"HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY!!!!"

my auntie exclaimed as she came in from the cold Saturday night around 1:30am.

"Wrong sisterrrrr" - I groggily replied as I flipped the light switch in the kitchen revealing it was me with my new "do" and not the birthday girl.

I recently colored my curly blonde locks brown, and it's thrown a number of unsuspecting friends, colleagues and loved ones for a loop.

This particular exchange Saturday night in Newton, however, was hillarious.

Because my aunt, who hadn't seen or heard yet that I'd gone brunette, got quite a kick out of the "transformation", and really believed there for a minute in the half-lit first floor of my parents' home on Elsworth that I was my sorellina who turned 19 this past weekend.

I was in town to be one of my bambina sorella's biggest fans, as she had a solo in her Jubilee Singers concert at the super-sized NNHS. And I was awoken after having gone to sleep post SNL by the sound of my aunt at the door - hoping that I might be heading downstairs to bust my little sister coming in under the influence. Alas, she's still a goody goody, and it was my aunt stopping by as a result of a miscommunication amongst the aunties - she thought her sons were still hanging out with our other cousins at our house when they'd been driven back to NH hours earlier by my other aunt.

I told my aunt I'd take the confusion as a compliment naturally.

As, dang, if I can still pass for 19 as I make my way toward my prime this Fall, I'm not going to complain.

I had to ask her though - was it the frizzy from bed-head brown curls, the zitcream covering my pesky 20something acne, my fleece pajama bottoms, or my geeky glasses that had her seeing me for a mere teen??

Tales of Harmonious Discord

Gchat from the BFF: smile be positive go snooki this guido tonite! and yes, that can go in the blog ;)

He's funny, right?

I'm not sure how he knew my would-be one and only eharmony date was a guido. I only showed him one picture of the nice young lad from Levittown, Long Island. But last names came up when we were talking about my trip to Italy last Fall over dinner, and low and behold, the boy's Napolitano.

Salute.

Full disclosure, I led the date towards an early kiss of death and suggested we see a movie after we'd grabbed a bite. I always suggest a movie when I either no longer want to play the entertainer on a date or I am genuinely interested in learning what type of movie goer a new suitor is.

Either way, it's almost always a terrible sign for the potential of longevity with a given lad. I'm afraid I even want the works when watching blockbusters - someone who's equally as much a fan of superhero movies, comedies, and artsy or at least well acted dramas as I am. And when they can't recognize a Marvel comic character or they don't laugh as hard as I do at previews, I judge them.

I have less to say about the eharmony experience (which I am proud of myself for undertaking for a 3 month trial period, by the way, as I can now say I've done it, and let it run its course in its effective entirety) here though and more to say about dating duds in general. (Not that Levittown was a dud by any means. He's just not the right fit. Obviously. In spite of our similar appreciation for travel, Always Sunny in Philadelphia and being neat and orderly, a relationship with him would simply be a dud of one).

So, this rant is the result of my wondering: HOW can people do it? HOW can one dumb one's self down or else look for so little in a partner? Isn't it worth waiting for something stimulating and interesting? Do people crave company and companionship that badly? (And aren't I lucky, and trust me I'm appreciative that I don't because I have so many other loving relationships in my semi-charmed kind of life).

But, GOD. It's like I even settled on the movie choice last night. I saw The Green Hornet in the HEART of OSCAR SEASON.

And if ever there was a move less worth it.

But I know people are settling all the time.

And that's just a shame in my humble opinion.

Sheer shame.

So back to waiting for my white knight.

One more post, and I'll have hit my goal of 11 for 1/11. Boo-yeah.

Song in your heart sort of night

We have snow again in NYC which is a wonderful blessing in many ways. People are reveling in their days off from work, using it as an excuse to stay in and skip the gym, posting pics of the white powder blanketing tree lined streets all over the island of Manhattan and the outer burroughs.


My delightful partner in (Improv) crime sent me the pic below of the walkway from her home in Flushing to the nearest LIRR stop - fearful that she'd get snowed in here in the city after our 3-6pm class yesterday afternoon, she sent me texts questioning which type of boot this specific blizzard called for: Ugg vs Hunter, and I assured her the movie-set looking flakes were turning to slush when they hit the pavement around midday, so I was relatively sure she'd be fine getting back across the bridge, but that she was obviously welcome to crash on our futon here in Manhattan Valley and to go water-proof if possible.
I'm considering the snow a blessing because it's brought the temperature down.


This weekend and Monday it was freeze-your-face-off cold, and the wind was whipping through the streets with a vengeance.


I braved the brutality of it Monday night though and have been meaning to mention here how I rediscovered what a good friend NYC is to me in doing so.


You know the saying "a friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten it?"


I spent two hours navigating the subway system Monday night: taking the 1 to the B to the F and back, because I'd told a friend who was in from Boston that I'd meet her at the Rockwood to see a producer we work with who's in a band play a 50 minute set. And I floated through the duration of my trip diagonally across the city because along every leg - literally EVERY leg - of it, there were musicians providing me with a soundtrack for my life.


Started with a fiddler playing "Irish Washwoman" at 110th, continued with a woman who brought a portable karaoke machine on the 1 to accompany her Donna Summer's routine, carried on with a pair of young boys, improvising R&B for the final stretch on the F.


And then, seriously, as if the 3-fer weren't sort of strange enough to hit in itself, there was a trumpeter who was playing at the 2nd Ave stop when I got down there and then 55 minutes later when I went to head back uptown after seeing the producer's band.


Song in your heart sort of night. So much easier to stand the cold when music's warming you from the inside out.

Also, I am secreting an iBook

is that what the Apple laptops are called? are they MacBooks? AirPro Somethings?

whatever the correct name - I am trusting that the Universe will know the one I mean, because it's currently the hot ticket item for anyone who's anyone in the creative field (slash it has been for at least five years now), and I'll be a PC lover for life, but it's time for me to join my fellow artists.

once you go Mac you never go back. Darn you beloved iPad.

I am secreting a new mac laptop, and I am entirely positive one will be given to me. You know why? Because this happened:

UCB , making millionaires 1 funny person at a time.

Keeping up with "The Kardashians"

I have just returned from a free 1 hour session with master trainer, Norman Badass (alias, but you get the picture?), at the NYSC at 94th & Broadway I am delighted to have for a "home gym" again now that I'm back in my original NYC Hood.

And I just want to share a quick story.

Norman Badass asked me to take notes after going through each set of exercises in the circuit he taught me so I can do them on my own for the month between now and when I told him I'll sign up for a 4-pack in the weeks leading up to my next half marathon in April.

Dilligent student, I jotted down "lunges, bicep curls, flat bench chest presses, leg raises, one arm row..." and so on.

Then he had hold a 6lb black core ball, balance on one foot with the tow of my opposite foot up on the bench 2 feet behind me...

"Single leg - " Norman started to dictate, but I cut him off.

"I call those the Kardashians," I interjected.

He cracked up, "ohhhh, cause those'll lift your booty up, huh?"

Hahaha. Yep, that's right Norman Badass. Cause those'll lift my booty up, and cause I literally JUST read this weekend in some magazine that that's the exercise Kim Kardashian's trainer is relentless about making her do.

Kardashians. I'm keeping up with them.

newsflash:

The Secret repeats the mantra "thoughts are things" and this little plaque is a gift I gave my bambina sorella for Christmas in 2009. My sibs and I do a grab, so you really only have to get one person one big gift instead of gifts for everyone, but I pick up little things for each of them anyway because I feel it's a nice gesture as the eldest of the brood.

Anyway, my family now refers to December of 2009 as some of the Dark Days - I was battling bugs in Hells Kitchen and my bambina sorella was battling a bout with depression in the Center of the Universe. My family's prone to these bouts (thank you genes from the gloomy albeit beautiful, bright and cheery at other times land of Eire), but we're hardly about surrendering to them. We face them head on and charge through towards the light at the end of the tunnel or at the top of the well if you will: exercise, diets, therapy, acupuncture - whatever it takes, we'll invest the time and energy in because, newsflash: The time to be happy IS now.

A few weeks ago, this sister of mine, casually mentioned that she loved the little wall hanging I'd given her, and this morning, sitting at her desk and working from Elsworth for the day so I can see her perform at the fanciest High School on Earth this evening, I can see why. It's the coolest reminder, and she's got it on the wall in her room beside the window in front of her desk, so while she's plunking away at annoying homework or on her guitar crooning unrequited love songs, she's got the option to look up to the right, get the reminder and have the thing her thought becomes be happiness.

Sweet huh?

I had the pleasure of watching the Golden Globes with my oldest friend who was up from DC the other night, and I told her some of the plans I've been rolling around in my mind...thoughts...

"Dream big," she said with full confidence that if I did the dreams would no doubt come true.

And a day later, I got a card in the mail from another fave friend, el presidente of the University Chorale, who I mentioned having gone to St. Ignatius with a couple weeks ago. The girl's a class act. She sent a thank you note to say her stay in NYC on the UUWS (Upper Upper) was exactly what the doctor'd ordered for a perfect start to her year.

And you know what it said on the front?

"Dreams are made a size too big so we can grow into them."

I had my first class at Upright Citizens Brigade last night, so get ready, readers, because this blog and this sister friend actress writer agent nomad princess is going to naturally evolve to be funnier and funnier over the course of the next 8 weeks.

Yes, and the Priming Year is upon us....

Well it finally happened

The lock on my diary broke.

I actually haven't had a key to the little heart-shaped lock in years - I think I lost it within a week of buying the silly thing (pictured below) at Just Next Door in Auburndale, the card and gift shop where I used to work when I was in High School.

I bought it in the Fall of the year 2000, and the first entry includes a confession that I was crushing on everyone's favorite Floridian, who at the time was just the cutest bass in Concert Choir, and who I'm sure my fifteen year old self could never have imagined one day calling a roomie-for-life thanks to our summer on ACK with Rox (short for Rocco, obv).

Anywho. After I'd lost the little key I'd had to break the lock so I could still access all of my deepest darkest secrets and the other fluff I started to fill the pages of the little diary with, but I rigged it so it would look like the lock was still effective, and I like to imagine that that rigging successfully kept potential spies (ie, my little siblings or my mom) at bay and my inner most thoughts protected in the 8 years the diary was housed at my home in Newton, MA.

Now that I'm fulltime New York Naugs, with a one year lease and no stay longer than a few days to a week long back in Newton anytime in the foreseeable future, I really think I'll be fine leaving the diary unlocked, it was just such a shock to have the little metal pieces break apart as I went to write a bit this morning about the week to come.

And - currently even more attuned to signs the Universe is sending my way than I usually am / have always been - I can't help but wonder... what does this meeeean?!?!? Have I just freed my thoughts? Or playing on the theme of the wording on the colorful cover, have I found the key to loving my life? Is the love of my life now open? There's no denying, the heart lock is broken, and something tells me that's a good thing.

Matchmaker 2: Brad Pitt & Jennifer Aniston

You can see it, can't you? The way they fit? The way their smiles are authentic? The way while unexpected and ever so slightly unbalanced, it's a good match...

Brad Pitt & Jennifer Aniston were set up by their agents in the late 90s when his stardom as one of the best actors and biggest heartthrobs of our day was solidly established and her rise to fame was steadily picking up pace.

About.com reports that:

"During [their wedding ceremony in 2000], Jennifer vowed to make Brad's favorite banana split and Brad promised to find a balance on the thermostat.

Brad and Jennifer had 200 guests, over 50,000 flowers, a gospel choir, four bands, and fireworks at their wedding reception. They served lobster and champagne."

They were happy.

And they were the real deal, but they grew apart because he was 35 and she was 29 when they started dating - babies in the scheme of "the biz." This handy dandy About.com article also says they had irreconcileable differences, opposite opinions on having children and her issues of mistrust and doubt to deal with. Issues that that homewrecker with the lips my old landlady could only dream of acquiring couldn't have helped much with.

So unfortunate as it is, Brad & Jen are fading into the distant memory of google searchers everywhere, and now you can't even check their first page of images without having glam shots of Brangelina pop up, but that's not the point of this post.

The point is: their agents knew them both really well in the late '90s and were totally right on in suggesting they meet. And their blind date led to their 7 year relationship which in Hollywood years (which seem more or less equivalent with dog years) is actually what some have for life-long relationships (49 years).

And.

My best friend in Boston, graphic designer extraordinaire (**note this is the second time a link to her celebrated and sassy site's been posted here on younameitnaugs.blogspot.com**) and who I would also deem my social agent/guru's gone and set up a potential match for me that I will hopefully report more on in due time.

It's an unorthodox tale along the lines of the one I sort of skimmed over this Summer when I talked about trying to pass off a suitor I'd been set up with in May to my friend who I thought was a better fit for him in light of her appreciation for kayaking. And if it winds up blogworthy, I'll be sure to share it.

But while I'm personally ending this entry on a promising, hopeful, and lighthearted/so happy it's Friday note, I'm offering this Blue Valentine trailer in memoriam of the bittersweetness of Brennifer.

and since we've no place to go

the New York office will be opened during normal business hours tomorrow in spite of the doozy of a blizzard we're encountering this evening.

This storm - I'm telling you - it's had people talespinning all day and the snow's finally started dumping down on us like the dickens. Now, I know people are bent out of shape over it, but I was just walking back to my apartment from drinks at The Abby Pub (which is sort of like my very own version of MacLaren's - the How I Met Your Mother Bar - which is actually McGees on W 55th St) with my CFF (close friend forever, not to be confused with his twin brother, my bff *best friend forever*), and all I could think was how beautiful NYC is covered in a blanket of white.

Up in my neighborhood the Christmas lights still line the Broadway Malls that divide North and South running lanes of traffic, and my stroll from 106th to 109th was simply majestic. The stuff that romantic comedy "reveal scenes" are made of.

Much of Manhattan will be closed tomorrow to facilitate more efficient snow removal than was carried out the day after Christmas, but since my commute is from my bed to my desk chair, as you can imagine, I'll be going to work regardless of this fact. And I'll tell you why I'm more than happy to report as Agent Naugs at nine in the morning...

Because I've got some very important emails to respond to while I'm logging my hours this Hump Day. Dear friends of mine who've been in touch about the goings on in their life these past few days are deserving of my heartfelt responses to news that their wife's health's not all that great, that their first and second OK Cupid dates went smashingly and that they're expecting their first baby next August....

Yes, it was a busy day in the g-mailed news department, and I heard from not 1 but 4 of my closest guy friends in the span of a few short hours, which was so sweet and endearing. So I'll be checking in with a number of folks throughout the course of what for many others will be a verified Snow Day.

And in the meantime, I'm content to watch the snow fall outside of my bedroom window, to sip my bud selects and to see what happens when Barney & Robin start dating in season 5 of HIMYM. I love my life... my bff just called

"What's the point of tonight's entry?" he asks

"That I'm a good friend," I reply.

"You're tipsy blogging, admit it."

He's right.

The ultimate sign of blatant procrastination

I called my mother 10 minutes ago.

Just to say "hi."

And now, I'm blogging about it.

I love my mom and she's always up for a chat which is wonderful really, but enough is enough.

I have to write.

This is ridiculous.

I've had ample time in the past week to sit down and start plunking along on the book. I have done just about everything but work on it though.

I went to Radio Shack - twice.

I brought two wool pea coats to Yat Sing Dry Cleaners.

I logged a couple entirely unnecessary "extra" hours at "the office" on Friday afternoon.

And I watched the movie-length premier episode of the latest season of The Bachelor. (This was for good reason as my new roomie was hosting a premier party and had even baked heart shaped brownies in celebration of Bachelor Brad being back after a three year stint in therapy with Texas' finest psychologist having come to find himself plagued with commitment phobia only after stringing two girls along till the bitter end of the season of the show he starred in a while back...read her blog - she is very funny, and I am blessed by the Craigslist no-fee-no-broker-apartment-listing gods to have found her and the fabulous home I am now residing in on the Upper Upper West Side also known as Morningside Heights also known as The Valley also known as a few blocks south of Columbia. She also circulates a recap email each week with witty commentary on the latest episodes of The Bachelor/ette with each new season. Seriously, let me know if you want in, they're hillarious and I'll forward them to you).

Anyway, point being. I don't even like reality TV.

So this has been cute and all, this "settling in" that I've been doing, nesting in the new digs, gradually getting into the 2011 groove, but the honeymoon's over and now it's back to work.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

I partook in a 3 person Chorale Christmas Concert at Mass tonight on the Upper East Side, pleased as pie to be sitting between two of my favorite people in the world who also happened to be officers of the University Chorale of Boston College with me 5 and 6 years ago now.

And not 15 minutes into being there at St. Ignatius, el former presidente of the Chorale grabbed my hand and whispered:

"I'm thinking you could find a man at Church!"

Referencing the conversation we had last night during our slumber party at my new apt on the UWS (WHICH IS AMAZING BY THE WAY), el former presidente was suggesting that there were men not boys to be found in the pews all around us:

"Guy in front of us is a perfect case in point. He's got good energy and he's super good looking," she whispered circa the Litergy of the Eucharist.

I mean, I'm not going to lie, the thought has crossed my mind in the past to stay open to church being a potential place to meet someone here in the city of sin. I'm partial to BC boys (read: NYE kiss) afterall, as many of them tend to be the type of church goin,' Christmas caroling, quality-whole-person-educated and social justice conscience "men for others" a girl can trust and see growing into a solid family guy in the longrun - well worth the investment of time and trust.

I even turned down my acceptance to NYU back in the day embarassingly not too long after an older girl I knew cautioned me that the only guys to be found there were gay or quirky. So it's not that I went to BC in pursuit of an MRS degree perse; I just wasn't shocked to wind up with my first serious bf ever while there.

Note: NYE kiss is hardly a conventional BC boy, whereas interestingly enough we randomly ran into a quintessential example of a BC boy at this very Mass where we were beaming like the dorks we are as we sang "We Three Kings" and "The First Noel" a few hours ago. Seriously: big city, small town.

In any case. My bambina sorella posted this link on my facebook wall today admitting she hadn't actually read the article. She noted the title though: "Life On the Road: Modern Nomads," and having been the one to first point out my nomadic tendencies when they began to be glaringly recognizable in the Spring of 2009, was compelled to share it with me as an homage of sorts to the Nomadic Naugs I laid to rest, well, yesterday, frankly.

The people in this particular article are 2/3's total hippy, so its really not all that much about the lifestyle I was living there for a while schlepping between NY, Cambridge, Newton and CA on occasion. There's been an element of commitment on my part lacking in the last 6 month since I started going to Church weekly though, and I have a feeling that's why I haven't really connected with any of the good energy emitting men el former presidente pointed out to me were in abundance this evening at St. Iggy's and that now that I come to think of it I saw fairly frequently throughout the Fall.

The long and short of this is: I'm claiming Ascension Catholic Church complete with it's rather bad-ass martini nights as my new "home" church now that I'm no longer nomadic, and I'll let you all know if I meet any hotties there.

Happy New Year! Love, Homebody Naugs