When it rains

This is almost an addition to the 'Little Things' post.

I am not a rain fan. I like the idea of precipitation and the fact that it feeds the plants an the water cycle that provides for us all, yadda yadda yadda. But on a rainy day, the only thing I want to do is be inside my apartment, curled on my couch, with a cup of hot tea/coffee/cocoa and a good book or the latest issue of Vanity Fair. I heart sunshine and always will.

HOWEVER

I love rain boots. Cannot get enough of them. I love my rain boots. I love my friends' rain boots. I love the rain boots on Lil Hoots' twins' two year old feetsies. I love complete strangers' rain boots. I just love rain boots.

I admit, I didn't always love them. I thought them silly, something I would have worn at age six.

Then, it rained.

City living has many perks. But major weather events in the city are especially unpleasant. The rain likes to puddle in potholes, at curbs, just about anywhere with a dip. The walker suddenly becomes a jumper, a dodger, trying to maneuver between raindrops and puddles and general wetness. Not in rain boots! Rain boots allow a person to walk without first looking where they step. Watch others dodge the rain. You, oh rain-booted one, can stomp wherever you like, rain be damned!

When rain boots come in so many patterns and colors, they are accessible for every person and every style. Its ok to have ridiculous rain boots - they can have yellow duckies, pink whales, lobsters, even hands with middle fingers stuck up (not that I have seen them, but you get the idea.) Last year I had a pair with navy and turquoise zig zags. They pooped out on me (not to readers: beware buying secondhand shoes) so I purchased a ones with very colorful petal/paisley shapes. Adorbs. Even our organization's president likes them.

In the words of the infamous Charlie Sheen, "Winning!"

The Little Things

This morning, B and I actually left the house at the same time (him a few minutes early for the T, me a few minutes late for my workout). There is one apartment at the end of our block that has windows directly adjacent to the sidewalk. B likes to look at the huge cat they own, who enjoys sitting in the morning sun. Sadly, due to winter sun rays (or lack thereof), B has not seen the cat, aptly named 'Window-cat' in quite some time. And understandably so. I wouldn't sleep in a drafty windowsill unless the draft was countered with sunshine either!

This morning, though, Window-cat was right in the window where it (he? she? no idea) belongs. B was thrilled, and then a little embarrassed at his excitement. But I told him - its the little things that make our day worthwhile.

What are the little things? They are those small, mundane things that make you smile during the work week. Not even so special as someone bringing cookies. Tiny things, insignificant to most. What are some of mine? Well, I'm glad you asked:
- Purple pens
- Fun little note pads and/or bright neon post-its (for phone message taking)
- Window-cat
- Sunshine
- The March baby flower buds
- The man who sweeps outside the apartments across from the Christian Science Center - he is always so happy!

What are YOUR little things, friends?

Housewives, Events and My Two Cents

In a recent episode of the Real Housewives of Miami (guilty pleasure for Bravo's ladies of luxury, I admit), drama arose where one woman (let's call her Sally) came to an event organized by one of her friends (let's call her Susie) late, and without paying.

Being someone who has worked in the nonprofit world and helped run events of that stature (or maybe a little smaller, but around the same idea), I'm sorry but I have to pipe into the discussion.

A charity dinner/gala of that magnitude is usually a non-profit organization's major event of the year. It generates attention and much needed income and can make or break a fiscal year.

Of course organizers, committee members, and the development team of any particular charity want as many people to attend as possible. They want the event to keep old donors coming back and to entice new donors to create a long lasting relationship with the charity.

However, these events cost money. Supporters can buy tickets or sponsorships at several levels in order to attend (these sponsorships usually come with X number of tickets. The higher the sponsorship amount, the more tickets the donor receives.) The development team, obviously, would much rather have people purchase sponsorships rather than tickets, because the sponsorships bring more income.

Lets say the Animal Love League put on a dinner at the Superchic Hotel. The Superchic Hotel is more than happy to begin a relationship with the Animal Love League, but they have a bottom line too. The Superchic Hotel and the Animal Love League negotiate a contract. They figure out that if tickets cost $400 each and the cost per person is $200 each, the Animal Love League makes $200 per ticket sold. Not too shabby. If the first sponsorship level is $1,000 which gives you two tickets, Animal Love League receives $1,000 less the $200 per head amount Superchic Hotel charges, or $600. And so on.

Back to the drama: Sally decided last minute to attend the event. Rather than RSVPing to the event organizers (something that is easier and easier in the days of the interwebs on peoples cell phones) and paid online or when she arrived at the venue. Susie had every right to be perturbed that Sally and two friends showed up after registration (flat tire notwithstanding) and therefore missed the check-in process, during which time they could have paid. Sally and her friends went straight to the bar and received cocktails presumably included in the ticket price (that she did not pay). Yes, they only had three drinks total (that we saw on the episode). But rather than act defensive after the fact, Sally easily could have found an event organizer (she said she tried - you can usually find the organizers because they are the ones running around like headless chickens) and just written a check right then and there.

Perhaps the drama did not need to escalate in such a way that Susie invoiced Sally with photographic evidence. Susie could have called Sally the next day and gently reminded her that even though she just stopped by, she had just gone to a charity event intended to help those much less fortunate than herself, and how about a donation just between friends?

Remember, everyone: Wedding crashers = fun. Non-paying charity event crashers = Lame.

Does this mean I'm... old?

I have recently written recommendations for two people - one an advisee (I serve as an adviser for a local chapter of the sorority I was in during college) and one a co-worker, who I just happened to supervise.

It occurred to me that I wrote two recommendations at this time last year, both for advisees for scholarships they applied for. I've also been popping up on peoples' reference lists.

Does this new aspect of my life mean I'm old?

I know what you're thinking, blogosphere. Late 20s does not an old lady make, but it becomes an interesting point in time in one's life when one is asked to write recommendations and give references. Every person who has asked me for either I am fully delighted to recommend. They are responsible women (no men in sororities, and few at the shop!) who contribute to their sorority and their shop. But I think the youngest person I have ever asked to recommend me was still ten years older than I am, whereas I'm on the reference list of someone 2 months my senior! The rest of the people on my reference list have been adults for quite a bit longer than I have been; they have careers, kids, mortgages and cars. I have a teeny apartment where mice hold hip-hop parties at night and sirens screech by at early hours of the morning. I'm not even responsible for a pet!

I was hustled into a very supervisory role at the jewelry store - they needed an assistant manager for the new shop, I was slightly unemployed and eager for full time hours and health insurance. The people the shop attracts as employees are inherently awesome, fun, responsible and sometimes just downright silly. Now that I just work there a few hours on weekends, I've been able to really let loose with these people. When I was Assistant Manager, there were lines I tried not to cross, although inadvertently I did, with the help of margaritas or Andre.

I guess I just haven't yet thought of myself as someone able to recommend another's work, or as an authority figure. This new development makes me feel much better about my accomplishments, especially in light of Justin Bieber's cult following at the age of 16 and Daniel Radcliffe's 8 film franchise plus Broadway stardom at age 21. Hey! I'm on my way!

BlogPlug

I have not posted in quite some time again, preferring to read blogs of friends rather than post my own. Do I even have anything interesting to say? Some would say yes, others... Well, let's just say that the last post about my klutziness was one for the books and I haven't thought of anything that good since.

Here are some blogs of those I know and love that are much more interesting than my quotidian life.

La Cucina Francesca:
Since I'm plugging, I'm plugging friends. This author has been my bff for over 10 years (with a brief hiatus - never again!!) She has always been a budding Martha Stewart, and began her blog while giving up processed foods last lent. Amazing, I know. She has since created a local following in her efforts both in and out of the kitchen. Check out the post from the fall with her gorgeous bouquets for a friend's wedding.
http://lacucinafrancesca.wordpress.com/

Lil Hoot:
I've known Sarah of Lil Hoot much longer and the woman has impeccable taste in entertainment. Her wedding was one of the most gorgeously, meticulously planned weddings I have been to in my life (and I have been to the lion's share of weddings). Mom of two lil ladies and two lil frenchies, Sarah turned an old house into a home and now plans parties with more flair (tasteful flair) than one would think possible.
lilhoot.blogspot.com

Sugar High:
A newer friend with a brand new blog! She and Angela should open a restaurant. I know I would go!
http://sugar-high-baking.blogspot.com/

As for me, well, since I last posted I got a new job at an organization I LOVE and doing exactly what I want to do (when I grow up). Event planning, event planning, and more event planning is the name of the game. No, not holiday parties, fundraisers or weddings, which are both the eventual goal, but seminars and 2 week long classes, events all the same. The dream job is obviously to work with Rafanelli Events (http://www.rafanellievents.com/) but a girl has to start somewhere!

I like to keep the personal aspects of event planning in my mind at all times. Friendly reminder emails about meetings for staff, RSVP lists for surprise parties in secret notebooks, and the handshake/smile/"so nice to finally meet you" are some of my favorite things. No detail is too small and no guest is insignificant.

At the end of every post, I promise to keep better touch with the blogosphere, but this time I mean it! So have a lovely day, dear readers, and check out my plugged blogs!

xo,
Clare

Class Klutz

I haven't posted in a while, but I decided, inspired by my friend AT (check out her blog: http://lacucinafrancesca.wordpress.com).

This entry is dedicated to my klutziness. In 8th grade, when the tallies came in for the yearbook superlatives, I was voted class klutz (female). Really, the vote came as no surprise. I'd been dropping ice cream, stepping on leftover pizza, and using the word 'oops' quite a bit. I was also voted second smartest female - go figure out THAT juxtaposition! Unfortunately, the superlative section didn't make the yearbook cut because the person in charge filled in his and his friends' names into every blank space of every single eight graders' survey sheet. Keep in mind that our class had all of about 80 people, so there weren't that many surveys or that many blank spaces. But I digress.

At my workplace, I'm probably the number one user of band-aids (especially since my fellow klutz/co-worker/friend/jewelry fiend has left the shop). I get paper cuts, prick my fingers with staples, I've been known to get my thumb in the way of scissors while packaging customers' items. Its bad. And now comes summer, my most ungraceful season because of the increased use of flip flops while walking.

I understand that flip flops make me more klutzy, and accept that fact. I just love J.Crew's ribbon flip flops too much to give them up. So the tripping begins. Here are a few instances.

As it approaches Arlington Street, Tremont Street's left hand sidewalk becomes treacherous. Watch where you walk as you pass Masa; a tree root has upended one sidewalk slab. One morning on my way to pick up my sister from the train station, I tripped over it and slammed my big toe into the pavement. Bleeding ensued, as did vicious limping. I headed to the closest 7-11 for a box of band-aids, and owe the woman there a special thank you for allowing me to hobble behind the counter and use their sink and paper towels and hand soap to clean my wound.

Later that day (yes, that DAY) I tripped again on Boylston street outside Lir. The event had something to do with a tree and its dirt patch situated lower than the rest of the sidewalk. I managed to rip open the undersides of two toes and had to limp across the street, using my sister's water bottle and a Lord and Taylor receipt to clean my toes off. Thank goodness I had already hurt myself that day and had band-aids on hand.

Such events are standard fare for my good self. I have bumped into the same table display at work numerous times. I almost toppled over a frame of anklets yesterday. On New Years Eve, my boyfriend and I hosted a party at our apartment. Within minutes of sitting down and munching on multi-layer dip, I spilled my wine glass INTO said dip. And spilled it a few minutes later onto our coffee table. Needless to say, we mysteriously have much fewer wine glasses now than we did when we moved in last October.

One would think that cheerleading, Pilate's, and my new foray into yoga would have cured me of this (okay, two go-arounds on a yoga DVD does not a yoga-master make, but I'm getting there.) Not so. I do have impeccable reflexes. That frame of anklets I knocked over? I caught it mid-air. I catch forks that almost fall in my lap in restaurants. I've got pretty good balance. I sometimes think that ballet or gymnastic lessons at age three instead of violin would have made me much more graceful, or at least more coordinated. But then I wouldn't have my uncanny ability to memorize song lyrics.

I don't think I would get rid of this graceless accident prone person that I am. I can laugh at myself. Every time I fall off the crate behind the ring case or trip over a loose brick in the sidewalk, I laugh. I don't get angry (most of the time) or sad. I don't turn red (pink, maybe, but not red). After all, if I didn't trip over the metal ladder in the middle of the sidewalk in London, that would be one less story to tell. One less accident means one less opportunity I have to share myself and my human-ness with others. No one wants to hear about a walk to work where nothing happens. I think my accidents have made me more humble, and hopefully a better person.

So the next time you drop a full glass of water, or trip in front of your boss, don't get upset. Laugh! Then everyone else will, and the moment turns from embarrassing to entertaining.

laundromat culture

I half love, half loathe doing laundry at a laundromat. Some may wonder, what's there to love? You bare your dirty laundry among strangers, hope your underwear doesn't get lost, hope no one steals your pseudo-designer jeans while you run out for a cup of coffee. You worry the machine will eat your money, or your clothing won't be finished in the dryer after fifty minutes and you'll have to do the wetness test to see how much longer is needed. You have to horde quarters for a week beforehand and you often put off the entire process, opting to buy new undergarments instead. What did people do before the invention of Febreeze, anyway?

But, hear me out. People love to get their noses in others' business, and what better place to do so than at the laundromat? There, you can peak into your neighbor's lives. You learn who only wears black lace thongs. You learn who prefers to hang-dry their outfits and save a few bucks (and the electricity). I once saw a 20-something dude pull a pair of pink panties out of his washing machine, and witnessed his shocked reaction. "I swear, I have no idea how those got there!" he claimed. I'm sure they were from a month-old one night stand who figured it would be better to just hop in a cab than to search for one of the 40 thongs she owned.

Boston especially boasts a seemingly absurd number of businesses that offer dry-cleaning as well as either same day or DIY laundry. I would love to investigate the cost of having someone do my laundry for me at 90 cents a pound versus bringing it to the laundromat, but that is for a time when my finances matter a whole lot less. Plus, taking your laundry to someone else and having them do it for you is almost worse than taking it home to Mom. Plenty of people bring boat loads of laundry to their parents house whenever they visit, but even they themselves perform the act of washing and drying their clothing. You still have to cart all the dirty laundry to the 'We wash it for you!' businesses, which is my major complaint about laundromat use.

So, all your quarter-saving, twenty-something, first or second career kids know exactly what I'm talking about. Whether you love or loathe laundry, you certainly suck it up and do it every once in a while.