The Day I Skipped Chipotle

Or, Me & Julia Stiles at Joe & the Juice

OK, so I made myself talk to this actress, as you guys are on me about not speaking to celebs I see in Soho (including Otto Sanchez from Oz & L&O, who’s also my coworker; Julianna Margulies jetting from Equinox gym, pale in all black; and Claire Danes laughing with a friend during one of December’s sunny & warm, near-apocalyptic afternoons).

I spent half my time sizing her up. She wasn’t wearing any makeup & was dressed like a commoner (i.e. me), so I took a few minutes maneuvering at different angles to place her unique face. I did this while simultaneously coveting her white wool, belted winter coat, standing out in the completely black-clad customers surrounding us. One ridiculously trying-to-be-seen chick sat cross-legged with her shoes off (!), staring intently at her MacBook Air through what seemed to be mandatory square-rimmed Warby Parkers.

I finally saw an opening after she ordered & asked goofily if she was going incognito that day. She said “No” immediately and bluntly (like she speaks in movies, pretty much) & quickly shot back at me, “Are you?” I stammered, “No, I’m always just—” I fumbled, gesturing vaguely toward my head & she offered, “Fabulous?” I said “Sure!” for lack of a humorous comeback. I was NOT prepared for actual conversation.

We squeezed closer and noted how busy, hipster-y, and crazy popular this spot was, and she asked what I’d ordered as she’d never been. We agreed the sandwiches, mostly avocado-based paninis, looked awesome.

After more semi-awkward small talk–picture a scene opening with two distant friends of friends suddenly reintroduced–a Juicer (tm) screamed my name like an angry parent. I retrieved a cup of what looked to be blood (I bought the healthiest thing they offered, which involved beets). I grimaced & asked her to wish me luck as I gingerly held my grotesque-looking $9 drink. She told me to enjoy it & have a great day.

Are y’all happy now?

 

The Grudge

I don’t sleep these days. You know why? Because I’m a stomach sleeper and I can’t bear pressure on my shoulder. Big deal, I know, first world problem. Except I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in three months. You know what they say about sleep deprivation, right? It makes people wacky. It makes certain 40-something women bonkers enough to write blog posts about it.

I tell everyone this so forgive me for being repetitive, but you signed up for this too so, this is kinda your fault. Also, I like telling stories, even at my own expense.

So the year: 1999. My boyfriend and I, mega-broke, maneuver our way upstate to a friend’s timeshare for the weekend. There is no money for ski gear (and there never will be, I fear, after 20+ years in publishing), so we bundle up in our best faux gear (heavy hooded coats) and head to what I now realize is a truly awful excuse for a ski slope. If I could remember the name, I’d tell you, just so you could google it and find out it got closed down for breaking 38 safety laws.

Continue reading “The Grudge”