Mr. Hedge Fund

Yesterday, I heard a friend talking about going to get coffee with some guy.
Should she go? Should she not go?
Such a quandry.
I start to think, why am I not getting any random coffee date proposals?
Oh well, fleeting thought. No point in dwelling on something that didn't happen.

That brings us to today.

I'm heading to work. I get off the subway at my normal stop. I begin the three flight climb up to the world.

For some reason I am the only one taking the stairs instead of the escalator.
Wait, not the only one. I have a buddy.
I'm wearing heels, so this guy (who is walking right next to me in the wide open flight of stairs) is about my height. Businessy looking. Not bad looking, just not so much dateable. . .

Flight One.
"Seems that we are the only ones doing the stairs today", he says.
Haaa, seems like it.
"I guess no one else wanted to get the exercise!"
Haa, guess not.

Flight Two.
"Hey, I'm Joseph."
Uh, hey.
"Where are you from originally?"
Dallas. You?
"Is that a 214 area code?"
Haa, uh yea. (Freak)

Flight Three.
"What do you do?"
I'm in advertising. You?
"Hedge funds. You familiar with that?"
(I live in New York, of course I know what hedge funds are.)
Yea, vaguely.
"Well, I would love to explain it to you over drinks."
Haaaa, whoaa smooth. (which I actually say to him)
"Hahaaa, here you go. (as he hands me his card.) See you around!"
Bahaaaa haaaaaaa. Did that just happen?

I make it to the office and sit down at my desk. Let see what his card said.
Managing Director and CEO

Oh my.

I doubt he is older than I am!
And to think, I could be dating a CEO!

Stop means Stop

It's Sunday.
It's been about a week since I went on a jog. The day is perfect, 65 degrees and sunny! Sunday jogs in the spring are the best. New Yorkers are busting at the seems to get out of their 600 square foot apartments and stretch their legs. There is always great people watching on these jogs. I gear up, have some Grape Nut Crunch and coffee and gulp down a glass of water. Off I go.

I start the run like any normal run. By dodging European tourists as I run past the Met. I swing around towards the park and pass under the bridge where the homeless man sits with his Scoop bag, trinkets and fruit meticulously laid out for all to see. After a slight incline, I round the corners of the Great Lawn and finally make it over to the West Side.

I begin to slow down upon reaching the red light. Hm. I will just wait before I cross the street. I come to a stop. And then it hits me. It's like I'm standing in the ocean waving to a friend on the beach only to get slapped on my backside by wave that came out of no where! That is how I feel when I'm hit with the dizziness and nauseous feeling. OH NO. I am about to pass out. Is this really happening?

I see a bench. I just need to sit down. I just need to walk across the entrance to the park and then I can sit down at the bench. Ok. One step at a time. Almost there. . . . OUCH! What am I jolting into? OW! Shut. What do I keep hitting? Are my eyes even open? And where is all of that noise coming from? BAM.

Oh. My. Gosh. What just happened? I come back into full consciousness. I make it to the bench. I look back to see where I just came from. You have got to be kidding me. Did I seriously just duke it out with the steel barrier (complete with large metal stop signs) that blocks the entrance to the park? Um. . . Yes. Yes I did. Did anyone see me? No, no the didn't. Or they did and they're so embarrassed for me and the abrasive dance I did with the roadblock that they won't even offer me help. I'm OK. I'm OK. Breathe.

I'm totally fine now, except a gash on my leg and scratches all over my hands. Maybe I should be glad that the big metal arm was there. Instead of falling to the ground, I ricocheted off the stop sign a few times. Yea. Now, instead of healing from a concrete related head injury, I'm just limping around because the bruise on my thigh is so massive.

What a day. I think I will hold off on the Sunday jogs for a while.
But, hey, it could have been worse.