear something... or hit my head... or break my nose.

Oh gahd.

I hope someone helps me get home.

Or to the hospital.

Or to the morgue.

Oh gahd.

I might die.

That is the worst that could happen. I really hope that doesn't happen. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Whew. That won't happen. Of course that won't happen, what am I thinking?!

Don't worry blogland, obvi that didn't happen or I wouldn't be typing this right now. And I did calm myself down again quickly. And I laughed at myself. What's better than laughing, right? All in all the worries brought me laughter and I can't complain about that.

In reality not one of those scenarios occurred. The class was much easier than I expected and I'm debating moving up a level for next week. But, there was one scenario that a little bird (June To The C Leaver) warned me about and I didn't even consider. Remember when I imagined my running class here and imagined slash assumed that my coach would "be gorgeous, single, way into me" etc etc (yes, I just quoted myself)? Well, my coach was a woman. W-O-M-A-N.

So, even after all that time and energy I invested in worrying, I didn't even imagine the true worst that could happen possibility. That my coach would be the opposite of a the ideal man. My hopes are dashed. I am downtrodden. What is the world coming to? Since when is it ok for women to coach sports? Why did we do this whole feminist movement? To wreck my dreams? Women should not - NOT! - be allowed to coach (and neither should unattractive, married, gay, or taken men for that matter)!! It isn't right. How is an Uptown Girl supposed to get motivated to run in these conditions? How??? It is shocking and unthinkable.

What is an Uptown Girl to do? Find inspiration in blog-reading of course. The girls over at Run Til I'm Fun are about to complete a marathon. And they've been training and preparing. They are inspiring me one mile at a time. Go on over and wish them luck on those 26.2 miles! And after you finish, please find me a hunky male running coach. It is the least you can do.

real life meeting

No joke this time. I hung out with Eduardo Verastegui on Saturday night. I guess you could say it was sort of like a date. You'd be lying, but you could say that.

It was a room full of people. He and his peeps from Metanoia Film did a pitch. They talked about their movies, their mission, and their need for investors. There was no private time per se, but I did get to have a couple of convos with Eduardo. He is the Brad Pitt of Mexico, did you know that? Just checking.

My plan was this: meet Eduardo and kiss him. The kiss was meant for science and for you, my public. So that we would know once and for all if all beards smell like old cheese. So, obvi, my plan was airtight. Like tupperware.

And he wore a suit and tie. You know I love a man who wears a suit. I can't help myself, it is part of my genetic code.

But, alas, Eduardo had shaved (in my honor)! This really threw me for a loop. I mean, the whole point of the kiss was to do a beard smelling test. Without a beard there would be no point at all. The kiss would've been in vain. I think you know where I'm going with this: I had no choice but to reject Eduardo's many shameless advances.

Also, as handsome and hunky as he really truly is, Eduardo isn't my type. Yes, he is physically my type (suit-wearing-man), but personality-wise it just wasn't there.

However, the night wasn't a total bust. As a matter of fact, it was sweetness. I had fun eating, drinking, and freezing my bootie off with the ladies while we gawked at and talked to the Mexican Brad Pitt. Can I just add that Mexican Brad is way cuter than American Brad? Its the truth.

We also met the other guys on the team at Metanoia Film. I was impressed by their mission to produce decent films and combine art and morality. They want people to leave the theatre after seeing their movies "wanting to love more and judge less". If I hadn't recently invested millions elsewhere I would be game for backing one of Metanoia's upcoming projects, because I was def inspired by their vision. But, alas, I try not to stretch myself too thin.

.

.

[I know what you are thinking: why didn't Uptown Girl post any pics of her beardless Eduardo encounter? Well, it was an intimate evening and, as such, my personal photographers the papa razzi did not attend. But don't worry, one of my girlfriends should have a pic or two on her camera, and as soon as she shares them with me I will share them with you. Because sharing is caring.]

late effects of television on the female brain

Don't worry, I watched the Office last night. The simple yet beautiful moments between Jim and Pam really touched me. Deep down. And Jim's little monologue at the end was enough to make me cry like a baby. And I liked it.

There is just something about a love that is true, that is pure, that is unfailing, and that is fake. It gets me every time. Is it totally unrealistic to expect real unscripted men to behave like Jim? Probably. Well, not probably, more like definitely.


I've discussed with my girlfriends (on multiple multiple occasions) the idea that Rosie O'Donnell brought to our attention in Sleepless in Seattle...

The scene: 2 women are sitting around either watching or discussing a movie. An Affair to Remember. Classic romance. Love it. Anyways I will let Annie and Becky do the talking.


Annie (Meg Ryan): "Now that was when people KNEW how to be in love. They knew it! Time, distance... nothing could separate them because they knew. It was right. It was real. It was..."

Becky (Rosie O): "A movie! That's your problem! You don't want to be in love. You want to be in love in a movie." [emphasis added for your benefit]


Now, to add a little sugar and spice to this post, I will send you over to read this brief classic post at OWN IT from 2008 where we discussed the difference between settling and being realistic about men. Little known fact... they are human. Did you know that?





I know you've seen me refer to babs in prior posts. Boys are bad and stupid. And this is a shocking concept to some (I can only assume these shocked souls are idealists with perfect lives). However, I think the idea of babs is actually quite forgiving to men, and not a man-bashing club. Ok, sometimes it is, but I just can't help myself when I get new raw material. Can you?

The theory played out should look something like this: if you assume that men will at some point do something bad, stupid, idiotic, wrong, mess up, etc then when the man in your life makes a mistake, which is inevitable, you can avoid feeling like men "always disappoint". Again- men and dads in movies are so unbelievable and perfect, and if they aren't perfect at the beginning of a show or movie, they are by the end. Am I right or am I right? Yes, I am. The men on the silver screen give us precisely what we need and want, and the men in real life can never measure up. It is unfair to both sexes.

What is fair then?? Thank you for asking. I'd say it is fair to assume that the men in our off-screen lives will be imperfect. We don't expect idealistic picture perfect friendships with our girlfriends, flawless and ever blissful relationships with our family, do we? So instead of waiting for the dude to fail and then responding with "aha! I knew he was an arse!" it can look more like "ahh yes, you're an arse, but that's life".

[Obvi I'm talking about failing in small everyday human ways, not the big stuff because that is a different level in the system. Don't get crazy.]

Do you agree with me? Yay or nay? Have you found a way to balance these oh so important everyday issues? Are you of the opinion that we women are the ones who tend to create the problems? Do tell.

This post is one long tangent that just kept developing itself as I wrote (and props to Liza for allowing me to plagiarize her whenever I want to). But what I really wanted to tell you is this: I have a hot date tonight. yep.

RED ALERT: for bearded men everywhere

[aside: I intend this information to be used with discretion. As such, please read faces not actual bodies.]

*beard poll on the right. don't miss the opportunity to be fabulous vote for something that will never count for anything ever.*

100th post. what?!

Please prepare yourself for a multi-topical post. Because it is my blogizzle. Because it is my 100th post. Because I like to write a lot. Because I can. So go ahead, mentally prepare. Get ready.

set.

GO.

Topic numero uno: Bye Bye Love(y).

Bye bye, Lovey. Bye bye, happiness. Hello, loneliness. I think I'm a-gonna cry-y.

You read that right. Lovey is leaving. Leaving me. To travel to a far off land while I am here in the greatest city in the world. What is that about? I mean, serio, I don't see how she will even enjoy the trip at all knowing that I am here living it up in the big golden delicious apple. My prediction is this: Lovey will return to NYC with a greater appreciation for the Upper Eastside, and with a suitcase full of souvenirs and jewelry for her fave roomies (namely me), never to leave again.

Topic numero dos: Have you met McSteamy?

If your name is Elaine, then I know the answer is yes.

This is Eric Dane. But you already knew that. Sadly, Mr. Dane has a beard. You know how I feel about beards and their rankocity. I would be willing to find out if McSteamy's beard is McSmelly or not, for the purposes of science and for your benefit, of course.

And he will have to wear this suit for the scientific stank-o-meter kiss, or no dice. obvi, I don't kiss just anyone you know.

Topic numero tres: Leaving on a jet plane.

I'm leaving on a jet plane. Don't know when I'll be back again. Oh babe, I hate to go.

That is a lie. I know when I'm coming back. Remember, I'm going to India at the end of November because I want to celebrate Thanksgiving the way it was intended- pilgrims and Indians together. My ancestors were pilgrims (yes, Mayflower and all), so I will go to India and do it right this year. Also to be with my brother and see the whole world.

I've been mulling over an assortment of thoughts and ideas and preparations that have to be thought thru before my trip. Today I'm mostly thinking about how to pack.

I will be travelling alone, so I really can't bring too many suitcases. Let's be honest here, how will I go to the bathroom in the airport if I'm lugging multiple suitcases? That has been my latest reoccurring nightmare.

Its like this..... I'm sleeping, like a baby, all curled up in the fetal position, comfy cozy with my carebear (vintage), when suddenly I am in the airport in Brussels for my layover. I'm trying to simultaneously roll two large suitcases behind me while eating Pepperidge Farm cookies, brussels (and oh are they delish or what?). It is really quite difficult, but I'm all proud that I can multi-task so well and do three things with only two arms. I'm walking thru the airport thinking about what a powerful world-travelling, multi-tasking, cookie-loving woman I have become. Quintessential Uptown Girl moment.

Dun-dun-dun.

And this is where the nightmare part comes in... all of a sudden I have to pee. Like really really have to go immediately. My bladder feels like it is about to burst. And I rush to the nearest bathroom (WC in a Brussels airport of course) worrying about where I will lodge my suitcases once inside. But I can't even get thru the WC door with my suitcases. I have become a wide load. And then in the dream I am suddenly being led and followed by "Wide Load" trucks with the blinking lights that lead those made to order houses when they travel on the highway. They are trying to lead me to another bathroom that can fit me with my luggage. But it is in the wrong terminal and I'm nervous that I'll pee my pants or miss my flight or something.

And then I wake up. And realize I have to go use the restroom.

What do you think this means?? Am I just nervous about travelling? Am I drinking too much aguita before bed? Is it a sign that I should travel light? Am I feeling fat? The world may never know.

Topic numero quatro: I wrote 100 posts. You're Welcome.

How did that even happen? I went from not being so into blogging and complaining that my sister wanted me to write a real post for her blog, to writing a zillion (ok 100) posts for my own fabulous blogizzle. Yowza.

Thank you for joining me on my journey. Keep coming back for the next 100!

xoxo,

Uptown Girl

about the day I met John Turturro

Today I had this vivid memory of an odd experience from a few years back.

version 1:

Yes, John Turturro the award winning actor wanted to meet this Uptown Girl. He asked his people to contact my people because he had heard so much about me and wanted to set up a meeting. I agreed to coffee, but only coffee. Mr. Turturro then asked if we could take a photo together. I regretfully declined.

I have another version of this same story to share with you. This is an exercise for your benefit, so that you can use those critical thinking and problem solving skills. Research shows that brain teasers prevent Alzheimer's, so you can thank me with flowers or chocolates.

version 2:

I had just completed a successful second round of interviews and was hired for my (then) new job. As I waited for the bus to come, I started talking to the man next to me. He commented on the desserts I was eating at the bus stop, and the conversation went on from there. I told this gentleman of about 50 years that he looked familiar, that he reminded me of an actor. And he told me in hushed tones that he was in fact an actor, and asked me to guess his name. I guessed Roberto Benigni.

[Roberto Benigni]

But he said he was John Turturro. That sounded very familiar but I couldn't place the name at the time.

[John Turturro]

Mr. Turturro and I rode the long bus ride from the Upper Eastside to Midtown West, where I was to meet my eX. I asked Mr. T a little bit about acting because I have a brother who hopes to become a successful actor one day. I got Mr. T's autograph for said brother. However, Mr. T did not want to talk much about his craft.


Mr. T suggested we have dinner. I reminded him that I was on my way to meet my eX, and then I agreed to coffee at a cafe about a block from where I was headed so that the eX could come meet him, too. We drank our coffee, but as soon as the eX texted that he was rounding the corner, Mr. T had to rush off. They didn't get to meet.


And the eX was angry. Very angry that I would even think to go to coffee with another man. Even John Turturro. Even a man who was over twice my age. Even a man who knew about the eX and was waiting to buy him a cup of coffee.


We made it home (fighting) and I looked up John Turturro in Google Images. Oh, I was so conned. The lovely man who kept me company for the afternoon was not in fact Mr. T at all. He does not ride this bus in order to "be one with the people of NY". The real Mr. Turturro does not have a foreign accent.



Oops.


This is the lesson I learned: men blow everything out of proportion, so it is unwise to let them know when you make a mistake until after you check the facts. And even then, just don't tell them if you don't have to. I should've waited until I verified that coffee was with the real John Turturro before divulging that information (if at all). Now I know how to play my cards right. Also, babs.


I also stopped talking to strangers on public transportation (unless they are in my personal space unnecessarily, but that is a different kind of conversation). And when I see the fake Mr. T sitting at that same bus stop, I look the other way. And when I see confirmed celebs in public, I don't often go to coffee with them.


And there you have it friends, one story, two versions. You decide. Choose your own adventure.

on my soap box

I am supporting Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty one bar of soap at a time. I just found out that if I go on their website and enter my UPC code they will donate $1 to self-esteem programs for girls. Considering I spent $1.85 for my bar of soap, it seems like a pretty good deal to me.

.

I always forget to buy more soap until I'm down to a tiny sliver of nothingness. I'll be in a grocery store, a pharmacy, whatever, and walk out without more soap. It is a subconscious phenomenon commonly known as Wannabe Dirtyandgrossgustingitis. Anyways, oddly enough I remembered that I needed soap (badly) while out on the town on Saturday night. At about 1:30am I stopped in the nearest bodega and asked for a bar of soap. And I made sure to buy Dove.

.

Yeah, my adorable clutch wasn't big enough to fit the box of soap. So I had to carry it in a yucky plastic bag to the next VIP venue and for the rest of the night! You think that sounds awkward? I do too. But at least I can now lather up properly in the shower while I fund self-esteem for my protegees.

.

**excuse me while I pat myself on my back that is both cleaner and softer than a baby's bottom**

its been lovely but I have to scream now

It is Friday afternoon and my brain is fried. Like that commercial about eggs and what they look like fried. My brain feels like fried eggs right now. Well done.





I am exaggerating a little bit (if you must know). I only have a few minutes left before I can leave this desk and this computer and this headset behind for the *weekend* and go see my nyc friends after work at happy hour. I say nyc friends to differentiate between groups: nyc friends, college friends, childhood friends, virtual blogger friends... imaginary friends, etc. You know. And sometimes the groups overlap.





But, back to my brain. Right now it feels like it might explode if it isn't set free from this headset that makes me look like a telephone operator out of "Lassie" and totally flattens my hair with a vengeance. Why do I wear it? Easy- so I don't get a crick in my neck from talking with the regular phone and so I can have two hands free for typing at all times. AKA- so I can blog as I wait on hold for hours talk on the phone.





On and off all day I've been speaking with the various representatives of Caremark Specialty Pharmacy about a case I started with them three weeks ago. These very nice people are driving me mad. I am so ready to forget about them and how useless they have been and how I will probably have to cancel a patient's appointment because I will not have the pt's medicine here in time to inject next week. You should keep in mind that Caremark Specialty Pharmacy has very irritating music playing while you hold. And they like making you hold. A lot.





I lied. There is one representative who is trying to help me. Her name is Charlotte. She even gave me her direct phone number. I want to bake cookies for Charlotte and bring them to her in whatever Southern state she works. Alas, even after Charlotte's hard work on my case, I still haven't made any headway on this problem today. None. I could scream.

I would really like to get this mug and keep it on my desk. Just looking at it makes me smile and cackle softly. And I imagine the mug will come filled with KitKats and M&Ms. I will buy it as a gift for myself one day soon.

Needless to say, my brain is looking forward to a long two days off. No more thinking. No more trying to remember things that I'd much rather forget. No more working! yippee!!


So, yay me. I made it thru my last bit of work and I'm officially free. God Bless America!

*tgif*

I may or may not have been waiting impatiently all week to be able to post this pic for your Friday viewing pleasure. And I will post more in a bit. Later gator.

.

.

.

ps- weigh in on beards via my little rolly polly poll over there on your right. no, your other right.

what is wrong with this picture?

I snapped this sight with my camera-phone during my lunch break today.This dog is not only wearing a full jumpsuit, but 4 mini doggie shoes.
Does anyone else find this disturbing while sort of cute at the same time?

fall is here to stay

I wanted an Indian Summer. That may be Politically Incorrect to say out loud. But I don't see how it is so PC to make me freeze to death this early in the season.
Its bananas I tell you.
B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

I know that everyone and their brother is totally head over heels in love with the fall. How October is probably your favorite month. How you can't wait to see the leaves change. But I think you are a bunch of crazies.

I like warm weather. I like to go outside without a jacket, and without a scarf. So sue me.

.

I've been contributing to global warming for years now and somehow the summer has only gotten shorter. I am colder for a greater percentage of the year.

And if you don't feel sorry for me, well then please feel bad for the poor innocent school children. All those kids in uniform who are forced to wear skirts in the freezing cold while Mr. P (full name omitted to protect my former teacher) opens the classroom window to let in the "fresh breeze". Lets call that "fresh breeze" what it really is. It is not a nice easy harmless way to kill all the students' germs Mr. P. No, it is a Nor'easter and those are goosebumps on my legs thank you very much.

But I digress. I started writing this post today to let you know that I miss the summer already. I haven't seen the sun in days, no weeks, no days. This is unconscionable. I do not approve of these brisk days we've been enduring all week long. I do not approve.

.

Do you hear me Sam Champion?

.

I want to sit outside on my sundeck after work to read and tan without shivering. I want another beach day. I want to go sneak mimosas into Central Park on Sunday for a picnic with friends. I want to watch guys in the park play sports with "shirts vs skins" teams. I want to plan a Halloween costume that does not require a parka.

Whatevski, that is my little Indian Summer fantasy and I just want to put it out there and get it out of my system. And now I will admit the one thing I can appreciate about this Autumn season... my birthday is coming at the very tail end.

The day when all the world celebrates me. Yes, I personally redeem Autumn. Singlehandedly (ok, yes, with the help of my mom an a doctor 28+ years ago- thanks guys!). You're welcome.

.

What do you miss about the summer?