Get Physical

"DONUTS!" yelled Adam, as he fast tracked through the doors this morning, bearing two dozen Dunkin Donuts as a free for all to the office. Not the first time DD has made its way through the OpenSky front doors, but definitely the first time to barge through with such fly off the shelves, get em while they're hot enthusiasm.

"I see your ploy, but I'm not falling for the bait," said the second Adam of the office. To differentiate the two- we'll call the first Adam, Adam, and the second Adam, Saks.

Here's the background (not on the Adams.. but on the Donuts, and on one Adam (Saks) not falling for the other Adam):

On Tuesday morning, Adam sent around an e-mail with two fitness programs: effective immediately. The first was a 6-week training program to reach 100 push-ups. The second was an OpenSky 5k dated June 23rd. Let's go back to the first: 100 push-ups... impossible, one would think. But we're on this: www.hundredpushups.com, and this looks promising. We had initial testing the same day-no stretching, no warm-up, little fair warning. 10 of our rough and toughest men (and a few who proved more rough and tough than predicted) got on their hands and knees- or to be more correct, palms and toes- and gave it the good ol OpenSky go. Very impressed...especially by those less predicted roughy toughies. Not to much surprise, Saks was the winner with a whoppin' 60.

Saks: Big man (size wise) around OpenSky, recent Wisconsin Badger (09 Grad), Green Tea Addict, sourcing guru, and would bet his life on running back John Clay.

Pre-testing, Saks talked the talked, but post-testing, walked the walk, so no one complained... Except for Adam, who subsequently made a bet with Saks that another OpenSky team member would outdo him, come the end of the 6-week program. So the following morning, in walks the donut plot, though Adam denies such a scheme. Saks declined the double dozen of deliciousness, insisting no temptation would ruin his aspired push-up victory.

Anywho, the reason (I say) behind all this fitness madness: The OpenSky team has just GOT to stay in shape to keep up with all of our insanely amazing tech innovations... Launched today...Check it.

I'm team Saks... for the record...

Hi, I'm Back.

This is the last time I'll apologize for my absence. Either I'll just keep writing on the regular, or I won't be sorry for being way too completely out of my mind busy.

I babysit a little boy and a little girl, and can't believe I've yet to share their crazy antics. The boy, Zach (zachy), is three and the girl Leah (Leah), is 6. They are Upper East side kids. So yes, Zachy is the next Chuck Bass, and Leah is the next Serena Van Der Woodsen (forgive the Gossip Girl reference, it's the only show I watch).

My dad's business partner's daughter is the mom (reread to uncomplicate), and she is married to an extremely successful man, to say the least. They have a beautiful apartment that gives me a breath of fresh air- and brings me back to all the luxury I once knew and loved pre real world struggle (I wish reread was the answer to life's complication).

Before dispensing two darling babies, the mom was an actress- musical theater her forte. The kids are never too shy, too tired or energyless to show just how closely they follow in mom's musical footsteps. Leah is lead vocals, accompanied by Zachy on the guitar (acoustic or electric, sometimes a switch mid-song as he sees fit). There are literally 9 mini-guitars in his collection, all out of tune. For a three year old, Zach's actually got some pattern to his strums and for a 6 year old, Leah's got some oomph to her do rei me. They do a great "We're Not Gonna Take It" and for reals... I just can't take it. I want to squeeze every ounce of babyness out of them and squish them into little nothings.

The other day, Zach and Leah got in a bit of a tiff. Leah called Zach a baby, Zach started crying hysterically- really proved her wrong. I tried to calm him down by telling him he is not only a big boy, but my favorite big boy. That didn't work. He ran into his room, grabbed a framed photo of him as a newborn, ran back out and sternly put Leah in her place. "This is a baby (pointing to the ol pic)! This is NOT a baby (pointing to himself)! This is NOT a baby! That is!" he cried, he bawled.

My last story of such children (this post anyway) is again more about Zach. If Leah could read at a more mature level, she'd be pissed that it's not all about her. We were all watching some kid movie, and a fair-skinned girl with blonde, short hair entered set. Zachy points and goes, "Stacy, you look like him." For one, dear Zachy, I don't look like a pale blonde chick (who wasn't particularly cute). For two, that girl is not a "him." He's lately been having trouble with his pronouns- I try hard to not let it offend me everytime I get called him, he or his. I felt a lot more sure of myself, and less sure in Zach's discretion, after a little African American boy entered set, and my Jewish American Prince (jap) pointed and said, "She looks like me."

Goodbye my lover, Goodbye my friend

"Sad news today. Dadg1rl is gone"

He wrote the words so effortlessly, that father of mine. I'll tell ya something, dadg1rl would have put a lot more thought into an obituary than that, had roles been reversed. I just know it, that car-she was good to me.

A lot of memory is attached to dadg1rl. In honor of the passing of dadg1rl, I will recount such memories.

Most ancient of memories (year 2003, it had to be) was the day after I taught my dad to text message (what a dinosaur he was). I was in first period French class when I got my dad's first ever text:

"I backed into your car, Sorry."

Thanks dad.

Memory 2 was taking dadg1rl around mean curves without giving the speedometer a chance to ease up. Shantel, a high school bud of mine, would always soundtrack the high speed turns with "weeeee." We thought for sure one day the "weeeees" would stop- that the fast curves were a product of my first year driver inexperience. 6 years down the road (no pun intended), Shan continued to "weeeee."

Disclaimer: dadg1rl kept me safe, regardless of my behind the wheel habits, and such habits never resulted in any sort of accident (except dad's mishap).

A third mem, oh this one is a beaut. Me, Beth (of 2 Girls, 1 backpack), Leah (my mentor of all things sassy), and Meredith (lord knows what I'd insert here) took dadg1rl to the campfire. 4 girls piled into one baby dadg1rl, en route to Lake Lanier, Georgia. It was senior year of high school, and we were packed like sardines (I use this idiom, yet I have no idea what it actually means…). We spent 9 solid hours of cramped-ness to reach our campsite. Best story (or attempted story) of the trip: Beth and I made a soundtrack of animal noises, particularly bears. When we arrived, I sneakily went to the Park Ranger and told him our plan to scare Leah and Meredith (the sissies of the bunch). He came by our site an hour later, and deserved an Oscar for his performance. Even I was beginning to wonder if there honestly was a black bear sighting, and that we really should tie our food up in the tree as he suggested. So in the middle of the night, I got up, went over to dadg1rl, turned on the music (bear noises) and waited for Leah and Meredith to pee their pants. They might be sissy girls, but I will give a hand to their wit. They realized too quickly that it was a digital bear, and basically told me I’m so annoying, they’re sleeping, turn dadg1rl off with those ridiculous noises.

The idea had potential…

Last, though I’ve got loads more- I don’t want to take up too much internet space with this recollection, was in college with my two roommates, Nia and Kelly. Kelly, Nia and I were attached at the hip. If Nia was at Ladies Night at Gator City, the world would be surprised if Kelly and I weren’t enjoying the same free drinks and getting our butts kicked (by Nia) in trivia. Being anything but creeps, we got in the habit of stalking Frat Row- our Sorority house was practically on Frat Row (instead of across campus on Sorority Row). Now you see why I lived there all of college…

Anyways, we’d drive through the Frat Row parking lots checking to see who was home, who was partying and who was doing the walk of shame the next morning. It wasn’t an everyday stalking, but it happened more often then not- and no we’re not ashamed. I’d never want to take dadg1rl stalking. I would get too nervous that people would recognize her, so I made the argument NOT to take dadg1rl anymore on these stalking excursions, and after being asked to justify such an argument, I overconfidently insisted,

“PEOPLE KNOW DADG1RL”

I will never live that down.

Dadg1rl, you will be missed. People will still know and love you, and all the fond memories you are good for. I hope for you the best as you dedicate yourself to the new luckiest driver on the highways of America.

By the way, dadg1rl was my dear car’s vanity plate, to clear up any confusion. I’ll fight any criticism, so leave your sneers to yourself.

Please feel free to leave your fondest dadg1rl memories, or any last words you’d like to share.

I sea food, I eat it

I swim (and pee) with the fish, I don’t eat the fish.

That is always my one liner against the whole sushi trend. I’m just
inexplicably freaked out by slimy bite size bits of Ariel and
Sebastian's best friends.

In my entire life, I’ve had a few pieces of shrimp, (I’ll go with around 8, tops)one piece of a tuna roll (in honor of my die hard sushi fan of a
roommate’s birthday... and I had JUST gotten back from Asia, so I was
feeling adventurous) and a breast (amateur word choice?) or two of
salmon. A filet or two of salmon? Either way, I hated my mom on the
nights she made salmon and lazily “forgot” I didn’t eat seafood. I’ve
forgiven, but have not forgotten, mom.

Anyway, I get into these “F it all” kind of moods every now and again. And last night was one of those now and agains. I had tuna and salmon and yellow tail and sweet shrimp and… octopus! That’s right Ursula- Gotcha.


The companion to such bravery was Judah, who, because he thinks I’m the greatest person he knows, has probably checked my blog every hour for this post. Judah knows his sushi stuff, so I felt in the hands of a good man. Judah also knows his wine stuff, so more importantly, I felt in the hands of two good bottles of red wine. Judah is a role model of a man-extremely accomplished as a son, dad, businessman and now as my friend. He used to direct marketing for Sharp (now he is running Panasonic's E-commerce business), and was my friend's boss- that's how we met a few weeks ago. I really took to his imparted wisdom and have been excited to get together again for great advice, a good heart share, and some hefty laughs. There was not a silent second between our 7 o'clock reservation and our shutting down of the place at midnight. The 5 hour spread made for my best conversation since Asia- thank God, I was missing that human side of human beings.

The last two hours were spent discussing how Judah is going to change the world (but like actually change it), and how I may or may not help him do so. He's no Iron Man, but he's got an amazing idea and an amazing heart behind it, so I've got no doubt that the next time you read about him- it won't be on my blog.

But back to the sushi eatin. It didn't kill me. I'm turning over a new seaweed leaf and hopping on this Japanese train.

Sorry Nemo.

Man, Iron Man

Last Thursday (chill out, I’m a busy girl, so last Thursday was basically yesterday for me), my whole office got an e-mail saying “all-hands meeting tomorrow (Friday) at 2:45, clear your schedules.”

All hands does in fact mean that every set of hands at my company, whether they be tech hands, marketing hands, or CEO hands, had to attend this meeting. These are my favorite hours at work- the hours spent in our freezing ice box of a conference room hashing and rehashing our failures and successes, unveiling those pivotal “ah ha’s” and handing out tickets to the 3:30 showing of Iron Man 2.

I truly was excited for this meeting (they’re led by geniuses, really), but when the office field trip to the movies was proposed, my excitement found itself wandering in a whole new direction. Robert Downey Jr. is a glorious mess of a man, and though my office as a whole is particularly good looking (if I do say so myself…), I couldn’t have been more excited for some added Friday afternoon eye candy.


Candy.

I’m no movie critic, but if it means anything, I’d spend my entire days pay on seeing it as many times as those earnings allow. So, okay that’s like twice…maybe three times. Movies are sickly expensive these days…Whatever, Iron Man 2 was damn good.

After the movie, I went from cloud 9 to cloud 10- with the act of one UPS man. Fine, it really wasn’t the man, it was his package. Sorry, THE package he was delivering…ha ha, maybe I’m still in fantasy land from R Downey J… Anyways, to me, the brown cardboard “box” (mangled out of shape because of how over stuffed it was, god love you dad) looked more like a treasure chest of jewels. I hugged and kissed every dress that poured out of my pot of gold.

And then the weather rained on my parade, yes, literally. My Floridian wardrobe-in-a-box definitely did not bring with it the good weather. This weekend started off cold and windy. Marilyn Monroe is the only woman that looks sexy taming a windblown dress. The rest of us look like idiots trying to keep our hemlines out of our faces as the gusts roll by. So those dresses have yet to make their debut. What weatherman do I have to speak with to get this whole Summer thing on the forecast?

On a brighter not, this weekend was Mother’s Day, and while I was sad that my own mommy wasn’t with me, I had another one on loan. Or share.

My ridiculously dear friend, Hayley Apfel (my first ever college roommate -completely random, and completely a blessing), was apartment hunting in the city with her Momma! On Friday night, we wined (Sangria’d?) and dined at one of Momma Apfel’s favorite Spanish restaurants in the West Village, joined by big brother Josh. This Apfel family is amazing. It felt absolutely wonderful to be in the arms of such loving, inspiring and true friends. Our Mother’s Day brunch on Sunday was even more wonderful- the Eggs Benedict I practically dissolved played a big role, but nothing comparable to the big hearts sitting around the table.



Hayley officially moves up next week. Next week, I will officially be on Cloud 11.

Babe in the Woods

This is my first time at a laundrymat.. laundramat.. omat? 

I hate when other people do my laundry, HATE. All the times dear mom and dad had the housekeeper doing my laundry, I put so many rules and regulations that by the time Juanita (fictionalized name first to mind) knew what could be dried, couldn't be dried, could be dried on medium but only for 10 minutes, needed to be hung dry 80 percent and then machine dried for the other 20 (dewrinkle.. soften..), I might as well have been doing it myself. So I did. And I always thought my parents should have paid me. I mean, they were about to pay a third party to do the job, keep it in the family?

So clearly, I'm not trying to say I'm above doing my own laundry, because yah, I did it all through college at the dorms and sorority house and what not. But no, I've never shared the same dryer with Crack Tooth Crazy to my left and Mohawk Lip Pierce to my right. 

I did manage to squeeze all of my laundry into one machine. Thank God. I'm not big enough to defend two machine loads of amazingly adorable clothes.

Let me take a step back. I totally had to ask the only sane-looking person in sight (I live in the East Village) how in the world to do this all. She looked at me like, "you can't be serious, girl," and I looked back like, "girl, I can be serious and I am being serious." 

Anyways, nice girl and now I'm patiently waiting for the dryers buzz and to get me and my fresh clothes out of here. 

Toast to Mexico

Cinco de Mayo is hands down my favorite holiday, and there is no exact reason. Margs are hands down my favorite drink,  and there is no exact reason, other than the fact that after one, I'm a whole new gal. For lunch, I brought a chile stuffed with cheese and salsa into work in honor of such a holiday and was shocked when half the office felt a third as enthused as I did. My chile was amazing, my marg(s) even more so, and the evening- a whole way more so. 

When I got back home (and I know this because I (or the whole new gal post tequila) actually wrote this last night and am rewriting now it to make it sensible)  I was thinking about all my Blockhead memories- the mexi hot spot I went to serving 3 dollar margs in the center of Midtown. 

One exact day last summer, I went with a buttload of my favorite IMG interns, and as always with the crew, had a fab time. The night quickly turned sorrow-stricken when I recieved this text from my motha: MJ is dead. But then I received another text something along the lines of: Wait, no he's not. And again: No, yeah he is.

Come on celebrity gossip sites, I can't be bothered by this. 

It is so my generation's where were you when JFK got shot? -Where were you when MJ died?