Man, I am a slow starter with the regular posting. Well, in my defense, there has been an unreasonable amount of bussing and training and too-ing and fro-ing for my taste this past month or so. All my trips have been great, but I find myself daydreaming of the Star Trek transporter machine thingie. Beam me up, please, Scotty.
I've bussed to Philadelphia and DC, trained to Wilmington (Delaware, baby), planed to San Francisco. And I've spent a number of weekends with my butt stuck to my office chair, pounding away at the worky work. But this weekend was a pure summer delight, at home in NYC. My horrible case of horribleness thankfully settled on Thursday, so I ventured out to an "at-home" with some of my favorite colleagues for a summer associate event (after last year's master of ceremonies duties, I've laid low this year, venturing out only to trivia night and staying out until 2:30 am teaching the youngsters how to moonwalk on the dance floor. I half-heartedly wish I was joking, but I have no shame. And I am been inundated with lunch invitations since . . . my moves, they cannot be denied.) What else? We ran, I wedding showered, Harry Pottered and then today, went out to Governor's Island with some friends to ride bikes and picnic. It was absurdly idyllic, particularly, as DK says, the very notion of a picnic is enough to send me into paroxysms of joy. Is there any greater delight than packing a picnic basket (er, backpack)? Some cut up plums, some cherries. A little prosciutto, a hunk of cranberry stilton. A baguette, naturalment. Some cashews, a watermelon/feta/mint concoction, a chickpea/lentil salad. And a enormous bar of chocolate to pass around. DK accused me of trying to live out some "French Alpine fantasy." (I suppose he would prefer it if I packed sensible turkey sandwiches on wheat, she sniffed). Needless to say, we grazed for many hours and looked out on the water and waved to the statue of liberty while this very weird art installation piece occasionally bleated out quasi-Celtic sounds in her honor (not kidding).
But let's revisit the past a bit as I actually have a photo or two to share (sidebar: can you BELIEVE it is already late-July? Wha --?). Philadelphia the first weekend in June for the baby shower. As I mentioned, I went happy-hands-at-home insane, but it actually turned out as in my mind's eye - no small feat, since my mind's eye can be randomly picky and extremely opinionated. I realize that I often tell stories wherein DK is cast as the fastidious, vaguely anal, type triple A+ sort, wherein I am carefree and slightly ditzy and roll-with-the-punches one in the family. That is not entirely accurate. I mean, the part about DK is totally true, but I am maybe not the flexible, easy to please, whichever way sort of girl I sometimes pretend to be. I am sure my sisters are off laughing somewhere at the idea that I EVER thought I was a laid-back sue, given their intimate familiarity with my strong bossy streak. But my strident insistence that it look just so notwithstanding, the shower pleased me, tissue poofs and all. And it was just in time, as my newest girlie joined the clam, sweet as pie. My photos leave much to be desired as I left my fancy pants camera at home and relied on my dad's. So I never got the light right or when everything was actually all on the table, but whatever, you get the picture (ha? sigh.). In other news, I could just eat up my little niece.
Then DC last weekend to see K and meet her love (he was as sweet as she said and cooked us dinner that included: (1) ribs with homemade barbecue sauce; (2) homemade bread; (3) homemade blueberry cobbler. So in other words, a keeper). The Korean spa was as remembered. We fortified ourselves with some prosceco and made our way to the strip-mall locale, through the door with a handwritten sign instructing, "NO MENS. WOMEN ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT." A directive that swiftly made sense when we were shown lockers located inside the lobby area and told to change into our robes there. Then we went back to a big tiled room, with a stark line of shower heads jutting out along one wall, and two tables set out in the middle. Privacy? Non. "Robes, please," my masseuse ordered, holding out her hand impatiently. Let a veil of modesty cover the remains of this story, but suffice to say, I was exfoliated within an inch of life and at one point, had an elderly Korean woman in her underwear sitting on my back digging her knuckles into the knots in my neck. And was then covered in stinky seaweed-infused mud and wrapped in plastic wrap and then covered with wet towels -- I felt alternatively like a mummy and a caught and bound fly. Next time, vodka.
And finally, San Francisco. I have never been so stressed out for a work thing before and am just happy to have survived with my pride only somewhat battered and bruised. The city itself was so gorgeous and I teared up no less then 5 times in three days remembering old days. It was the first city DK and I lived in together, and threw all caution and reason to the wind by immediately moving into our first apartment in Cow Hollow. I remembered taking the bus to work in my new little suit, and the games of chase DK and I played in our place that ended in tickle fights, and punishing runs through the Presidio in the fog. Ah love, let us be true to one another! (Wow, a little nostalgia and suddenly I'm quoting Dover Beach? Perhaps the LEAST sentimental poem ever written?). Anyway, I also got to have dinner with an old dear friend and meet her babies for the first time. Mandy was a first year associate when I was just starting out as a paralegal in a big NY-based firm in the M&A department -- and as fresh out of college English/art history major barely even knew what the SEC was. But she taught me that working hard and having a huge amount of fun did not have to be mutually exclusive -- one night before a closing, we deliriously danced our butts off to disco music in her office to wake ourselves up. I still do shit like that, but Mandy showed me the way to maintaining yourself and your sense of fun when I wasn't at all sure about this corporate life. I miss her is what I'm saying. I wrote DK that we have to move back immediately, but New York has a way of laying on her charms as soon as such fickle feelings appear. Maybe someday.
Bedtime. Toodlee-doo.
