On Losing the Age Complex

I have a legendary age complex which means that, clearly, I hate birthdays. The first time I cried on my birthday was when I turned 10. The injustice of being double-digits was just too much to take. 13 wasn’t much better and at 18, I had a total meltdown.

Obviously 30 was a big deal (which seems so ridiculous now). I planned a trip to Northern California to distract myself into being happy. Between the beautiful views, constant wine drinking and debauchery that my friend Michelle and I always got into, I thought I was going to avoid falling apart. On the morning of my birthday, we were driving to a winery in Napa Valley when I spontaneously started speaking incoherently and spouting tears like a Peanuts character. This wasn’t drunk waterworks, but it sure looked and sounded like it.

One reason I have this age complex is because my birthday is in October. This meant that I was always one of the oldest classmates. Turning 16 was the only time being the oldest came in handy. That year, I was one of the first to get my driver’s license — well, second to Geri Stolar whose birthday is in September.

Being the oldest kid in my immediate family is a contributing factor to this complex. So much older that I don’t want to mention how much. Let’s just say that my brother, sister and I never share the same decade.

And finally, I have a really young mom. In fact, we discovered last year that we were using the exact same age when we lied about our age (clearly, she must trend UP now that she’s a grandma).

This year’s birthday rolled around this past weekend, and for once, I didn’t have to fight back tears. Sure, I felt the standard “I wish I would have…” and “I can’t believe I’m so old,” but no quivering lips every time I glanced at the calendar and no tears and no need for a rocking chair for self-soothing.

I’ve LOST all of that this year — and more:

  • I lost my workaholic ways and gained time for things that are more meaningful to me.
  • I lost my excuses and gained new strength, endurance and flexibility from spending time in the gym.
  • I lost my solitary focus and gained time to spend with my friends and to make new friends.
  • I lost the thought that I needed to be tied to a company in order to be successful and have stability and that I owed it to myself to break through the glass ceiling, and in the process gained my own business and a life of instability and the chance to put the ceiling where I want it!
  • I lost being concerned about it being too late to try new things I’ve always wanted to do — like riding a kickscooter and taking ballet and thereby gained joy and creative expression!
  • And check out the photo, I’ve lost some weight and gained a better health and a whole new outlook!

I spent my birthday with friends and found some time to squeeze in half an hour of shopping in the Meatpacking District. From the fitting room, I paid for the outfit, had them snap the tags and wore the outfit right out the store. That’s true birthday girl style.

50 Shades of CrossFit Training Zombies

There are three things that I’m going to need people to stop talking about: 50 Shades of Grey, CrossFit training and zombies.


Monster High's Ghoulia Yelps

Monster High’s Ghoulia Yelps — the only Zombie I like.

My feeling about this: Fear. Here’s why:

Ever since my sleepless-due-to-nightmares summer as a seven year old when I saw both Invasion of the Body Snatchers and Damien the Omen, I have had an irrational fear of non-human (admittedly fictional) things that can seem human, the only exception being vampires — maybe because they are usually sexy.

Now with the increased popularity of zombies — I blame The Walking Dead, the question “What would we do if the zombie apocalypse happened?” is a frequent cocktail conversation, followed by “Where’s the safest place to be in NYC if it happens?”

The other night, a group of friends agreed that the High Line was the place to go to survive.  They had good reasoning about being able to grow food, restrict entrance and push the zombies off the High Line (Can zombies climb?). But there are buildings attached to the High Line. Most of them with lots of glass that the zombies could just come busting through!

I don’t have a better alternative though. In Brooklyn, in your escape attempt, you’d either trip over a stroller or have the misfortune of being the biggest and slowest-moving person, and thus tastiest treat, in a hipster Mecca.

Maybe the place to be is Far Rockaway? Zombies wouldn’t go all the way there, right? The A train, when running, usually requires a shuttle transfer and zombies are just not smart enough to figure all that out. And probably even they are afraid of the Van Wyck. So that’s MY plan. Far Rockaway.

CrossFit Training

My feeling about this: Jealousy. Here’s why: 

Everyone is doing CrossFit training. And although I’m in a fitness phase, I can barely do a friggin’ pushup so I can’t even join in.

As much as I’m trying to improve, the situation is not changing quickly.  I’ve seen significant progress in what I can do in some of my fitness classes. I can do most binds in yoga and even now tuck my foot on my inner thigh in Tree pose. I’m even feeling like a pro during lunge intervals. Yet, I still can’t do Chatarunga or a decent set of push-ups.

I must have some kind of strange mutant arms. So that disqualifies me from CrossFit Training. And I don’t want to talk about it.

50 Shades of Grey

My feeling about this: Annoyance. Here’s why: 

Everybody is reading and talking about this book. I LOVED the SNL skit about it. I like the book cover. I even like the title.

But I HATE this book.

The writing is TERRIBLE. Yes, I know it’s not supposed to be literature. But this woman has no writing skill whatsoever. And apparently she doesn’t even have an editor. I’m not expecting Toni Morrison here, but at least she could have the same level of competence as any popular chick lit authors like Marian Keys or Sophie Kintella.

These are actual quotes from this book:

  • “My mouth drops open.” (Said 15 times and not at all related to a sex act.)
  • “Holy hell…what’s this about?”
  • “Holy cow – he’s leading me on to the dance floor.”
  • “Holy hell, he’s been working out.”
  • “This is wrong, but holy hell is it erotic.”
  • “Holy Moses — he’s ordered oysters on a bed of ice.’”
  • “Oh, for the love of all that’s holy.”
  • “Holy crap…I need to take my pill”

And then there are plenty more holy cow, holy shit and holy crap’s. No exaggeration. I admit, I haven’t read much of this book. Once I quickly discovered that the main character was so unlikeable (she’s insecure, clumsy, jealous of her best friend/roommate — great, another Bella), I started skipping around for the sex scenes. The first scene was okay. Although the unimaginative author made the girl a virgin which means that no matter what this man does (or what size he actually is), she will be amazed at his prowess.  But after the first sex scene, they were all the same. Not. That. Hot.

I have a recommendation ladies, try Zane’s books. They are mediocre at best, but at least she can write dialogue. There might, maybe, possibly also be movies you would enjoy.

I Have a Gym Membership and Stilettos. I’m Not the Long Walk Kinda Girl

I realize that men who want to date us tell us the things they think we want to hear. Unfortunately though, we’re all very different and what sounds great to one woman will sound like torture to another.


One example is the long walk. Glance over a few online dating profiles and at least 90% of the straight men will mention that they enjoy long walks.* Meet a new prospect while out and about and when asked what they like to do, at least 50% of men will say they enjoy long walks.* Who the hell wants to go on these walks and what kind of shoes is she wearing? What is the weather like? How does her hair hold up? You bitches need to stop telling men this is what we enjoy. You know it only takes one of us to say this and men hold on to it for life.

And men, I know you can show up in jeans and fresh sneaks, but check out what a woman has on before suggesting a stroll. Just so you know, there is no graceful way to hike through the cobblestone-lined Meatpacking District in heels (and do you really want us to walk past the Louboutin store?). I know the long walk is a cheap date, but unless we’re at a minimum, strolling over the Brooklyn Bridge, it’s also a boring one.


Another one is that so many man I’ve met over the past few years thinks that telling me they can cook will impress me. The, “I’ll cook for you” guy. Sounds romantic to some women, but the idea is not at all appealing to me. To me, I envision a guy in an apron covered with BBQ sauce and me in a life stuck in the house. As a part of this life, I imagine that I’ll wear Capri pants, won’t be able to name a new restaurant to save my life, will no longer have maid service and will say things like, “My God, movies cost $13 now?!”

I think this so-called holy grail (a man who can cook)  comes from some women being overly congratulatory to men who can cook. Why is this a big deal? If he’s over 30 and lives alone, isn’t it just a basic life skill? What exactly are we fawning over? Men should be insulted by this assumption that their competence in the kitchen is unusual. In fact, aren’t most famous chefs men?

Recently I met a guy who doesn’t cook. He said he lives in the city with plenty of restaurants and plans to take advantage of all of them. I’m totally smitten.

Random bar talk…

Have you met the I-hate-New-York set? These men begin a conversation by saying how they hate New York. You are from New York. You live in New York. We’re standing in a bar in New York City. Where can this conversation possibly go?

Not only does it makes you look super negative, but it makes you sound like you’re in the market for a minivan — which is never an appealing thought. In fact, I don’t understand how marriages survive once a minivan is introduced. While we’re on it, really any kind of complaining is the wrong way to start a conversation. The DJ being whack…it being hot… the food portions not being large enough…there not being any interesting people there that night (even though I’m there)… none of those are the right way to get a conversation started. Maybe you should take a long walk.

*Statistics based on a focus group of one.