Morning After Blogger Beers & Secret Service Soiree

I joined fellow NYC bloggers for the first time at one of their happy hour gatherings last night. As I left work and ventured downtown on the D train to a bar on West 4th Street, I couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive. It almost felt like I was meeting about a dozen people for a blind date.

Upon entering the bar, I surveyed the scene trying to see if I could recognize anyone from the photos posted in our private New York Bloggers' Happy Hour blog. I searched for BNR, who had assured me that he looks exactly like the avatar on his blog, and I would eventually find them at the beerpong table in the back. I decided almost immediately that I was going to like them (listed in my characteristic-OCD alphabetized order):

An Irish and a Jew
Blog Name Removed
DrunkBrunch
East Village Idiot
No Stop Till Brooklyn
Second Avenue Sagas
Tales of a Delectable Redhead
The Brooklyn Boy
Zombie Fights Shark

Note: The above list will likely undergo revision as I try to remember/figure out who I drank with last night. I think some latitude should be permitted here since BNR has had me in his Drinking Buddies blogroll since last spring and has twice commented in my blog: "Did I drink with you last night?"

I have to admit that I continued to feel awkward for an hour or two, but I found that the more everyone downed the $6.50-happy-hour-special pitchers, the more I began to feel like we were old friends. Alcohol has a funny effect like that, along with making you feel more attractive. BNR has a pretty thorough delineated recap of the evening with photos from DrunkBrunch.

I learned that An Irish and a Jew are just as funny in real life (some people don't always translate from paper to person) and I make a pretty damn good wingman [-girl] for Fiesty Red, even though the guys we were checking out turned out to be like 22 (I especially love her three-day phone number deletion rule). The Brooklyn Boy and I have some major six degrees of separation parallels. East Village Idiot has blog business cards. BNR's newlywed wife is super hot (or so I heard more than once), and he does indeed look exactly like his avatar.

By 10:30 p.m., I had been telling BNR for an hour that I had to go home if I wanted to be able to wake up for the gym at 5:30 a.m. After 20 minutes of reassuring BNR that I wasn't going to hate him in the morning while trying not to fall asleep on the treadmill, I finally closed out my tab and headed for the D train. But just as I was about to descend the staircase into the subway, my secret service buddy called.

"Where are you?" he asked. I replied, "On West 4th Street. Going home."

"No!" he said, "Come to [undisclosed location for national security purposes]. I have to buy you a drink to celebrate your recent accomplishment."

So I agreed to a drink and found myself at [undisclosed midtown bar] with about 60-80 (I'm not really good at estimating) secret service agents, who were gathering for after-hours drinks following their agency holiday party. For the record, I would like to release confidential information regarding the overall attractiveness of my secret service buddy and his colleagues - not to mention the increased sexual appeal of men in black suits with guns strapped to their ankles.

Ladies, if you ever want to find yourself surrounded by dozens of handsome men for the sole purpose of innocent eye-candy or in the pursuit of a life as a government groupie, find out where the secret service is partying. At the very least, if terrorist activity were to go down while you're sipping your trendy cocktail or knocking back shots of Patrón, you'd be in good hands.

I finally walked into my apartment at 2 a.m., double-checked my alarm for 5:30 a.m., and went to sleep. Did I make it to the gym?

Yes! And I actually had a good work-out and felt very well the rest of the day. My eyes were hurting a little bit as I exited the subway station on my way to the gym and accepted a copy of amNY from my favorite newspaper hander-outer; however, thanks to my secret service buddy, BNR can rest assured that it was not him that I was hating when my alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.

This afternoon, my friend Jeremy asked what I did last night. His reply to my brief text message summary was: "... i want to kick it with blogger people. I was just saying yesterday how i could really go for the company of some bloggers and ur practically living my dream. Im so jealous."

BNR, didn't we illustrate a similar scenario between bloggers and "civilians" last night over a pitcher of regular beer masquerading as light? :)

Faux Walk of Shame

Why did I wake up this morning in a random hotel room in Midtown to the sound of a secret service agent locking and loading his weapons in preparation to go on security detail?

It would be fun to write about a lurid night of guns and sex, but my lock-and-load awakening was merely the result of a night involving many Manhattan bars, my JFK girl Cassie, a former Real World cast member, his childhood friend (the secret service agent) and me, having had more drinks than was prudent of one who had a 3am, 30-minute, no. 1 train return to Harlem ahead.

It was against my better judgement to crash at the hotel room of a guy I had known for less than eight hours ... and ... it was against my better judgement to ride the train home in the middle of the night while mildly impaired. But since he was a close friend of the Real World celeb, and the Real World celeb was a close friend of my JFK girl, I voted against the latter and was relieved to save the $30 in cabfare. And as my JFK girl pointed out, a young secret service agent doesn't want any federal morning-after scandals, and an upscale Midtown hotel is generally safer than the subway in the wee hours of morning. It wasn't like he was some knuckle-head we had met in a pub; he and I had actually spent sporadic moments of our bar-hopping debating various political issues. And with the dawn of morning light, he proved to be a gracious host, lending a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to sleep in ... and a perfect gentlemen, respecting my personal space and allowing me to sleep in while he went on duty at 8am.

It wasn't until I was leaving the hotel solo later that morning when I began to feel sufficiently awkward. I changed back into my halter top, mini skirt and black, strappy shoes with a zipper up the heel; neatly folded the clothes he had lent me; brushed my teeth with the hotel's complimentary tooth brush, and wrote a quick thank-you note. As the elevator began its descent, it seemed to stop on every other floor, picking up other [legitimate] guests (mostly young families), and I was suddenly acutely aware of how I looked .... in night club attire, day-old makeup and frizzy hair.

And as the doors opened into a packed, Saturday-morning-in-the-city hotel lobby, I knew that I was beginning [what would appear to the rest of the world to be] an early morning walk of shame. The other guests streamed out in front of me, eager to begin a day of sightseeing, but I hesitated briefly in the doorway. I noticed one of the girls behind the front desk give me a second look as I fished in my purse and dreadfully realized what I must look like with so many Congressman staying in the hotel over the weekend. I swallowed the self-conscious lump in my throat, slipped on my sunglasses, tossed my hair over my shoulder, and tried to manage my baddest bitch face while I strolled out of the lobby like I meant to be there. Never mind the short skirt and black high heels before noon on a Saturday morning.

I avoided the gazes of construction workers and cabdrivers, caught a glimpse of myself in a window and was reminded briefly of Pretty Woman minus the amazing red curls and black knee-high boots ... and, oh yea, the $3000. I do have some long legs though, I thought to myself; however, the self-approval didn't last long as I turned a corner onto Seventh Avenue. I was sure I was among thousands of New Yorkers making similar pilgrimages home, but to my dismay, I only passed children, grandmothers and people with huge cameras dangling around their necks.

At a corner, I bought a hotdog and entered the subway to catch an uptown 1 train. Just when I thought I was home free, a man in a "Jesus Saves" T-shirt stood to exit the train at 86th Street. Before he disembarked, he methodically placed a brochure next to me on the seat. As he turned to step off the train, I looked down and saw this:

Other Inaugural Recollections

The energy in D.C. was electrifying. There is no other way to describe it. I have heard it compared to the positive and uplifting vibe that John F. Kennedy brought to the nation's capitol when he was the President-Elect of the United States. Having just turned 29 on January 18, I cannot recall the emotions of watching JFK being sworn into office ... since I did not yet exist, but I feel a new empathy for that time and the mentality fueled by a country's hope for a historic change.

The personal highlight was joining my best friend in some of her first baby steps onto the Hollywood social scene, but the bigger picture was entirely consumed by narcissistic pleasures. The weekend was made all the more memorable by the droves of Obama supporters swarming about D.C. There was a steady hum that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. There was a collective realization that we were witnessing the preparation for something extraordinary, a simultaneous moment in time that would have a distinct and simultaneously united view from every angle. Though I regretted not being able to stay through Tuesday for the Inauguration, I was grateful that I got to sense the anticipation and experience the atmosphere first hand.

At an awards brunch on Sunday, I heard Kerri Washington and Hill Harper give incredible politcal activism award acceptance speeches, each poignantly recounting their campaign journeys or their personal interaction with Obama. Washington's message was one of unity, reminding supporters that he is equally an interracial symbol of the evolving face of America as well as a role model for those of color, who are now finding the courage to consider the possibilities. Harper told a beautiful and endearingly witty story reliving the semesters he shared with Obama at Harvard Law School.

After an interesting first night that led from the chaos of car keys (permanently) lost by the valet to oddly-formed new friendships and various jaunts around the capitol to witness the sights, we rounded out the three-day MLK weekend by celebrating my 29th birthday yesterday before today's afternoon flight back to NYC. We had dinner at Marvin and hopped over to an Eric Roberson concert at The Black Cat. Afterward, we went out for drinks with my secret service buddy (off duty from his assignment to Joe Biden) and his fellow agents at J. Paul's in Georgetown. Throughout the course of the evening, my secret service buddy mentioned his admiration for my spontaneity with regard to my last minute trip on one of the most hectic and historic weekends in Washington D.C.'s history.

"You're doing something that very few people really do," he yelled over the bar chatter in J. Paul's. "And you know what it's called?"

He leaned into my ear, "It's called living."

I could not have been given a better compliment on my birthday.

A Regular Mother Theresa

It's a Saturday night in New York, and despite my recent immersion into the New York night life as if my friends and I were the middle-class version of Paris, Britney and Lindsey (without the cocaine and baby-daddy problems, of course, and which is why I haven't been blogging as much lately), I am at home in my pajamas. I am only awake now because my secret service buddy's phone call woke me up and then I noticed my laptop was still on. Moments ago, he was entering 230 Fifth rooftop bar and tried to make me feel guilty because he had "banked on the fact that I would be out, would probably be in meatpacking and could take a five-minute cab ride to enjoy one of the last weekends that the rooftop bar would be open."

Damn. He knows how to invoke pressure ... that's probably why he's in the secret service! Ha! However, I came back with my saint-like reasons (which are all true) and he had to immediately revoke statements in which he directly implied that I was a loser.

1) I was out until 4:30am last night with my girls (thanks to 30 extra minutes on my commute because I fell asleep on the train and woke up at 191st St next to three inebriated Columbia University students).
2) I had to be up at 10am because I work with a mentoring program for your girls in Harlem every other Saturday from 10am to 1pm.
3) One of the women I work in the program with was performing in a Harlem Alive Tour this afternoon and invited me to come watch, and that was one of those cool things that I felt like I had to take advantage of. She played Madam A'Lelia Walker, a fascinating New York socialite in the early 1900's, on the corner of 136th and Lenox. So I didn't get home until 3:30pm and could not fall asleep until almost 7:30pm-ish - I think.
4) I have to be up early tomorrow morning to walk for breast cancer.

So back to bed.

Stilettos Versus Strollers

My friends in North Carolina and other old connections from my days as a military brat have recently (and when I say recently, I mean within the past few years) begun posting pictures of their children on facebook and myspace. It often makes me wonder what I've missed over the past 10 years since high school (and the five since college). With Halle Berry and J.Lo having their first children in their 40s, I certainly do not feel old at 28 nor do I feel in any rush. But I still consider the conscious decisions I've made to redirect my course away from marriage and motherhood. For example, breaking up with Matt after high school instead of getting married like many of our classmates did. Pushing back Rickey's discussions of marriage proposals in 2002. Or moving to New York in 2006 instead of Atlanta, where Terrence lives in the off-season. Or choosing not to live abroad with him in the exciting foreign countries in which he has made homes.

I've had three serious relationships in 12 years and dozens of forgettable encounters in between, and I've always consciously fought to keep my own path. But am I subconsciously fighting something else? Am I afraid that I am too selfish to even fathom decisions between having my own space or incorporating His and Hers towels? Or researching family-size cars and learning how to make more than Ramen Noodles or my awesome signature salads? Or have I naively and stubbornly assumed that I've already had my one great love? Or have I just not found "the one"? Will "the one" understand my needs to be just a "me" and parallel my path until I'm ready to be an "us"?

Today the other executive assistants and I overheard our Executive Beauty Director scolding her children via the speaker phone in her office while reviewing RFPs. It was entertaining to witness a corporate woman, who is the epitome of grace under pressure while pitching advertising packages, unravel into a soccer mom right before our very eyes. Ah. The multiple hats we learn to wear.

Rather than pull out the mommy hat that I willingly allow to gather dust on the shelf next to my biological clock, I rounded out my week by dining at Buddakan and partying at Butter on Monday night, attending a New York Women in Film & Television screening of The Women at Clearview Chelsea Cinema on Wednesday (with my girlfriends, of course, where we sipped wine and ate tiny, crustless sandwiches). Then, I accepted a spontaneous invitation to join my secret service buddy and his friends for dinner at Brick NYC, a brand new Italian wine and antipasti bar that opened recently in Tribeca. Instead of calling a babysitter to tell her I'd be late - which is what mature, settled, family-oriented women my age do - I was sending "Gossip Girl" text messages to a few friends containing a phone picture I had just taken of Danny Masterson in his trademark bowler hat seated a few tables away.

For documentation purposes, of course:


Will K ever pack up her single gal city life and trade it for diapers and family packages of Hamburger Helper? That's one secret that is too soon to tell. You know you love me. XOXO ... Gossip Girl ...

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: It Gets Late Awfully Early Around Here

“Things I Love” Thursdays - It’s a Small World

I am quite certain that Walt Disney came up with the theme after spending time in New York. It can feel like a small world if you run into someone in Pobunk, Nowhere, but the big city intensifies the small world feeling because it seems like it should be less likely to run into a random person from your present or past in such a crowded, busy place, where skyscrapers dominate the skyline reducing you to a figurative needle in a concrete haystack.

Yet small world tendencies are so New York. Aside from coming into daily contact with almost every culture on the planet within 22.7 square miles, over the last year Terrence and I have shared separate A-train reunions (1 and 2), my co-worker Jenny and I met a guy at Bryant Park Café who had been an elementary school student in West Chester under Jenny’s mother, I discovered a second or third-ish cousin (by marriage) works with me in another division of the same company (3), my co-worker Scott went to high school in North Carolina with my best friend (4), I recently found an old friend from my high school # 1 town (Camp Lejeune) who is living right across the Hudson in Bergen County, my best friend ran into an old classmate from our North Carolina college on the subway, a former colleague from my days in NC higher education administration got a job two blocks away from my office … and within the last few weeks:

While I was in my high school #2 town (Asheville) over Thanksgiving, my old classmate Ben and I realized over a beer in a North Carolina bar that we had seen the same stealth bomber flying over New York City on the same day in 2006. I had, in fact, randomly included my sighting from the 167th Station in the Bronx in a blog post (5), and he had been visiting New York two Septembers ago and had seen it glide over Central Park that very same day.

Iris and I left our respective offices (at 42nd Street and 34th Street) during rush hour and ended up on the exact same uptown no. 1 train when I switched from an express at 96th Street. Granted she was on her way to my apartment and we had coordinated our departures to arrive in Harlem around the same time, but the trains run more frequently at rush hour so the chances of meeting on the same car become even less.

I received texts from my secret service buddy and Brian when they ended up in the same midown diner as Iris at 4 a.m. And I received another text from my sorority sister Tiffany when she met Iris for the first time via Iris' former Brooklyn roommate (Iris just moved to a luxury highrise in Harlem this week).

I am frequently reminded how small the big city is, and that is something to love when the big city can just as frequently make you feel so small.

"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

"Things I Love" Thursdays - NYC Bloggers

I love that there are millions of us experiencing this city in different ways and living to blog about it. But I also love that sometimes a few of us are blogging about the same damn thing at the same damn time. Then again, it is a city of 8.2 million residents living within 322-square miles (all boroughs withstanding) and a large portion of those 8.2 million working within the 22.7-square miles of Manhattan, 5-7 days a week. The odds are in favor of running themes throughout NYC blogs.

MTA (general incompetence)
A Casual Look (Dec. 10)
This is a No. 2 Express Train (Dec. 7)
The long, slow trek from Coney Island to Jamaica brings home a C-minus* (Dec. 5)

MTA (performers)
Subway Hottie* (Dec. 23)
Subway Gymnastics (Dec. 21)

MTA (rush hour)
Please Use All Available Doors ... If You Can Get There Before I Shut 'Em (Jan. 7)
The 1 Train Sucks Lately* (Jan. 7)
Applause on Subway platform (Jan. 3)

Weather
Yet Again, 1 Train Makes Me Want to Kill Kittens (Jan. 10)
A Post-Holiday Carol (Jan. 9)
Random Musings (Jan. 9)
Winter Temps Revisiting Retirement (Jan. 9)

Corporate Calories & Gift Exchanges (well, that's everywhere) / Holiday Party Overload (more likely in the city)
Corporate Holiday Spirit (Dec. 22)
Cabs are Nice (Dec. 20)
Don't Count Calories (Dec. 20)
What I Love About New York (Dec. 20)
Karma (Dec. 19)

AYO! I'm Tired of Using Technology
"Happy New Year" is a presumptuous phrase, no?" (Jan. 2)
Ringing in the New Year in Times Square (Jan. 2)
Me Phone Knows Me Too Well ... It Must Be Destroyed (Dec. 26)

Blogger Happy Hour (because some of us decided to be in the same place at the same time ... on purpose)
Blog Business Cards (Dec. 19)
Morning After Blogger Beers & Secret Service Soiree (Dec. 19)
What, your happy hours don't last until 11pm? (Dec. 19)
Things I Regret from Last Night (Dec. 19)

*Granted, these are subway blogs

"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

All Stops Through Brooklyn

My secret service buddy and I met at Coffee Shop at 8:30pm for a drink before stopping by Trader Joe's Wine Shop on East 14th Street and Union Square Wines & Spirits on Fourth Avenue and beginning our trek to Brooklyn for Amanda, Gina and Ra's Party at the Penthouse (a.k.a. their fourth floor walk-up in Crown Heights).

To alleviate the stress of MTA-imposed, maddening commuter delays, we decided it would be hilarious to take a picture of me swigging a bottle of Drambuie at all the subway stops where we had to wait/transfer due to weekend construction on the A/C line. There is now an impressive slide show of photos in my digital camera featuring me in profile guzzling the golden elixir next to signs for Union Square, Fulton Street, Broadway Nassau Street, Nostrand Avenue, Utica Avenue (because Brooklyn-bound trains were running express with Manhattan-bound trains running local for all bypassed stations), and Kingston-Throop Avenue.

"Given your role with the United States government," I said, "Let's get the legal issues out of the way ..."

"Let's not say illegal. Let's go with ill-advised," he replied.

We both had a pretty good buzz going by the time we arrived at the Penthouse, where the party was already well-underway. However, thanks to an ill-advised mix of Drambuie in transit, Vodka Soda upon arrival and some sugary mix during two rounds of Flip Cup, I was in Ra's bed and asleep by 1am while the party continued well into the night.

I wish I had more fun times to include in my Saturday night report, but I don't know what else happened. End of post.

One Degree from Michelle Obama

Texts you're more likely to receive living in New York City (or Washington, DC): I'm at the time warner center wrking the first lady till 10pm (sent by my secret service buddy).

Thoughts you're more likely to have living in New York City: OMG. The First Lady is at the Time Warner Center - less than 10 blocks from my apartment!

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Subway Talk

For Sale

Went to the Honda dealership where I purchased my Accord back in 2003 to see about selling it back to their Certified Used Honda department. Their buy-back guy wasn't in today; have to go back on Wednesday. Stopped by their service department to check a tire that I've been having to reinflate every two weeks. Been trying not to buy new tires for the past couple of months since I'm moving. Was told that the tire was a blow-out waiting to happen. Ended up getting a great deal on some Michelin high-speed/performance (or whatever tires) since my general safety over the next week is somewhat important to me.

The dealership shuttled me to the Biltmore Square Mall, where I spent two-and-a-half hours wandering aimlessly. Tried on a pair of white Reebok Classics in Champs, but decided to wait for Terrence to get them on his sister's mall discount in Atlanta. Bought some gel strapless boobs in Victoria's Secret. Great investment. Read some magazines in a bookstore. A temp agency in New York called after seeing my resume on monster.com and made an appointment for me to come into their agency next Friday. Finally gave in to hunger pangs and got an 8-piece order of nuggets and a Diet Coke from Chic Filet.

Back at the dealership, I talked with one of the service reps about attempting a private party sell instead of a buy-back. Got home and contemplating spending $65.00 on an ad in the local newspaper. It's only 11 words. Good grief. Also put a free add in another print publication, but it won't come out until next Tuesday ... the day I leave NC. Guess the car will hang out at my parents' house for awhile. I hate to do that to them. I'm sure to pay my dues in guilt trips.

If anyone wants to buy a car (my free ad on blogger.com with unlimited words):
Trading a 2003 Honda Accord EX for the NYC Metro system, 4-dr, 4-cyl, AT, less than 38K miles, silver w/ blk int, well-equipped w/ brand new 6-disc CD, moonroof, alloy wheels, new tires. $16,500 ... This car is my baby, the auto-love of my life, I hate to let it go ... but NYC, here I come!

Phone Photo Op - The Secret of the Ooze

Today's "What the Hell is That?" city moment is brought to you by the Coalition of Mail Service Patrons Who Want to Know Why the Bryant Park Post Office Employees are Always in Such a Bad Mood.


Taken outside of the Bryant Park Post Office today around lunchtime.

Quick, someone get me some knunchucks and a turtle.