SAY MY NAME
There are only a few times I have found where an instance occurs that really makes me look back and marvel at how much I have changed over the years.
I lived in Washington DC from 1993-2001, during which time I was heavily involved in politics. I worked in the White House Office of Media Affairs under President Clinton, during which, for a portion of my tenure, I set up interviews with the President and Administration officials with local television stations. This involved booking the interviews and being present in the TV studio when they were filmed via satellite to manage the shoot. I absolutely loved this job (really, internship but I was there so long there were few people who knew I was not actually staff) and my boss, Dave, trusted me entirely. He even let me take over for him so he could travel to NY to interview for a job with MTV, without anyone knowing.
Usually Dave traveled to NY when he knew there were no interviews scheduled at which President Clinton would be present. I had tons of interaction with the President, but always in a peripheral way and was much better known to the Vice President (I had worked for Mrs. Gore briefly) and Administration Officials, with whom I was trusted to work without Dave being present. But, one day the unavoidable happened. Dave flew to NY and that morning, we received instructions to set up satellite interviews in Columbus, OH and Jacksonville, FL to congratulate the cities on opening the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and obtaining a football expansion team. Sure, Dave wasn’t there, but I called him and we decided I knew the drill enough to handle it on my own. Besides, it was just the kind of goodwill, non-policy stuff the White House likes to do around election time. Easy. Except not.
Just as we were starting the first interview, the President looked at me and asked, “How many people lost jobs in the recent base closings in Jacksonville?” I stated at him blankly. Was he speaking to me? I turned around expecting someone else to be there. “Ummm, I am not sure, Sir,” I replied, “I can call the Pentagon and find out.” I stammered helplessly. “G-ddammit, Sara!” President Clinton yelled (he hated doing these and they generally put him in a bad mood), “What the hell do we pay you for if not to know this stuff?” I froze in my tracks. Did the President just use my name? He knew who I was? I was elated. Who cared that he was mad? He knew me!!!!
Eventually, I left Washington and put government work behind me (well, I am still heavily involved in politics but less directly so). I went to law school and began to despise discussing politics in public and cringed when my Washington friends brought up the topic. I stopped reading the newspaper on a daily basis and found myself more concerned about whether Husband and I can afford to buy a house than if Libby lied about knowing Plame was a CIA operative. My daily conversations with Oscar, the guy who hands out AM New York in the morning, involve sports, pets and the fact I never remember by hat on the days I really need it.
Oscar never calls me by name, preferring instead to use terms like Sweetheart and Darling. Still, I was a little disappointed since I had given him a Valentine’s Day card (signed with my name) and he still called my Sweetheart. I can’t take it personally. He sees so many people everyday and how can he keep them straight? Then, this morning, as I was telling him about my weekend trip to London, he laughed and said, “You are going to fall asleep at your desk and your boss is going to yell, ‘Sara, Sara’ and you are going to be so passed out you will not even hear it.” I froze in my tracks. Did Oscar just use my name? He knew who I was? I was elated. He knew me!!!!
It was then I realized that I was as excited that Oscar knew my name as I was back more than 10 years ago when President Clinton called me by name. And it occurred to me that I prefer that Oscar knows me because he actually knows me. And, I think that, if I walked up to former President Clinton, he would stare at me blankly, but if I went away and came back 10 years later, Oscar would flash me a giant smile and ask me if I still forgot my hat on cold days.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Thursday, February 22, 2007
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I excitedly logged onto Thursday 13 this week only to see the following message, "There will be no fowarding address, and no change of hands in the Thursday Thirteen management. As the founder and creator, I get the heartwrenching decision of finalizing and closing the door to this baby of mine that I’ve nurtured for the last 81 weeks of my life." Yup, Thursday Thirteen is shutting down. So, without ado, here is my final Thursday 13. 1. I found interesting blogs I never would have otherwise discovered. 2. Thursday 13 felt like an online community and I found myself eagerly anticipating the list of some of its members. 3. I began to make lists in my head all week of 13 various things, wondering which I would use on Thursday. 4. Sometimes, 13 seems like a long list and sometimes, it was much too short. 5. Hopefully, Thursday 13 helped to find Kaos, a homeless dog, a loving place to call home. Or at least made people aware of her need for one. 6. No matter how wonderful or miserable my Thursday had become, someone else had a list the was happier or sadder. It made me feel normal. 7. People are really funny - even when they don't mean to be. 8. I used the code to start teaching myself a little HTML. 9. I learned about what people like to read on blogs and began altering non-Thursday Thirteen blogs to fit those topics. 10. Thursday Thirteen added a little color to my otherwise two-tone blog. (See, I am not that good at HTML yet...) 11. Because other posts are typed on word and cut and pasted into blogger, but this one is written into the template, I got really good at shielding my computer screen at work from prying eyes. 12. Writing the Thursday Thirteen always reminded me of every other thing I had to do that day. 13. I would get really excited everytime I remembered it was Thursday in time to participate in the Thursday 13! |
This is the final Thursday 13, as the owner of the site is shutting it down. So, while I would love to have comments and hear from other 13'ers, there will be no link to them posted on this page this week. Just when I was getting into it too....
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
MY ONLY COMPLAINT ABOUT MY COWORKERS IS THAT I CAN'T REALLY COMPLAIN ABOUT THEM
I don’t usually blog about work. I like my job and would prefer not to get fired over something I wrote, no matter how innocently I made the comment. That being said, today’s topic is about my co-workers.
I am really lucky when I think about the people with whom I work. I read blogs all the time about how other people’s co-workers are loud, gross, and inconsiderate. They constantly pass blame and horde praise. My office is most definitely not like that. Do I love everyone at work? Of course not. Are most of the people gems that outshine the few I dislike? Most definitely.
Friday and today were fabulous examples of the kind of camaraderie that makes Small Liberal Law Firm such a great place to work. On Friday, I was the among the busiest I had ever been at work. I had two briefs due on Friday and one today. There were simply not enough hours in the day. Veronica, one of my co-workers, stopped by my office and noticed my frazzled demeanor. Without hesitation, she took one of the briefs from me to work on herself. While I was really grateful for the help, I was also nervous. Veronica and I are not competing for partnership or plum projects, but its also hard to admit you can’t handle the work you have been given and I was nervous about what the Partner in charge would think. Turns out, Partner had no idea because instead of emailing her work to Partner at the end of the day and taking credit for saving the day, Veronica sent the finished brief to me to pass along. I forwarded it to Partner (with a note telling Partner how helpful Veronica had been) and managed to finish the other briefs in the allotted time.
And it wasn’t just Veronica (who even offered a hand with some of the more tedious duties such as cite checking and organizing exhibits), but others as well. Intern came in on her day off and helped to collate, staple, make minor edits and generally lend a hand. Doctor’s Wife (another associate) listened to me vent my frustration and Photogenic Friend offered me a beer when Friday ended – all fabulous co-worker gestures. Even the administrative staff went the extra mile in proof-reading, making untold amount of copies and double checking my work when I had been reading for too long.
When I used to work at Local Union, I found a couple of my co-workers to be helpful at crunch time, but mostly they were concerned for their own projects and did not offer to jump in (no, Wuzi, I am obviously not talking about you!). When they did help out, it was only if there was something back in return – credit, praise, ownership of the project, etc. Never just to help.
So, even though you folks will never read this since I don’t allow work people to have this URL, I just want to publicly say thanks. I literally could not have gotten through the last week without your help.
I don’t usually blog about work. I like my job and would prefer not to get fired over something I wrote, no matter how innocently I made the comment. That being said, today’s topic is about my co-workers.
I am really lucky when I think about the people with whom I work. I read blogs all the time about how other people’s co-workers are loud, gross, and inconsiderate. They constantly pass blame and horde praise. My office is most definitely not like that. Do I love everyone at work? Of course not. Are most of the people gems that outshine the few I dislike? Most definitely.
Friday and today were fabulous examples of the kind of camaraderie that makes Small Liberal Law Firm such a great place to work. On Friday, I was the among the busiest I had ever been at work. I had two briefs due on Friday and one today. There were simply not enough hours in the day. Veronica, one of my co-workers, stopped by my office and noticed my frazzled demeanor. Without hesitation, she took one of the briefs from me to work on herself. While I was really grateful for the help, I was also nervous. Veronica and I are not competing for partnership or plum projects, but its also hard to admit you can’t handle the work you have been given and I was nervous about what the Partner in charge would think. Turns out, Partner had no idea because instead of emailing her work to Partner at the end of the day and taking credit for saving the day, Veronica sent the finished brief to me to pass along. I forwarded it to Partner (with a note telling Partner how helpful Veronica had been) and managed to finish the other briefs in the allotted time.
And it wasn’t just Veronica (who even offered a hand with some of the more tedious duties such as cite checking and organizing exhibits), but others as well. Intern came in on her day off and helped to collate, staple, make minor edits and generally lend a hand. Doctor’s Wife (another associate) listened to me vent my frustration and Photogenic Friend offered me a beer when Friday ended – all fabulous co-worker gestures. Even the administrative staff went the extra mile in proof-reading, making untold amount of copies and double checking my work when I had been reading for too long.
When I used to work at Local Union, I found a couple of my co-workers to be helpful at crunch time, but mostly they were concerned for their own projects and did not offer to jump in (no, Wuzi, I am obviously not talking about you!). When they did help out, it was only if there was something back in return – credit, praise, ownership of the project, etc. Never just to help.
So, even though you folks will never read this since I don’t allow work people to have this URL, I just want to publicly say thanks. I literally could not have gotten through the last week without your help.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
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(My list is organge today because that is SWCNBN's most favorite color and I feel bad we haven't spoke in so long so this is a little tribute to her.)  1. In July 2006, Jenna and her dog, Snickers, met a homeless man this named Benedict. He has a 6 month old puppy named Kaos. Kaos is one well-kept, good looking dog and she was clearly devoted to Benedict. 2. Benedict said he took her from a man that was training her for the dog fights. (For those of you that don’t live in NYC, yes, we have underground dog fights here). Anyway, Benedict took Kaos away from that takes very good care of her. His backpack, which was mostly all he had, was full of dog food. Kaos was healthy and had been given distemper, parvo and rabies shots. 3. Kaos stands for "Kicks Ass On Spot", which is just that much cuter because she’s such a sweet dog.  4. In November 2006, Kaos and Benedict relied onthe help of friends and dog lovers to get a flight to Miami so they could leave NYC before it got too cold for Kaos. (Dogs are not allowed in shelters). 5. In February 2007, Benedict left Kaos at a human homeless shelter and didn’t return for her, so they called Animal Services. Something must have happened to him. The shelter had his name and everything, so it’s not like he dropped her and ran. Anyway, he didn’t go back, she went into the shelter, and he hasn’t tried to get her out. 6. A person in South Georgia (500 miles from Miami) offered to foster Kaos for a week. 7. We can transport Kaos to anyone who would be able to offer her a forever home. 8. Kaos is fabulous with other dogs and, when she went to the vet, Kaos was SO GOOD with the other dogs in the waiting room. Another dog there was aggressively barking at her, but Kaos took it all in stride. 9. Kaos is a big dog and therefore considered 'unadoptable' by most shelters. This greatly increases the chances that she will be euthenized if brought to an animal shelter. 10. Kaos has a full and loving life ahead of her and does not deserve to die just because she had the bad luck to be left in the care of someone who was not responsible for her. 11. You can read all about Kaos and see more pictures by clicking on Jenna's website at http://nycgadgetgirl.com/jg/tales_of_kaos/ 12. I would be willing to help defray the cost of anyone who could adopt this sweet baby. 13. Kaos needs a forever home (or at the least, long term foster care). If you can help, please comment and I will email you directly. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. L^2 3. Peg |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Wednesday, February 14, 2007
VALENTINE'S DAY LETTER
It’s snowing outside. The first real, stick to the ground and cover everything in white storm of the year. It’s also Valentine’s Day, which is a holiday I never really got into except for the fact that every year Mother buys me new underwear and bras to give to me on February 14th. I am wearing the latest pair now and they are super comfy and very cute. The kind of underwear that makes you feel sexy even when wearing snow boots because you forgot to bring shoes to work and have to spend the first five minutes at your desk picking icicle out of your hair.
This is my first Valentine’s Day as part of a married couple - it’s also the first year that Husband and I have decided to not really celebrate. No gifts and a quick dinner at a local place we have been meaning to try for several months now. But, in the spirit of the holiday (and because Sister is annoyed that her embarrassing stories are still my most recent post) I will just take a second to publicly let Husband know how wonderful he is with this open letter.
Dear Puppy (that is my nickname for him):
I wanted to take a second this Valentine’s Day to let you know how incredibly special you are to me. More than just being a wonderful husband, you are a wonderful friend and I can not imagine life without you.
You are the funniest person I know (sorry Brother and Father) – even if at times I refuse to laugh at your inane jokes. After all, before I met you, I never understood how perfectly a well-timed fart could serve as a punch line. I love how you sound like an Indian-born Rodney Dangerfield whenever you try to mimic a voice and I will never forget how, on our first date, you convinced a Brazilian TV station that you were newly immigrated to the United States.
You are also generous with everything from material possessions to body heat and (grudgingly) let me curl up against you on cold nights and warm my tooshie on your belly and my feet on your legs. You share a bed (again grudgingly) not just with me but with a giant purple bear who, even though you call “stupid,” I think you secretly like.
When I am scared you tell me to “toughen up” but then provide a hand to hold for as long as I need it and the sound of my laughter alone is enough to make you laugh. You waited for me to watch ‘Heroes’ last Monday night, even though you were home alone and I was away on business and no matter how late we watch scary shows like ‘Supernatural’ you let me watch cartoons for a while afterwards so I won’t have nightmares.
So far (with the exception of that day you threw a tempter tantrum because the Giants lost an important game), every day with you has been a gift. I know you know all of this already, but I hope this serves as a reminder that when you offer to walk the dog late at night in the freezing cold, I don’t take it for granted.
Love,
KKMS’k’MMcM
It’s snowing outside. The first real, stick to the ground and cover everything in white storm of the year. It’s also Valentine’s Day, which is a holiday I never really got into except for the fact that every year Mother buys me new underwear and bras to give to me on February 14th. I am wearing the latest pair now and they are super comfy and very cute. The kind of underwear that makes you feel sexy even when wearing snow boots because you forgot to bring shoes to work and have to spend the first five minutes at your desk picking icicle out of your hair.
This is my first Valentine’s Day as part of a married couple - it’s also the first year that Husband and I have decided to not really celebrate. No gifts and a quick dinner at a local place we have been meaning to try for several months now. But, in the spirit of the holiday (and because Sister is annoyed that her embarrassing stories are still my most recent post) I will just take a second to publicly let Husband know how wonderful he is with this open letter.
Dear Puppy (that is my nickname for him):
I wanted to take a second this Valentine’s Day to let you know how incredibly special you are to me. More than just being a wonderful husband, you are a wonderful friend and I can not imagine life without you.
You are the funniest person I know (sorry Brother and Father) – even if at times I refuse to laugh at your inane jokes. After all, before I met you, I never understood how perfectly a well-timed fart could serve as a punch line. I love how you sound like an Indian-born Rodney Dangerfield whenever you try to mimic a voice and I will never forget how, on our first date, you convinced a Brazilian TV station that you were newly immigrated to the United States.
You are also generous with everything from material possessions to body heat and (grudgingly) let me curl up against you on cold nights and warm my tooshie on your belly and my feet on your legs. You share a bed (again grudgingly) not just with me but with a giant purple bear who, even though you call “stupid,” I think you secretly like.
When I am scared you tell me to “toughen up” but then provide a hand to hold for as long as I need it and the sound of my laughter alone is enough to make you laugh. You waited for me to watch ‘Heroes’ last Monday night, even though you were home alone and I was away on business and no matter how late we watch scary shows like ‘Supernatural’ you let me watch cartoons for a while afterwards so I won’t have nightmares.
So far (with the exception of that day you threw a tempter tantrum because the Giants lost an important game), every day with you has been a gift. I know you know all of this already, but I hope this serves as a reminder that when you offer to walk the dog late at night in the freezing cold, I don’t take it for granted.
Love,
KKMS’k’MMcM
Saturday, February 10, 2007
MY FAVORITE SISTER STORIES
I received permission from Sister last night to post a few of her brain freeze stories. My favorites (excepting the LAM(B) story and “I teached English” told an earlier post) are below. All of these stories happened when she was working at her first post-college job at a Wall Street investment firm.
THE KENTUCKY DERBY
A little background is needed for this story. Sister used to be quite an accomplished horseback rider and competed on equestrian shows on a regular basis while in elementary and middle school.
Co-Worker: I am going to the Kentucky Derby.
Sister: Ugh. So awful.
Co-Worker: Really? I am excited. It seems fun.
Sister: All those red-necks freaks drinking beer and screaming? How is that fun?
Co-Worker: Do you know what the Kentucky Derby is?
Sister (very smugly): Of course I do. It’s a monster truck event.
Hilarious laughing ensues.
BONY
This one is Husband’s all time favorite.
Sister receives an email from her boss asking her a series of work-related questions. Sister does not know the answers to any and writes back to her boss to let her know. Her boss writes back and tells her to ask BONY these questions. Sister is stumped. So, she walks up to the skinniest guy is the office (he is rail thin) and proceeds to ask him the questions posed in the email. Skinny Guy has no idea and wants to know why Sister would even ask him these questions, as they are unrelated to his field of expertise. Sister shows him the emails exchange with her boss. At which point, Skinny Guy glares and Sister and replies, “Bank of New York, asshole,” as he walks off.
Hilarious laughing ensues.
BEAVER
The following conversation happens as Sister walks into work wearing her new coat with a beaver collar.
Co-Worker (holding up a PETA envelope): How can you wear that thing? Do you know what this is?
Sister: Sure. People for Ethical Treatment of Animals. But you are a hypocrite because you wear leather and I’ve seen you eat meat.
Co-Worker: Yes, but I use the whole cow.
Sister (extremely indignant): Well, how do you know I don’t eat beaver?
Co-Worker turns bright red and Sister realizes what she just said.
Hilarious laughing ensues.
The beaver story was a family favorite for years and, not long after it happened, Sister and I were at dinner with our extended family and the story was told. Nana S. had never heard the story and seemed very impressed with Sister’s comeback. She even went so far as to loudly exclaim, “Yes. The whole world should know my grand-daughter eats beaver!” At this point, my aunt Meme whispered the meaning of that statement into Nana S’s ear. Nana S. immediately got quiet and announced to the table, “Well, I didn’t know that!”
Even more hilarious laughing ensues.
Thanks, Sister for leting me share these. Life would be a lot less funny if you were not around!
I received permission from Sister last night to post a few of her brain freeze stories. My favorites (excepting the LAM(B) story and “I teached English” told an earlier post) are below. All of these stories happened when she was working at her first post-college job at a Wall Street investment firm.
THE KENTUCKY DERBY
A little background is needed for this story. Sister used to be quite an accomplished horseback rider and competed on equestrian shows on a regular basis while in elementary and middle school.
Co-Worker: I am going to the Kentucky Derby.
Sister: Ugh. So awful.
Co-Worker: Really? I am excited. It seems fun.
Sister: All those red-necks freaks drinking beer and screaming? How is that fun?
Co-Worker: Do you know what the Kentucky Derby is?
Sister (very smugly): Of course I do. It’s a monster truck event.
Hilarious laughing ensues.
BONY
This one is Husband’s all time favorite.
Sister receives an email from her boss asking her a series of work-related questions. Sister does not know the answers to any and writes back to her boss to let her know. Her boss writes back and tells her to ask BONY these questions. Sister is stumped. So, she walks up to the skinniest guy is the office (he is rail thin) and proceeds to ask him the questions posed in the email. Skinny Guy has no idea and wants to know why Sister would even ask him these questions, as they are unrelated to his field of expertise. Sister shows him the emails exchange with her boss. At which point, Skinny Guy glares and Sister and replies, “Bank of New York, asshole,” as he walks off.
Hilarious laughing ensues.
BEAVER
The following conversation happens as Sister walks into work wearing her new coat with a beaver collar.
Co-Worker (holding up a PETA envelope): How can you wear that thing? Do you know what this is?
Sister: Sure. People for Ethical Treatment of Animals. But you are a hypocrite because you wear leather and I’ve seen you eat meat.
Co-Worker: Yes, but I use the whole cow.
Sister (extremely indignant): Well, how do you know I don’t eat beaver?
Co-Worker turns bright red and Sister realizes what she just said.
Hilarious laughing ensues.
The beaver story was a family favorite for years and, not long after it happened, Sister and I were at dinner with our extended family and the story was told. Nana S. had never heard the story and seemed very impressed with Sister’s comeback. She even went so far as to loudly exclaim, “Yes. The whole world should know my grand-daughter eats beaver!” At this point, my aunt Meme whispered the meaning of that statement into Nana S’s ear. Nana S. immediately got quiet and announced to the table, “Well, I didn’t know that!”
Even more hilarious laughing ensues.
Thanks, Sister for leting me share these. Life would be a lot less funny if you were not around!
AT LEAST SHE DIDN'T DRESS LIKE A CLOWN WHILE PERFORMING THE EXAM
Maybe because it’s the week leading up to Valentine’s Day so I am feeling extra romantic, or maybe all the chocolate I have eaten (thanks Husband!) this week is making me extra happy but this entire week I have felt so happy and as though life was just one large roller coaster to be enjoyed. It is so rare when there is one week in which everything seems to go right that I could not help but share.
The first and most important reason is that a major stress was just taken away. (Again, thanks Husband!). Two weeks ago I made an appointment with an OBGYN for a routine appointment. Unlike Dr. Kendler (the loss of whom I am still mourning – stupid health care system!) I have no loyalty to any OBGYN and have gone through five different ones in five years. My theory on OBGYNs is that they just need to make sure everything is healthy, renew my birth control prescription and nothing else. That worked for years until I got married. But now, Husband and I want to have a family one day and I figured I should start to find an OBGYN that can help with that when the time comes. I found someone who looked great and was nearby in New York Magazine and made an appointment. My first tip should have been how easily I got an appointment.
I walked into the office and waited for my appointment. When the doctor saw me, she brought me into her office to chat and that’s where it all went downhill. “How many weeks pregnant are you?” she asked casually. I was totally taken aback. Sure, I had gained almost ten pounds since the wedding but I am still a size 6 and well within healthy BMI range. “Ummm, none.” I stammered. “Oh,” she replied, immediately looking concerned, “Did you miscarry?” I shook my head mutely.
After a few more seconds of back and forth, I finally conveyed to the doctor that I was simply in for an annual exam and, if anything, was PMS-ing and not at all pregnant. It was at that point she informed me that her practice was only Obstetrics and not Gynocology. Ooops. At least I no longer thought she was calling me fat. Nicely, she offered to make an appointment for me with one of her colleagues. She also oh-so casually suggested that while I was there, I take a routine blood test to check for things such as Tay-Sachs and Maple Syrup Urine Disease – genes that are commonly found in Ashkenazi Jews like Husband and myself.
I panicked. In order, here is the list of things that scare me most in the world: Needles, death, clowns, turbulence. See the first one? It’s no joke. I have been known to refuse medical treatment because it involved a needle, and in one case, even though the doctor informed me it could cost me my life (he was clearly wrong, by the way) I still chose to face fear number two over fear number one. Upon hearing the doctor’s advice, I started to cry and shake. I refused to let her do it. She pushed back with the fact that if Husband and I ever decided to start a family, we should know about common genetic problems beforehand. Then, she let me off the hook with a suggestion: Husband could do the test. If he was negative as a recessive carrier for everything, then there was no need for me to be tested. Relief swept over me. Even more so when Husband willing agreed. He was getting a cholesterol test anyway, so why not just do it all at once? I love him! How many people in the world would take a needle for you?
So, he will probably go sometime in the next few weeks and have the test. And I can go back to being relaxed. See, it’s been a wonderful week.
Maybe because it’s the week leading up to Valentine’s Day so I am feeling extra romantic, or maybe all the chocolate I have eaten (thanks Husband!) this week is making me extra happy but this entire week I have felt so happy and as though life was just one large roller coaster to be enjoyed. It is so rare when there is one week in which everything seems to go right that I could not help but share.
The first and most important reason is that a major stress was just taken away. (Again, thanks Husband!). Two weeks ago I made an appointment with an OBGYN for a routine appointment. Unlike Dr. Kendler (the loss of whom I am still mourning – stupid health care system!) I have no loyalty to any OBGYN and have gone through five different ones in five years. My theory on OBGYNs is that they just need to make sure everything is healthy, renew my birth control prescription and nothing else. That worked for years until I got married. But now, Husband and I want to have a family one day and I figured I should start to find an OBGYN that can help with that when the time comes. I found someone who looked great and was nearby in New York Magazine and made an appointment. My first tip should have been how easily I got an appointment.
I walked into the office and waited for my appointment. When the doctor saw me, she brought me into her office to chat and that’s where it all went downhill. “How many weeks pregnant are you?” she asked casually. I was totally taken aback. Sure, I had gained almost ten pounds since the wedding but I am still a size 6 and well within healthy BMI range. “Ummm, none.” I stammered. “Oh,” she replied, immediately looking concerned, “Did you miscarry?” I shook my head mutely.
After a few more seconds of back and forth, I finally conveyed to the doctor that I was simply in for an annual exam and, if anything, was PMS-ing and not at all pregnant. It was at that point she informed me that her practice was only Obstetrics and not Gynocology. Ooops. At least I no longer thought she was calling me fat. Nicely, she offered to make an appointment for me with one of her colleagues. She also oh-so casually suggested that while I was there, I take a routine blood test to check for things such as Tay-Sachs and Maple Syrup Urine Disease – genes that are commonly found in Ashkenazi Jews like Husband and myself.
I panicked. In order, here is the list of things that scare me most in the world: Needles, death, clowns, turbulence. See the first one? It’s no joke. I have been known to refuse medical treatment because it involved a needle, and in one case, even though the doctor informed me it could cost me my life (he was clearly wrong, by the way) I still chose to face fear number two over fear number one. Upon hearing the doctor’s advice, I started to cry and shake. I refused to let her do it. She pushed back with the fact that if Husband and I ever decided to start a family, we should know about common genetic problems beforehand. Then, she let me off the hook with a suggestion: Husband could do the test. If he was negative as a recessive carrier for everything, then there was no need for me to be tested. Relief swept over me. Even more so when Husband willing agreed. He was getting a cholesterol test anyway, so why not just do it all at once? I love him! How many people in the world would take a needle for you?
So, he will probably go sometime in the next few weeks and have the test. And I can go back to being relaxed. See, it’s been a wonderful week.
Friday, February 09, 2007
MIX(B) AND MATCH(B)
A few years ago, Sister called me hysterically laughing. She could barely breathe though her giggles and, as Sister is famous in her family for her verbal mishaps (example, upon returning from a 6 week trip to Thailand, Sister informed everyone in the photo store that she “teached” English to refugees! Hahaha), I eagerly anticipated the story to follow. Turns out that Sister was working for a company called L____. She was new but hard working and very dedicated. Her boss was looking to reward her by placing her on an elite team within L____ and the following conversation ensued (although you have to say it out loud to get the full flavor).
Boss: Sister, do you know what LAM is?
Sister: A baby sheep… something you eat?
Boss: No. It’s an acronym. It stands for L____ Asset Management.
Sister: Oh, I get it. The “B” is also silent.
Boss: (shaking head) There is no “B”
From then on, no matter what people in my family spell, we add a “B” to the end. For example, cards are now always signed: To Mom, Love(b) Farf. We have been laughing for years over this one. Husband thinks this and some of Sister’s other stories (to be posted later after obtaining permission) are hilarious and adds a “B” to everything. (Example, when I walk into the bathroom while he is plucking ingrown hairs, Husband generally barks at me “Get OUT. O-U-T-B. OUT!”)
I love that Husband had taken so well to my family. And I guess I have taken well to his. At least in name. Almost nine months to the date after her wedding, Farf Birth Name has ceased to exist. Yup, I got my new passport last night (just in time for London trip, I may add) and it lists me as Farf Married Name. The transformation is complete and there is no more record of Farf Birth Name other than the actual certificate of birth.
I willingly, eagerly even, changed my name. To me, changing my name was not an identity loss and more than anything, it was part of the fun of getting married. Husband would have been supportive no matter what I called myself, but I wanted to take his name. This was not a statement of feminism or some sort of backlash, it was just the choice I became comfortable with. Technically, I moved my birth name to my middle name and dropped by middle name entirely (I never loved it anyway or felt any particular affinity to it) and am now Farf Birth Name Married Name.
Still, it was weird to see the last piece of official identification proclaiming me with a new name (and a fabulous passport picture – I was so skinny and tan!) until Husband reminded me that life is a series of identity changes and he has taken bits of my identity as much as I have taken his.
I immediately felt reassured when he told me this morning that I could do what I wanted about the passport, but until London at least (the tickets are under Married Name), I had to consider the entire thing a done deal. D-O-N-E-B. Done.
A few years ago, Sister called me hysterically laughing. She could barely breathe though her giggles and, as Sister is famous in her family for her verbal mishaps (example, upon returning from a 6 week trip to Thailand, Sister informed everyone in the photo store that she “teached” English to refugees! Hahaha), I eagerly anticipated the story to follow. Turns out that Sister was working for a company called L____. She was new but hard working and very dedicated. Her boss was looking to reward her by placing her on an elite team within L____ and the following conversation ensued (although you have to say it out loud to get the full flavor).
Boss: Sister, do you know what LAM is?
Sister: A baby sheep… something you eat?
Boss: No. It’s an acronym. It stands for L____ Asset Management.
Sister: Oh, I get it. The “B” is also silent.
Boss: (shaking head) There is no “B”
From then on, no matter what people in my family spell, we add a “B” to the end. For example, cards are now always signed: To Mom, Love(b) Farf. We have been laughing for years over this one. Husband thinks this and some of Sister’s other stories (to be posted later after obtaining permission) are hilarious and adds a “B” to everything. (Example, when I walk into the bathroom while he is plucking ingrown hairs, Husband generally barks at me “Get OUT. O-U-T-B. OUT!”)
I love that Husband had taken so well to my family. And I guess I have taken well to his. At least in name. Almost nine months to the date after her wedding, Farf Birth Name has ceased to exist. Yup, I got my new passport last night (just in time for London trip, I may add) and it lists me as Farf Married Name. The transformation is complete and there is no more record of Farf Birth Name other than the actual certificate of birth.
I willingly, eagerly even, changed my name. To me, changing my name was not an identity loss and more than anything, it was part of the fun of getting married. Husband would have been supportive no matter what I called myself, but I wanted to take his name. This was not a statement of feminism or some sort of backlash, it was just the choice I became comfortable with. Technically, I moved my birth name to my middle name and dropped by middle name entirely (I never loved it anyway or felt any particular affinity to it) and am now Farf Birth Name Married Name.
Still, it was weird to see the last piece of official identification proclaiming me with a new name (and a fabulous passport picture – I was so skinny and tan!) until Husband reminded me that life is a series of identity changes and he has taken bits of my identity as much as I have taken his.
I immediately felt reassured when he told me this morning that I could do what I wanted about the passport, but until London at least (the tickets are under Married Name), I had to consider the entire thing a done deal. D-O-N-E-B. Done.
LOVE IS IN THE DETAILS
Peg wrote on her blog today about a love note her husband left her. You can see the picture here, but it was a shopping list written on the bathroom mirror and circled with a heart. I thought it was adorable that he would leave her such a mundane note this way and it reminded me of the time, right before I met Husband, that Mother told me love is in the details. Peg’s story is a perfect example of this.
Husband is not the type to leave a shopping list on the mirror surrounded by a heart (much too fastidious for that – do you know how long it would take to clean?) but he does other things to let me know he loves me. For example, almost every night this week he has brought home a dark chocolate treat for me and on other nights, when he works late, he comes home with a bagful of Diet Peach Snapple. (One of my favorite beverages) I like waking up in the morning and opening the refrigerator to find the Snapple. It lets me know that even if Husband worked until 2am, he was thinking of me.
And, I think Mother’s theory that love is in the details can even be more generalized than just romantic relationships. Sister played fashion consultant to me in her apartment before a Bar Mitzvah, ensuring that I was appropriately dressed for the occasion. Then she lent me three dresses because I could not decide which to wear, including one that she had never worn. She even missed her new favorite show, Without a Trace, in order to do this.
Mother calls me every morning and Father always brings back snow globes for me from over place he travels, even if it is only Philadelphia. When a place does not have snow globes (i.e. South Korea), he comes home apologizing. And everything Brother-in-Law gets for me is in purple, including a giant vase filled with marbles and candles in varying shades.
I like that Peg’s blog made me think today about all the little nice things that people have done for me. The things that, akin to shopping lists as love notes, we can hold onto when we are lonely and need to remember that we are loved.
Peg wrote on her blog today about a love note her husband left her. You can see the picture here, but it was a shopping list written on the bathroom mirror and circled with a heart. I thought it was adorable that he would leave her such a mundane note this way and it reminded me of the time, right before I met Husband, that Mother told me love is in the details. Peg’s story is a perfect example of this.
Husband is not the type to leave a shopping list on the mirror surrounded by a heart (much too fastidious for that – do you know how long it would take to clean?) but he does other things to let me know he loves me. For example, almost every night this week he has brought home a dark chocolate treat for me and on other nights, when he works late, he comes home with a bagful of Diet Peach Snapple. (One of my favorite beverages) I like waking up in the morning and opening the refrigerator to find the Snapple. It lets me know that even if Husband worked until 2am, he was thinking of me.
And, I think Mother’s theory that love is in the details can even be more generalized than just romantic relationships. Sister played fashion consultant to me in her apartment before a Bar Mitzvah, ensuring that I was appropriately dressed for the occasion. Then she lent me three dresses because I could not decide which to wear, including one that she had never worn. She even missed her new favorite show, Without a Trace, in order to do this.
Mother calls me every morning and Father always brings back snow globes for me from over place he travels, even if it is only Philadelphia. When a place does not have snow globes (i.e. South Korea), he comes home apologizing. And everything Brother-in-Law gets for me is in purple, including a giant vase filled with marbles and candles in varying shades.
I like that Peg’s blog made me think today about all the little nice things that people have done for me. The things that, akin to shopping lists as love notes, we can hold onto when we are lonely and need to remember that we are loved.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
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I woke up in a wonderful mood this morning, which has not diminshed at all during the day. So, without ado, here are thirteen things that have made me happy today. 1. Watching the birds fly in flocks outside my office window. Sure, they are likely only pigeons, but they look beautiful swooping and flying in intracate patterns. 2. The sun on my face through the bus window warming me up even though it is freezing cold outside. 3. Tiki (my dog) being perfectly behaved during this morning's walk and even sitting and looking at me when there were other dogs and birds to chase on the street. 4. Husband is doing my taxes so I do not have to even pay them the slightest attention this year. (Note, I never paid them attention since my Uncle always completed them, but Husband had taken over that role and the transition has gone swimmingly for me.) 5. Sister and I are planning a weekend away this spring to a spa in Connecticut and suddenly, early March seems right around the corner. 6. Despite the fact that I have gained almost 10 lbs. since my wedding, two strangers today told me I look thin and wonderful. 7. The water in the shower this morning was super hot and even though I took an extra long shower this morning, the hot water did not cool off at all. 8. I can wear jeans and sneakers to work. 9. My afternoon meeting and conference call were cancelled and it is as though I suddenly found an extra several hours to the day. 10. The cardamom, ginger and fennel tea I am drinking right now has been brewed to perfection and even though I am at work, I am as relaxed as if I was in pajamas on my couch with Tiki snuggled next to me. 11. I got reimbursed for expenses at work that I had forgotten about and suddenly there is $12 extra in my pocket which I immediately used to splurge on a taxi ride. 12. Most of the television shows I like are on tonight so I can veg for hours in front of the television tonight after teaching my class. 13. I remembered it was Thursday in time to participate in the Thursday 13! |
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
Thursday Thirteen folks who have visited me:
1. Stacie
2. Rose
3. QTPies7
5. L^2
6. Duchess
7. Rashenbo
8. Peg
9. Ann Douglas
10. Amy
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants
Sunday, February 04, 2007
IF I WILL BE RELEASED IN THEATERS NATIONWIDE, IT IS JUST AS IMPORTANT TO BE PRETTY AS IT IS TO BE SMART
I like to think I learned some life lessons from watching Borat. The first, and most relevant to this post, is to always read releases carefully. I also learned life lessons from American Idol: It does not matter how ridiculous you sound, if you are cute, people will watch you. You can even be on-air talent for TV guide or E Television (one of my dream jobs).
Yesterday, Suzanne and I were filmed for a documentary on Haven Coalition. The director was this guy named Bruce Isacson, who apparently acted in Outbreak and a bunch of commercials. He kept name-dropping people involved in the film but I was unimpressed since I never know who actors are. (Case in point, during the film The Good Shepherd, I turned to Husband and asked him who played the wife – turns out it’s Angelina Jolie, but if she is not on the cover of US Weekly, I won’t recognize her). Anyway, Isacson specifically told me to come looking natural and as myself. However, he also told me we would be on camera and there would be lights. I immediately made an appointment for a blow-out from the local hair place and spent the night before the interview deciding which lipstick would look the most natural – me, only better.
So, after utilizing all the knowledge I had gleaned from years of girls-only sleep-over parties and Glamour Magazine (as well as techniques picked up from Sister and Sister’s Chicago Friend), Suzanne and I showed up at the film shoot, all made up and looking pretty. After that, it was easy. We looked cute on camera so the only thing left to do was carefully read the release.
I skimmed the release. It was boilerplate and looked like every release we had studies in law school. I knew I could be edited to look stupid but the idea of wasting my fabulous blow-out and not appearing on film was too depressing so I signed anyway. Suzanne and I, who had been chatting casually, got very quiet as soon as we were mic’d up. I know from the political press secretary days that everything on microphone is being recorded and, once we could be recorded, I tried to pick my words very carefully – talking only about Haven and its mission and refusing to speak about how I personally felt.
Once the microphones were off, Suzanne and I launched into a tirade about post-abortion trauma and people who use it as a vehicle to ban abortions as well as other “facts” used by the anti-choice movement, but refused to be put back on camera, informing Isacson and others that “We pick our words much more carefully when you record us.” He seemed vaguely disappointed, but if he really wanted something scandalous, he could always edit us to make us look like baby killing monsters so there was no reason for me to help by saying something stupid on camera. Plus, it couldn’t have been that bad since Isacson wants to film us again when he comes back to NY next month.
And maybe, just maybe, I will come out looking coherent, smart and passionate about helping women exercise their legal right to choose. But if not, hopefully I looked cute enough to jumpstart my career at E television.
I like to think I learned some life lessons from watching Borat. The first, and most relevant to this post, is to always read releases carefully. I also learned life lessons from American Idol: It does not matter how ridiculous you sound, if you are cute, people will watch you. You can even be on-air talent for TV guide or E Television (one of my dream jobs).
Yesterday, Suzanne and I were filmed for a documentary on Haven Coalition. The director was this guy named Bruce Isacson, who apparently acted in Outbreak and a bunch of commercials. He kept name-dropping people involved in the film but I was unimpressed since I never know who actors are. (Case in point, during the film The Good Shepherd, I turned to Husband and asked him who played the wife – turns out it’s Angelina Jolie, but if she is not on the cover of US Weekly, I won’t recognize her). Anyway, Isacson specifically told me to come looking natural and as myself. However, he also told me we would be on camera and there would be lights. I immediately made an appointment for a blow-out from the local hair place and spent the night before the interview deciding which lipstick would look the most natural – me, only better.
So, after utilizing all the knowledge I had gleaned from years of girls-only sleep-over parties and Glamour Magazine (as well as techniques picked up from Sister and Sister’s Chicago Friend), Suzanne and I showed up at the film shoot, all made up and looking pretty. After that, it was easy. We looked cute on camera so the only thing left to do was carefully read the release.
I skimmed the release. It was boilerplate and looked like every release we had studies in law school. I knew I could be edited to look stupid but the idea of wasting my fabulous blow-out and not appearing on film was too depressing so I signed anyway. Suzanne and I, who had been chatting casually, got very quiet as soon as we were mic’d up. I know from the political press secretary days that everything on microphone is being recorded and, once we could be recorded, I tried to pick my words very carefully – talking only about Haven and its mission and refusing to speak about how I personally felt.
Once the microphones were off, Suzanne and I launched into a tirade about post-abortion trauma and people who use it as a vehicle to ban abortions as well as other “facts” used by the anti-choice movement, but refused to be put back on camera, informing Isacson and others that “We pick our words much more carefully when you record us.” He seemed vaguely disappointed, but if he really wanted something scandalous, he could always edit us to make us look like baby killing monsters so there was no reason for me to help by saying something stupid on camera. Plus, it couldn’t have been that bad since Isacson wants to film us again when he comes back to NY next month.
And maybe, just maybe, I will come out looking coherent, smart and passionate about helping women exercise their legal right to choose. But if not, hopefully I looked cute enough to jumpstart my career at E television.
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