"Monotony collapses time; novelty unfolds it"

My new favorite quote from a book I've been enjoying reading immensely: 


“Monotony collapses time; novelty unfolds it. You can exercise daily and eat healthily and live a long life, while experiencing a short one. If you spend your life sitting in a cubicle and passing papers, one day is bound to blend unmemorably into the next - and disappear. That's why it's so important to change routines regularly, and take vacations to exotic locales, and have as many new experiences as possible that can serve to anchor our memories. Creating new memories stretches out psychological time, and lengthens our perception of our lives.” 
― Joshua Foer, Moonwalking with Einstein: The Art and Science of Remembering Everything


What this quote tells me: 
1. Always eat dessert
2. 6 am is for sleeping and not for spinning 
3. Ignore Il Duce and go for regular walks during working hours
4. Vacations to exotic locales - Fiji anyone? 
5. New dates
6. Create memories, including clandestine ones 

I'm alive.... barely

A lot has happened since December 25th, 2011.  A few of you (those who know me both as Victoria and the real me) know...

I'm ok.

I'm not sure if they are.

I'm not in trouble

I'm fairly certain that they are.

It's 10:23 PM on a fine Thursday evening.

2 hours 25 minutes ago, I was dressed in my favorite pair of jeans (they do wonders for my ass), hair all done up, 2 coats of mascara, ready to meet my date after what I thought would be a short conference call.

1 hour 38 minutes ago, I had to cancel my date.  My date suggested a naked impromptu self-portiait as a peace offering.

It is extremely difficult to talk somewhat intelligently and pose for the self-portrait.  (Note to self: get a bigger mirror)

The darn conference call ended 5 minutes ago.

My date offered to bring me dinner or take me out for a late dinner.

I just want to go to bed.

And wake up .... as an heiress.

xo

Rules of out-of-town first dates

1. When you get a really nice note from a gentleman (mind you, at this point you don’t really know that he is one – a gentleman, that is) who lives on the other side of the continent (or the world, for that matter) and he is trying to woo you, let him.       

2. Even if he wants to meet you in Tulsa, Oklahoma. 

3.     Consider whether he has a “long-term” potential.

4.     Find out how often he finds himself in your town.

5.     Tell yourself it’s OK to familiarize yourself with the flight schedule to and from your city to his or the suggested rendezvous spot.

6.     Engage in shameless virtual flirtations.

7.     Probably good idea to obsessively watch America’s Most Wanted.

8.     Let him gently nudge you to visit him as soon as humanly possible.

9.     Confidently book a flight for your first date in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

10. When the date is three days away, figure out which outfits to pack.

11. Do not stuff your suitcase.

12. Remember to conveniently forget to pack a few little items which could be easily procured (note: most men love running simple errands for women, underline “simple”).

13. The day before the date, review your correspondence with your date.

14. Dress comfortably for your flight (I like the simple shirt, paired with black yoga pants.

15. Do not dismiss the yoga pants – they are fantastic for showing off your ass-ets.

16. Leave the house early enough to allow ample time for a decent breakfast before your flight.

17. Do not panic when you realize that you forgot to book a car to take you to the airport.

18. Smile at everyone when you are the last one to board your flight (after they’ve called your name a several times on the airport PA system).

19. When the airplane food doesn’t mesh with your first date jitters, it’s ok to order a drink, even if it’s before noon.

20. If you are self conscious about drinking before noon, ask for a mimosa or a dash of rye in your coffee.

21. If you are still nervous after your first drink, it is ok to ask for a second.

22. Make sure you have enough fight time left to let the buzz wear off.

23. Tell yourself it is normal to be nervous – after all, you are flying to Kansas to fall into the arms of a stranger.

24. Drink water.

25. Drink more water.

26. Brush your teeth.

27. Fight the urge to pile on the makeup (he’ll appreciate the Au Naturel look).

28. When you get off the plane, head straight to the rendezvous point.

29. Do not linger – he knows when you land. 

30. When he greets you as you exit the security area, naturally fall into his arms.

A covert operation

Mr. Flintstone has a meeting in Timbuktu.

I have a meeting in Timbuktu.

Coincident of all coincidence, we are going to be in Timbuktu at the same time. 

We'll rendezvous at O-Nine-Hundred hour at Gate # to be determined at [insert large east coast city here] airport.  

We'll hug.  

I'll want to grab munchies for the long ride to Timbuktu. 

Mr. Flintstone will happily schlep my things.  

Mr. Flintstone will take the aisle seat and I, the window. 

I'll easily fall asleep for a quick nap, shortly before the takeoff.  

Mr. Flintstone will be typing away on his laptop. 

I'll get up, ask for more coffee, read, knit, write, daydream... 

Mr. Flintstone will fall asleep with his mouth slightly open. 

He'll wake up startled when my index finger hits the roof of his mouth. 

I'll fall asleep again shortly before the landing.  

We'll grab his bags - me always wondering why he must check his. 

We'll get into a car to our hotel.

Have a nice dinner together. 

Hit the gym in the morning.   

After a late brunch, we'll dutifully check into our respective hotels.

We'll each have dinner with our respective colleagues. 

Then rendezvous for a night cap. 

Get up early for our respective meetings.  

(am thinking maybe I'll sneak him into my room so I can get that extra 30 minutes of sleep.. and also because it's naughty :-)) 

Itinerary

Tuesday

Mr. Flintstone gets into the rendez vous city without any problem.

I get caught in the middle of a hailstorm in NYC and LaGuardia is at a stand still.  ATC sanctioned.  Boo. 

I’m hungry, but anticipating a decent meal with Mr. Flintstone, I settle for a granola bar at the airport.

Still raining.  Boo. 

Still hungry, but still a glimmer of a hope for a decent meal with Mr. Flintstone, so settle for a second granola bar. 

Amy Winehouse is blasting in my ear.  A woman – most likely from somewhere deep south – taps my arm and politely yanks my right ear bud out. 

“Are you Vietnamese or Japanese?”  

I return her polite smile, grab my right ear bud now dangling in mid-air and stick it back in my year. 

Walk away. 

Another tap and another yank. 

“Do you speak any English?”

“Not tonight hon.”

Walk away.

In the plane.  4hours late.

Drink.  

My seat mate is giving me the evil eyes.  He thinks I’m going to poke his eyes out with my knitting needles.

Ignore.

Cab.

Hotel.

Hug. Kisses.  

Tuna Tartar. 

A sip of his wine. 

Sleep. 

Wednesday

When I open my eyes, he's already dressed and ready to leave for his meeting.  

No coffee in sight.  

Pout. 

Kiss on the cheek. 

Sleep some more. 

Up. 

Find shiny new diamond crusted bracelet on the coffee table in lieu of coffee.  

Bounce. 

Happily get my own coffee.  

Blackberry assault by Il Duce.  

Appease Il Duce. 

Nap. 

Jog. Lift.  Sweat.  

Shower. 

Send picture of self wearing Victoria Secret's Bombshell tank to Mr. Flintstone.  (I think kids call it Sexting.)

Greet Mr. Flintstone in aforementioned Bombshell tank and the bracelet. 

Drag Mr. Flintstone to a dive-y pizza joint. 

Sleep. 

Thursday

Up before Mr. Flintstone.  (Debatable if we are getting technical)

Coffee.  

Great migration across the street to a fancier hotel with a jacuzzi suite. 

Send Mr. Flintstone off in a cab. 

Another Blackberry assault by Il Duce.  

Appease Il Duce.  

Conference call.  Naked. 

Nap.  

Pick up edible supplies for a romantic evening.  

Mr. Flintstone forgets to eat lunch.  

Mr. Flintstone unceremoniously wolfs down the chocolate covered strawberries and other sweat treats that were meant for the jacuzzi later.  

Dig out the secret stash of chocolates that I was saving for self later. 

Pout. 

Mr. Flintstone digs out his own secret stash of a pair of diamond studs.  

End pout. 

Mr. Flintstone anal about getting to the fancy restaurant on time.  

Mr. Flintstone rushing. 

Curl hair in 2 minute 40 seconds and make up in 2 minute 20 seconds.      

Fancy restaurant 

Cold air blast.  

Demand Mr. Flintstone's jacket.  

A pair of waiters descend, one bearing a cashmere shawl and another "suggesting" might Mr. Flintstone be more comfortable with his jacket on.  

Friday

Sleep in.  

Mr. Flintstone has a conference call while I read the NewYorker in bed while drinking my favorite coffee. 

Breakfast.  

Blackberry assault continues.  

Blackberry thankfully out of juice. 

Nap while Mr. Flintstone has another conference call.  

Wake up confused.  

Yell for Mr. Flintstone who's still on the conference call.  

Go back to bed.  

Drag Mr. Flintstone to a dive-y hot dog place.  

Drag Mr. Flintstone to an ice cream place.  

Ice cream coma.  

Jacuzzi.  

Dinner.     

Saturday

Up before Mr. Flintstone (again, debatable if we are being technical)

Eat from the secret stash of chocolates while admiring new blings. 

FT weekend.  WSJ.  

Coffee.  

Airport.

You are meeting me in ______ on ______, right? 

Yes. Maybe.

Hug.  Kisses. 

Home.  

The market

Him:  What would it take to get you off the market?

Me: One trillion dollars.  (jokingly)

Him: Seriously.

Me: Can I have boyfriends? (i.e. civies)

Him: No.

Me: One trillion dollars.   (seriously)

Him: I walked into that one.

Me: Uh-huh.

Him: That wasn't fair, was it?

Me: Nope.

First Date

It's been a while since I had a first date.  I've been enjoying the company of Mr. Flintstone somewhat exclusively and I love the comfort and safeness that that I feel when I'm with him.  It helps that Mr. Flintstone is kind and generous to a fault.  He's the type of guy who would jog a few miles in the butt crack of dawn to fetch me a peanut butter jelly doughnut.  He's all too happy to indulge the monsters that reside in my tummy.

But I miss the first dates.  The jitters.  The excitement.  The unknown.  The sense of adventure.  The feeling of extra naughtiness.

Late Monday night, a formal, yet witty, introductory note landed in my inbox.  My inbox rarely receives such an invitation these days since I'm not currently actively marketing Clandestine Encounters.  But this invitation, through fortuitous clicks of the mouse,  came in at just the right time and a meeting was planned for the next evening.

Normally, my dates are planned weeks in advance and I correspond with my potential dates for weeks, sometimes months, before the meeting.  So with only a few curtesy pleasantries tapped on our iPhones, the "x" factor associated with the first date was truly heightened.  

I got to the hotel bar a few minutes before our scheduled meeting time.  I sat at a table waiting or a late 30s single white male wearing a blue suit and light green ties.  while fumbling through my purse looking for my lip gloss, from the corner of my eyes I saw a tall handsome male in his late 30s wearing a suit.  I didn't turn.  He didn't look like he could be my date.  But he came straight over to me and introduced himself.    

"I wasn't expecting someone so good looking."
"I was."
"So are you surprised?"
"Yes."
"I look that bad?"
"No.  You look much better than I had pictured."

And the small talk continued over our respective glass of wines.

"You know, I think you are prettiest when you are laughing at me."

The date continued with a lot of laughter.

"Will I see you again?"
"I'm not going to call anyone else."
"So that was a no?"
"That was a definite yes, silly."

The next day at work, I spent the good part of the day day dreaming about the first date.  The excitement that I felt.  I spent the day smiling like an idiot thinking that none of my coworkers would suspect where I had been the night before.

I had my first date fix and now I'm returning to the comforting arms of Mr. Flintstone.  We are heading towards a warmer weather where we plan to do nothing but eat, sleep, read and, of course, play for a week.

A perfect day

Things I need to have in order to make a perfect day:

• Coffee
• Something sweet and/or savory straight out of the oven 
• Books
• A clean apartment 
• An afternoon tea
• The sun 
• Blackberry on mute - preferably with an out of office (so leave me alone) message
• iPhone on mute 
• Bat phone on mute 
• Land line on mute (I know, I have too many phones) 
• Buying random pretty things for self, like flowers or cupcakes 
• Time alone
• Time with people I like

I had just the day planned for today.  

The apartment was spotless; bought all the ingredient to bake scones to go with my afternoon tea; work was covered; made dinner plans with my besties. Even the weather was cooperating.  

Then I went and got sick.  

You know when you are up-to-your-eyeballs busy - forever - and you get a couple of days of reprieve, then you get sick?  Yup. 

 

Cafe Victoria

Cafe Victoria opened for dinner this evening.    

My place tends to be the gathering spot for intimate dinner parties, not because I have the most spacious apartment (I don't), but I have something that my girlfriends do not have.  A dinning table! A rarity in this city.

I didn't cook.  The beauty of a pot-luck party.   I opted to spend the rainy afternoon catching a bit of modern day play by Moliere.

I brought wine and cheese.
Gwen brought wine and cupcakes.
Sara brought wine and fruits.
Tessa brought wine and guacamole.

Four girlfriends.  Some wine.  A bit of food.  Lots of gossip a la sex and the city.  A perfect evening, I'd say.  Who knew guacamole on vanilla cupcake would be an acquired taste?  

know when to hold'em, know when to fold 'em

I've been listening to this song non-stop and thinking whether it's time to fold or I should hold.... 

On a warm summer's evenin' on a train bound for nowhere
I met up with the gambler, we were both too tired to sleep
So we took turns a starin' out the window at the darkness
'Til boredom overtook us and he began to speak

He said, "Son, I've made a life, out of readin' people's faces
And knowin' what their cards were by the way they held their eyes
So if you don't mind my sayin', I can see you're out of aces
For a taste of your whiskey I'll give you some advice"

So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow
Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light
And the night got deathly quiet and his face lost all expression
Said, "If you're gonna play the game, boy, you gotta learn to play it right"

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealing's done

Every gambler knows that the secret to survivin'
Is knowin' what to throw away and knowing what to keep
[From: http://www.elyrics.net/read/k/kenny-rogers-lyrics/the-gambler-lyrics.html]
'Cause every hand's a winner and every hand's a loser
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep

And when he finished speakin', he turned back towards the window
Crushed out his cigarette and faded off to sleep
And somewhere in the darkness the gambler, he broke even
But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealing's done

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealing's done

You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run
You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table
There'll be time enough for countin' when the dealing's done