Another Fine Jersey Girl Off The Market

Since last I wrote, my life has pretty much been dedicated to Heather's wedding. Well, that and a brand new job (info to follow soon). You know, things like planning fun surprises for the bride, writing my Maid of Honor speech, and placing the standard bets with the Jersey crew on who would do what at the event (i.e. blackout, hook up, cause some sort of regrettable scene, etc). After a year of colorful anticipation, we had arrived at the final countdown. And I was ready.

Rather than walk you through the ins and outs of the Donahue-Koehler affair (a success story spanning several days), I've decided to present a few highlights in Top 10 form:

10) Realizing just how well I know the bride's personal style upon gifting her what I thought would be a transformational garment: a pair of hanky pankies for secret debut at the rehearsal dinner. Surely, she didn't know about this change-your-life-forever brand of underwear as I had just found out about them in the last year from a friend of mine who tends to be "in the know" when it comes to the latest in intimate apparel. And I just knew Heather would love them.

When the bride-to-be opened the little package, she started laughing. "What?!" I questioned her, perplexed at how she could laugh in the face of high art. It turned out that not only did she know about this bar-raising underwear, but she was wearing a pair at that very moment in the exact same color that I had picked out for her. Now if on-the-money undergarment selection isn't indicative of true friendship, I don't know what is.

9) Discovering a fantastic new candy bar, hailing from the Garden State.

8) Learning first-hand what the groom and his groomsmen do the morning of the wedding while the bride and bridesmaids are busy with the make-up artist and hair stylist: eat horrifying amounts of fried chicken while screaming at the football game on TV. And all these years I had been thinking they were sitting around, talking about what the groom should name his future babies!

7) Successfully not laughing at the alter during the serious part of the ceremony, which is more than I can say for prior bridesmaiding endeavors. (Sorry, Trace. I owe you forever. Plus, I blame Jill.) Turns out the strategy is to never make eye contact. With anyone--especially not my mom. No matter what.

6) Getting to sleep in the bridal suite the night before the wedding...just Heather and I...in our pjs. Do I lose points from my Maid of Honor score if I failed to notice when the bride woke up in the middle of the night and ordered The Hangover on demand? Not exactly the movie you want to watch the night before your wedding.

5) Busting an unnamed male friend for knowing every last word to It's Raining Men while singing along on the dance floor.

4) Hanging out with the old school crew on the bank of a lake (where the reception was held) around a bonfire...in a bridesmaid dress, high heels and full make-up. Note: there's something about kickin' it in the great outdoors that makes it ok to drink a glass of wine that accidentally got sand in it, heels or no heels.

3) Watching the audience's faces when the best man introduced his speech by announcing that he would be reciting a poem that he had written for the groom called, "Love Is Like A Kitten's Breath by Nathaniel Chase Millett." Let's just say there was some serious laughter/relief going on when he followed this announcement with "What? Come on, already. I'm kidding, you guys. But what I will tell you is a story about this one time when Todd got so wasted that..."

2) Sending the bride off to the church in an antique car with her proud dad sitting next to her. The sound system was playing "Going to the Chapel" and champagne was chilling inside so that it would be cold for the bride and groom after exiting the church as Mr. and Mrs. Koehler. And that it was.

1) Watching Heather double fist an Amstel Light and a sparkler while wearing her wedding gown. Sitting in an Adirondack chair underneath the stars, she had a huge grin on her face as her husband, brothers and oldest friends proceeded to rip on one another with everything they had. And that moment, my friends, is the first page to Heather and Todd's story of happily ever after. See photo below.

Ode To Funemployment

One day I came to work to find...some vodka on the table.
A meeting had been called to let us know if we were stable.

It turned out, no, yeah...not so much. Our jobs would be no more.
But why not share a cocktail before heading out the door?

At first, oh shit, I had no job. But soon onset enjoyment.
With endless time to bounce around--enter funemployment!

One by one my friends sent texts "my boss just dropped the ax."
Well come on, pal, fear not, ole chap, get ready to relax.

From NYC to Bali with a stint in The OC.
Camping out in Guerneville drinking mudslides, 1, 2, 3.

Shooting guns with Dayle, at her vineyard in the hills.
Living every moment, stirrin' trouble to the gills.

Trader Joes, why not? You bet. Let's meet at 2, OK?
You know there'll never be a line in the middle of the day.

Bikram yoga, Double Dutch...and Bootcamp all the time.
Kinda feel bad for my buddies, workin' 9 to 5.

Famer's markets, Headland hikes, you name it and I did it.
Loved the freedom, read some books, savored every minute.

But no more restaurants, fancy clothes or facials at the spa.
Thankful for my friends who bought me champagne with framboise.

Then out of nowhere came a job. I'm back to workin' life.
So long, dear funemployment. With good times you were rife.

Farewell suntan, goodbye walks for coffee with my crew...
...of buddies outa work like me, how fiercely I'll miss you.

Hello MUNI, good day race to get to work on time.
At least I'll get to step it up with quality red wine.

For those whose time will still be spent chillin' on the porch,*
As the funemployment master, I bow and pass the torch.



* with a New Yorker and a latte. I am already jealous!

Not Just Anyone Can Be a Professional Partier. You Gotta Train, Man.

As you know, I've been a participant in BootcampSF for the past 6 weeks. Yep, a few days a week, I've been up and out the door, beginning an ass-kicking 1-hour outdoor workout by 8:30am--drill sargeant style. The experience has been eye opening for a number of reasons such as learning where you fall on the continuum of fitness in 3 different areas (arm strength, core strength and long distance running ability).

Regarding my personal fitness data, let's just say that if I were in running school, my placement test score would land me in the remedial class...probably with a private tutor paid for by the state. And I'd get to take the running SAT test untimed. But the important thing, I guess, is that I got better, ultimately shaving 2 minutes off my 1.5 mile run time.

That may not sound like a lot (and it probably isn't), but it meant that I ran by Tartin bakery a little faster each time, mortified knowing that the stylish neighborhood patrons were watching our motley crew huff on by in sweaty shorts. It took everything I had to not to stop for a much needed walking break while passing the outdoor tables where the hip parents congregate, casually sipping lattes from oversized porcelain bowls. "Do not trip," I'd repeat to myself for the entire block.

Anyway, what was funny about Bootcamp (other than how people's big happy dogs would sometimes chase us while we suffered through puke-inducing sprints across the park) was that I got a glimpse into the lives of my fellow San Franciscians--at least those who were also signed up for the 8:30am class in Dolores Park. When asked by our instructor on the last day why each of us had joined the class, following were some of the responses. Mind you, I was expecting to hear answers like "I'd like to lose some weight before my wedding" or "I'm training for a marathon."

Responses (delivered 100% deadpan):

Mid-thirties tall guy: "Well, Burning Man is coming up and I'd like to improve how I look with my shirt off."

Mid-forties butch woman: "I play hockey and need to be able to kick more ass on the ice."

Mid-thirties graphic designer: "I want to be able to dance all night without getting tired. As you might imagine, professional partiers need excellent cardio endurance."

God bless San Francisco.

A New York Minute

The following comments probably add up to about 1 minute in terms of how long it took for them to be uttered. However, my memory of these comments shall likely last at least as long as it took me to eat a real bagel with cream cheese accompanied by a spectacular cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee. It's always good to go home...

While staying with Missy in the West Village

Me: So...how was your date with boy X?
Missy: Oh him? He certainly wasn't worth the walk I endured to the subway...in heels.

While out with Eric one night

Random boy in a bar: Do you like me?
Me: Huh?

Random boy in a bar: Would you like me more if I told you I was 44th in line for the British throne? Cause I am.

While staying over at Justyn and Kyle's in Queens

Kyle: OK, Lauren. So, you can sleep in that room. Justyn and I will just be down the hall.
Me: OK, thanks. I always love staying here with you guys.
Kyle: Now...if you need anything tonight, just blow this whistle [lifts a whistle out of a bowl on the counter] and Justyn will come check in on you.
Justyn: WTF are you talking about? Where did you get that, Kyle?

After a long day spent snacking our way around Brooklyn (see above pic), walking over the Williamsberg Bridge and checking out the new High Line in the West Village
Rob: Idea--we make a mockumentary about how Michelle and I are both graphic artists who have had a life-long battle over developing the top-selling font on dafont.com.
Me: Oh! I could interview each of you about your style technique, naming strategies and artistic vision...kind of like in Best in Show when the characters are interviewed about their dogs.
Rob: Yeah, and in the end, can Michelle die and I get the last laugh when her tombstone is written in one of my fonts?
Me: Done

Another occurence while out with Eric
Random guy in a gay piano bar [pointing to Eric]: No
Eric: Why did you just say no when you were looking at me?
Random guy: Cause my friend and I are talking about who in this bar has nice feet. And you don't.
Eric: Oh, that's funny. Cause I was just talking to my friend about who in here has a nice face. And you don't.

Oh...summer in the city....

The Bachelorette

As you know, my partner in crime (literally), Ms. Heather D, is getting married in September...and I'm her Maid of Honor. The more I think about this title, the more I like it. In fact, I kind of want to get my mom a bumper sticker for her car that says, "My Daughter Is A Maid of Honor." It may not carry as much weight around town as a "My Daughter Is An Honor Roll Student" bumper sticker would, but I think it speaks volumes more.

For instance, do Honor Roll students cover for you when you puke on the stairs at a high school party thrown by a seriously cute boy? Probably not. And do they try to deny their own involvement when the two of you get called down to the town police station for incessant crank calling from your house phone? Probably. That's why I take pride in this particular title of honor. I earned it, baby!

As any good Maid of Honor would, I flew home (to NJ) for Heather's bachelorette party and wedding shower. And considering my enduring funemployed status, I was able to stay for two weeks and make a big trip out of it, hangin' at home with my mom and dad and visiting all sorts of fun friends in NYC. More on that later.

A few things of note about this particular bachelorette party (and the rest will remain where it belongs--as conversation among the 4 walls at some really fun bar in Manhattan where no one gets mad when the dj plays the Bangles):

1. The bachelorette was brought to tears before we even left our pre-party location due to a sappy little poem I wrote about her. Speaking of which, can we add that to the "Things I'm Good At" list? Cause it's true! I'm good at low-quality poetry suitable only for bachelorette parties and other champagne-soaked situations. And in this particular poem, I even managed to rhyme "fire" with "jambalaya." See?
2. When we arrived at the restaurant we had picked for Heather, we found out that Ross from Friends was having dinner there that night! Maybe if we had focused a little less on ourselves and a little more on him, we could have convinced 'ole Ross to join us in our limo for the night. Instead, we wound up with a crew of Irish lads who may or may not have actually been Irish.
3. Our friend Jilly sustained a graceful chin injury from a head-turning mechanical bull ride. Yee haw! How's that for a new mother...of three? Answer: awesome.

Unquestionably, the evening was a massive success. Not only did we do it up right for our bride to be, but we also stimulated the economy with our aggressive Alka-Selzer purchases the next morning. Honorable? I say yes.

Famous! (By Association)

So my friend Sherry is kind of famous, which means I'm friends with famous people...which means I'm, well,.....friends with famous people? OK, fine. It doesn't mean much about me, per se, but it's still exciting!

Sherry is a real, live artist who gets interviewed in trendy magazines and has a bio that includes coverage in The New Yorker and art showings in Mexico City. She practically needs her own clan of Secret Service people to follow her around.

The funny thing is that the agents would be trailing her from places like jumprope class to various Mission dive bars which means that, in order to blend in, they'd have to lose the dark suits and pick up some skinny jeans. And maybe they could follow her around on fixed gear bikes rather than in an Escalade--just to be sure that no one suspected them. Note: Secret Service agents would have way more fun trailing Sherry than Paris Hilton (who basically goes from her esthetician to her dietician to frat-boy clubs and 'round again). Just sayin'.

Anyway, Sherry had an art opening on Saturday night where she showed a set of paintings, including the one above. I'm the girl on the far right, and yes, I was wearing a Hooter's shirt (no comment). The idea behind the show was to feature the city's different creative communities and invite them to interact with one another at the opening. A jumproper herself, Sherry decided to paint some Double Dutchers, and I was lucky enough to be free the day she needed someone to pose for her. (Three cheers for Funemployment!)

The event was way fun, with everything from a sparkly drag performance to a saucy fashion show to spontaneous, Xtreme jump roping. Even the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence were there to kick off the night with a Shel Silverstein reading. (This may be the closest I ever get to interacting with members of a religious order.)

So, if you know any aspiring Secret Service agents lookin' for an internship, let them know the job of the Century is available. Trailing Ms. Sherry would be nothing short of wildly entertaining. Plus, this is who you'd be protecting.

We All Have Our Shortcomings

Not all of us can be good at everything, right? For example, Heb is really bad at remembering idioms. She's always mixing and matching them, like "don't count your balloons before they pop" or "don't put all your eggs in the same nest." It's really amusing, especially since she has a Ph.D. 'n all.

Another one of my friends is really bad at feigning interest. If he thinks a story is boring or a joke is not-so-funny, he'll stare ahead blankly or even look at his watch until the person he's talking to waves the white flag in conversational defeat. The upside of this is that if you manage to keep his interest, you feel like a professional entertainer, deserving of your own HBO show.

And me? Well, I'm bad at lots of things, most notably: spelling, swimming, directions, knives and long distance running. To make up for it, though, I'm extra good at French braiding, handstands, puns and bubble letters. Oh, and I’m at least above average when it comes to playing Taboo, especially if Greg is on my team!

Over the last few years, I’ve been working on my shortcomings. Progress to date:

• Learned how to spell “exercise” and “razor” (not so easy)
• Figured out that you’re supposed to reach really far ahead when you swim, which seems to be helping. I also got a polka dot bikini which is mostly unrelated but still worth mentioning.
• Got an iPhone with the maps app! (Is that cheating?)
• Have taken on Dayle’s husband Larry as my knife use coach. Well, more like he threw a fit a few weeks ago when he saw me cutting tomatoes for my Gay Pride Rainbow Pasta Salad and forced me to practice tucking in my thumb.

That just leaves running. Well, friends, the day has come for me to take on a new challenge, especially now that I’m funemployed with some “flexibility” in my schedule. Convinced by “Rob’s-baby-cousin-Alex” as I like to call him, I signed up for BootCampSF, which began last week. I had heard great things about it, but was terrified of the running part. Terrified! Well, they’d ease us into it, right?

Umm, no. I showed up on the first day and immediately had to run 1.5 miles! Without stopping! As I jogged around Dolores Park (with a pained look on my face no doubt), memories of dreaded high school soccer team practice came flooding back. I was instantly reacquainted with my 16-year-old self huffing and puffing through the neighborhood behind my teammates, hoping that the boys team wouldn’t run by and see me hunched over with a cramp in my side and my Umbros (OMG, Umbros!) riding up in a not-so-cute way.

Well, the big news is that I did it! I was certainly not the fastest of the group, but I wasn’t the slowest either. And the teacher/coach girl made me buy real running shoes, which means I really can’t drop out now--they're still so white! Rumor has it that we'll be running 5 miles before the end of the 6-week program. I feel nauseous just thinking about it. (Confession: I just spelled nauseous wrong and spellcheck had to fix it.)

Stay tuned for more Bootcamp trials and additional progress on my "Things I'm Bad At" list. In the meantime, I'll try writing nauseaus in bubble letters to see if that helps.

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ps. Exciting new business idea: what if there were a spelling bootcamp? The drill sargeant would be dressed like a Catholic school teacher and she'd make you run a mile every time you misspelled a word. Either way, I'd get to tackel something on my "Things I'm Bad At" list!