New York, NY (the city where I ran my first marathon)

One Race. 26.2 miles. Five Boroughs. 90,000 applicants. The streets of New York.

This Saturday night I will go to bed early. I will wake up on Sunday. Rested. Refreshed.

I know what I need to do and I will live up to the challenge.

As others lie under their warm comforters with the new day a distant thought in their head. I will be up. I will stretch. I will get out the OJ and I will mentally prepare.

It's been one year. One year to the day. To the day of last year's NYC ING Marathon. I've had one whole year to prepare.

As I hear my roommate begin to stir in her room, I know. I know what I need to do. I take a deep breath. I open the OJ and I pour. I pour the first, of what promises to be many, mimosas.

The buzzer rings, our first of many guests has arrived. We high five. We toast. We get ready to walk down the grueling 5 flights of stairs to the street outside our apartment and then down one block to the 18th mile marker. We stake our spot. It's time to cheer. To cheer, to drink. To cheer and drink until we can do it no more (or in this case until the Race ends).

I am proud to live in NYC. I am proud of the athletes who have stepped up to run this Race. It will inspire me to run a little faster on my next 1.5 mile leisurely jog around the Reservoir.

So this Sunday I will do what I can. I will cheer my little heart out and I will raise my glass to the runners. Here's to you crazy little marathon runner. Here's to you.

Wauwatosa, WI (the city turning out Sephora soldiers)

I went back to Wisconsin a few months ago for one of my best friend's weddings. Like any time-starved traveler I had planned my weekend to a tee. Lots to do and so little time. Bridesmaid duty is not to be taken lightly.

Landing in Milwaukee at 8 a.m. on a Friday morning I had several important stops to make prior to the bridesmaids' luncheon and the rehearsal/rehearsal dinner.

My driver (ok, my mom) took me straight to the mall where I had to buy make-up and underwear. Yes, I know, who forgets that?!

By the time we arrived at the mall the stores had just opened. I entered Sephora on a mission. I surveyed the store. There was one other customer and 7+ staff all dressed in black with headsets on. Mind you the store is not big. As in, I could stand in the front corner and have a clear view of the opposite, back corner.

I've had about 3 cups of coffee on the plane and was on a mission. No browsing today. I'm here for mascara and lip-gloss. I made eye contact with the closest worker.

..Can I help you with anything today?..

Me: "Yes, I'm in a wedding tomorrow. We're wearing black dresses. I'll have various shades of purple eye shadow. I need mascara and lip-gloss. Could you please recommend something"

Her eyes go big. She's been handed a challenge. Will she succeed? She immediately grabs the mic to her headset.

"This is Shelly I'm taking client to lip-gloss. I repeat, I'm taking client to lip-gloss". She over and outs as we sprint to lip-gloss. Mind you, sprinting got us there in t-minus ½ second. Again, the store is not big.

I know it's early but I have had 3 cups of coffee. Yet I'm still confused. So, so confused. Who is she talking to? Can the rest of the staff actually not SEE that she is moving to the lip-gloss section? On a side note .. do they care? Is it necessary to keep them abreast every step of the way? I actually think every single person in Sephora could hear her...regardless if they were mic'd. Not to mention that NO ONE so much as glanced up when the coordinates of our destination were announced.

We arrive in lip-gloss. Sweat is glistening on her upper lip. I want to take her shoulders and tell her it will all be ok. Worst-case scenario she gives me a bad color, the pictures are ruined and I have a pissed off bride on my hands (please note this sentence may be overly dramatized for effect).

As I leave the aisle with lip-gloss and mascara in hand (I grabbed this on the way to lip gloss. I figured Shelly had too much to deal with at this point), I overhear her 10-4ing into her mic that I am approaching checkout. I believe I actually arrived at checkout before the message was finished being relayed.

At which point I waited 5 minutes while the manager behind the counter finished the morning announcements via headset..

"Good morning happy sellers. We've got the following goals for today..blah blah blah. Christy has already sold $50 worth of merchandise so keep those sales coming!"

I hand the manager my purchases with a look of complete awe on my face. Where am I? Where are the days when mall employees were young kids trying to make a few extra bucks? I actually get the vibe that resumes are now required for this position and experience as a soldier/secret op is preferred.

I grab my bag, say a quick thank you and exit. Shelly looks happy, serene. She was given a mission and saw it through. That's all you can ask for. Shelly, I salute you.

Boston, MA, San Diego, CA and New York, NY (cities where birds suck)

I can't decide which is worse...having friends around when you get shit on by a bird or being alone.

I have been hit with bird shit on the following occasions:

Boston - August '99
San Diego - February '05
New York (Streets) - April '05
New York (Central Park) - May '05

Mind you, these are just the most recent and prevalent hits.

Then there's today. Friday, April 28 12:11PM EDT. Location: in the vicinity of Times Square. Almost a year to date from the last time I was blindsided on the streets of NYC.

I decide to venture out of the office to run an errand and pick up lunch. It's a beautiful day. Lots of people out and about. I make it six blocks. I pause at the corner of 42nd and 8th ready to cross the street. It's then that I hear "poof poof" and feel something hit my head and shoulders. MuthaFucka. It's a noise, feeling, sensation I am all too familiar with. I don't even look up...no need...I know what I'll see.

I've got about five deep behind me on the corner. Are they all staring at bird shit on my back?! I don't want to wait and find out. I pivot and bolt. I'm still on the sidewalk but now just off to the side under an overhang. People are definitely still looking, but, whatever.

I take off my coat....damn...they got me. I feel like the Bird Mafia has a bounty on my head. Ok, gross, but definitely cleanable and not very noticeable. That can't be it?! It had felt like more. Great. I'm half running, half skipping down the block. Not out of joy. Oh no. Out of the necessity to twist my body every 1/2 block to see if I can steal a glance at the damage. Nothing. I'm running my hands through my hair...across my shoulders. I must look like a power walker with the shakes.

Here is where my original question comes in....is it better to be alone or with people when a bird shits on you? Flashback....May '05 Central Park. My brother and cousin were town for a short stay before we took off for Madrid. I decided to take them to Central Park. Another beautiful, sunny day (see a pattern here?). We're walking through the park and I am almost instantaneously assaulted on my shoulder and arm. My cousin starts laughing hysterically and pointing. This is where I may have wished to be alone, as tourists then began to point and take pictures. I approached the closest hot dog stand and got napkins. End of story, not end of embarrassment.

Fast forward to today. My trip was cut drastically short. I, in fact, didn't run my errand and didn't get lunch. Why? Because I was solo and there was no one to do the "once over", someone to laugh and be embarrassed with. Instead I legged it back to the office and made my colleagues survey the damage.

Twenty minutes later, I went back out. After all a girl has to eat.

When you fall off a horse, you get back on. When you bomb a presentation, you try harder next time. When a bird shits on you, you hold your (hatless) head high and march down the street.

Let that be a lesson to you my friends. Let's not let our fears cripple us. If you see a girl walking down the street flinching every time the shadow of a bird passes over, cut her some slack or better yet, offer her a napkin.

New York, NY (the city on the brink of a Renaissance)

My office building is in the Fashion District. Not fashion as in ladies with blown out hair, oversized sunglasses, Chanel purses and little dogs. Fashion as in mass-produced, over-priced garments put together in small, almost sweatshop like offices. (And for the record, I do NOT work at one of them).

My agency is based in Richmond, VA and it just so happens that the lease on our NYC office is up for renewal in the next couple of months. Like any space in NYC, what we pay for is ridiculously overpriced. So, our CEO calls us into a meeting to discuss the pluses and minuses of our building and location. Could we get by with something smaller? Do we want to relocate to another area of the city? Etc etc. Now mind you I dont particularly care what part of the city I work in. Granted Soho would be fun for window shopping at lunch...but, at the end of the day, it's work.

What I did learn in this meeting was that our area, the Fashion District, has been and is continuing to go through a renaissance. Hmm, I am intrigued. I was not aware of this and just to confirm that I wasn't going crazy, I decided to look up the definition...

Renaissance: the revival of learning and culture. The action of something changing, usually for the better.

For those of you not familiar, the Fashion District is located directly between Penn Station and the Port Authority and just west of Times Square. If these areas still don't sound familiar to you, picture public transportation on crack. Its basically where 7 million people come into and out of the city each day for work, where every single tourist comes to visit (Times Square) and the area that seems to attract the highest percentage of sketchy people in the city (no joke).

Back to the meeting. Have I been working so many hours and walking in a daze to and from work that I haven't noticed the renaissance that has been happening in front of my very own eyes? I decide to investigate.

I leave the office and walk a few blocks toward Penn Station passing a Adult Entertainment store, a Checks Cashed store and a Everything's a Dollar store. I did notice they fixed the "ed" in "Cashed" so it now glows fluorescent red like the rest of the sign. Score one for the renaissance!

I continue walking and come upon a Rite Aid drug store. I am not even kidding you, there is an old lady sprawled across the entrance with her walker on its side. Surrounding her are four young thugs. Uh oh. I reach for my cell phone. I'm being called to action. This is my time to help. But...wait. There's another little old lady. She's inside the entrance and picking up some bags. I decide to observe.

Lady 1 (on the ground) to Lady 2 (inside the entrance): That bitched pushed me (What?! I dont think my grandma even knew how to swear)

Lady 2: I didn't push you, you tripped on my bags. You better watch where you're going fool!

Meanwhile the four thugs were trying to calm the two ladies down and break up the tussle. Unreal.

"Renaissance: The revival of learning". If these two ornery old ladies didn't bitch slap each other and duke it out, how would these four young men have learned to negotiate/mediate a tense situation while also respecting their elders? Score another one for the renaissance!

Now there is something I feel I should tell you. I attract homeless men. It's true. Put me within a 5 mile radius of one of them and like a beacon, they will come to me. I have processed this information, accepted it and learned to live with it. So it was no surprise on my way back to the office that I caught one of their eyes. "Hello baby, how you doin today?" I have found the best approach is to ignore the comment and move quickly. I did just that. However, I did notice that he was wearing actual shoes and had all his teeth! "Renaissance: the act of something changing, usually for the better." Granted the "better" in this case is all relative. But things are still looking up and thats another win for the renaissance.

On that note, our lease has been renewed and I wouldn't want it any other way. I'm looking forward to the next few months and what the renaissance will bring....

Madison, NJ and Harrisburg, PA (cities not found on USA Today's Top Ten Destinations List)

One of the aspects I enjoy most about my job is the travel. I’m usually gone about one day a week. Sometimes it can get old but for the most part I love it. I think you can learn a lot about yourself when you’re on the road, alone. For instance….

…I prefer my breakfast buffet without hair in the food.
…I enjoy sleeping through the night without the sound of two people going at it in the room adjoining mine.
…I like clean sheets. Period.
…The more I travel the more I realize I don't have patience for delays or reservation errors.

I travel to New Jersey about every other week for work on my &*%$ client (name withheld to protect the innocent). Usually I go for two days and spend two nights there. My first unfortunate visit took place on Sept 13 & 14, 2005.

I arrive in New Jersey at about 9PM, straight from NYC. I go to check into my room at, I swear to God, the largest Sheraton I have ever seen in my life. They scan my card and inform me that I don’t have a reservation until the following night. Super. Well, I am not about to head back to NYC. Sadly, the hotel is completely sold out.

(Pause..wait for it..potential solution...maybe? yes!)

*Ma'am (eww) I have a “training room” available*

..Um..A what?..

*You know (really??), a training room...with conference tables*

..Is it communal?..

*No, it’s basically like a guest room*

..Ummmm...ok..I guess that works (fear, alarm, annoynance, tired, fine)..

I approach my room (let's use that word loosely) and open the door. Hmmm...not too bad. Bed, check. TV, check. Shower, check. Bathroom, check. Telephone, check. Not so bad. Not so bad at all.

At this point I am starving and there is no menu in the room (ahhhh, the reality sets in). So I walk to the restaurant. Mind you, my floor is all conference rooms. I’m half expecting to wake up the next morning to workers setting up a breakfest buffet for a meeting. Anyway, back to the restaurant. I place my order and give him my room number “TR2”. One hour and 15 minutes later and my cobb salad has yet to arrive. Sweet. I call down.

*Ah..yes..we have your order but we couldn’t find an extension for you?...*

Again, sweet. They arrive, drop off the food and ask me to sign for my room. It’s on there I say, “TR2”. MASS confusion.

All in all not a bad night and I was even able to jot down a few thoughts on the dry erase board above my bed before dozing off.

Second trip to Jersey. Sept 28 & 29, 2005. Arrive from the city around 8:30PM. Go to check into the Wyndham. No room. Completely sold out. See a pattern? They call the Wyndham down the road to check availability. I do have a room there but not until the next night. Nice. What is the deal. Luckily a coworker was arriving from CA that night. So, lucky me, we got to bunk up together. No worries. Two beds.

My third tale takes me to Harrisburg, PA for a meeting. No relation to New Jersey. I mistakenly think I’m in the clear. The meeting is at 11AM on a Thursday in February. I catch a 6AM flight from LaGuardia…with a layover in DC?! Looks like I’ll be traveling in opposite direction from my final location. Whatever. We’re in the air. It’s looking good. We begin our decent into Dulles (DC). The captain comes on to inform us we have like 0% visibility but they are going to try to land it (is it too early to start drinking???). On a side note…either land the plane or don’t…I don’t need the blow by blow that you can’t see. We circle. And circle. And circle some more. Turns out el captaine does not, in fact, have x-ray vision and we will be redirected to Pittsburgh until the fog clears.

Being the resourceful little traveler that I am, I pull out the map in the back of the United magazine. Great news. Looks like Harrisburg is only a few hours, by car, from Pittsburgh. Perhaps I can just catch a new flight seeing as I will be in the same state. I buzz the stewardess. While I have nothing against the stereotypically “valley girl”, I can’t say I’m reassured that my travel plans now appear to be in the hands of one.

*Like, hi, what’s up?*

(Me): Ah, yes. I have a meeting that begins in two hours and since the meeting is in Harrisburg I was wondering if I could just connect from the Pittsburgh airport versus having to go back to DC first?

*Meeting in two hours? Ahhh, ohhhh, good luck with that. Once we land they’ll totally let us know whether you can de-plane or whether you have to stay on until we fuel and go back to DC*

(Me): Super. Thanks.

We land in Pittsburgh. No one is getting off. Looks like we’re refueling and heading back to DC. At this point, I won’t make the meeting. Oh well. My coworker will be there, it could be worse. I’ll just catch the next flight back to NYC once I land.

I arrive in Dulles at 11AM. My original return flight from DC to NYC was 7PM that night. I’m not concerned. How hard can it be to get an earlier flight? They leave like every 30 minutes. I wait on line at customer service only to find out that they can’t put me on an earlier flight. This is rich. I have 8 hours to kill and Dulles is no where near downtown DC. I fly standby for two flights…one of which has a defunct wing (again they announce it to everyone as if we really want to know) the other flight continues to be delayed until well after 7PM. After 3 coffees, two meals,5 magazines and my cell phone battery giving out, I board to head home.

I have never ever in my time here in NYC (ok, so it’s only been a year) been so happy to land in the city. I jump in a cab and instead of having him drop me at my apartment I go directly to Best Cellars to pick up a bottle of wine.

Bring on the next trip!

Richmond, VA (the city with slippery sheets)

My company is based out of Richmond, VA. When I started my job, just over a year ago, I was fortunate enough to spend a week in Richmond for training. Come on...a week?? In a hotel?? All expenses paid?? Can’t beat it! Sadly, not all the stories from that week were positive...

...I lost a battle with the hotel nightstand late one night...

My accommodations were at the Hilton in Richmond. Two queen beds, nightstand in between. Decent room.

The first night I arrived I wasn’t able to sleep very well. I awoke around 3 a.m. to use the bathroom. I chose to leave the light off as I was still half asleep. I slowly and carefully found my way back to the bed and was standing at the base when I made the decision to take a half jump to get back into bed.

Now, I know I am almost blind without my contacts but I felt I had judged the approach and positioning very well. It could have been a mis-jump or it could have been the highly unusual texture of the comforter (VERY, VERY slippery), I'm not sure we'll ever know. Whatever it was, I slide right off the bed and body tackled the nightstand.

Looking back, I am thankful. Thankful I didn't lose an eye out. I did, however, hit my right ear. Hard. I was down for the count. Dazed and confused, I tried to assess what had just happened. This type of shock is rough, especially when you're half asleep. I didn't want to touch my ear for fear that 1) it was gone or 2) it was bleeding (my benefits hadn't kicked in at this point...yowza).

I finally summed up the courage to check and…**good news**…my ear was there AND not bleeding. I stayed on the floor for a bit to let the dizziness and nausea pass and then went back to bed (sleeping on the left side of my head, of course).

I contemplated writing the Hilton a “slippery bed spread” complaint but couldn’t fully express what had happened on their postcard-sized comment card (another complaint! can this hotel get anything right?!?!) without sounding like I had been high or on drugs. Instead I iced my ear and caught the next flight to NYC.

Rome, Italy (the city with good food and confusing toilets)

I returned from Rome yesterday. Four AMAZING nights in my new favorite city. In the world. Hands down. I wouldn't be able to do Rome justice if I tried so I will leave it at this...the city is a-b-s-o-l-u-t-e-l-y amazing.

The streets of Rome are beautiful, winding, cobblestone-lined paths. Every corner you turn causes your breath to catch as you stare at another amazing piece of architecture/famous ruin. In fact, the other day, an adorable elderly Italian man had to tap me on the shoulder to inform me that the intricate, stunning piece of stone work (that I thought I would only see in a history book) was in fact concrete they were using to plug a landfill. What can I say?? I appreciate the little things in life.

Don't even get me started on the food. Luckily I didn't gain weight as we walked EVERYWHERE. The Italians really do it right - vino, pasta, gelato, cappuccino....I could go on and on about the food like Rachel Ray after she opens a new bottle of EVOO (shudder).
Needless to say in four short days I had completely fallen in love with the city, the sights AND the food. The only thing I had left to embrace was the culture (well...and a man that wasn't skinnier/prettier than me).

I had the very good fortune of being able to travel to Rome with my dear friend Richard. We work together at a theatre marketing agency in London and were excited to experience a "local" theatre production. We pulled ourselves away from our pasta bowls and bellinis long enough to purchase tickets to "Footloose Il Musical". A musical we came to embrace as a thrilling tale of Italians, pretending to be Americans, but still speaking Italian. A highlight for me was when one of the lead actors took a break from his monologue to personally push the set (a house) from the wings of the stage. He really had to thrust his entire body into the collapsible house to open it up. A few grunts later...and Act II began! Ta-da!

Intermission came and, if you can believe it, I was ready for a break. This "local" experience was clearly one aspect of Rome I wasn't going to be writing home about. Or so I thought...

The line for the bathroom was quite long and I wanted to move fast so I could return to my seat. That's where it all went to shit (not literally, thank god). There was a cord hanging from the ceiling which I assumed was used to flush the toilet. I pulled. Hard. A very loud and a very alarming buzzer went off and I made a dash for it. I didn't alert Richard of my faux pas until we were back in our seats. He had heard the alarm go off but hadn't realized it was me. Lovely. Apparently it’s an alarm for disabled people. Only to be pulled in times of extreme need. It was a humbling experience to say the least.

Did this minor set-back discourage me? Did I no longer view Rome as my golden city?! Absolutely not! It only made it more obvious that my task in Rome was not to support the local, cultural community. It was to eat and drink as much fabulous food and vino as possible in four short days. And that my friends, I succeeded at.