When social events go wrong (terribly, terribly wrong), I feel it's best to find the silver lining. After last night, we found more than that: we came home with a gift card unused, laughter, justice, and a whole slew of friends who go by the name of, oh you know, just the "City Police."
My roommate, Future Lawyer, and I decided to celebrate the close of our summer in the city by treating ourselves to a nice dinner and some sangria in a boutique part of town. (Thanks to restaurants.com, I had a prime gift certificate for $25 that I paid $2 for -- check it out.) Since it was a nice evening, we chose a table on the narrow, but gated, patio outside. Finished with appetizers and our first round of sangria long-gone, we started to order dinner. All of a sudden, before I knew what was happening, a guy ran up behind Future Lawyer, reached over the guard rail, and started to grab her Coach purse off the table. Realizing what was happening, she jumped up and tried to wrench it back, but he pushed her arm away and the strap broke...the thief still had the goods.
While I sat there stunned and began yelling, Future Lawyer *JUMPS THE FENCE* and starts running after him. Screaming bloody murder. I mean... in case her law career doesn't work out right away, she should really tap into the thriller industry. Because those sound bites are gold. And lemme tell you why. Not only did Future Lawyer's incessant and blood-curdling screams draw a crowd of bystanders, she summoned a squad car from a neighboring block.
So Future Lawyer is chasing this creep down a wide alley across from the restaurant (still in shock over that...what if he had a gun?! hell, even a butter knife and I'd back down.) meanwhile screaming "HELLLLP MEEE!! COME BAAAACK!!" (of which I got a big kick out of: "Sure lady, I'll come back. (hands back Coach). Truce??"). All sudden a cop car comes racing around the corner in the direction of her screams. Seeing it coming, Future Lawyer waves them down to where the creepo turned the corner, stopped short by an apartment building. The scene was in perfect view the whole time, but having explained to the restaurant manager what had happened, I crossed the street to stand by F.L. as the cops cuffed the jerkface. One officer approached the two of us, asking us to verify what happened as they shoved him in back of the squad car. The officer's hand was bleeding from the apprehension, and when F.L. explained what happened, he "suggested" we amend the story so that the theif had pushed her as well -- "because this guy needs to do time." No need for suggestion -- when she tried to wrench back the purse, he indeed had pushed her wrist. At hearing this, the officer -- no joke -- did a fist pump and shouted "YEAH!" (grown man.)
Later we found out that move would seal Creepo's fate: because he used force, it became the highest form of a robbery/felony.
With another show of bravado, F.L. walked by the cop car, saw Creepo in the backseat, and stated some rather choice words, accompanied with the appropriate hand gesture. If this girl's like this on the street, can you imagine her in the court room?! Now that's the kind of business law representation I want. Serious balls.
My later-to-be Favorite officer emerged from the bushes with the Coach, slightly worse for wear but its contents still in tact. Still trying to control our shaking, F.L. and I looked behind us to the street, and to our surprise saw four more squad cars and about 10 officers, all in bullet proof vests. The officers getting in the car with Creepo started laughing and whooping with delight (read: like four year olds at a bday party getting their goody bags) that he had been apprehended. F.L. and I got thrown in the back of a police Escalade and started barrelling down streets with the sirens on, disregarding stop lights and speed bumbs as we entered the police cavalcade towards the station. Now that everyone was safe and it turned out all right, F.L. and I turned to each other and could not stop laughing...
Why don't cameras follow us?!!
We arrived at the the City Police Station, and as our driver escorted us in, an officer walking out greeted him with, "Hey, Sarge." As in...Sargeant. As in...we were in the City Police Force Sargeant's 'Scalade. As in....we're FAMOUS.
Once in the station, we were escorted to the waiting room (where there were an abundance of stains on the seats and the floors...I'm sure Martha could have had a field day had she done time in this particular facility). Because of F.L.'s show of bravery and her potent screams, we were quickly becoming the most talked about thing in the station, and every five minutes or so, a different officer would nonchalantly walk by the waiting room, see us, and turn around.
THREE HOURS LATER...we had gotten interviewed, we waited. The purse contents were photographed and evidenced, we waited. The detective informed us the perpetrator's story was that he had been "provoked" to stealing the purse because we called him the N word (I mean, we're from Bubble outside the City. That word would never leave our lips), we waited. F.L. signed a statement, we waited. We were offered an award from the police department by My Favorite officer, obviously we accepted, we waited.
Finally, everything said and done, My Favorite came around the corner and said we were free to go. Not wanting to take public transportation, we asked for a ride. Preferrably in a squad car. With lights. My Favorite said he was on it, turned the corner, and five minutes later brought back two uniformed officers that were "His Guys." As His Guys got out the keys, My Favorite shook our hands and said, 'Ladies, it was a pleasure. Let's do this again, but under different circumstances.' Sigh. I'm such a sucker for nice people with a title. As His Guys led us out the door, My Favorite called after them: "Take care of my beauties!" Mmmm...Total crush.
Safely back home thanks to our police escort (first and last time I ever hope to ride in the *back seat* of a squad car), we rode the elevator upstairs, poured ourselves a large glass of wine, and thanked our lucky stars our (eventful) lives had not been compromised.
Note to self: Always scream. CARRY CAMERA.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sweat, Scots, Sake, and Sushi (in that order)
I had a pretty big Monday.
Working for a wedding planner, I typically have most of the week off and spend my weekends tying bows, freshening up the best man before his toast, and staving off come-ons from photographers and dj's during our vendor meal in the back. My leisurely weeks leave me plenty of time to be a social butterfly -- but that might soon change!
Yesterday I had an interview with a nonprofit for their fundraising gala planner position. I'm the perfect person for a job like that. (Okay, I might be *slightly* bias.) The director scheduled the interview for noon, and I spent my morning preparing and primping. Since the office was a short three blocks from my apartment, I thought I'd give myself 15 minutes to walk over. Well, of course, I left my place with ten minutes to spare, realized I'd potentially ruin my Michael Kors stilettos while trying to haul *ss, ran back in to get flip flops, and had three blocks to run with 7 minutes left.
I made it to the building, drenched in sweat. (It's summer! And I'm a sweat-er.) So I hop on the elevator, hoping the ride will allow me to calm (dry?) myself. Too preoccupied with the beads of water rolling down my back, I missed my floor and got off three floors up from where I had my interview. Insert sweaty gross girl, now BACK in stilettos, running down six flights of stairs, barrelling through the door, panting...trying to calmly enter the office with one minute till interview time. The receptionist called the director to announce my arrival. As the director rounded the corner, she smiled, we shook hands, and she said, obviously noticing my state and probably thinking I had just run a few hurdles: "...Can I get you some ice water?"
Hmm. Not the first question I was hoping to be asked in the interview. As she led me back to her office, I nonchalantly grabbed a tissue from the receptionist's desk in order to blot. Later, I noticed I had a piece of tissue stuck to my neck....throughout the *entire* interview. It's fine. Let's hope the director chalked me up as endearingly neurotic.
Once I recovered from that episode, I met my sorority daughter, Model, for my favorite time of day: HAPPY HOUR! A sushi place in the busy part of downtown has half price rolls and really good drinks. As she and I sat down to catch up on the *two years* that had passed since we had seen each other last, I saw a shaggy-haired, tall male approaching our table holding a big plastic bag. When I lived in Europe, people like this would frequently come into dining establishments and go table to table trying to sell wares like tissues and socks. (Why tissues and socks?! I don't know. But seriously, it was always tissues and socks. Maybe this guy got the MO on my sweat problem.) He said hello, and I looked at Model, ready to whip out the "get rid of the homeless guy" skills I had honed in Italy. But she got up and *hugged* him. I mean, I hadn't seen her for two years...maybe she was in on the tissues and socks?
But it turned out to be the bartender from the hotel bar she cocktails at, and he brought friends -- her manager and the Glenlivet rep from Scotland. Hey-o!! Relieved I didn't have to begrudgingly buy a pack of Kleenex, we ordered sake bombs all around. Truly, there's nothing like hearing the Japanese chant "Sake, Sake, Sake...BOMB!" in a Scottish accent. We entertained each other while indulging in more bombs, some beer, and plenty of sushi. Probably egged on by our rousing chants, our waiter brought over a round of mango shots for all.
What I learned: leave early, carry a pocket fan, everything sounds better in an accent, and never assume a guy with crazy hair carrying a plastic bag is peddling tissues and socks.
Working for a wedding planner, I typically have most of the week off and spend my weekends tying bows, freshening up the best man before his toast, and staving off come-ons from photographers and dj's during our vendor meal in the back. My leisurely weeks leave me plenty of time to be a social butterfly -- but that might soon change!
Yesterday I had an interview with a nonprofit for their fundraising gala planner position. I'm the perfect person for a job like that. (Okay, I might be *slightly* bias.) The director scheduled the interview for noon, and I spent my morning preparing and primping. Since the office was a short three blocks from my apartment, I thought I'd give myself 15 minutes to walk over. Well, of course, I left my place with ten minutes to spare, realized I'd potentially ruin my Michael Kors stilettos while trying to haul *ss, ran back in to get flip flops, and had three blocks to run with 7 minutes left.
I made it to the building, drenched in sweat. (It's summer! And I'm a sweat-er.) So I hop on the elevator, hoping the ride will allow me to calm (dry?) myself. Too preoccupied with the beads of water rolling down my back, I missed my floor and got off three floors up from where I had my interview. Insert sweaty gross girl, now BACK in stilettos, running down six flights of stairs, barrelling through the door, panting...trying to calmly enter the office with one minute till interview time. The receptionist called the director to announce my arrival. As the director rounded the corner, she smiled, we shook hands, and she said, obviously noticing my state and probably thinking I had just run a few hurdles: "...Can I get you some ice water?"
Hmm. Not the first question I was hoping to be asked in the interview. As she led me back to her office, I nonchalantly grabbed a tissue from the receptionist's desk in order to blot. Later, I noticed I had a piece of tissue stuck to my neck....throughout the *entire* interview. It's fine. Let's hope the director chalked me up as endearingly neurotic.
Once I recovered from that episode, I met my sorority daughter, Model, for my favorite time of day: HAPPY HOUR! A sushi place in the busy part of downtown has half price rolls and really good drinks. As she and I sat down to catch up on the *two years* that had passed since we had seen each other last, I saw a shaggy-haired, tall male approaching our table holding a big plastic bag. When I lived in Europe, people like this would frequently come into dining establishments and go table to table trying to sell wares like tissues and socks. (Why tissues and socks?! I don't know. But seriously, it was always tissues and socks. Maybe this guy got the MO on my sweat problem.) He said hello, and I looked at Model, ready to whip out the "get rid of the homeless guy" skills I had honed in Italy. But she got up and *hugged* him. I mean, I hadn't seen her for two years...maybe she was in on the tissues and socks?
But it turned out to be the bartender from the hotel bar she cocktails at, and he brought friends -- her manager and the Glenlivet rep from Scotland. Hey-o!! Relieved I didn't have to begrudgingly buy a pack of Kleenex, we ordered sake bombs all around. Truly, there's nothing like hearing the Japanese chant "Sake, Sake, Sake...BOMB!" in a Scottish accent. We entertained each other while indulging in more bombs, some beer, and plenty of sushi. Probably egged on by our rousing chants, our waiter brought over a round of mango shots for all.
What I learned: leave early, carry a pocket fan, everything sounds better in an accent, and never assume a guy with crazy hair carrying a plastic bag is peddling tissues and socks.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Warming Up My Wings
Well, friends. Here it is. My first blog post. (silent fist pump)
I like to uphold propriety, so I feel as though introductions are in order. A few little gems about myself:
1. In first grade until 24, I've gotten in trouble by teachers and superiors for being a Social Butterfly. In my humble opinion, it's nothing to get your wings in a wad over.
2. I can chronicle my life in cocktail napkins.
3. I swear by Starbucks, a sale, and Daily Candy.
4. I'm not high maintenance. I just know what I want, when I want it, and how I like it. And usually can help others decide the same.
5. I believe whole heartedly in second chances. For people, for clothing. (But not for things like old toothbrushes or other very personal, one-time-use items.)
6. I own 29 little black dresses.
7. I can make anything look good by accessorizing. And I mean anything. And I most likely got it on sale.
8. For as much as I shop for new things, I use everything I own until it falls apart. Ie- the car I got when I was sixteen, my first cell phone, my favorite pink ballet flats I wore all over Europe until I started tripping on the sole that was coming off, and any item of clothing that can be fixed with needle and thread.
9. I’m not above much.
10. I love even the smallest challenge and will usually do anything to overcome it. One time this black kid refused to buy a shirt from me for a fundraiser. So I asked him what it would take. He challenged me to a rap battle in front of a lot of people. Not only did I school him with my phat beats, I raised ten more dollars than we would have had before. Like I said, I’m not above much.
11. I’m so the girl that cries openly or laughs out loud while at the movies, in Hallmark, and at strangers' weddings or baptisms.
12. I can win arguments and get free coffee with the flash of a smile and the bat of my eyes. If someone’s a really tough cookie, a well-timed giggle usually seals the deal.
13. I refuse to write in or read anything written in Times New Roman.
14. I feel as if it essential to name everything – my car, my computer, my groups of friends, the potted flower on my desk. I get pretty attached to things/people for this reason.
15. In undergrad and grad school, I never sold back a single one of my English books. I mean, you cannot *sell back* literature.
16. I wear my heart on my sleeve but play my cards pretty close to my chest.
17. Yes. I consider car and window-glare dancing a favorite pastime.
18. When I fly, I *must* sit by a wing.
19. I have appropriate cards on hand for any occasion. I feel as though a well-timed, situational card can cure any ill, celebrate any accomplishment, and give a much needed laugh.
20. I fully believe in the power of laughter, chocolate, and friendship. Oh, and a stiff drink.
21. I ALWAYS find my way to the front of the stage. And sometimes on it…whether invited or not.
22. In that same vein, my friends and I usually find our way onto the band’s website in some form or another, on other people’s cameras, and get repeated shout outs over the microphone by the DJ or band.
23. I theme *everything.*
And for the golden 24th: As the namesake of this blog professes, I find it to be true:
LIFE IS BETTER AS AN OCCASSION! So get ready to party ;)
I like to uphold propriety, so I feel as though introductions are in order. A few little gems about myself:
1. In first grade until 24, I've gotten in trouble by teachers and superiors for being a Social Butterfly. In my humble opinion, it's nothing to get your wings in a wad over.
2. I can chronicle my life in cocktail napkins.
3. I swear by Starbucks, a sale, and Daily Candy.
4. I'm not high maintenance. I just know what I want, when I want it, and how I like it. And usually can help others decide the same.
5. I believe whole heartedly in second chances. For people, for clothing. (But not for things like old toothbrushes or other very personal, one-time-use items.)
6. I own 29 little black dresses.
7. I can make anything look good by accessorizing. And I mean anything. And I most likely got it on sale.
8. For as much as I shop for new things, I use everything I own until it falls apart. Ie- the car I got when I was sixteen, my first cell phone, my favorite pink ballet flats I wore all over Europe until I started tripping on the sole that was coming off, and any item of clothing that can be fixed with needle and thread.
9. I’m not above much.
10. I love even the smallest challenge and will usually do anything to overcome it. One time this black kid refused to buy a shirt from me for a fundraiser. So I asked him what it would take. He challenged me to a rap battle in front of a lot of people. Not only did I school him with my phat beats, I raised ten more dollars than we would have had before. Like I said, I’m not above much.
11. I’m so the girl that cries openly or laughs out loud while at the movies, in Hallmark, and at strangers' weddings or baptisms.
12. I can win arguments and get free coffee with the flash of a smile and the bat of my eyes. If someone’s a really tough cookie, a well-timed giggle usually seals the deal.
13. I refuse to write in or read anything written in Times New Roman.
14. I feel as if it essential to name everything – my car, my computer, my groups of friends, the potted flower on my desk. I get pretty attached to things/people for this reason.
15. In undergrad and grad school, I never sold back a single one of my English books. I mean, you cannot *sell back* literature.
16. I wear my heart on my sleeve but play my cards pretty close to my chest.
17. Yes. I consider car and window-glare dancing a favorite pastime.
18. When I fly, I *must* sit by a wing.
19. I have appropriate cards on hand for any occasion. I feel as though a well-timed, situational card can cure any ill, celebrate any accomplishment, and give a much needed laugh.
20. I fully believe in the power of laughter, chocolate, and friendship. Oh, and a stiff drink.
21. I ALWAYS find my way to the front of the stage. And sometimes on it…whether invited or not.
22. In that same vein, my friends and I usually find our way onto the band’s website in some form or another, on other people’s cameras, and get repeated shout outs over the microphone by the DJ or band.
23. I theme *everything.*
And for the golden 24th: As the namesake of this blog professes, I find it to be true:
LIFE IS BETTER AS AN OCCASSION! So get ready to party ;)
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