irina, the pool nazi

Belonging to a gym in New York City is like belonging to a country club in the suburbs -- it costs a ton, and you can never really be sure of the company you keep. However, if you're lucky like me, for a mere $9 a month (probably a computer glitch I'm in no hurry to fix) you can belong to Bally's Total Shitness, and access their string of crappy clubs around the city. (To get to the top-tier Bally's you have to shell out at least $40 more a month.) It's essentially like having Coney Island as your country club.

If you want to swim, that's a whole nother story. Swim clubs cost top dollar, unless you're fortunate enough to live near one of the city's rec centers. Or belong to Bally's. (In which case you have to hop on the F train and trek out to King's Highway. And you have to deal with Irina, the Pool Nazi.)

The setup at King's Highway is this: three lanes of swimming, each one five full crawl strokes long. (So, what? Maybe 35 feet?) The first lane is labeled as the "Loafers Lane" and that's where the really fat people go to bob or float or, most likely, pee. The second lane is, technically, not labled, and the third lane has this confusing sign with two arrows that says something like "Medium Lap Swim." Basically, if there are two people swimming laps, they each get their own lane, and if there's a third added on (and Irina's around), then the three of you have to rotate through two lanes.

It's lame, if you ask me.

But it's what Irina believes in, with her whole heart and soul. (Note: Irina may not actually be named Irina. I have named her that because 1) King's Highway is very Russian, 2) she looks very Eastern European and 3) she barks at other members in an Eastern tongue. And it suits her.)

(Get it? Suits?! ha!)

Anyway, Irina was there, barking at everyone on Saturday. And it was irritating, especially because when there were only the two of us, she plunked herself in the better lane (yes, there is one) and left me to deal with turning around on an angled wall. So today, I went at a different time, intentionally, and Irina was there again! I muttered to myself (just like everyone else there) and seriously considered putting my workout clothes on and running on a treadmill instead. But I had already showered, so I figured I could at least outlast Irina and get a few laps in without her.

I developed a new respect for Irina, however, because there was someone there who just kept bucking the system the other three of us had agreed to.

All it took was "bark bark bark!" from Irina and that woman was doing her own slow laps with the Peeing Loafers. Not bad, Irina.

I've been thinking a lot lately about what bothers me about other people -- there's a theory that whatever you don't like in other people is something you are unsettled about in your own personality, and that really resonates with me -- so investigating what I didn't like about Irina shone an interesting light on my desire to be a regular somewhere. You know, to belong, to be familiar and have a sense of ownership. I wanted to be the one who knew what the rules were. (And I wanted to know how to bark in Russian.)

The other highlights of the King's Highway swimming pool (aside from the bandaids on the pool floor, the men I'm pretty sure were watching my bathing suit in case anything fell out, or the creepy guy with his shorts pressed up against a bubbler in the whirlpool)? The fire alarm in the ladies' locker room goes off every time someone opens the door to the steam room (and won't stop for three whole minutes); the other occupants of the pool are so old you have to wonder how much unintentional pee you're swimming in; there is a low-level of Ben Gay saturated into the pool water, so you come out without an ache or pain; and, if you leave your bathing suit hanging on a hook in the locker room on Saturday, there's a pretty good chance it'll still be there the next day. (Although that may only be if your bathing suit is all worn out and semi-see through like mine is.)

Thank god for chlorine and goggles.

what is the limit of human food consumption?

I've been away from work for six days now, and have an additional five days before I have to go back. I would like to think I have used this time constructively, clearing up the odds and ends of 2007, getting my house in order (as they say) and spending a terrific christmas with my family.
Alas, I have done only one of those. Instead, I have spent the time successfully turning myself into a slug. A cookie-eating, nut-devouring, snack-munching slug. To borrow (and tweak)a phrase from a friend, I have become "a mindless food hoover." It got so bad that Monday and Tuesday were No Nuts Days and Wednesday was a No Cookies Day.

And along with this crazy eating pattern I've fallen into (i.e., eat everything all day along), I've developed a wild case of boredom. I know! My life's too short and I have too much to do and accomplish and focus on to spend so much time bored. But it's that irritating Cyclical Suck kind of boredom, where I could get up and do something, but I don't have the energy. Because I still have FIVE DAYS before I have to go back to my regular life.

It's weird. And it begs the question: why is there "apathy" but not just regular "pathy"?
-----------------------
Meanwhile, I've become a sap. I can't even watch TV without getting torn up inside. In my defense, though, have you seen that diamond commercial where the couple's inside the car and it's snowing out, and they're holding hands and he slips the seven-whatever-engagmentversary pendant into her hand while the heartbroken male singer starts croaking out a song about how he might be falling in love with me? (Um, I mean, her?) Yeah, that's what I want. And I want to be lost in the desert, dehydrated and broken armed, only to wake up in a medivac copter to the face of the one man who loves me more than anyone else in the world.

(Ok, fine, I'll skip the whole desert/copter/dehydrated/CSI bit and go straight for the loves-me-more-than-anything part. Is that so wrong?)
-----------------------
And doubly meanwhile, I think the mouse might be back. (I found little poos near my blender. What, may I ask, is there to eat near my blender??)
-----------------------
I got on a bus today going in the wrong direction. At the last stop, the bus driver shouted "last stop!" so I got off the bus, watched it turn around and go back in the other direction, not even taking long enough in its turn for me to catch it on the other side of the street. I acknowledge that it was entirely my fault for getting on the bus going the wrong way, but if it was clear enough to the driver that I didn't realize this was the last stop, don't you think it would then have been clear to him that he should have stopped on the other side of the street to let me back on? Luckily, I didn't care much (hell, I still have FIVE DAYS in which to get all my stuff done) but it did get a little chilly walking along, waiting for the next bus.
-----------------------
Seen on the back of a van today: "Where the Pro's Go!"
Clearly, it's not where the Grammar Pros go.
-----------------------
I watched my favorite movie from childhood today: Nadia. It's the story of Nadia Comaneci, the Romania gymnast who got perfect 10s in everything for years in a row in the 70s. And then she drank bleach because her life was going to shit! I'm not kidding, this movie has easily the WORST script in recorded history, and yet, I still remembered it. Especially the yelling (of which there is plenty) and the syrupy, intentionally heart-string-pulling moments.

And yeah, even 23 years later, I teared up in all the right places.

Sucker. (see above)

you can see pictures of me turning 1+2+3+4+5+3+2+1+2+3+4+1

Dear Kate,

Happy belated birthday! I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your party. Did you have a good time?

Love,Your Friend Who Couldn't Be There For Any Number Of Reasons, All Of Which Are OK

Dear FriendWhoCouldn'tBeThereForAnyNumberOfReasons,AllOfWhichAreOK,

Why, yes, thank you! I did have a lovely birthday! I started the day by sleeping in (sort of) and wrapping presents. Then I headed out to the spa, where I got about $80 worth of extra treatments because it was my birthday (and because I rock). When I went to pay, I thought the cost of my service (minus the extras) was $100, and I had $91 left on my gift card. When the lovely checkout girl told me that it was $125, I must have blanched to the core (though I don't recall it) because she got on the phone and asked her manager to charge me only $100! Truly appropriate birthday behavior!

I hopped in a cab (mistake) and headed uptown to the Guggenheim, where I met up with Andrea (who bought me lunch -- yay!!). We headed inside and with one quick flash of her Columbia student ID, she was in like Flynn (for free, no less)! I asked the lovely ticket girl if there was a birthday discount, and she looked at me knowingly and asked, "Are you a student?" "Why, yes, I am!" was clearly the right answer, and I got my second discount of the birthday.

After looking at art (getting free commentary from my Columbian Art History/Architecture Grad Student Guide) and discussing boys in great depth, we walked through the park and parted ways on the west side. I headed down to Deacon Brodie's, the bar I had chosen for my birthday celebration, where I was met almost instantaneously by Kate and a slew of Prompt Pals. We had a drink there, and then, half an hour later, they stopped serving us because the bar was closed for a private party.

Someone (who, kate, who???) should probably have called ahead on this one.

We headed across the street to the House of Brews (leaving behind a sign on the door saying "Kate's Birthday Across the Street," which made me feel kind of famous) and ate and drink and smiled and somebody (who, kate, who??) got a tiara.

I had one of the best birthdays I've had in years, possibly since my surprise 17th. I know that part of this was releasing my expectation that hoardes of people would show up and another part was making definite plans with one or two people to ensure that, in fact, someone showed up.

And lots of people did. (who, kate, who??) More people, in fact, than are in these pictures, but somebody was smiling really hard and looked kind of scary those photos, so they won't be making an appearance here. (Note: that's not to say I don't look scary in some of the pictures that are here. I just look less scary.):

Me & Dan, both pretending that I'm short.

Me & Kai, who has his birthday the day before mine, pretending that we love being December babies.

Me & Jimmy. I don't think we're pretending anything. Except maybe that we're not quite so shiny...

Me & Alli. She's pretending to be mysterious and I'm pretending to be sober.

Ave & Tom, pretending they're not about to eat nachos for dinner.

RJ and Ruthann, pretending this wee little dram didn't cost them $13.

me and Kate, pretending that, um, my tiara isn't crooked?

Me & Ruthann, pretending she's not leaving town for half a year in less than two weeks. (sigh)

I can finally say, after way too many parties that fell flat on their faces, that I may have found a way to have an Exceptional Birthday (Even if it is a Week Before Christmas).

Much love,

k8

thoughts on the gym

1. Castro was at the gym again today. He looked taller, greyer and less dead. Perhpas he is getting better?

2. I have no patience for aerobics instructors who use their classes as an exercise in humiliation. I also have no patience for instructors whose classes are boring, repetitive and involve kicks that could easily blow out one's knees. I've discovered, however, that I have no patience for having no patience, so when the instructor gets too annoying, I leave. (Tonight's lasted about 45 minutes)

3. I might be becoming a gym junkie. I don't want this to happen, because I think those people are weird, but it might just be happening anyway. That, or I'm eating too much sugar and just feel like the only way to get back to normal is to run for 30 minutes.
sidebar: maybe postal workers should run more.

4. If you're someone who doesn't poo very often, you probably shouldn't poo at the gym.

5. A while ago I was in a kickboxing class with a guy who looked like ugly cake's boyflan (ahem, I mean, a guy I used to go out with) and I spent half the class trying to impress him with how strong I had become since we broke up and the other half of the class trying to punch him in the head. He left thoroughly confused, and hasn't been back to class since. (it's ok, though, because he was kind of smelly.)

6. There's a woman I've taken class with at the gym for probably three years now and she looks like my ex-boyfriend's ex-wife. Which, by now, is no big deal. But when I met her, I was in the middle of some Severe Ugly with the ex, and I couldn't really stand to look at the woman at the gym. One day I finally told her that she resembled my boyfriend's ex and she smiled and gave a knowing sigh. (We've been friendly ever since.)

7. Eating less is always key to losing weight, but sometimes it's just impossible. (Like when people walk into your office and say "hey, Kate, I made these cookies just for you. Do you want one?" How exactly are you supposed to say no??) I think that's why god invented the guy who invented the treadmill. That, or he just thinks it's funny to have grown people run around like hamsters...

8. I have now officially overthought the gym.

why should my coworkers have all the fun?

I just signed up to write a column in our office newsletter. It's called:
My first article is due next week, but I'll be out relaxing (and hopefully catching up on some writing, but don't hold your breath) so I wrote it today. It's full of useful tidbits and shortcuts. Just chock-a-block with them. In fact, don't read this without appropriate precautions. You could hurt yourself.

You know your keyboard shortcuts in Word, but do you know what's available to you in Outlook?

In addition to the familiar shortcut keys from Word (e.g., Ctrl+P for Print, Ctrl+N for New Document or Ctrl+Z for Undo), there are a couple of Outlook-specific keyboard shortcuts that can save you some valuable time when sending emails.

If you want to: Use this keyboard shortcut Good for:
Check the names
on the To, Cc, and
Bcc lines against the
Address Book Alt+K or Ctrl+K Getting the right Lori,
Alan, Josh, Lynn or Jay

Jump to the subject field Alt+J Jotting down your
headline when
inspiration strikes
Switch to your Inbox
(from Calendar, Contacts,
Sent Items, wherever) Ctrl+Shift+I Getting back to your
Inbox from wherever
you may have roamed

Delete a whole word Ctrl+Backspace Eliminating typooos

Send the current email Alt+S or Ctrl+Enter Getting that email on its way!

Create a new email
message (from inside and
outside of your Inbox) Ctrl+Shift+M Drafting an email while
looking at your calendar
or contacts
Reply to a message
without taking your
hands off the keyboard Ctrl+R Shortening the time you
spend responding to emails

i have so much to say that i’m not saying anything

I have sixteen novels inside me that I want to write here, but I'm too busy. So instead, I'm re-posting an email my aunt sent to me today. It's charming. Basically someone asked first graders to complete the second half of a well-known proverb or maxim, and this is what they came up with:

1. Don't change horses until they stop running.
2. Strike while the bug is close.
3. It's always darkest before Daylight Saving Time.
4. Never underestimate the power of termites.
5. You can lead a horse to water but How?
6. Don't bite the hand that looks dirty.
7. No news is impossible
8. A miss is as good as a Mr.
9. You can't teach an old dog new Math
10. If you lie down with dogs, you'll stink in the morning.
11. Love all, trust Me.
12. The pen is mightier than the pigs.
13. An idle mind is the best way to relax .
14. Where there's smoke there's pollution.
15. Happy the bride who gets all the presents.
16. A penny saved is not much.
17. Two's company, three's the Musketeers.
18. Don't put off till tomorrow what you put on to go to bed.
19. Laugh and the whole world laughs with you, cry and You have to blow your nose.
20. There are none so blind as Stevie Wonder.
21. Children should be seen and not spanked or grounded.
22. If at first you don't succeed get new batteries.
23. You get out of something only what you See in the picture on the box
24. When the blind lead the blind get out of the way.
25. A bird in the hand is going to poop on you.
26. Better late than Pregnant

all work and no play makes kate a dull trainer

I was recently given a series of pictures that are used by a drilling company in their sales presentations, along with the challenge of adequately captioning them. (Fernando was also given the task, and his are excellent, too. I will try to scan them in and upload them, but I am really REALLY pushing the limits here of how much time I can waste at work.) The photos are humdingers. Truly stock footage, with a hint of photoshop thrown in there. In my life, I may have never seen odder, or more boring photos.

Captioning them was slightly harder than I imagined it would be. But I think in the end, I came out ok. Judge for yourselves (but watch out, lest ye be judged).

[Warning: the fonts get a little wonky. Sorry.]

OR
(I couldn't decide)

how not to look a gift horse in the mouth

I was walking to the color copier at work today, and one of the attorneys I don't work for (and have never worked for) stopped me in the hall. Being a trainer, I thought for sure he'd ask me something about the holiday cards or maybe a malfunctioning macro in Word, but no.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I replied.

"Have you lost weight?"

(Cue that familiar record-scratching sound.)

"Um...yeah," I smiled outloud, "I have! Thanks!"

He said, "You look great. You must have lost a LOT of weight! You look so streamlined now!"

"Um..." I was slightly more perplexed by this. How should I respond? Ask him how fat he thought I used to be? Lie, and say that yes, I had lost a LOT of weight (when in fact it's been a few pounds give or take)? Give him the breakdown of just how I had lost the weight? I spun myself through a variety of options and settled on one that seemed to make the most sense at the time.

"Thank you?"

He didn't even notice my hesitation, however, being too wrapped up praising this new, skinny, hot chick to notice he had been somewhat less-than-generous in the Backhanded Compliment Giving Department.

I laughed in my own head and decided that it was probably pretty hard for him to dole out the compliments, what with the handicap of being one of the lawyers who work here. (We're a firm with more than our fair share of Lawyers Who Don't Play Well With Others.)

The whole brief incident reminded me of the time one of the 5'5" attorneys here spent the whole Holiday Party my first year flirting with me, and then, the next day, when he found out I was a secretary and not a lawyer, pretended he didn't even know my name.

This time, however, instead of bristling, I tucked the compliment in my pocket (where there is a LOT of space these days, seeing as how I'm so skinny) and eagerly turned my face away from the big white teeth on the loveliest of lovely gift horses and instead, grabbed it by the mane and swung myself up onto it.

After all, riding a gift horse beats the snot out of checking out its breath!

ho ho oh my tummy!

A Recipe:

3/4 cup butter
1/4 cup milk
2t vanilla
9 cups powdered sugar
4 awesome friends
16,349,271 cookies


Combine first four ingredients, and add to food coloring in five different bowls. Slowly add friends (one of whom got a little lost on the way and stumbled across a lovely neighborhood man masturbating in the park, and another of whom asked for directions near the subway and was answered by a woman whose mouth was entirely filled with gold -- and I have the audacity to say I live in Park Slope??). Start frosting the 16,349,271 cookies.
I had my Second Annual Cookie Decorating Party today, and the results were just as spectacular as last year's. If you recall, there was a great deal of sugar ingested, and some moaning in agony several hours later. I think much of that was curttailed this year by the introduction of several savory foods, and some bloody marys. But maybe I am only speaking for myself...
(Some participants were better prepared than others, simply for having gone through the agony of the tummyache last year. This unnamed participant was not one of them.)


One of the best parts about this year's party was that it combined five of my favorite women, none of whom had met each other. So it was an opportunity for my worlds to really collide -- with frosting!
Andrea (above) was a meticulous decorator, creating this year's Best In Show. However, her perfectionism kept her low on the productivity scale. Keri was a little slow to get the creativity flowing (her first cookie, Christmas Rock, was one of the winners in the Ugliest category), but once the roll started, there was no stopping her. Lisa got onto a piping kick -- so much so that we were considering an entirely new category called Best OCD, in which the only contenders belonged to Lisa and Andrea. Ruthann showed some serious growth since last year, not making a single black cookie this year. And me? Well, I think I stuck like to glue to my traditional theme -- after all, I do eventually want to eat or give away these cookies. (Too many ugly ones and your options are limited.)

But enough build up! The envelope, please!

In the Best Traditional category we have:

Santa (by Kate), Menorah (by Lisa), Ice Skate (by Ruthann) and Christmas Tree (by Kate).

In the Best Non-Traditional category we have:
Boot (by Ruthann), Hugging Stars (or Fucking Stars, depending on who you ask) (by Andrea), Gray Christmas Tree (by Keri)

I would like, ex post facto, to add another contender to the Best Non-Traditionals, the Flipping-You-The-All-American-Christmas-Bird-Turned-Into-A-Dreidel (by Lisa)
(Perhaps you can see how this cookie was made from a hand and then turned itself around, through love, dedication and hard work, into a festively American dreidel. Perhaps not.)

A new category this year -- Best Gingerfolk:
Generic Vet (by Andrea), Rock Star in a Monokini (by Ruthann), Chest Hair Man (by Andrea) and Kate's Ice Skating Date (by Kate) (duh).

Everyone's Favorites, of course -- Ugliest!
There was an almost clean sweep in this category. Christmas Pile (by Ruthann), The Statue of Liberty (by Keri), Christmas Rock (by Keri) and Swamp Thing (by Keri).

And of course, everyone's favorite, Best In Show:
This is Suburban Mom (with fanny pack, festive sweater and easy-to-manage hairdo) (by Andrea).

I love this party for several reasons -- 1) it gets me to clean my house, 2) it lets me spend time with my fabulous friends doing something creative, 3) I get cookies, 4) it forces my friends to drag their butts to my house (from as far away as Columbia and the Bronx!), 5) I get cookies, 6) my friends get to hang out with each other, and 7) I get cookies.

I feel really lucky to have the friends I do. And I will throw this party every year if I have to put on 75 pounds each December to do it. My friends are worth it!

the single girl and her christmas tree: a parable

Once upon a time there was a girl in the city and she was single. She was content to be single because, well, that's how it was, and there was really no point fighting it.

One fine, December afternoon, the single girl called her friend and neighbor, Jimmy, to see if he wanted to come pick out a Christmas tree with her. He had helped her last year, offering his opinion on her shrub selection, taking the trunk end as they wrangled the tree up the stairs and generally bringing holiday cheer to the event of Tree Selection.

This year, however, Jimmy was out of town, and the single girl really needed to get a tree TODAY. (It was going to snow tomorrow, and she had to have it in time for her party next weekend.)

So the single girl bundled up in her coat, grabbed her granny cart, and trucked off to the local merchants to buy a tree.

Sadly, the folks at the Polish grocery store were extorting their customers, charging $35 for a tree that barely reached the single girl's chin. Lenny's Pizzeria was also selling trees, but they were all taller than the single girl, and she didn't want to bite off more than she could chew. Or carry.

So the single girl headed out to the dreaded no-man's-land called Home Depot. Her married friends refused to go there anymore, calling it the Auschwitz of Trees. ("Birchenwald!" the single girl thought to herself as she strolled, cracking an inappropriate smile. "Firschwitz!") But they would have a tree for her, she knew, and they wouldn't charge her an arm and a leg. "I'm brave," she said to herself, "I'll be too busy shopping to think bad thoughts."

She was right.

The single girl had no idea what kind of tree to get, so she started shopping by height and price. Anything around or under $30 would be acceptable. Of course, this being Home Depot, nothing was labeled, nobody seemed to work there and the single girl very quickly became overwhelmed and lonely.

Focusing on the task at hand (and not at the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes -- loneliness? or just the biting wind??), she picked a tree, held it at arm's length (which is a very inconvenient length from which to survey a whole tree) and decided hell, it was good enough, and she plunked it perpendicularly across her granny cart, taking out everyone in a five foot radius.

When she got to the teller, to her delight the single girl discovered her tree was a mere $24.95, and that the woman with the chainsaw would chop off the bottom inch for her. Her shorter tree was then placed into friendly netting and the single girl popped it into her granny cart to stroll off into the sunset.

Near the middle of the parking lot, however, the single girl noticed her tree was leaning over like a drunk on a barstool, causing the granny cart to list and veer to the left. She rearranged her Adorable Single Girl's Purse and really put her back into it. This is what single girls have to do, afterall.

By the time the single girl and her drunken tree arrived at home, the single girl was running through a list of all the things she liked about being single. "I don't have to smell anyone else's bad breath. I only have to clean up my own mess. I don't have to do anyone else's laundry. I can come and go as I please, without reporting to anyone on my whereabouts. Nobody wakes me up in the middle of the night." She mumbled these under her breath as she considered calling her single aunt to commiserate. (She decided against this, fearing her aunt would not only not adopt her positive skew but complain so badly it would only depress her further.)

By the time the single girl was lugging both the granny cart and the tree up the stairs, she felt defeated. "Stupid Christmas. I hate being single!" She yanked the tree out of the cart, jabbed it onto the spikes in the holder and trundled the whole thing into the living room, muttering something about wanting to be Jewish.

The next morning, however, the single girl awoke to the smell of pine in her house, snow swirling around in the streets outside her window and an overall Christmassy spirit.

She ventured into the living room. "Good morning, tree!" she said, delightedly. She took a deep, piney-fresh breath and announced to the whole apartment, "I did this all by myself. See this tree? This big, fat, attractive, inexpensive, lovely and festive tree? I got it. I bought it, I carried it, I jabbed it on its spike, and I made it not be tilty. I am the coolest single girl in the whole wide world."

And she was right.

The end.