I’m big in Japan

So there I am at my desk doing some institutional shareholder analysis for a client and I get a call on my cell from a weird “949” number. I don’t usually answer numbers I don’t know, so I googled the number and up came Killer Dana’s Surf Shop.

Wasn’t sure why a surf shop was calling me since I (a) have never been surfing (b) have no interest in learning to surf (c) don’t live in Cali, but I decided to answer the phone.

A sweet-sounding surfer chick on the other end asked if this was Laura and then asked to confirm my billing address for the purchase I had just made.

WHAT?!?!?!

She started rattling off my old address on the Upper East Side (I’ve moved).

WHAT?!?!!?

I freak out into the phone, “I didn’t buy anything! This isn’t me! I don’t live there! OMG, Identity theft!!” (I didn’t say O-M-G, said the full phrase).

Then the surfer girl says, “ya, thought it was weird that we were gonna ship this stuff to Japan.”

WHAT!??!!

The surfer girl hears the panic in my voice as I repeat that I didn’t make this purchase, someone has my identity and that she has to cancel this order. I mention that this has never happened and that I have to get off the phone to call AMEX immediately.

She asks me, “WHOA, I’ll cancel the order now. SCARY, dude! Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes,” I reply. “Do you have the info of the person who placed the order in Japan?”

Needless to say, I’ve spoken with American Express (the best credit card company ever). They’re taking care of it. No other weird charges on my card. PHEW!

Now, since Mr. Tune Trnh Thanh so graciously tried to steal my identity to buy $250 worth of board shorts, I want to publicize his information. You can call Mr. Tune at the following Japanese phone number: 0 81 125 609 7305.



Crazy...

C’mon Kate, you’re better than that!

When I woke up this morning and checked my mail, I had an email from Kate Spade entitled “idiom bracelets.” I’ll be honest, I got excited. I thought about how fun having silly little idioms wrapped crisply around my wrist – might be a fun new jewelry piece. A bird/bush bracelet with the line “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”, “High as a kite” with pretty kites, “turning over a new leaf” might have been a beautiful bracelet for fall.

Alas, I opened the email.



Really? This was the most creative you could be with IDIOM bracelets? ‘Ooops a Daisy’ doesn’t have a single daisy on it. ‘Tickled Pink’ is just white polka dots. “Grass is always greener” is just stripes. What is this???

These are hardly creative and if I was wearing one, I assure you that I would NEVER think of the idiom that apparently inspired their design. It’s like your design team came up with a beautiful line of enamel bangles and then some kook in marketing had to come up with a common link, a theme. Why waste the idiom idea? It’s spectacular. These bracelets are not as great as ‘idiom bracelets’ could have been. These should have just been called classic enamel collection. That’s all they are.

You’ve left me disappointed. You’re better than this, Kate!

The Last Time the Dow Closed this Low...

The Dow closed yesterday at its lowest level since May 7, 1997. Back then,

- I had just moved into my new (blue) house in Westport, CT.
- Alana Davis' 32 Flavors was on repeat in my boombox.
- I had successfully had my dream guy ask me out and then dump me on our first date (at the movies).
- I was stressing over being Bedford Middle School's President.
- I had some rockin' clear braces.
- and glasses.
- I was just returning from the Honor Society trip to Washington, DC where I was in a BBQ rib eating contest with all the boys (and won). Sad...
- I had an online journal on Geocities.
- I had never tasted beer.
- I wanted to go to William & Mary for college since I thought it would be awesome to go to school while ppl around you were all dressed up in historical costumes.

You’re Still on My “We’re not Cool” List

I was so freaking excited when I got the mail yesterday. Let me (in just a few words) explain what it’s been like trying to get my security deposit back from my landlord: LIVING HELL.

I moved out of my previous dwelling on the UES in mid-October. Since then, I’ve waited patiently while my landlord ignored my calls and emails, tried to bamboozle me saying that I never gave her a deposit, told me that I lived in the apartment for an extra month (not true) and a whole other gamut of time wasting tactics.

Needless to say, after 127 days of persistence (including two letters threatening to go to small claims, 14 emails and a dozen phone calls,) I finally got a portion of my security deposit back. And look, she even sent me a note with the check:



Now here’s the thing. Since the fall, my landlord, a little old lady who lives in UN Plaza (she’s filthy rich), has become this mythical monster. I’ve spoken about her and her nasty tactics to friends/family, dreamed about her demise, and imagined picketing in front of her doorman palace for my measly money back.

How am I supposed to keep this woman on my ‘wicked witch’ list when she sends me that note?! I mean, it’s a sympathy trifecta:
- Old lady writing/misspelling mea culpa
- Puppies
- She gives $ to a seeing eye dog foundation (see header)

I mean, the first time I saw the note, even I let out a little “aw.” NO FAIR!!!

Dear Landlord,

You put me through hell. You made me wait, and hope, and wait, and prepare a legal defense all to get my money back. I appreciate your apology, on sympathy paper, but you’re not getting off my ‘we’re not cool’ list THAT easily.

Just so you know…

25 Things

So the chain email has progressed from email to facebook. After being tagged in two of my friend's '25 things about me' note, I wanted to do one of my own. Oddly, I had a hard time writing the first 10 or so and then it was easy. So, w/o further ado, here's 20 of my 25 things about me you might have not known...


(1) I am a die-hard alumna – in general. I love (and still do work for) both my college (IU) and my sorority (Pi Beta Phi). Ironically, my volunteer work for my college let’s me interact with my high school, which I am also a proud alum (go Staples High!).

(2) I still believe that I am one of the most normal children of divorce in the continental US.

(3) I have a fear of people running behind me. If I hear someone running behind me, I usually stop and look at them or, if I can’t stop, you’ll immediately see me grimace with fear.

(4) I dream of moving to a random city in the US, but fear how quickly I would become bored once I left the NYC area.

(5) I fear becoming a ‘townie’ in Westport (where I was raised), but wish nothing more than living there as an adult.

(6) I once consumed 23 ozs of Jim Beam in one sitting (and lived to tell the tale). Needless to say, it was NOT responsible behavior and I don’t condone ANYONE doing similarly.

(7) I want a dog so badly but refuse to get one until after I leave NYC.

(8) I love low-brow amusements (e.g.- theme parks, monster truck rallies). The better the chance of seeing a mullet in its natural habitat, the more fun I’m having.

(9) I made a pact with myself to become a Zagat-of-sorts for restaurants and bars in Manhattan. I think I’ve done a pretty good job…

(10) I’m terrible at talking on the phone. Most women can talk for hours. For some reason, I get antsy after 20 minutes. I’m much better in person…

(11) I always thought I would be a great news anchor. I don’t know why I didn’t follow that dream.

(12) I have the best little sister in the world. We argue and bicker, but my love for her is more real and true than anything I can put into words.

(13) I CRINGE when people don’t spell simple words properly even in IM conversations.

(14) As a child I always wished I had a nickname. As an adult, I appreciate that there’s only one way to say my name.

(15) I was almost named Justine. Luckily my parents came to their senses before I arrived. (I don’t think I’m a Justine)

(16) My grandmother bought me a ‘My Buddy’ when I was a little girl because I had an uncanny resemblance to the boy doll. I still think it’s mildly tragic that my family openly agreed that I looked liked a little boy.

(17) I consider myself a GREAT driver. I miss having a car at my disposal to putz around town in.

(18) I do some of my best thinking and centering on the walk to and from work. I find peace in the everyday noises you hear when walking around the city. This is why I don’t wear an iPod.

(19) I LOVE musicals. When I’m in a terrible mood, I lock myself in a room and play some of my favorites. Within 20 minutes, I’m feeling much better.

(20) I used to sing the National Anthem at my High School’s football games. People tell me now what a terrible singer I am. I wonder whether I was terrible in high school and no one wanted to hurt my feelings so they just let me sing every week. YIKES…

Dating a Banker Anonymous – Embarrassing!

I can feel it – a firestorm is brewing over this morning’s NYTimes article “It’s the Economy, Girlfriend.” If you haven’t read it yet, I’ll fill you in.

A bunch of NYC ladies who all date (or dated) once economically stable men in the financial arena now blog and meet up “once or twice weekly for brunch or drinks” at upper class locations around the city (e.g.- Bowery Hotel) to share their woes. Note: if you already want to roll your eyes, just wait...

Let’s look at some of the highlights from the piece that got me so enraged this morning:

One woman, 26 year old Dawn Spinner Davis, a beauty writer says that ever since her husband lost his job and gave up his passion, golfing, things just haven’t been the same. She says, “It’s not what I signed up for.”

Dear Dawn, believe it or not, when you signed your marriage license you signed up to support your husband through good times and bad. Yes, your husband might be a little more anxious than he once was. Yes, you might now be the breadwinner. This is what marriage is all about – making it through the tough times TOGETHER.

“…her boyfriend told her to “grow up” and stop “complaining about vacations and dinner” since he had to “fire 20 people by the end of the week.””

Being forced to lay someone off is one of the most humanizing, guilt-laden, uncomfortable, unenviable tasks someone could ever be put through. Frankly, if my partner was complaining about vacations and dinners (both luxuries, not human rights), while I was dealing with the emotional rollercoaster of telling someone that they will no longer have a paycheck, I would probably freak out too!

The website that these women of leisure blog on uses the tagline -- “free from the scrutiny of feminists.”

‘Feminists’ seems to always have a negative connotation around it. It is not a negative word! These women, who clearly seem to be out of touch with the world around them don’t seem to understand the word either. Being a feminist means standing up for your rights as a woman – whether your rights are to vote, to be able to choose whether or not to have a baby, to be able to go to college.I can (for the sake of argument) say that these women are just standing up for their right to be financially taken care of and to be treated the way they feel they deserve.

The disconnect seems to be that the women of 'Dating a Banker Anon' see the emotional difficulties that their significant other is facing, they see how it negatively affects their “rights” and then they choose not to deal with it, but rather just talk about it.

That's where feminists and the women from 'Dating a Banker Anon' differ -- we don't just talk about the injustices we face, we DO something about it.

The Dating a Banker Anonymous web site says that this group is for all those women whose “Bergdorf’s allowance has been halved and bottle service has all but disappeared from your life.”

Now, I realize the Bergdorf quote just might be in jest, but..

Dear Ladies of Dating a Banker Anonymous,

This recession is opening you up to the emotional hardships of being in a relationship. They are just that – hardships. You’re either going to have to support your significant other until times get better, or you’re going to have to take a cold hard look as yourselves and prioritize what’s more important to you – that Bergdorf allowance or the ‘relationship’ you had with the guy who funded your spending habits.