What's your name again?

Ok. So maybe I knew it was her birthday this week. Maybe she might have mentioned it at some point last week over, like, the one dinner we've had together in 9 months of cohabitation. Maybe I thought, momentarily, to get her something to commemorate it, but when you say "hi, good morning, how are you?" about twice a week to someone, it's not that hard to let the day they came into being slip out of your mind.

My apartment is definitely not off the scene of "Friends" as I'm sure most of my west coast dwelling acquaintances must think (somehow since I moved to NYC, I've become rave queen, sex goddess and "The Apprentice" style executive in the minds of some of my former Oregonians...obviously I don't plan on correcting the sex goddess part). But this is so not the set of Friends that we don't even have a living room. We don't eat together, we don't watch the news, we rarely have more than a brief exchange on the 3 or 4 mornings a week I care to stay at my own apartment.

Having a roommate is the most necessary, inescapable evil of the NY experience. Even in the humble boroughs, I have no choice but to share space (where's my fancy "Apprentice" salary now?!) and to share it with a stranger, no less. But when you share the bathroom, the fridge and a set of keys that guard your most personal space, where else should you extend or deny that intimacy?

This morning she was slicing into what looked like a hardly-eaten summer torte from whole foods while I dumbly joked: "oh is that your breakfast?".
"No, it's my birthday cake".

Oops.


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The best shirt ever made

I can't believe I don't own this yet.
Coming soon to my torso near you.

Contra Fund, indeed

At the tender age of 23, the big moment has finally arrived. If paying my own rent, settling up college debt and and working a 9-5 (or six...or six thirty) hasn't turned me into an adult, this development will surely scare away the last shards of financial virginity: It's time to plan for retirement.

The fact that I had to look up the definition of a 401(k) should indicate my level of experience in this matter (the name comes from a section of the 1978 Internal Revenue Code, in case you were curious), but I've been doing my homework. My choices are: big oil money, child labor or other popular, anonymous crimes. One of the choices I like, the "contra fund", seeks to invest in undervalued stocks which are anticipated to perform beyond their current expectations. I think all of us can relate to that feeling. I also have a thing for the contra fund because the name itself reflects how I feel about investing.

I went to one of the most liberal-of-the-liberal arts schools you can find in order to get a better eduction than my parents and their parents before them. Part of this 'advancement of the generations', in fact a lot of it, is for monetary gain and security. So, what this cruel and confusing world wants me to do is study worldwide social injustice for five years and then walk away with a piece of paper that will earn me a job offering the "benefit" of investing in those injustices.

Awesome.


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