This is what my brain is turning into after crunching numbers for a decent chunk of the past few days at work. Even more to come tomorrow.
Posts from January 2008
I've had quite a tasty weekend. I forgot how much I adore Frankie's Sputino -- Jenn D. and I had a delicious dinner there on Friday night. And if you're boroughphobic, you can go to the one on Clinton Street. Today I brought popcorn sprinkled with Old Bay as a treat for me and David at the movies -- if you haven't tried it, I highly recommend it. Finally, dinner tonight is a lamb stew with white beans from Marcella Hazan followed by some homemade mocha chip ice cream. I haven't yet tasted the finished stew, but the little tastes along the way have been very promising, and the ice cream is pretty damn outrageous, if I don't say so myself. The rest of the weekend was sort of lazy -- I didn't swim today as planned -- but I did spent some quality time at the gym yesterday at least. And tomorrow, it's back to year end reporting. Woo hoo!
It's only January and, after two jackass-free years, it looks like we may have one in the running for 2008. I know some of you are out there clapping your hands with glee (I'm not naming names or anything, Tony), but you're going to have to wait until December for the full story. It's not quite in the same range as the jackasses of 2005, but it'll do. I personally am hoping that I don't see any more for the remainder of the year -- this may end up being an uncontested race, which will be just fine with me.
For anyone who knows a little about my employment history*, you can only imagine the perverse glee I felt when I read the following headline: Fifty-Five Lawyers Leave Anderson Kill for Reed Smith. Including, I might add, one Mr. Lawrence Kill, a named partner. Wonder how long they'll last . . .
*If you don't know and you're really curious, shoot me an email.
Boy did I need that long weekend! It started out with Lauren's birthday dinner at Monkeytown (happy birthday, Lauren!), included some late night bone marrow with oxtail marmalade at Blue Ribbon, a karaoke bash, brunch at Danal with Roopa, a delicious Italian dinner at Bill and Sarah's, and plenty of relaxation on the couch. I also did plenty of cooking today -- a scallop and corn chowder for lunches this week and a garlicky hoisin beef and snap pea stir fry for dinner. As I braved the bitter cold today, I thought of poor Jon, out selling his wares at the greenmarket, so I gave him a buzz and brought him some soup to warm him up! Then I finished up my errands and stayed in the warmth for the rest of the day.
Karaoke was a blast -- thanks to all who came! Some of my favorite moments included Mike channeling Eminem, David busting out some Paul Revere, Joe and Frank's many emo moments, and good ol' classics like Scott's Just a Gigolo and Jay and Doug's Say, Say, Say. You can find the pictures here.
Courtesy of Gaping Void
I had the opportunity to eat at Peasant Saturday night -- the wine bar downstairs. Not only did I have good company, interesting conversation, and my favorite dish there (the octopus -- delicious), but I thoroughly enjoyed the music, despite it being a tad too loud for my taste. The Police, Hall & Oates, David Bowie, and my favorite song of the evening, which we heard on our way out -- "The Promise," by When in Rome. That song is tucked into one of my many mix tapes that I made back in high school, and I'm really not even sure I've heard it since, but oddly enough, the lyrics flooded right back. I'm convinced that an inordinate portion of my memory is consumed by eighties song lyrics.
The rest of my weekend was fairly relaxing, and included a trip to Ikea, a welcome back BBQ for Bill, brunch with some of the girls and some quality time on the couch. Ahhh.
So I'm changing back into my dress after yoga class at work tonight. I am in the handicapped bathroom on my floor -- they're cleaning the ladies' room, plus it has a lot more space in which to maneuver. I lean against the wall and lean down to put on my socks and boots. Suddenly, I hear a click and a whir. I think for a second as to what it could be, then I recognize it as the wall-mounted automatic Purell dispenser. I stand back up, glance in the mirror, and confirm that, indeed, I now had a dollop of a white substance on my dress. "Great," I thought, "I'm doing my Monica Lewinsky impression."
This weekend, I was having brunch with "the girls." One of them had a friend in from out of town who is pregnant with her second child. There was a discussion at one point about the sex of her baby -- did she know, did she want to know, did she find out about the other one in advance, would each of us want to know, etc. Before I piped in, I realized that in my mind, my answer was fairly definite, but not at all what I expected to be my first thought. It was: it won't matter because I will likely get to choose the sex of my child. I just turned thirty-seven years old. I am as single as single can be. Through some miracle, if I met my future husband tomorrow and got on the insta-family track I might be able to get pregnant naturally. As young as I feel, mother nature may not agree. I also think I have a very low threshold for the amount of scientific meddling I am willing to withstand in order to have a baby -- I think I would sooner adopt (then again, my future husband might have an opinion on the matter). If I end up adopting, I would imagine that I can decide if I would like a boy or a girl. Plus, I would get to avoid the whole pregnancy/childbirth with the associated trauma to the body that I have heard about firsthand (try that in your junior high sex-ed class -- that'll scare the bejeesus out of those horny kids). Obviously, only time will tell, but biology dictates that I will likely get to choose my own adventure.