The Why Not Me? File

I have worked in New York for the past (2016 - 2012 = 4) 4 years, and I have yet to see a celebrity casually hanging out with his kids, on an awkward first date, buying shoes, or pushing my mom out of the way in an airport because his friend was pregnant and my mom was "crowding her space."

Yes, all of those sightings have happened... for my friends and family members. But not me. Why not me?

I have purposefully chosen the title of this blog because it's the title of Mindy Kaling's new book, "Why Not Me?" (I guess including the title there was unnecessary.) I feel a kinship with Mindy; we're so alike. Except for in minor ways, like our race, age, fame, career, net worth, height, and the fact that she gets to cast a suite of beautiful men to star alongside her in "The Mindy Project." But other than that, we're basically the same. I mean, we both posted on Instagram about ice skating last week, and I hardly ever go on Instagram. If you don't think that's a telling sign, then you better put on your glasses or stop driving.

My friends tell me it's a good thing I haven't seen a celebrity out in New York because I would only embarrass myself. First of all, I ask Nick Lachey to sign my name tag ONE TIME because I was the only girl not to bring a poster of him to "Good Morning America," and I'm labeled as embarrassing to all celebrities. I mean, I was 12, and quite frankly, I was trying to play it cool. That's what my older cousins' magazines told me to do, after all. Secondly, I would not embarrass myself; I don't even sweat! It just doesn’t happen. Ok, it happens when I play tennis. And when I play soccer. And when I bowl. And sometimes when I sleep. Ok, fine, I sweat a lot.

Not only am I without celebrity sightings, they seem to actually go out of their way to avoid me. My cousin saw Adam Levine and Ryan Gosling outside of her store, and after she called, I couldn't get there in time to see them. Carson Daily lives down the street from me with his family, and whenever I look inside his windows, he's not there. Mindy was in my co-working space, on the same floor as me - let me reiterate for emphasis: on the same floor as me - and I had no idea. How could that be? She is not a quiet womn...

She also showed up at my cousin's store, the Intermix in SoHo, and Daniellah saw her! Mindy purchased a pair of shoes, and Daniellah purposefully left one out of the box so Mindy would have to come back. She didn't come back which means she's rather hobble around with one shoe then see Daniellah again, and now I can never even achieve my dream of inviting Mindy to Shabbat dinner.

I suspect this all started when I was 8 years old. I ordered two autographs from Johnny Depp and Chad Michael Murray online (I must've somehow known to set the bar low), and two autographs arrived at my door in the same pen color... and in the same handwriting. The seller told me that Johnny and Chad were at the same celebrity convention, and I was desperate enough to believe him. Now knowing my luck in this category, I'm starting to have doubts...

To make myself feel better, after getting back from California, I would tell people I saw Cher's dog-walker (a.k.a a random woman walking a dog) and Tom Cruise's son (does he even have a son?).

In fact, the closest I got to a celebrity sighting was last night, when the Madison Square Garden Jumbotron announced that Liam Neeson was somewhere here, watching the Rangers game.

See him? Me neither.

Moral of the story? I won't feel validated until I meet a celebrity. Good thing there's one in my family: the famous international architect, Alex Tehranian. (Although how famous could he be if he's asking for a shoutout on my blog?) (Love you, Alex!)

The "Ice Skating Is Not All It's Cracked Up To Be - Pun Intended" File

Everyone needs an outlet to blow off steam after work. At work, I'm always focused: except maybe when I go to the bathroom to look in the mirror, watch the security footage with building staff, make coffee then throw it out and get Starbucks... what was I saying? Oh right: I'm always focused. But sometimes I need to just unwind after work, and take my mind off of a rough week. Which is why Mike and I decided to go ice skating this past Friday: we thought it was going to be super romantic...

It was not. But I won't decide that for you: instead, I'll paint you a picture of our date. We made our way to the ice skating rink, and waited on a 20-minute line. I know what you're thinking: 20 minutes to star gaze or stare into each other's eyes - how romantic. First off, it's NYC: there are no stars. And 20 minutes is entirely too long to stare into someone's eyes - or else they start to look like an alien.

After getting inside, we rented our boots and the staff suggested we put our shoes in a locker for an extra $8.00. We're not allowed to hold them while we ice skate (I asked), so we didn't have much of a choice. If you're thinking this is a ripoff, it's not! You can save that money if you simply bring your own lock. To our utter embarrassment, we did not bring our own locks - and I'll never forgive myself for that miss.

One of my ice skates was missing a hook to weave my shoelace around. Worried about my ankle, I look over and see that Mike's ice skate was missing all of the hooks except two. He didn't even need a shoelace. I made a mental note for next time: personal locks and ice skates needed.

We smiled, knowing we were both facing danger together, held hands and wobbled over to the ice. It was in the midst of being cleaned, so we waited another half hour. I used this time to try to jump over the seats with my boots like I saw other people doing: to make sure I would be up to par on the ice. I also used this time to eavesdrop on the pair behind us and try to figure out if they were a couple. Unfortunately, I couldn't crack the case. But if I were to guess, they were on a first date. Aw, they were basking in the same romance as us!

We got onto the ice, and let me just warn you right now: ice skating is NOT like riding a bicycle. Well, maybe it would be, if one of your wheels didn't have shoelaces. Our boots were really loose, and to balance, I held my hands out like I was flying. The ice was packed, so needless to say, I accidentally hit a few people. But, as I've always said, it's every man for himself in the rink.

But it wasn't the people who couldn't skate that got in my way. It was the people who could. You couldn't believe how many people were showing off on that ice. There were people twirling, people zigzagging, people doing flips... And they would just zip by you, like you weren't even there with your hands out, flying. To get a break, Mike and I would stop every so often at the wall, so we could try to recapture the romance of it all. The romance was hard to recapture when you had ice guards yelling at you to keep skating and ice viewers sitting next to the ice, awkwardly staring at you like you were part of a play. Well, I was not playing. This was serious business.

After four times around (I counted), Mike asked if my ankle was hurting and I used that as an excuse to fly out of there. In the end, I had a great time looking inadequate if front of my boyfriend - and he's still with me. I guess it is romantic, after all.

*Blogger's Note: Writing this was truly cathartic, and I'm considering re-naming my blog to, "Because this is cheaper than therapy."

Other names I'm considering are:

• Attempting the think before you speak fad
• "They say" is not a credible source, mom
• I may look confident, but I have no idea where I'm going
• Friends tell you the truth. Better friends lie
• My phone auto-corrects "I am" to "BMW," and other reasons I know I'm Persian
• The Hangover, Part 4