The 102nd Street Transverse

I'm watching an episode of 20/20 (it's on the WE channel now - who knew?) about the Central Park Jogger case. It was a big case, a big deal, everyone knows about it in NYC and probably around the country. But until now, I never really thought about the fact that I pass that spot in the park almost every time I'm running there. I was there 10 hours ago.

I don't know how I feel about whether these confessions were coerced, but I also can't really argue with DNA evidence. Anyway, it's a lot to think about. And I'll probably think about it the next time I take that shortcut in the park.

Wine and chocolate.

I am not Catholic, or anything really, but I wonder each year, if I were, what would I give up for Lent?

The concept makes little sense to me. I know it's a religious thing, and actually stands for and means something, but what's the big deal about giving something up for 40 days? (It's 40 days, right? Am I making that up?) Why isn't it that you have to give up something FOREVER? Maybe by the time you reach middle age you'd have nothing left to eat besides spinach and nothing left to do besides work.

I've read a bunch of facebook status messages that people are giving up facebook for Lent. I think if you are writing that, you're probably too addicted to facebook to give it up. Then there's the obligatory food issues. Chocolate, carbs (ooooh! evil! wtf I hate everything), white flour, white foods, etc. And the drink. All alcohol, wine, whiskey, etc. Again, if you think you need to give up alcohol for Lent, you are DEFINITELY drinking too much.

I am currently drinking an extra large glass of wine. What of it?

Thoughts on the eve of my 28th birthday.

I just found out that one of my best friends from college, whose wedding I traveled to in Austin, TX less than a year ago, is pregnant with her first child.

I am back to having my own office at the firm.

I am now officially the only one in my immediate circle of friends without a significant other.

I like my job maybe 50% of the time. And I put in a lot of time.

I have a wonderful slightly to very crazy family, and I'm lucky to have them.

There's something I really want to do, something I think I'd be really good at, but I have about a 1% chance of doing it.

I don't picture my wedding the way most girls picture theirs as they get older. I just picture being married.

I've been thinking of leaving New York. I just don't know where to go.

Sometimes I can picture myself being a judge. Sometimes I can't imagine practicing law for one more week let alone many, many more years.

Happy birthday to me. Here's to getting tipsy and kissing a cute boy.

Next up: Yes, ghosts really do live here.

This is the most useless post ever.

But I have no one left to complain to.

I have had no heat or hot water in my apartment all day.

I have only one Duraflame log left.

I have not taken a shower.

I worked out six days this week, have no desire to work out right now, but don't want to go to the gym only to shower.

If the problem isn't fixed tonight, which doesn't seem likely even though the entire building has called the super and the landlord, I will just be dirty and go to the gym in the morning.

I pay too much in rent for this bullshit.

At least I don't have to go to work tomorrow.

Although I will be doing work most of the day.

How many pots of water would I have to boil to take an old school style bath?

My ire is so raised.

I know it's been discussed to death, but this is my blog and so I get to discuss it my own way. What, you ask? The crazy psycho mentally unstable definitely had plastic surgery mom of the latest octuplets, Nadya Suleman. Here's the latest.

I guess it's all been said, but here's one thing I haven't read that seriously bothers me. First of all, if I am not able to have my own children, I would adopt before getting in vitro treatments. Hell, I plan on adopting even if I can pop them out one after another. Not that I'm likely to find this out any time soon. So here's the thing: this woman would NEVER have been able to adopt one kid, let alone 14. Unemployed. No degree. Receiving disability payments from a "work related injury." Single. Of the previous six kids, one is autistic and one is showing signs of cerebral palsy. (Let's not even discuss the developmental challenges the octuplets will face.) These things by themselves would not necessarily disqualify someone from adopting. Together, they would. (I know people in the know when it comes to this stuff.) Why is it that we think everyone has the god given right to reproduce yet we make adoptive parents jump through eight million hoops to get a baby? Yes, I realize there is no better choice, but it's still totally fucked up.

Back to Ms. Suleman. If she ends up with her own reality show, I'm jumping ship. I can't take it anymore. I'm moving to Antarctica or something.

Let's go with "flattered" instead of "freaked out."

I was dropping off my dry cleaning and looking hot as usual. By hot I mean having the dog leash wrapped around my legs (because someone refuses to stand still) and wind-whipped wet hair plastered to my face.

I hadn't been to the cleaner's in about two months for a number of reasons - winter work clothing can go longer between cleanings, I'm not made of money, and I discovered Dryell. However, certain items needed the professional touch, so there I was. Usually, a customer provides his or her phone number, the guy pulls up the account, prints out a ticket, and sends the person off. So I'm standing there, chatting amicably, and am handed my ticket. But..."I, um, didn't give you my number, did I?"

"Oh, well, I just knew who you were."

"Oh! Um, ok! Have a nice day."

I'm thinking that Dry Cleaner Guy and I will be very happy together.