Sweet Blog O'Mine

v. 2.0

  • Take It (All?) Off!

    The days are getting longer, the flowers are blooming, the temperatures are (generally) rising. What does this mean? For many of us, this means time to bust out the flip-flops, tank tops, and breezy skirts, and to put away the sweaters, boots, and hats. It also means that it’s time to take it all off. Time to . . . WAX. Sometimes it’s easy to let things go during the winter, but as the weather gets warmer, we need to be prepared for that last-minute trip to the beach, etc. Plus, it’s less comfortable to walk around feeling like a gorilla in the sweltering heat.

    Apparently even men are jumping on the waxing bandwagon. According to Salon, heterosexual men are heading to salons to wax their nether regions. This is a scary thought to me on so many levels. Waxing is not fun. It is painful — you are paying someone to rip your pubic hair off with hot wax. I can hardly imagine what it would be like on testicles. Ouch-o-rama. It’s also awkward. What am I supposed to do with my underwear? Should I have worn a thong for this? How high do I want it? Uh . . . hmm. Gotta think about that one. You want me to put my leg where?! Guys don’t deal well with salon awkwardness. I remember sending my ex to my haircutter, and he was so nervous about how to deal with changing into the gown that I’m surprised he kept going back.

    And don’t get me started about that Brazilian nonsense. Since my parents are reading this, however, I’m going to save that discussion for offline. My dad was a little distressed by the thong/steak and boobies post, so I won’t push it. See you at the salon!

  • Hang Up the Phone*

    Gothamist has a great post today about how long to wait (or not to wait) before calling someone. My personal take on the matter is that you should call when you feel like calling. Generally speaking, if you both like each other, the callee will be happy to hear from the caller. If you don’t both like each other, or one person likes the other more, then a too soon or too late call may have an impact on someone’s opinion. Similar to the guidelines about who pays on dates, however, each person has his or her own rules about what “too soon” or “too late” actually means. That said, I am often advised by my esteemed council of advisors to chill out and wait in terms of calling people. This is because I am not good at masking my interest, or as a friend pointed out, I “hide [my] lack of indifference rather badly. . . which is endearing, so don’t worry.” Damn straight. In my opinion, the right person for me will not be “scared off” by my enthusiasm, and will, in fact, find it endearing. And on a related note — don’t tell me you’re going to call me if you’re not. I was telling a friend recently that, if a guy asks for my phone number, I assume that there’s a 50/50 chance that he’ll actually call. Call me jaded, but it’s true. Some advice, gentlemen — don’t ask for a number if you don’t plan on using it. Agreed?

    What are your rules about calling someone?

    * and speaking of scary 80’s trivia. . . I used to LOVE this song by Annie Golden, which is featured in Sixteen Candles.

  • Southern Gentlemen and Pork Fat — My Trip to Atlanta

    Considering that I spent the better part of four beautiful, mild, sunny days inside a Hilton, I actually had a good trip to Atlanta.

    I was there for the Equal Justice Conference, and moderated a panel presentation on disaster legal assistance. I hadn’t met any of my co-panelists before we got there — we coordinated the whole thing by phone and email — so I had arranged to meet them in the lobby an hour before our panel. The two women were at our assigned meeting point, and all I knew was that I was looking for a guy named Mark. I started asking around the lobby — I approached each man sitting alone and asked if he was Mark. One gentleman, in his late forties, when I asked if he was Mark, literally looked me up and down, lingering a tad too long on my cleavage, and said, in a deep southern drawl, “no, but I wish I was.” I spun on my heel and walked away, thinking of all the clever things I should/could have said. Ick. I wanted to take a shower. Blech. Southern gentlemen, my ass, although I’m sure he thought he was giving me some sort of compliment.

    If that was the low point, the high points were the people, a few good meals, and a forty-five minute stretch of lounging in the sun by the pool. First and foremost, I’d like to thank the Atlanta-based Chowhounds for responding to my post — I had two great meals thanks to their suggestions. First was Watershed, a calm, soothing, airy spot in Decatur that features new Southern cooking and is co-owned by Emily Saliers, one of the Indigo Girls (the name is a tribute to their song). We had fried catfish and some of the best onion rings I have ever had — light and crispy on the outside and sweet and chewy on the inside. I got the duck as an entree, served simply with figs, sauteed bok choy, and roasted parsnips (which I have currently declared to be my favorite vegetable). One of my co-workers got the special that evening, which was a Greek-style roasted fish. It was delicious. They also served warm cookies and milk for dessert.


    111_1105.JPG

    The next night was Harold’s Barbecue. As we walked up to the place, there was a cop hanging out in front. I snapped a picture of him there, but was too self conscious to take a picture of him later, despite the fact that he was standing right next to a porcelain pig. It was so perfect — you’ll just have to imagine it in your mind. It was definitely a down-home, old-school barbecue joint. Our hands-down favorite of the dishes we ordered was the pork ribs — juicy, tender, and succulent, with a tangy, vinegar-based sauce. Each plate was served with Brunswick stew, fantastic (non-mayo-heavy) coleslaw, and came with chips and a platter of cornbread. As I was inspecting the cornbread, I noticed chunks of something in it — at first I thought it was apples, as they were sort of square and had the translucent quality of a cooked apple, but when I picked a chunk out and tasted it on its own, I realized that it was . . . pork fat. Nice. A special thanks to Tiela and Teresa for joining me in my adventure.

    111_1118.JPG

    Finally, I got to spend time with the extended Pro Bono Net family — folks we work with all over the country — and meet some great new people in the public interest legal community, mostly from California. It was a pleasure hanging out with Becky, the “legions of Stephens,” Amy, Michelle, Tamarra, Marni, Megan, McGregor, and everyone else. We even made the most of being trapped in the Hilton by visiting all the hotel bars, including getting a round of drinks at Trader Vic’s, the cheezy Polynesian-style joint. How can you resist drinks served in a conch shell?!

    111_1127.JPG

  • Do You Google?

    And speaking of search engines, I have to throw a question out to you all. Have you ever Googled someone you dated? This includes exes, future dates, current dates, etc. What’s the best/worst thing you found out about him/her via Google? C’mon kids, don’t be shy. Tell us all about it!


    logo_sm.gif

  • Soul Searching

    Yahoo Launches Soul-Search Engine [via the Onion]

  • Hot-lanta

    So I’m heading to Atlanta at the crack of dawn tomorrow for the Equal Justice Conference. Everyone who’s anyone in the pro bono and legal services world will be there. I’ll bet you’re extremely jealous. Never fear, I have written a few mini-posts to keep you occupied while I’m gone — they’ll go up while I’m away (ah, the miracle of modern technology). As always, food suggestions in Atlanta are welcome — I’ve already put a post up Chowhound‘s South message board to get some ideas. Enjoy the rest of your week!

  • One Hundred!

    Yesterday was the first day that I officially had over one hundred visitors in a day! Thank you so much and keep on reading! You like me, you really like me! Woo hoo!

    Man oh man, I’m a dork.

  • Child of the 80’s

    My brother and sister very often blame me for not introducing them to music, movies, and pop culture of the 80’s. I get no reprieve from this blame, despite the fact that they weren’t even born until 1981, were 7 years old when I basically left home for good, and had little to no interest in my music until the past ten years or so.

    I am truly a child of the 80’s. My iPod is filled with artists like the Clash, Elvis Costello, the Pretenders, and the Police. It even contains songs from the Buggles, the Thompson Twins, Howard Jones, Joe Jackson, and Madness. My brain is filled with more useless song lyrics than the majority of people I know, sometimes precluding room in there for much else, it seems. I listened to WLIR when it was good (and when it existed — it’s gone, apparently). Take this 80’s song lyric quiz and see if you can beat my score, which was an 83.5.


    vh180st.jpg

  • Ah. . . Schvitz

    To continue, and possibly to recover from, my week of getting in touch with the culture of my people, I took a trip to the Russian and Turkish Baths in the East Village. I had been looking forward to my schvitz* all week. My friend Melissa took me to the baths for the first time a number of months ago. I had no idea what to expect. First off all, it’s kind of gritty. In my opinion, this is not a bad thing, but if you’re one of those germ-o-phobe types, this is not the place for you. It has been around since 1892 — I think it has undergone some renovations, but I can definitely imagine my predecessors walking up from the Lower East Side for their weekly schvitz in pretty much the same atmosphere. The current crowd is a bizarre mix of old-school Russians and random hipster types, with a few of the rest of us thrown in for good measure. You wear a bathing suit, and I learned from my last trip that the less bathing suit you have, the better. Last time I wore a suit with a tank top — this time I went for the full bikini. There are several different rooms, all offering slightly different kinds of heat, and a room in between with an ice-cold pool. In between your visits to the heat, you can plunge yourself into the icy water, or just sit on the side and cool off a little. On my first visit, I tried the plunge, but it was a bit much for me. My favorite room is the Russian Sauna — it’s filled with heated rocks and it gets so hot that you literally have to dump buckets of cold water over yourself every few minutes to make it bearable.

    Most of all, a trip to the baths is just a great way to unwind at the end of a week, taking an hour or so just for yourself or to catch up with a friend. Sometimes we get so harried that we forget to do this as often as we should, especially in a city like New York, where the pace can sometimes border on frantic. And you walk out feeling deeply relaxed, refreshed, and, despite the grit, clean. Thanks to Melissa for taking me there.

    So go — take a schvitz already! Tell them I sent you.

    * At the suggestion of one of my readers, I am going to start including definitions for some of the Yiddish terms that I use, in order to educate the goyim (Thanks for the feedback, Ryan!).

  • schvitz — sweat
  • goyim — non-Jews

  • Good Timing

    I stumbled across a blog the other day called smitten, written by a woman who appears to be about my age, living in NY. One of her earliest posts rang so true with me that I had to share part of it with you.

    You know what I am tired of hearing?
    How is it that a girl like you is single.
    Do you want to know the ugly details or do you want me to tell you that I am not a psychopath?
    She goes on to describe some details about her last relationship, and some details about herself, and then:
    So, maybe, the next time someone asks me why I am still single, they will instead say, Iā€™m glad I got to meet you while you still were.

    I feel the same way. Now, I’m not going to go into any details about past relationships and all the different ways they have had an impact on me, etc. (okay, you can read a tiny bit here, but that’s it), but I’m still fairly mystified by the whole “why are you still single” thing. Why do people ask this? And considering the umpteen years that I wasn’t single, I definitely needed to be single in order to really get to know myself as a person — I don’t think it’s possible to be in a truly healthy relationship without some quality time alone.

    But now? The next time someone asks, “How is it that a girl like you is single?” My response will be, “Someone should take advantage of this good timing. I promise I won’t be single forever.”