Saving the World

Ever wondered why I call Superman, Superman? I know we all think our husbands are our own superheroes. But besides being the personal superhero, this Superman is also out to save everyone else.

This image here happens at least once when we're out on the road...

Yes, that's Superman helping pushed a stalled car away from oncoming traffic.

Having a seizure?... check! Car about to blow up?... check! Experiencing a potential public domestic violence situation?... check!

Did I ever tell you about the time he saved a couple from a burning car? Okay, it's not as dramatic as you think, but it's definitely the closest I've gotten to a car on fire. That's a story for another day...

We may not have band aids in the house for the little boo boo, but we stock enough combat duty gauze to save a person who may suffer a lung puncture -- however the heck that might happen.

That's What He Said

Superman graduates from his mini-deployment in a few weeks. I've been super consumed with graduation day plans... graduation party plans... not to mention, every day after.

It's been...well... it's been. 

But in the midst of spilling all of my ideas to him, Superman stops me and says: "So, any thoughts on what you want for graduation?" 

Me? I thought. I'm not graduating. 

But that's when my married mind kicked into gear. We are! We are graduating! Sure, I wasn't the one on our team to be sent away. But I'm the teammate that made sure no bill went unpaid, the cat stayed alive, the house still standing, the business afloat, and my sanity is still in check - I think. 

But more than anything, his one liner right there made me feel like we are totally in this together. Yes, that's what he really said. 

What Movies Are Made Of

A movie is being shot in my apartment complex and all down my street. And it reignited a spark of confidence inside me. It made me realize that this life I'm living is what movies are made of -- young journalist dreams big in the Apple. Fails. Succeeds. Fails. Succeeds.

I'm jumping to conclusions. Maybe that's not the movie. Maybe it's financial mogul turns world's losses into personal gains. Yes, that's Apple. Or maybe it's about a bipolar ballet dancer. Lord KNOWS that is Apple material right there.

I don't know why I didn't believe it when a coworker said, "people make movies about people like us."

No way, I thought. My life is too scattered. My apartment is too small. I already found the love of my life, so there's no man-drama for me.

Then, she reminded me about something that for certain reasons, I can't share here. It was followed that lift of an eyebrow telling me to stop thinking and start doing. That shut me up real fast.

It doesn't really matter what the hustle is all about right outside of my door. I just know that walking home today, I felt this shower of confidence, this overwhelming feeling of blessing come over me that I have this opportunity to be living what movies are made of -- if only for a good and defined period of my life.

Non-Reservation Reservations

On an average Manhattan Thursday night, no luck in the world and intercessory powers-that-be can get you a seat at any well-to-do restaurant without a reservation.

Unless you're Kim K.

Or, in some cases, "Super" Me.

In a town where there's no shortage of executive dining, there's one fine dining spot that has a hearty seafood risotto, and a delectable tartuffo with my "she's a regular" name in the owner's mind.

I even have a booth. It's the same booth that's reserved by plaques for the Executive Producer of a major ABC News program, the mayor of the Apple, a certain real estate mogul who "Trumps" all others. Oh, and some woman named Jane Seymour.

Dinner is everything in New York City (second to brunch, of course).

The unspoken yet known golden Apple rule of dining out with others: don't ever be late to dinner. Evah Evah. Especially when you know someone who can successfully sneak a non-reservation reservation.

That's where my dilemma comes in. The golden Apple rule directly contradicts the genetic code of Arab standard time.

And that's exactly what happened to me a few nights ago, when I sat at the Seymour/"Super"/Trump booth on my non-reservation reservation time, only to find that I had to kill time with smiles to the owner while waiting for that Arab timezone to align.

If there's a lesson to be learned here, I still don't know what it is. Maybe smile more?

Luckily the wait was over before my cheeks fell off.

To reconcile my adherence to Apple etiquette as well as the genetic code of my friends (and myself most times), I've now decided to use my non-reservation reservation locations with more discretion.

Sorry ladies. It's not that I don't love you. It's just that I can't imagine ever having to call ahead for tartuffo.

This Love Is Ours

This is Taylor deciding to write my biography.