Cold Noodle Salad

I had a yummy cold noodle salad from Republic in Union Square for dinner which is a refreshing combination of wheat noodles, bean sprouts, carrots, peanuts, mint, fried shallots, jicama and peanut sauce.  I make a version of this salad using a recipe from my favorite food blog Orangette.  Here it is:

Sauce:
½ cup well-stirred natural peanut butter
1 ½ tsp. soy sauce
¼ tsp. pressed garlic
½ cup fresh lime juice
½ tsp. sriracha or a similar hot sauce, or more to taste
½ tsp. chili garlic sauce
2 tsp. olive oil
1 tsp. water

Noodles:
½ to ¾ lb. soba noodles
3 red radishes, very thinly sliced with a knife or mandolin
2 small (or 1 large) carrots, very thinly sliced with a knife or mandolin
1 medium baby bok choy or other green vegetable (snow peas, green onion), sliced
Fresh cilantro or basil leaves, for serving

De-lish!

The Simple Life

Today was my department's "Day of Caring" when we all wear matching t-shirts and descend onto some institution to pitch in and help out.  This year the lucky place was a farm in New Jersey where we would be planting trees and shrubs.  Months of preparation had gone into this day evidenced by the onslaught of about 500 emails in my inbox as well as the Outlook calendar entries in case it was not clear from all the emails, where and when we were supposed to show up.  Four of us - Frenchie, OCD, Bubbles and me - headed out from New York, meeting at Penn Station at 7:20 am to catch the 7:36 train, arriving at 7:53 to Newark Penn Station where we needed to catch the 7:59 train to Somerville, where our admin assistants would be waiting to pick us up.  I must interject here to introduce my coworker Bubbles, who is nicknamed so since she effervesces with energy, can chatter a mile a minute, has her whole week booked up with every activity and social event you can imagine all coordinated on her attached-at-the-hand Blackberry, and still has time to show up at work with photo-ready hair and makeup.  I am older than Bubbles, but I don't think I've ever had this kind of energy.  Perhaps Bubbles could benefit from a valium so she can see how the rest of us live.

Anyways, as per usual with NJ Transit, there were technical issues (a freaking door would not shut!) and we were held up thereby we would definitely miss our connection in Newark.  We sat on the train in our tree planting clothes which consisted of our oversized, bright blue t-shirts provided by work paired with (in true NYC form) - Lululemon pants and designer handbags.  Bubbles, the most stylish of us wore her t-shirt with tights, Ray Ban Wayfarers, a large Alexander McQueen handbag and Marc Jacobs rain boots.  Frenchie and me were wearing worn-out running shoes on our feet that we were planning on tossing if the conditions were muddy and when we asked OCD if she planned to do the same she replied matter-of-factly "I just washed these!  I do not own throwaway shoes!"  Then the following conversation ensued:

OCD: "I'm not going in the mud."

Frenchie: "Ohhh oookay."

Bubbles: "Are we going to get to pet ANIMALS?"
(she shrieked excitedly while briefly looking up from her Blackberry)

OCD: "I'm not touching animals."

We missed our connection and hunkered down in the train station McDonald's to wait for the next train to Somerville at 9:06.  OCD and Frenchie ate Egg McMuffins (OCD's sans cheese) while me and Bubbles nursed coffees. I stared enviously at the food, wishing I had not wolfed down my peanut butter Cliff bar earlier.  The next train ride seemed to take FOREVER which elicited an uncharacteristic "Holy f**king hell is this far!" from me.  The 20 minutes stopped on the tracks in the middle of nowhere did nothing to help my mood and once we had arrived at the train station we all realized that this journey had taken us over three hours!  We then proceeded to get lost, with a GPS, on our way to the actual farm.

(we made it!)

(lost in NJ!)

We arrived to meet the rest of our coworkers who had been busy planting for the last two hours and one of them yelled out "Hey you come to work the afternoon shift?"  Little by little our group of bean counters placed the saplings into pre-dug holes, happy to be out in the sunshine rather than basking in the glow of our laptops.  In the end we planted over 4,700 trees and shrubs, which according to the organizers was some kind of record!  We got back on the train and me, OCD and Frenchie passed out, occasionally awoken by Bubbles, wide awake, on her phone.

(get me home!)

I finished my day meeting Stamps for an hour and a half yoga class with our favorite spacey yoga instructor who likes to say things like "Feel your eyes recede from the skins of your eyelids." and "Feel your pores broaden."  Spacey was in an a** kicking mood tonight and I left centered but a sweaty mess.

This whole day has brought me closer to the earth in both body and spirit - but mostly I just feel sore....

Note:  There are no pictures of the actual tree planting since I had to sign a waiver that I would not sue the farm in case of injury, death or dismemberment and could only take pictures for personal use - to be safe, I ditched my Blackberry in the trunk of a car.

Escape From Guayaquil

We had planned on taking the 5:00 am shuttle to the airport to catch our flight, but when I exited the elevator into the remarkably quiet lobby, GQ was angrily pacing back and forth.  "The shuttle just took off at 4:45!" he sputtered in disbelief that even something as simple as an airport shuttle that is supposed to run every half an hour to an airport about five minutes away, could be screwed up.  To compensate for their incompetency, the hotel paid for our taxi ride to the airport.  However this was just the first of several incompetent acts on our journey home, which appears to be the hallmark of all travel in Latin America.

1. Taxi - Me, Mini and GQ (Skips had left he night before) stood on the curb watching the cab driver and bellman try and cram three weeks of luggage for three people into a subcompact car, while shaking our heads sure that this was just another exercise in time wastage.  Finally the lightbulb goes off and the bellman offers the solution of two taxis, which we had already thought of ten minutes before.
2. Ticket Counter in Guayaquil - We checked in, but for some unknown reason, the the lady at the counter could not print our boarding pass for our connection in Panama.  Mini tried to ask in Spanish to see if this would help at all, but still she insisted that the system could not do it.  When we looked down at our boarding passes, I had both, GQ had his for Guayaquil to Panama and Mini had hers from Panama to Newark.   Startlingly (or maybe not so), Mini managed to pay her airport tax and get past several checkpoints without anyone questioning that she didn't have a boarding pass for the first leg of our journey!
3. Security Checkpoint - In one of the dumbest moves I have ever made during my extensive travels, I had forgotten to remove the butter knife stolen from the hotel restaurant (which was used to prepare our lunchtime PB&J) from the front pocket of my laptop bag.  This would have trumped the time I lost my departure card in Indonesia and was threatened with being blacklisted from the whole country, however since this happened in Ecuador, it ended up being nothing.  After discovering the knife, security felt the edge and realized it was totally dull and then took me to the side to fill out some paperwork.  I was a little scared as I had just carried a weapon into an airport but instead of hauling me off for questioning, they gave me back the knife!  "Am I in trouble?" I asked, but the security guy just smiled and said "No" while handing me my knife, sticky with jelly.
4. Secondary Check For Mini - Somewhere amid the mess of the security check, Mini was hauled off for a secondary check of her luggage by scary men with guns and dogs.  "It's because I am Mexican" she insists, which sadly, is likely true. In Ecuador, Canadian woman with a knife = good, while 4'9 Mexican woman = possible drug mule.
5. Boarding Passes in Panama - GQ headed to the lounge to retrieve his boarding pass while me and Mini went to peruse the extensive selection of duty free shops.  When we all met up at the gate, he appeared visibly annoyed.  He had given the woman in the lounge (who appeared to be an English speaker) his passport, the flight number and destination and in return she handed him a boarding pass to Portland belonging to some dude named Mark Freeman.  Upon retelling of the story, Mini said, imitating the lounge lady, "No warr-rry Mr. Gringo, we will, send you to a dee-fferent country."  Then, while trying to grab a snack and a quick caffeine fix (I'm guessing), he engaged in a dance of sorts with the mop lady, intent on continuing to mop despite his efforts to grab things off the buffet table.  They should reassign that mop lady to the womens bathroom near gate 23.
6. Boarding - We were standing in line to board when some entitled geriatric tried to cut in front of us, pretending not to see about 35 people already in line. "We're in line" GQ informed her firmly. Since me and Mini were then taken out of line to verify our documents, after the check, I skipped to the front of the line.  The same geriatric gave me a nasty look and gestured for me to go to the back of line to which I told her in my best entitled American (even though I'm Canadian) voice "I was taken out of line and now I'm getting back in."  Once on the plane, I was seated where another geriatric (a nice one though) had the seat next to me, so I thought.  But as has happened on every flight, again someone has misread the complicated number and letter identifying their assigned seat, which is clearly printed on the boarding pass and ended up in the wrong seat.

Other highlights:

Mini on all the crazy people we had encountered so far before boarding our flight from Panama to Newark:

"Maybe the-ay are the norrr-mal ones and we are cray-zay?"

Mini on our tall, well-built flight attendant, with a hideous chin-strap beard, passing out entry documents on the same flight:

Mini: "He is cu-ute, but hee is ga-ay"
(Mini proceeds to impersonate his hulk-like stance with arms held away from his body as he has overdeveloped his lats to the point that he can no longer rest his arms at his sides)

GQ: "You can tell he's gay from his build?"

Me: "No, you can tell he's gay from his voice and mannerisms."

GQ: "Umm you can tell he's gay because he's a FLIGHT ATTENDANT."

Mini and GQ sitting side by side in the worst Continental business class seats EVER - no leg room, no footrest, no pillow and seats that recline at approximately a 70 degree angle!  While Mini is curled up comfortably, napping with her hot pink sweatshirt wrapped snuggly around her for a blanket, GQ has his legs sprawled out, with both knees practically on either side of the occupant of the seat in front of him, in an effort to maintain circulation in his lower extremities.

The rest of the flight was fairly uneventful and I'm finally home. What a test of patience the last three weeks have been and there is a lot I won't miss about Ecuador.  At our last dinner we all talked about what we would miss - fried eggs at breakfast, the huge comfy bed and the cute iguanas.  But I am ridiculously happy to be home - and to eat my bowl of cereal, sleep in my bed and well...I'll still miss the iguanas.

Tea Time In Ecuador

A relaxing cup of green tea after a delicious meal of tapas (La Tasca del Norte) ended up being hilarious all thanks to the tea bag brand and my juvenile sense of humor....

Since I was at dinner with coworkers, thought I'd stay on the safe side of things and stick to one cup.  Ha!

One Week To Go...

Well it's been exactly two weeks since I was sexually harassed by an airport worker at Newark International on my way to the lovely Guayaquil, Ecuador.  My travel companions - Mini-Mami, my baby-faced, apple-cheeked, sweet as pie colleague who had come over from the office in Mexico City 10 months ago.  GQ - the impeccably groomed, caffeine guzzling, NJ renaissance man with a penchant for adventure sports and fine dining.  And Skips who joined in week two - see previous posts.  I have decided to summarize the last two weeks into the good, the bad and the ugly so here goes...

The Good:

(dessert at Sur)

• Food - The food situation has improved by leaps and bounds since I was last in Ecuador in late-2008, where I was stricken by some kind of hellish stomach virus, despite a limited diet of hotel food and T.G.I. Friday's.  It appears that Ecuador's most populous city has decided to try and increase it's appeal to tourists, including the introduction of a number of new restaurants.  Highlights include Blu for creative mediterranean inspired dishes, Signori for traditional Italian, Camaroes for shrimp (shrimp in curry sauce yummm), and Tantra and Asia de Cuba for passable sushi/rolls and Asian fusion in a fun, lounge-y space.  In Quito -  Zazu offers sophisticated modern cuisine and atmosphere for a fraction of the price in NYC and Sur is a great steakhouse (though I had sea bass) with an extensive selection of wines.  I was hoping that the food would suck so I could stand a chance of NOT pigging out for once while away - but nope, it's been the usual nightly feed. 
• Galapagos - This is supposed to be the best part of Ecuador, but I have yet to be able to go since the flights to and from are completely inconvenient for a weekend trip.  Instead, Quito for the first weekend and well...see the "ugly" for the second weekend.
• Iguanas - After lunch, the team likes to get outside and walk around the plant for what is known as the iguana walk, a habit established on my previous trip.  The goal?  To spot as many iguanas as possible during the walk, which is generally pretty easy since they're everywhere!  Tips?  Iguanas like the sun, so there will be more out and about on sunny days basking in the warmth.  They also have their preferred spots - there's the fence sitting iguanas, the wall sitters, the guardian of the pipe rack and those that prefer to lurk in the parking lot.  We wave hello to the iguanas, take pictures and watch them chillin' - while our Ecuadorian colleagues look at us like we're completely nuts.

(wine cellar at Zazu)

The Bad:

(the zoo at the supermarket)

• Food - The cafeteria at work is abysmal, which is surprising as lunch is typically the largest meal consumed in the day due to the current economic conditions.  On the first day, me and my coworkers decided to give it a try.  Me and mini ended up bypassing most of the options for a pile of rice while GQ tried the chicken and was given a very meager serving, more suited to nourishing the slight Ecuadorian frame than to his much taller, larger and fitter physique.  When he asked for another serving and *gasp* a chicken breast, his request was met with a decidedly sour look from the cafeteria worker as if he had requested she turn over her first born.  We attempted to order lunch from the hotel for just over a week, but the food was always a cold, soggy mess by lunch and GQ's standard chicken sandwich he ordered from the menu each morning was always a different creation - sometimes with avocado, sometimes without, sometimes cheese, sometimes not.  We have since resorted to PB&J.
• Customer Service - It takes about 10 minutes to get coffee at breakfast every morning, 20 minutes to get the check at dinner and while you get service with a smile, often it's just sloppy and lazy.  A lot of this appears due to a serious lack of automation in a lot of establishments.  Even at the Sheraton, the front desk staff is clumsily shuffling papers around, sloppily writing down your SPG number on some scrap of paper and taking manual imprints of your credit card, leading to lineups and headaches for all parties involved.  Need your laundry or left something in your room?  Well it's probably somewhere, but they need to send out a freaking search party to locate it.  Checking out at the grocery store?  Be prepared to wait in line since the cashier is taking his sweet old time, hunting and pecking at the cash register with a facial expression as though he is staring into the human brain.
• Nightlife  - In Quito, we went to the "mejor, mejor" nightclub (according to our waiter at Zazu and the cab driver) called La Juliana.  Mini appeared to enjoy some of the live music, GQ was trying to pull his shirt collar away from his neck to keep it from rubbing against the wicked sunburn he had acquired during the day and I kept staring at a woman whose curves could put Kim Kardashian to shame and made me suddenly feel built like a 12 year old boy in comparison.   We left early on account of our altitude induced headaches, exacerbated by our post dinner bloating.  In Guayaquil, the "mejor" nightclubs ended up being oddly located in a strip mall among hardware stores and other random shops.  The parking lot was crawling with women in skin tight, brightly-colored frocks, hooker heels and piles of makeup and men in everything from silly looking white suits to t-shirts with matching ball caps (sadly the impact of  the "Jersey Shore" phenomenon is far reaching).   In addition, much of the crowd appeared VERY underage, looking like a bunch of high schoolers running around with braces and sparse facial hair.  To add insult to injury we could not even get in as we were not on the oh-so exclusive list.  In Guayaquil?  Seriously?  If being on that list meant being included with this bunch of degenerates then no thanks!  

(La Juliana)

The Ugly:

• Driving - Dios mio!  On our way to the nightclub in Quito, we witnessed the most blatant display of drunk driving any of us had ever seen.  Our cab was behind some clunker that was drifting back and forth between the right and left lanes at about 5 mph.  When we passed the car honking loudly at the maniac, we noticed the driver was inebriated to the point where he was slumped over the wheel on the verge of passing out completely.  But really this should not be shocking since there are seemingly no rules of the road or any formal licensing process!  Cars will slow down at green lights, then speed up and run right through red lights and make u-turns across four lanes of traffic.  Lanes and traffic lights are apparently mere guidelines, most cars look like they're on the verge of total collapse, making all trips an adventure.  Fasten your seatbelt...well, that is if you are lucky enough to be in a vehicle with seatbelts.
• Montanita - We had selected Montanita since it's close to Guayaquil, is known for it's beaches and surfing, it's popularity with backpackers and for being very inexpensive.  We also did our due diligence and checked with various people at the office who only laughed and warned us that there is a lot of partying, "las drogas" and alcohol - but we shrugged it off since many of them had been there and even taken their families!  However, when we arrived in Montanita, Skips looked around and said "Esta aqui?" to which our driver responded "Si" followed by a very appropriate  loud groan and "Oh lord" by Skips.  I sat with my mouth agape, Mini looked around wide-eyed, while GQ began plotting our escape.  We drove through the streets of this shanty town, dodging errant children running around and stray dogs lying on the street, probably having given up on life, hoping to be struck down by our vehicle (which, by the way, was the ONLY motor vehicle for miles).  "Party!" Skips exclaimed, "Who are we going to party with?  These kids!" We kept thinking that our resort would suddenly appear in the distance like some sort of magical oasis, but that just never happened.  While the hotel was by far the fanciest thing in Montanita, it was definitely not worth $100 a night for a weekend of bedbugs, dysentery and possibly winding up face down in a ditch with a heroin needle in your arm.  Since there was no credit card number provided when making our reservation, we bailed and returned to civilization. 
• Noise - After enduring an evening of screaming neighbors in the neighboring hotel room, being awoken by construction, countless car rides with radios blaring nonsense that sounds like some kind of auction in rapid Spanish and unending car alarms, GQ declared "This whole culture is based on noise!"  I understand his frustration as a moment of silence is hard to come by in this place.  Even poor little Mini's much needed sleep over the past weekend was interrupted by curious sounds in the night.  "I had some berry ack-teeve nigh-burs" she said to us the next morning.  Silence may be golden - but not in Ecuador. 

Adios for now!

En Route To Guayaquil, Ecuador

Sunday I arrived at Newark International super early for my flight to Guayaquil since the usual almost hour cab ride only took half an hour.  On my way to the security check, I showed my passport and boarding pass to the random airport worker that makes sure you're in the right check line before you are screened by the actual US border guy.  He took my passport and stared at the photo not with his brow furrowed in concentration, but with a slight smile of admiration.  And this was not the typical look at the photo, look at the person screening - he stared at it for a REALLY long time, while I stood there waiting for him to just let me through.  He then looked up and me and said that my picture is cute (it's not) and then asked "Can I kiss it?"  I was taken aback and replied "Well that would be weird" with a WTF expression plastered across my face.  He then grabbed my hand and gently place my passport in my palm and closed my fingers around my precious identification and sent me on my way.

Again, it's always the ones you don't want....and even more sad for me is that these "ones" are often food delivery men and random thugs.

The Fade Out

In early August, I decided to actually use my subscription to Match.com and agreed to go on a date with some guy named Steve that lives in Long Island City that had recently moved from Atlanta.  I signed up for Match in January, perhaps out of some post-New Years guilt over not really establishing any resolutions.  However all my work trips in the first half of the year made Match not so much a tool to find potential dates, but more like entertainment in my hotel room at night when overseas, reading all the insane messages  I received.  I had exchanged numerous emails with only two guys and ended up meeting up with one of them who I saw over the summer - but that all ended rather abruptly (story for another day).  This time out I decided to forgo all my usual extensive screening over email and phone and skipped right to meeting up not knowing basic things like what he did for a living.  He looked handsome in his photos and his write-up indicated he had a similar energy to mine so I decided to just go for it.  We settled on Lillie's in Union Square to meet up, since it's a central location and is generally busy on weekdays.  I walked in, still in my work clothes - a short-sleeved violet dress with a beige and white polka dotted belt and flip-flops (I refuse to walk more than 3 blocks in heels) - and texted Steve from the front of the bar - "Don't see u I'm at the front."  Through the crowd, I saw a dude get off a bar stool and start walking towards me.  He did not look a thing like his pictures, which in retrospect must have been at least 5 years old.  His age was listed as 36, but he had a dark leathery tan and considerable sun damage evidenced by the creases around his blue eyes.  His hair was brown and wavy, but was in desperate need of a trim and some type of styling product.  And he wore dark rinse baggy Levis, a black t-shirt and black and white, clunky looking skater kid sneakers.  He did have a nice smile and gave me a good hug.  We sat at the bar and talked over beers about his job (construction worker), his accent (born and raised in California and then moved to Georgia), online dating experiences (we agreed people are freaks) and just stuff in general.  What I gathered from our conversation was he's a nice guy, but not for me.

Steve was craving ice cream so I accompanied him on a search for a Mr. Softie truck.  We were strolling through Union Square, when a man ran after me yelling "Hey.  We stopped and my first thought was that we ran out on our bill, but he pulled me aside and told me he was a casting agent trying to find people for a segment for the Today Show and asked me "Do you know who Nina Garcia is?"  Of course I did being a fashion magazine addict and reality show aficionado.  He explained that they were doing a makeovers at the new Target in Harlem and thought that I would be perfect.  "Am I dressed that badly!" I exclaimed, kind of shocked since I do pay attention to my clothing.  But he eased my fears of being an example of what not to wear and said they wanted to demonstrate that "Even New York women can integrate Target items into their wardrobes."  I was psyched since it paid $2,000 for a couple hours of work, but I soon realized I was going to be out of town during the filming dates. "Too bad, you're adorable!" the guy said.  Steve looked at me with a mischievous grin, finding the whole thing very amusing, while I was disappointed that I was not approached by a casting director in front of a dude I was actually interested in!  Anyways, after Steve got his ice cream, we went our separate ways and he said "We should do this again" before running down the steps to the subway.  He called the next day and I let it go to voicemail and I didn't call him back, thinking I had no obligation to provide a detailed explanation for my rejection after meeting for only few hours.  The "fade out" is very effective in these situations when it's only been a casual meeting or two, but you're looking for serious retaliation if this is attempted after months of dating.

Usually people get the point if you don't call back after a first date, but then yesterday afternoon Steve texted me "Hey how are you.  What you up to this weekend?"  Conveniently I am leaving for a three week work trip this weekend and informed him of this in my reply - he didn't respond.  I'm not sure what I would have done if I didn't have this excuse.  Pretended that I'm busy for the rest of my life (too obviously a lie)?  Told him that I just don't see it happening (too mean)?  I suppose I would have just not responded and continued the fade out, setting myself up for karmic repercussions.  Thankfully - I didn't have to go there.

UPDATE: He responded "Have fun call me when you get back" - WTF!  It's always the ones that you don't want....

Being The Guy's Girl

Thursday night, I met 'Cuse and Commack for beers (well one beer in my case) and pub grub at Whiskey Tavern in Chinatown, which is perhaps the most non-Asian place smack in the middle of Chinatown one can find.  'Cuse is another former coworker and though his abrasiveness was a bit off-putting in our initial interactions, we have since become good friends.  I see 'Cuse and Commack every couple weeks when I'm not traveling and our relationship is reminiscent of the one I had with my male coworkers in Toronto, who allowed me to join in on their boy's club steak dinners at the Keg and all you can eat rib nights.  Being the "guy's girl" is a very comfortable place for me to be, likely due to a lot of time hanging with my younger brother growing up, bonding over our shared love of sports.  Not that I can't be myself in front of my girlfriends but with the boys I can watch the game, dress like a slob, eat like a pig (tater tots with cheese sauce and nachos on this occasion), spill half the meal on myself and then swear like a sailor about the whole damn thing without feeling at all self-conscious.  But what I appreciate the most when I hang with the guys is they are also not self-conscious in front of me and will pretty much say anything, including some brutally honest advice!  One gem from last night was "While you're chill and get along with everyone, you are very specific with who you choose to date, which is probably why you're still single."  Yup, guilty - but that's a story for another day.  Anyways, it's a very direct form of communication, which can occasionally be a bit much for me (especially when the topics veer into X-rated territory), but I can always laugh it all off.  For example, when Commack was recounting a drunken tirade in which 'Cuse had made remarks regarding gay copulatory habits (a weird subject for all straight males, often resulting in homophobic comments when one is not necessarily a homophobe, as in this instance) and yelled:

"Dude you just screamed, 'You're gay, you take it up the a**!'" ('Cuse had no recollection of this tirade and looked genuinely horrified)

Whereas if Giggles were to tell the same story it would go something like this:

"And then he yelled that if you're gay then they like..you know..it up there?" (probably coupled with some awkward hand gestures, and of course - giggling)

In this case, I would have preferred Giggles's approach since I think Commack's comment was said at a volume that not only the table beside us could hear, but really the rest of the bar, over to the West Village and possibly parts of New Jersey could also hear.  This forced me to smile tightly at the patrons at the next table, in a "he's a little tipsy, please disregard him" sort of way - but then I ended up laughing.  We ate our fried food feast and I forced the waitress to take the plates away as I was stuffed and did not need to continue picking at the remnants of the nachos.  The waitress brought us free shots (SoCo lime for me and 'Cuse and Jager for Commack), we did 'em and then I bid adieu to my boys and walked home.  I wandered through Chinatown, Soho, Noho, Astor Place, Union Square, thinking about how happy that I am that I have my network of guy friends in NY (and about all the laundry I needed to do).  And while I know they like my guy-side, I'm sure they are still happy that I still have a closet full of dresses, a purse full of lip gloss and and a posse of girlfriends so I can provide the female perspective.  I got home and my guy-side thought I could use another beer, while my girly-side was happy that my walk home had mitigated some of the damage from the tots and nachos!