The City Bar

I recently ended things with someone I had been dating since August. I'm sorry you weren't privy to that but I think it may have contributed to the success of the relationship. No offense, but this blog has a tendency to validate my neuroses. When it wasn't humored, it didn't have the attention it needed to flourish. However, things went to hell in a hand basket anyway. I was breaking up with him every week so I'm not sure why I was so torn up when we put the final nail in the coffin. He was a good egg, though. (I'm not absolutely certain what that saying means but it felt right.)

The last conversation we had was very painful as those dreaded discussions often are. My roommate used to grumble that my now ex and I were like "two girls in a relationship" because we were equally melodramatic. But I digress. I returned to my desk at work to see that while I was ending this relationship another guy I dated back in March had IMed asking me to dinner tonight. What luck! I mean it was as if the universe was showing me that where one door closes, another one opens. Granted, this guy was a creep and didn't deserve my company but it was flattering nonetheless and might take my mind off what's-his-name.

But the schmuck never followed through even though our last exchange was:
ME: Don't bail, I'm not in a good place right now.
HIM: I'm sorry you're not in a happy place but we'll see if I can't make you smile tomorrow.

Honestly, I wasn't really fazed by it and my friend, a law professor, had invited me out. He, too, had sent me an IM asking me to swing by the city bar where he would be meeting with some lawyers. Lawyers, he said, who would all be good contacts for promoting my new documentary.

After work, a coworker said she was going shopping at the Christmas shops at Bryant Park. "That's where I'm meeting my friend and some of his lawyer buddies, why don't you come with me?" Jessica, who is also attempting to play the field was game. We walked to 44th Street between 5th and 6th Avenues and upon arrival, started surveying the block for the aforementioned venue. We stopped and asked a hotel doorman if he knew where the "city bar" was. No, he said squinting as he searched his memory for any evidence of its existence. Then I googled it. Nothing. Jessica called 411- nada. I left my friend an agitated message: "We're on 44th between 5th and 6th and there is no City Bar. We've asked people, googled and even called 411. I'm not sure where this is but it's not here," I said as I hung up the phone. Then I decided to check my gmail chat to make sure I hadn't missed anything:
"I am going to be speaking to a group of lawyers at the city bar tonight. It's on 44th between 5th and 6th Avenues." Oh my. I looked at Jessica and then looked up at a conspicuous, giant blue flag waving above us.

"He's speaking to the city bar," I said conclusively. Jessica had yet to arrive at the same conclusion. "I know! Where is it?" she said, looking around. "He's speaking TO the city bar," I said looking up at the flag for the NEW YORK CITY BAR. What had finally dawned on me was that the watering hole I was searching for was in fact the bar association of New York City whose headquarters dominate the block we were standing in. I shuddered as I recalled the ignoramous voicemail my friend would surely hear and laugh. And that he did, rather loudly, over a beer later that evening.

Back in the Saddle!

The number of celeb sightings in my building coupled with my workflow coming to an abrupt halt is responsible for this blog entry. I won't bore you with the reasons why I haven't been blogging regularly but rather simply pick up where I left off. OK, it's been established that I become socially retarded when I spot someone famous. It doesn't matter if their A-list or D-list, yours truly has a tendency to embarass herself or worse, whoever has the misfortune to be with me at the time. I'm proud to tell you that the longer I live in New York, the more this touristy behavior diminishes.

This week, for instance, I've had a number of stars cross my path in my gym. I live in a Trump building so it's no surprise that celebrities live here but some of them I've never seen. Since I fired my therapist I've been seeing my personal trainer more often. I figured I might as well get toned physically while I continue to deteriorate mentally. I see Montel Williams in the gym all the time and quite frankly, it doesn't faze me because he's a pompous ass. I feel like telling him that his show sucks and his wife is a butter face but whatever.

So...no work really until January and this just happens to occur after the completion of my documentary. So I went from juggling a momentous project with client obligations to watching daytime TV. Why must my life function in extremes? Anyhoo, were it not for my unemployment, ahem, daytime availability, I wouldn't have this antecdotal evidence of my improved behavior.

Tuesday, I was working out with Joe, my trainer, at the same time as Bryant Gumbel and his wife. I was nonplussed. Then today, we were working out and a cute little woman walked in. Literally, little. She was about three and a half feet tall and pretty old. Joe gave her some lip about getting her butt in the gym more often. Joe knows everyone who works out as most of his clients live in my building. "You know I only come in on Thursdays," she retorted good-naturedly in a high-pitched voice. "Oh my gosh, how cute is that little old woman?" I said when she had left. "Two more," Joe said pushing the weight to make it heavier. "She's a munchkin," he said when I was done. I told him that wasn't very nice. "No, she's really a munchkin! She was one of the munchkins in The Wizard of Oz," he insisted and then to my horror he began marching in place and singing, "We represent the Lollipop Guild, The Lollipop Guild.." Stop that! I said knocking his marching fist down. "She can see you!" I hissed indicating the mirrored wall he was facing. "Really?" Joe said sarcastically. "She can barely see over her stairmaster." He was right. Her arms were fully extended as she peered up at the monitor and marched in place just like Joe had been doing moments before.

Five minutes later, a woman walks in who looks familiar. "Hello, Joe," she purrs. Jessica Rabbit! I'd know that voice anywhere! It was Kathleen Turner. "She has not aged well," I whisper to Joe as she mounts the stationary bike. Joe tells me she's sick and her medication makes her bloated. Then I felt as tall as the munchkin.