A Bullish Lesson

Lesson of the day for husband:

The idiom is "a bull in a china shop," NOT "a bowl in a china shop."

For many years he took the saying as a compliment and that someone thought he belonged "perfectly in a scenario."   Just to be sure that there is no more confusion, please see cartoons below for further explanation. 

Told You So!

According to New York Magazine's Approval Matrix in the October 17, 2011 issue, I was right.  Ann Curry is "despicable" and should be removed from her position on The Today Show as soon as possible.  Poor Matt Lauer is losing more hair with her at his side every day!

Breaking The Law

A wise man once said "participate in everything with detached involvement."  


Deepak Chopra is more than just a wise man.  He is a force whose books have taken over my bedside table, my nonsensical scribblings on each page a purposeful distraction so that passerbyers believe I not only understand his work, but that I am also learning from it.  He is a force whose name I haven't been able to escape for the past few years.  When friends and therapists (yes, there are multiple - "takes a village"), realize my intense levels of generalized anxiety, they insist that I drink less wine and read more Chopra.  And he is a force who has finally pushed me over the edge with one of his famous Seven Spiritual Laws of Success.  I just cannot seem to wrap my head around the Law of Detachment, which quite poignantly, being a bit of a control freak, is also the one that I need to grasp the most. 

Chopra's Law of Detachment states that "in order to acquire anything in the physical universe, you have to relinquish your attachment to it. You shouldn't give up the intention to create your desire. You give up your attachment to the result."  This immediately sounded easy.  Just don't do anything, and get everything?  That dream job I always wanted, the perfect husband, the 6-pack abs, the pet cat that wasn't moody, a bagel with no carbs.  All I had to do is just sit and wait until until all I had ever wanted just hit me in the head?

While I understand most of his other six Spiritual Laws, this one just seemed to go against everything I was ever taught in school and at home.  How many times did we hear when we were kids, "you can do and be anything as long as you work hard at it and NEVER give up."  We are taught to want more, dream bigger and to be VERY attached to the outcome.  

Socially, we are conditioned to emotionally respond to outcomes.  We are afraid of failure, of not doing something of importance or relevance.  We are afraid of success, working our tails off to achieve something that might not wind up being our long-term passion.  We pay both outcomes equal attention creating a volatile internal war where detachment isn't even an option.  How could it be when that was never encouraged, never even considered as an alternative.  No one ever said, "Hey Lauren, follow your dreams! Get detached!"

In a frustrated attempt to feel closer to the author-mentor who continues to challenge my familiar and comfortable cynicism, I recently imagined Deepak sitting behind a large mahogany desk.  His black framed glasses framing an all-knowing calm demeanor, while he pens another profound teaching that I can trip all over and bitch about on my blog.  I imagined him writing with clear intention and meaning, and then pausing to look up at me, slightly smiling at my simple interpretations and elementary confusion of his profound enlightenment.  And just like that, it became clear.  

My unknowing, this befuddlement that I have been fumbling about in, is living the Law of Detachment perfectly.  Finding peace with being exactly where you are, no matter where that is, is being detached.  Not having all of the answers, not picking winning or losing as being better or worse, just being is being detached. 

You can still love and inspire, hope and have real aspirations.  You just don't have to fight to a finish line to define whether those feelings were worth it or of value.  Success according to this law is being part of the indefinite ride, and valuing every sentiment without the pressure of an outcome.  Deepak wasn't all-knowing sitting at his desk, pen in hand.  He was simply at peace with just being.

A wise man once said "uncertainty is my path to freedom."  And with that, and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, I will continue my scribblings in his books, admire his bold efforts to change the world with words and positive affirmations, and participate with purpose in my journey to not find the answers, but to simply evolve.

Fort Stever

While Hurricane Irene ripped through the city, the Stevers went into deep hibernation.  See below for details on the weekend spent at "Fort Stever."

The Base Camp: Fort Stever
We moved our mattress onto the floor and away from the windows.  But just to be sure that if our windows shattered, the glass wouldn't hit us, we built a fort on the bed frame made of Crate and Barrel couch cushions, which I hear really "stand up" to 85 mph winds strong enough to blow out windows:)  At least we felt safer behind the mass of feather-filled, "indestructible" pillows.

Drink, Eat, Repeat
As true New Yorkers, we did what every indigenous NYC person does during times of crisis:  Drink a lot of booze and eat a lot of food.  Drink, as shown below, is called the "Hurricane Hero," named after my brave husband who claimed he was not scared of Irene and would protect me from her wrath  (Fort Stever was his idea so as you can see that I was indeed safe under his watch).  Cocktail is mostly vodka, a little lemonade and fresh lime juice shaken and served chilled.  Guacamole was made fresh, and I managed to get a few bites in before Bob polished it off and licked the bowl clean which he explained as a proactive measure, just in case the power went out and dish washer wasn't working.  He is so thoughtful and selfless.

Holding It Together
As we sat wondering what Hurricane Irene was capable of, we decided it would make us both feel better, and give us something to do, to adhere duck tape to the windows in a strange formation.  Pretty sure this does nothing, but we felt safer and Ziggy inspected our work and confirmed feigned feeling of safety.

Boredom Sets In
After hours of moving from the couch to the refrigerator and back to the couch, and watching all of our favorite TV shows, boredom began to set in.  So much so that the highlight of Bob's day was dropping a tangerine on his shirt which created what he saw as a "smiley face."  His enthusiasm upon seeing the "face" in the stain was so intense (imagine a 6'4" man jumping up and down holding shirt up to his face while yelling for me) that I realized, wow, we are really bored.

Who Needs Monopoly?
As a married couple fearful of a power outage, we purchased the iconic, household staple game of Monopoly.  While I agree Guess Who and Shoots and Ladders are also both must-haves in the board game department, Monopoly is a crowd please and loved by all ages.  I explained to Bob that no home is a true home without Monopoly and that it was well worth the $20 splurge at Rite Aid.  When we realized the power didn't and wasn't going to go out, the first thing Bob did upon being able to leave the apartment was get his $20 back from Rite Aid, leaving us once again as the family that does not and never will have board games unless they are free or Bob can draw them (think Hangman and Tick Tack Toe).

Bob Dreams Too

Oh just a normal Thursday Facebook chat with my husband...

 

Bob:

 

 

 

 

Report · 1:05pm

had a weird dream about kim kardashian

i was at her wedding

crashed it

and was with 2 other guys

cant remember who

and we were doing the dance you sent me from night at roxberry

and SNL

with kim in middle

wtf

so weird

and then i gave a speech

about how much she stinks

 

Lauren:

Report · 1:07pm

like smells?

or sucks as a person?

 

Bob:

Report · 1:07pm

sucks as person

i was angry in the dream

didnt like her 1 bit

Hurricane Prep 101 with the Stevers

Bob's reaction to Hurricane Irene:

"Don't worry, we will be okay.  I have an emergency fanny pack.  It even has a PowerBar in it from 2008. "

See below to view said fanny pack.  He will eat the PowerBar (if he hasn't already) just because it is free and because expiration dates mean nothing to him (he thinks everything ages to be better like wine).  He will also owe his office an emergency fanny pack since this belongs to his firm, but he will take it home and cherish it forever.   Maybe even carry his crackers around in it after the storm.

Lauren's reaction to Hurricane Irene:  "Do we have enough wine in the apartment to get us through?"

Subject : Meow

Please see below for the email and picture I sent to Bob this morning regarding Ziggy's veterinarian appointment and Hurricane Irene.  It bounced back to me since his company has a strict email firewall. Good thing his entire IT Team got the email and forwarded it to him, just to be sure he got it:)


Subject:     Meow
From:     lauren.stever@timeoutny.com
Date:     August 25, 2011 12:16:38 PM EDT
To:     Robert.Stever@FRMHedge.com


Hi Daddy,

Mommy moved my doctor's appointment to Thursday, 9/8 at 6pm.

Please make sure I have LOTS of food for the storm.  And my own kitty flashlight.  And treats.

Thank you.

Love,
Ziggy

Get Rid of Ann Curry...in a Hurry!

When Meredith Vieira left the Today Show in June, the execs at NBC made a decision that I cannot and will not forgive.  They signed on Ann Curry to host the morning show alongside ageless-dreamboat (and news's version of George Clooney) Matt Lauer.

I used to be an Ann Curry fan.  Back when she was doing the world news on the show, she got a few minutes every half hour to discuss a few serious issues which called for a bland and stark delivery, which was her forte.   When they tapped Curry to fill Meredith's shoes (which were big to fill given her natural warmth and charisma), and let the lackluster anchor get her hands on softer news, the real Ann Curry surfaced.

Her awkward cackle mixed with awkward not-funny puns directed at Lauer with a bump of the elbow, made the Today Show increasingly awkward to watch.  Never really sure of what she is saying, she speaks with no conviction, and when she tries to be intense, especially in an interview setting, she gets quieter and quieter until she is literally whispering to her guests who are leaning forward to even hear what she is asking.  This leads to strange close-talking that is unbearably uncomfortable for those watching and I am sure even more so for those involved.

Ann's blank stare, coupled by her aggressively directed, over-personal questions force me to look away from the TV in horror and embarrassment.  Ann is so difficult to watch that I even get excited to see Willard Scott do his over 100-year old birthday announcements photo-shopped on to a Smuckers jar.  At least his off-beat personality is endearing and works for him since he is talking about nursing home activities that keep the seniors feeling young.  At least he can talk about anything, even beanbag bowling and early-bird bingo, with a sense of conviction and authentic energy.

Curry is trying desperately to ignite chemistry between herself and Lauer, wishing to have the same banter and true friendship that Meredith had with Matt.  What comes across instead of a functional and enjoyable dynamic, is a lot of uncouth flirtation on Curry's end that makes even Matt pull away while mouthing to producers at commercial breaks to shoot Curry with a tranquilizer dart.  I know I would.

Despite ratings being strong, even up since Meredith's exit, I believe this has little to do with Ann and more to do with it being the Today Show, which is a morning staple, and has been for years, in American homes.  With Curry "out on assignment" all of this week, her spot is being filled temporarily by co-beauties Natalie Morales and Savannah Guthrie.  Both of them are strong, intelligent, easy to watch, genuinely witty women who should have been offered Vieira's position long before Ann was ever given a shot.

I do believe NBC sent Ann into the field this week (specifically a war zone, which to me doesn't scream "promotion"), to see if ratings increased in her absence.   My guess is that the whispers around the water coolers across the nation are starting to be heard and felt by producers of the show who are fearful of losing ratings and thus huge chunks of ad revenue.  The Today Show needs to maintain their upper hand to ABC's "Good Morning America," and as of now they still have that lead.  But it has been two months since Meredith left, and I think viewers are starting to catch on.

Ann Curry is bumbling and amateurish, and becoming harder and harder to watch.  Although we can't bring Meredith back, anyone, and I mean anyone (even Jenna Bush Hager), is better suited to host The Today Show than Curry.  We miss you Meredith.

Bachelor Pad Follow-up

Sorry Frat Bob.  Your dreams have been crushed.  (See earlier post, "Bachelor Pad").

Bachelor Pad

I left Bob at home in our apartment for one night last week while I went home to Westchester to visit my family.  And in just one night, my seemingly balanced husband, who does not really fit a stereotype other than "tall", became an extremist.

I never got to see my beloved Bob in college since we met a few years after the caps and gowns and kegs and eggs era.  I missed out on getting to know him in his frat boy days of Sig Ep theme parties, bromances, and "brutal" beer guzzling hazing, which he still talks about as if it were yesterday.

But I believe I got a sneak peak of what Frat Bob was like when I left him alone in our apartment for that one night.  And in just that one night on his own, Bob left a trail of clues upon my return that would tell the tale of Frat Bob's relapse to a time and place when "wife beaters" were acceptable to wear on any occasion, and cereal with milk was considered dinner.

Clue #1
Upon opening the refrigerator, alongside my Lactaid milk and dairy-free cheese, sat a 24 pack of Miller beer (of which 23 were left), staring back at me.  "What are you doing here?"  I asked the beer.  They just looked back at me blankly and with as much confusion as to why they were in my apartment as I had.  I like beer, but we don't drink it at home unless it were for one of 3 specific reasons.  But, we didn't have a party, Bob didn't have a guy friend over and it wasn't football season.  I was at a loss.  When Frat Bob was questioned regarding said beer by his pondering wife, he answered, "I felt like having a beer," to which I knew meant, "it was on sale," but played along.  Clearly, a man wants to feel like a man especially when his woman is away, but only Frat Bob would follow-through on this macho move with a Miller Lite coupon and a dream.

Clue #2
As I approached my living room, I realized that the lower half of our flat screen TV was being blocked by a massive speaker system that was not there the day that I had left.  Now, a day later, we had a sound system that was meant more for a movie theater than a small sitting area in a small apartment.  It wasn't just large, it was black and looked more like a space heater than a speaker.  It was at least 4-feet long and there was no other place to put this massive eyesore other than right in front of the TV.  As I scrunched my nose up in horror and disgust, Frat Bob jumped in front of it and turned it on.  As it blared so loudly I could feel the bass vibrate the floor, Frat Bob yelled, but all I heard/saw were the words being mouthed under the offensive noise, "isn't it great!  The sound is so much better now!"  Somehow in just 24-hours, my Buddha statue filled, modern and clean living room had become the ultimate bachelor pad, fully equipped with a shiny over-sized black sound system that we didn't need, won't keep and Frat Bob will learn to live without.

Clue #3
He watched Entourage on-demand.  Think it was his first time.

Clue #4
He ate everything out of the freezer that wasn't stuck with ice to the bottom and that wasn't a medical ice pack.

Clue #5
He built two shoe racks, changed out our shower head, tightened every loose screw on anything he could find in our place that had screws, etc. just to use his tool box which he carried around unnecessarily in the apartment by a handle.  Frat Bob is also Bob the Builder. 

While I understand that these things are not that odd for a 31-year old married man whose wife is out of town, this is odd behavior for my husband, who spends most of his time when I am home organizing his 20% off Bed, Bath and Beyond coupons, and reading consumer reviews for the best vacuum cleaner.

As I sat on my couch last night with him, drinking Miller Lite while watching "Bachelor Pad" with our new super-sized sound system, my shock and surprise about Frat Bob gently turned to pride as it was quite endearing that he played his gender role so fervently in my absence.  Kinda cute actually.

And as I looked at him to invite Frat Bob to come around more often, I realized he was tearing up as Aimes chased Jackie down in the limo so that she wouldn't leave, thus choosing true love over the prize money.  And just like that, Frat Bob had left the bachelor pad. 

Bob at "Joe's": Survivial of the Fittest?

Last night, Bob and I made a trip to Trader Joe's, and in "Traitor Bob" fashion, he left me in the dust for organic blueberry muffin mix and a free sample of Asian slaw.

In case all of you Leave It To Stever followers (all 11 of you!), do not believe just how intense my husband gets at this discounted retail grocery store (based on the aforementioned experience in my earlier post "Trader Joe's, Traitor Bob"), please find evidence below.  My Blackberry Bold camera truly captures the creature in his natural habitat.

Exhibit A.  Bob double fisting free samples, boxing out frail blond girl standing behind him so that she cannot share in his prey.

Exhibit B.  Bob taking out his "competitors" to get into the line by using his cart to herd them out of the way, while weeding out the weak and the elderly.

Trader Joe's, Traitor Bob

Surrounded by reasonably-priced avocados and high-sodium frozen dinners, I stood in the middle of the dizzying space that is Trader Joe's looking at my husband Bob.  It was as if it were the first time I was seeing him all over again.  Except I wasn't looking at him in the "I want to take you home" kind of way, but more in the "how do I leave here without you until the cartoon-like angry smoke stops steaming out of my ears" way.

My frustration started to mount as we entered the cult-favorite, discounted grocery store when a mob of frantic shoppers fought for the only two-tiered cart left in the front.  We had to push into the door frame, and then walk slowly looking for space to take steps as we entered the produce-obsessed crowd. Very quickly I realized that Trader Joe's on a Saturday afternoon is the closest place to hell I had actually ever been (and hopefully will ever be), but it was too late.  There we were.  Two newlyweds just trying to get whole wheat dough for our Oscars make your own pizza night, surrounded by the most aggressive 80-year-old women I had ever seen.

I felt the panic seize up in my throat and looked to my dear husband for support and to help me keep calm and carry on.  As I turned to look for his strong, unwavering, solid and stable presence, he was gone.  I scanned the piles of fussing people, and saw the top of his curly haired head bobbing up and down by the oranges, yelling something as he piled the mesh bags of fruit into his cart.  He was sweating, red in the face, hadn't blinked since we arrived, and he was smiling.

Each and every time he moved deeper into the store, he picked something else up, grapes, lemons, lettuce, things we didn't need nor came for.  He scanned the price, smiled a little crazy-like, began to sweat more, turned even redder with excitement and so on.  He had forgotten he had come to this hell-hole with his loving wife and had left me in his deal-finding dust as he groped the fruits and vegetables, asking himself in an odd whisper "what does a ripe one look like?"  It didn't matter.  He took everything he picked up, and was picking up speed and agility as he approached the cereals and grains.

I tried to follow him, but he was a fast one, and I couldn't keep up.  I was corralled  into a line by a man holding a wooden sign on a stick.  He was yelling "LINE TWO STARTS HERE!" and asking people to stay calm and follow to the back of the line.  I didn't even have anything and he was pushing me to get into this line that wrapped around the store, in between aisles, and back towards the door.  I had become cattle and it was get out now or get stampeded into the white linoleum floor. 

I maneuvered around the chaos and found Bob running up and down the frozen food aisle.  He had left his cart at the end of the row and was carrying frozen dinners like a football, protecting it from other people who in his super-saver paranoia thought wanted his finds.  It was like a bad episode of "Supermarket Sweep." I couldn't believe his fury and fervor in getting those penne arrabbiatta and enchilada meals into the safety of his own cart.  It was clear, Trader Joe's made my husband, Traitor Bob.  Nothing else mattered, not even me.

I watched him from afar join the cattle procession, still shopping the shelves from his place on line as he progressed to the front.  As the cashier swiped his cart-full of food, he was almost hopping up and down in excitement over how low the prices were.  I think he told the cashier he loved her but I wasn't sure.  He complimented her as if she owned the place, and even was thrilled about the sturdy brown bags in which they packed the food - perfect for bringing his lunch to work in.  As we left, I realized that this hell of mine, had been my favorite person's heaven, and that although we are soul mates and partners in this life and the next, we are very different when it came to apples and oranges.

I will rarely (or never if I can help it), go back to Trader Joe's just for the few bucks it saves when the receipt prints out.  The frantic atmosphere is exhausting and nauseating and I would rather go to my quiet, local over-priced grocery store where you can actually hear the awful supermarket music.  We will leave the Trader Joe's shopping to the kinds of people we admire and love for their keen shopping sensibility and drive to fight the masses for discounted pita chips and hummus.  In the meantime, I will be on the couch.

My Hallmark Hero

You would think that now that I am a "wife" to a guy we should all give an award to for patience in the line of marriage, I would be over the "I need an obnoxious number of roses sent to my office on Valentine's Day to validate my love life and therefore my self esteem in front of my colleagues." But after a long morning of other women receiving flowers with balloons and bears, I found myself angrily eating a salad at my desk at 2pm in a fury because my husband had yet to send me anything red, pink or large for my desk.

Lets face it, I was jealous of the other girls. I was especially jealous of one particular girl who received two dozen roses with a special Valentine's edition Chanel lipstick tied to a bear's heart that read "sh*t b*tch you is fine." A little dirty talk, a little Chanel. Now THAT Valentine's gift should have been mine!

I am the kind of girl that tells my man, "don't worry about sending me flowers. I don't need them. I know you love me." But I am also the kind of girl that by 2pm is feeling like exploding with frustration that all I got today was a heart-shaped lollipop that I bought for myself at Duane Reade.

Just as I was about to email my dear husband and tell him of my disappointment and remind him that the phone number to 1800Flowers is 1-800-Flowers, my receptionist called me to tell me that I had a flower delivery downstairs. After skipping to the front desk with a smile, ripping open my package and plunging the two dozen long stemmed red roses into water, I "humbly" carried them and took the long way around the office to my desk, making sure to slow down any time I passed anyone with Valentine's Day goodies at their station, glancing over to make sure my roses were met with eyes of envy.

I sat down feeling giddy with joy and also a little silly. Who was I to want flowers so badly and why did I care so much? Am I THAT shallow? Aren't roses cliche for Valentine's Day and aren't I against all things cliche? And isn't love about the love and not the stuff that people give to show love? I pondered this thought while staring at my roses and wondering if I had been swallowed up by the mass V-Day hysteria, and given in to a Hallmark holiday that used to mean a lonely night home with Burritoville and my cat.

It seems that I am finally comfortable enough with myself to just admit the truth. My husband has given me the foundation of love and support that I need in order to come out with it once and for all. I need flowers on Valentine's Day. Red ones, roses, and two dozen is a great starting place. I am okay being one of the many today, and to be a bit of a Valentine's Day cliche, because today is the first February 14th that to someone, a very special someone, I am the only one and to him, I am FAR from cliche.

Lunch with Danny Meyer and Snooki

Being the "professional" business woman that I am, I recently took clients to a business lunch at a business lunch fav in New York City, Union Square Cafe. I love Danny Meyer and find that he does fancy food in an approachable way, and by approachable I mean that there is more than a bite of food on the plate and it doesn't cost $40 for an entree.

I have dined there many times before, most of the time with a glass of pinot grigio in hand, but this time the clients order iced teas so I appropriately, but begrudgingly, followed suit. After taking down the bread basket and breaking the ice off of the old, "where are you from", "where do you live now" conversations, we dived into my favorite subject matter, the popular television show, The Jersey Shore.

I am not quite sure how it came up, probably after the usual client to Lauren question, "how are you so unseasonably tan?" or I was reminded of the Snookster from the orangey bronzer smudges on my perfectly ironed white napkin. Either way, by the time we started to split the frito misto of cod and perfectly molded meatball in a bath of white bean puree, we were all fist pumping and acting out scenes from the most recent episode.

As we were re-hashing the Sammi "Sweetheart" mean punch to Ron Ron's face when he became "GTL" allies with Jwoww behind her back, our sweet, demure, girl-next-door-looking waitress stopped by for a re-fill on our iced teas. When she overheard the Jersey Shore convo, she nearly dropped her pitcher. I had just finished saying, "can you believe that Sammi hit Ronnnie?" to the group I was dining with, to which our waitress yelled "NO, I totally couldn't believe it!!! OMG!! I love the Jersey Shore!!!!" She had transformed before our eyes. She went from a soft tone, to speaking loudly with a NJ accent (real?), and her posture slumped over a bit, she was talking with her hands A LOT and went from quiet to quite possibly the biggest Jersey Shore fan I have ever met.

She told us her name (will not provide her name so as to protect her privacy and her job), and that she was obsessed with the show. She then went on to tell us that she started dating her boyfriend because he was "DTF" (if you don't know what that stands for, look it up on Urban Dictionary and don't tell anyone I told you). She also said that this was the "best day of her life at work" because we too loved "The Shore" as she did.

Each time she came over to the table, serving us fennel-spiced tuna and Atlantic cod, the posh, low-volume, high-end restaurant that Danny Meyer worked so hard to make just that way became a Jersey Shore-athon. While we sipped on jasmine tea and split the biscotti and cookie platter for dessert, we discussed with our waitress how only Snooki can get away with wearing pink fuzzy slippers everywhere, including to the bar and to work, and that her recent face plant into the sand while intoxicated (and later arrested), was the highlight of season 3 thus far.

I couldn't help but sit in astonishment at the dichotomy that was unfolding. Before today, Danny Meyer and Snooki had nothing in common. But on this day, in Seinfeld's words, worlds collided, and I had lunch at one of the top restaurants in NYC while discussing the tanning and drinking habits of 23 year olds living on a boardwalk.

We asked for our check from our now friend and waitress, who enthusiastically brought it out. Upon looking at our check, which should have been pricey, we realized that she had taken off all 3 of our appetizers, all of our iced-teas, and our desserts and tea. She winked and told us to come back anytime and that she will always hook up her fellow Jersey Shore fans and thanked us for the entertainment. We slipped her a tip to show our appreciation and paid our discounted check, and walked to the door.

Standing alongside of the dark wood bar of Danny Meyer's pride and joy restaurant and NYC iconic culinary gem, I hugged my clients goodbye instead of shaking their hands as I did when we met 2 hours earlier. We had become so much more over our decadent feast at Union Square Cafe, it just seemed like the right way to part. And if I do get the business, I know I have someone else to thank for that aside from my clients. I would thank the waitress that did what only she could do, and probably no one else could ever or will ever accomplish again: She brought Danny Meyer to The Jersey Shore. Thank you.