The void that can never be filled

Something terrible happened to me this week. On the scale of "wrong outfit" to "brain tumor," it definitely fell to the former side of the spectrum, but nonetheless, I'm somewhat devastated.

My DVR wasn't set to record The Bachelor. I only caught the last 19 minutes of the hour and a half premeire. It's only thanks to my friend Denise that I even saw that much. She emailed me part of the way in to the show to say she thought Brad was dumb, what did I think? I was sitting on the couch (next to my Blackberry, thank God) looking over a presentation I had to give to a group of Clients the next morning, completely oblivious to the fact that I was missing the premier. WHERE were my priorities, I ask you?!

By the time I got clued in, the rose ceremony was already in progress. How could this happen to me in the age of DVR?! Haven't I been through enough? Well, for what it's worth, I'll pass along my comments on the brief part of the drama I managed to catch...

The first thing I saw was a girl named "McCarten" (oh for the love of God), and right away she used the word "bottom dwellers" to refer to the other candidates. I was filled with dread knowing I had missed some good trash TV. I bravely pressed on.

Thank God they played highlights from the episode in Brad's "memory montage" so I could catch up while The Bach provided [yes, Denise. dumb] commentary in The Deliberation Room. By the way, I don't remember a Deliberation Room from last season, but I appreciate the poignancy. It really helps underscore the burden that falls to Brad.

Not to beat a dead horse, but it's just not the same when all the craziness is played in a montage reel. It's more startling and delivers more horrifying thrills when you see it unfold in situ. Be that as it may, the stroll down episode one memory lane buoyed my spirit as I could tell we were in for a good season. How did I know?

• The introduction in Greek that filled Brad with confused wonder. Did he love it? Did he hate it? Damned if he knew, but he figured she must be a heck of a girl if she could memorize all that.
• That whackadoo song singer knocked it out of humiliation park. A. she didn't know the words B. she cant' sing. They cut off the video before I could see Brad's response to that gem. What does one say? Thank you? Why did you do that? Can you feel your left arm and do you want me to call a doctor?
• Gotta love the drunk girl. Based on my limited experience, it's looking like that's the deal with the premiere. Always a drunk girl to provide entertainment. (I'm remembering last year a girl in a yellow dress who was so plastered she fell down)
• The human pretzel. I have no further comment on this, except to say I'll bet that girl pulls that maneuver at every party she goes to.

So on to the rose ceremony. I don't have the same emotional investment I normally experience. Having missed practically the entire show, I barely know these girls. Oh wait, neither does Brad. Come on, Joanie! Get your head in the game...

• Favorite acceptance: McCarten who snidely threw out an "Excuse me," as she barreled past the girls in the first row. What she was really saying was, "Get out of the way, losers! Enjoy the ride home you bottom dwellers!"
• Biggest question: why is the back of Michelle's hair taupe? Do they not have a colorist on this show?
• Favorite rose ceremony demeanor: drunk girl who began to remind me of a blond Paula Abdul.
• Best attempt to apply third grade slumber party rules: Lori who tearfully explained that all the other girls in her limmo got roses and she didn't. You're right Lori - that's not fair!

The coming attractions hinted that this will be a season full of the *f* bomb, catty backstabbing, gratuitous bikini wearing (and lack thereof), helicopters (including a medi-vac! oh the drama), crocodile tears and general tom-foolery. Can't wait for the twin caper...

I know that you know that this doesn't work!

Last week was one of those weeks where I just couldn't catch up to where I was supposed to be. All week I felt ten minutes late and ten minutes away. I was getting it done, but just barely. It's a feeling I hate. I prefer being well prepared and ahead of the game.

Imagine my horror when this extended into an egregious fashion faux pas.

First, allow me to set some context. I always select my work outfit the night before. I'm not a morning person, so it would take me three times as long if I didn't do it this way, and I also know I would let things slide. I wouldn't feel like switching handbags, for example, so I'd just go out with a purse that simply isn't right because it's the one I carried yesterday. I'd regret it the moment I came before the scanning eyes of subway riding fashionistas, but in the haste of getting out the door I know I'd just blow it off. So I pull it together the night before. (Side note: if I ever have to wear shoes for the commute and they really don't go with my outfit, I make sure the shoes I'm going to change into are visible - peaking out the top of my handbag, for example. If that isn't possible, I feel like screaming out: "I KNOW these don't go with my dress! I have my real shoes in the bottom drawer of my desk, and they're perfect for this ensemble!")

Within this framework of obsessive compulsive dressing, you can imagine I selected last Tuesday's outfit carefully on Monday night. Several factors had to be taken into account:

• Tuesday was September 11th. I always wear a small pin made by a former colleague's son in 2001 as part of a fundraiser for the victims' families. My outfit had to be simple enough that the pin (a funky version of the flag) would be visible but not overly obvious. So, probably black.


• I would be attending focus groups with Clients. The back room at these facilities is always freezing. I needed something that could accommodate layers and be comfortable enough to sit in for several hours.


• My handbag would need to be large enough to accommodate the files I'd want at the groups.


• After the groups, we'd be attending dinner at an old New York steakhouse. So nothing trendy.

None of this was easy because we're also in that awkward time of year when the seasons are changing and nothing in my closet seems exactly right. I ended up in a respectable, but conservative outfit without an ounce of flair. Pleated skirt. Black sweater. Small jacket. Ballet flats.

So guess what happened!? The dinner venue changed mid-morning. Instead of an old-school New York steak house as originally planned, I ended up in the private dining room of The SOHO House. I was wearing the absolute wrong outfit. The SOHO House is a trendy hipster spot located in the heart of the meatpacking district, open only to private members (one of our Clients is a member). It's quite the celebrity, euro-jet-setter crowd, and here I show up in a dorky pleated skirt and flats with a handbag that looks like a briefcase. As we were led past the Dolce & Gabbanna clad crowd snootily sipping whatever the tendy cocktail was for that 10 minute period, I felt just as I feel on the subway when I'm in the wrong shoes. I wanted to scream, "I selected this outfit to fill very specific functional needs! I didn't know I'd be here! This is not representative of what's in my closet at large, and by the way - this would have killed at Kean's Steakhouse!"

It gets worse. When I completed my walk of shame and was finally sequestered away in the private room, safely out of the view of the fashion nazis, I looked down only to realize I was still wearing the dorky corporate looking "Visitors Badge" sticker that had been forced upon me by security at the focus group facility.

I can never show my face south of 14th Street again. I'll miss Pastis.

(Update: The real story. It was hard not to realize how trivial all this outfit nonsense was the instant we were seated in the dining room. There was a large window facing south, and it allowed an open view to two stunningly bright columns of light reaching for the sky from Ground Zero. A stark reminder to pay attention to what's important.)

Quotable?

Sorry for falling off the radar for a while. Last week was busy. But in the middle of it, I did experience a pleasant acknowledgment of the fact that my eavesdropping days are not over. It was a sweet reminder of a favorite hobby I thought was only in my past.

I'm a shameless eavesdropper. I will listen in rapt attention to any conversation happening within earshot. It doesn't have to be interesting. I once missed my subway stop because I was listening to two women talk about their daughters who were taking clarinet lessons. From the same teacher as it turns out. Imagine that. The next stop didn't have an overpass so I had to exit the station, walk across the avenue and pay again to re-enter on the uptown side. But at least I knew clarinet lessons were every Wednesday at 4:30.

Since the surgery, I can't discern words against any kind of background noise. My eavesdropping skills have been compromised to the point that I have been forced to mind my own business in public spaces for the past 6 months.

So imagine the depths of my vicarious thrill while waiting for friends in the (quiet) waiting area of a restaurant last week as I slowly discovered I was overhearing a conversation between the hostess and a waiter who'd been hanging around the hostess station to flirt:

Waiter: "Smell you later"
Hostess: "Hey, who was the first person to say that?:
Waiter: "I don't know."
Hostess: "Was it Urkel? That sounds like something Urkel would say. [repeat in an Urkel voice] Smell you later !"
Waiter: "I think it was Screech."

Thank God I didn't miss that one.

Coincidence?

It's pretty obvious to me the designers at Bannana Republic read my blog while planning for their Fall line. I've started a circular trend...

What!?

I know this has been floating out on YouTube for a while, and I'd heard a lot of jokes about it, but I hadn't actually watched Miss Carolina's stunningly stupid answer to a question posed to her during the recent Miss Teen USA pageant until two days ago. If you haven't seen it yet, click below.

My husband thinks it's mean that everyone is picking on her. Do you think he would feel that way if she wasn't cute as a button?

Goodness gracious

We were the recipients of two gracious acts during dinner on Sunday night that bookended an already wonderful meal and made it that much more enjoyable. It was a good reminder that small gestures can make a large impact.

I love staying around New York on holiday weekends. Everyone else takes off and those that remain have the run of the place. You can see any movie you want at a moment's notice, stores are airy and empty (as long as you stay out of places that sell back to school supplies on Labor Day) and it's the perfect opportunity to try the trendy restaurant you can't normally get into.

This Labor Day Weekend we took full advantage and went to an AMAZING restaurant that I highly recommend to any non-vegetarians out there: BLT Prime. It's one of the gems in the Chef Laurent Tourondel empire, and it's just perfect. They have a 30-foot dry aging room and a menu boasting 20 different cuts of meat. It's got everything the classic steak house offers, but the space is contemporary and beautifully designed. Not a trace of the stodgy feel traditional steakhouses can impart (although that can be fun in its own way too - a true carnivore, I'll always be a huge fan of Gallagher's, Luger's, Sparks, Frankie & Johnnie's and Smith & Wollensky's to name a few).

Gracious Act #1:
I have a friend who lives in the neighborhood and is a regular at BLT Prime. He's always talking about how good it is, so I mentioned to him at the end of last week that we were headed there on Sunday. When we arrived for our reservation, the hostess said, "Welcome to BLT Prime. You're a friend of [D's]?" He actually called ahead and had them find our name so they could make a note. As a result of his extra effort, we got comped on several special appetizers. Uncommonly thoughtful. Bon appetite, indeed!

Gracious Act #2:
Just as we ordered our dessert (passion fruit crepe), the woman at the table next to us gestured with a sweeping motion that sent her glass of red wine sailing to the floor, spattering my ivory shirt (very first time I wore it) with deep, garnet colored speckles. Breathless apologies gushed. Club soda and napkins appeared. Broken glass was swept away in the blink of an eye. Within two minutes there was no evidence the incident had ever occurred, except for my wet shirt covered with now slightly faded spots. I knew the girl was mortified. And as Terry had rightfully pointed out, "On a different night we would be apologizing to you for the same thing." Obviously it was an accident yet, I felt a little cranky as I sat doused in cold seltzer. Apparently, my favor can easily be bought. The maitre d' appeared and let us know our dessert was being paid for by the table next to us. This time I meant it when I said, "Really, it was no big deal! That was completely unnecessary." Well, not completely.

Small gestures. Big impact.

It's in the jeans

This father and son seem to have a very healthy relationship. For some reason this father owed his son $41K, but they got so drunk together that the transaction never happened. That's not the worst of it.

No further comment required. This story - reported on CNN - is hilarious.

WAUKESHA, Wisconsin (AP) -- It was embarrassing enough that Mark Stahnke woke up in a neighbor's yard without his pants. Then he remembered they contained a cashier's check for $41,093, meant for his son, and several hundred dollars in cash.

But he got it all back Friday, including the pants, thanks to a man and his dog.

Stahnke said he doesn't know what happened between when he left the bar and when he woke up the next morning, and police were skeptical when he filed a report on Monday.

"We're used to hearing weird stories, but with his intoxication we figured this one would be different, that the amount of money wouldn't be exact," Police Lt. William Graham said. "How do you get so intoxicated that you lose your pants?"

Stahnke said he had met his son at a bar and doesn't remember much afterward.

"I woke up cold not knowing where the heck I was, and I didn't realize it at first because I still had my shoes and socks on," he said. "When I got up, I realized, my God, I don't have any pants."

Tim Curzan's dog, Joe, found the pants at an intersection, according to a police report. He found the cashier's check and tried twice, unsuccessfully, to deliver it and the cash to where he thought the owner lived.

On Wednesday, the pants were still at the intersection, so Curzan took them to the police, who contacted Stahnke to claim his belongings.