Itty Bitty In New York City

Italy: Del Brenna

2012-01-29T16:07:00.000-08:00

Megan and Sebastian's jewelry shop, "Del Brenna", is located in the heart of the Piazza della Repubblica, the main piazza of Cortona. Where all of the action happens. Wink, wink.

Their shop is nestled under the stone steps of the townhall called the Palazzo Comunale. People of all ages sit on the steps and surrounding benches dotted throughout the piazza. They soak in the Tuscan sun and socialize with the tourists and locals that walk by on the cobblestone streets.

What more do I have to say to convince you of its perfection?

Not. another. word.

Del Brenna Jewelry

Palazzo Comunale (Townhall)

Del Brenna is tucked right under the stone steps.

Italy: Cortona Arrival

2012-01-24T19:33:00.000-08:00

We said "arivaderchi" to Venice and hopped on the train to Cortona, a little slice of Heaven nestled on a hillside in Tuscany, Italy. The clouds parted and a bevy of birds covered in glitter swooped down from the sky when our train rolled into the station. The place was that dreamy.

But, not only did we love Cortona for the great food, scenery, and townspeople. We loved Cortona because we received red carpet treatment. I quickly understood how celebrities must feel. And, I quickly realized that I could get used to a lifetime red carpet treatment. I wanted... no, DESERVED it. (I hope you read that as emphatically as I wrote it.)

The red carpet rolled out for us because of two people.... Megan and Sebastian.

Ben's cousin, Megan, lives in Cortona. She's originally from the States, but studied abroad in Italy about eight years ago. While there, she met an irresistible Italian man (Sebastian) and married him. They work with his family at their jewelry shop his family has owned and operated for generations in Cortona. Sebastian, Megan, and Sebastian's family design and create every piece of jewelry in the shop.

With Megan and Sebastian, Ben and I dined at the best restaurants. Chefs served us special meals. Restaurant owners joined us at our tables. Specialty wines made by monks appeared in our glasses. Locals greeted us in the street. We appreciated every, single moment. Who wouldn't?

Megan and Sebastian

Italy: Glass Making

2012-01-17T18:56:00.000-08:00

We took a 45 minute boat ride from Venice to the neighboring tiny islands of Murano and Burano. Both islands are famous for glassmaking. We visited workshops and studios where men made beautiful works of art with glass.

Murano (or Burano) from a distance

The process to make glassware did not seem easy. I got exhausted from watching and standing within 50 feet of the fiery kiln during the 15 minute presentation. The men seemed to handle the heat and the equipment pretty easily. I credited them for being slightly tougher than me.

The glass artwork they created was worth every Euro (or American dollar).

Glass Making

Italy: Venice Eye Candy

2012-01-12T02:00:00.000-08:00

Here are a few pictures of the views we enjoyed while traveling down the Grand Canal on the water bus in Venice.

Italy: Glamor Shot

2012-01-09T01:00:00.000-08:00

I snapped this photo of Ben while riding a "water bus" through Venice. Venice had no streets, which meant no buses or cars or public transportation in the traditional sense. Instead, they had long boats called "water taxis" and "water buses" to transport people to different places the city.

For example, we wanted to get from St. Mark's Basilica to our hotel. We hopped on a public water bus and rode it around the Grand Canal until we reached the stop closest to our hotel. The water bus stopped at umpteen points along the Grand Canal, and commuters stayed on that boat or switched to other boats that traveled to different canals.

The water bus let us see the city from a different viewpoint and it was pretty cheap. Like any city bus, it got crowded and it took a long time to go around the city to pick up passengers. Overall, though, good experience.

Return from the Holidays

2012-01-08T05:27:00.000-08:00

I want to apologize for the lack of posts over the holidays. Schedules got a little hectic. Opportunities to sleep late abounded. And, the temptation to gorge on homemade desserts overcame me daily. The holiday break consisted of always doing one of three things: visiting friends and family, sleeping, or eating myself into a food coma.

I plan to post regularly again this week.

Italy: Pope Parade

2011-12-14T03:00:00.000-08:00

The congregation quickly quieted right before mass started in St. Mark's Basilica. We strained our necks and scanned the church trying to figure out what captivated everyone's attention. We then heard shuffling and looked to the left to see... it was unbelievable...

The Pope?!

THE POPE?!

The Pope walked around the inner walls of church and then, within arm's length, down the center aisle. I instantly became holier. An angel's halo formed above Ben's head. Forgiveness washed away our sins.

We barely contained our excitement.

Until... we later learned it wasn't the Pope. Bummer. It was actually a cardinal, but we didn't know that until we found someone who spoke English about 90 minutes later. Oops!

The cardinal and other religious leaders marched in a ceremony around the Piazza San Marco after mass. We took pictures even though we had no idea about their titles or the meanings of their clothing.

Here are a few snapshots. The first picture is of the cardinal who we mistook for the Pope. Easy mistake, right?

Italy: Attending Mass

2011-12-05T16:58:00.001-08:00

I've never considered myself a risque dresser. I hardly push the envelope in the wardrobe department. There was that one time in college on Halloween... but, come on. I was 23 years old and only worked it because I knew that it was all downhill from there.

So, imagine my surprise when an old Italian lady swatted and shooed me for revealing my shoulders when entering St. Mark's Basilica in Venice. My shoulders. My New York side took over immediately and I not only shot a dirty look back, but shooed her as well. Take that, Nona.

I expected a dress code at St. Mark's Basilica, a huge Roman Catholic cathedral. I just didn't foresee it being quite so conservative. Who knew the shoulders could be so titillating?

Luckily, I packed a sweater that passed inspection.

We settled into two seats near the middle of church. Mass hadn't started yet, so we took pictures to document everything. After a few pictures, a woman in front of us turned around and swatted at our camera while shaking her head no.

How many inappropriate things could we do? How many Italians would we offend? I guess a lot. Typical Americans.

Below are outside and inside pictures from St. Mark's Basilica.

Italy: Venice and 007

2011-11-30T19:43:00.001-08:00

This picture makes me think of Bond. (Pause). James Bond. (Pause).

Except, this scene is much calmer than the one in the movie... no buildings collapsing or people falling in the water or boats blowing up in the Grand Canal. Thank goodness.

Italy: Bella in Venice

2011-11-17T19:01:00.001-08:00

Ah... vacation. These pictures remind me of how much I appreciate the summer. Especially, when not working and getting to tour a foreign city that caters to tourists' every desire. (Insert lip smacking and a content sigh).

Italy: Italian Stallion

2011-11-17T17:43:00.001-08:00

Check out the Italian Stallion I spied in the streets of Venice!

Few men can rock a digital camera on their belt like this one.

Caldo. Molto caldo.

Italy: Float On

2011-11-05T07:46:00.000-07:00

Venice... what I wouldn't do to trade my domestic beer and Ikea Poang chair for a bottle of Italian wine and a gondola ride down the Grand Canal. Those days were too good to be true.

Below are some pictures that we took around Venice. Venice was a photographer's dream. Every street, every building, and every corner became the perfect backdrop for a picture. It was a Bar Mitzvah/wedding/senior portrait/family photo goldmine.

Italy: Deep In Thought

2011-10-27T16:58:00.000-07:00

Apparently, I did a lot of thinking on this particular afternoon in Venice. Could I have looked any more serious? Honestly, someone needed to loosen up a bit. There better have been an adult beverage in that glass.

I was probably admiring Venice's architectural marvels. Or, maybe my gnocchi was still digesting and I was in a food coma. Or, better yet, perhaps I was eavesdropping on Italian mob conversations. Yes, the last one must have been it.

Italy: Venice Bound

2011-10-17T16:36:00.000-07:00

After Paris, we hopped on a plane and headed to Venice, acity built on the water. We stayed at a little hotel right off oneof the main walkways. The hotel offered a free continental breakfast every morning, a planned perkthat saved us a little money, and one TV channel only in German, a surprisingperk that entertained us for hours late at night. Germany, it seems, has very impressive Clint Eastwood voiceovers.

At first, everything about our hotel room seemed great… untilnightfall, when we noted a problem. Mosquitoes. Everywhere.

During our visit, we learned that they built Venice on top of a lagoon. And,since mosquitoes live, grow, breed, and love watery places, they loved Venice.Big time. We noticed how many modern day Venetians used smart inventions, likewindow screens, to stop mosquitoes from flying into their homes. Unfortunately, our hotel didn’t.

The problem started when the cleaning lady left the windowopen in our room. That acted as a blinking neon sign, inviting all mosquitoesalong the Grand Canal to stop by and enjoy a feast. The first night, I watched about a dozen mosquitoes flitalong the walls and ceiling.

Ben didn’t freak out, but I definitely did. I imagined themcircling my head in a feeding frenzy, crawling in my hair and under the covers. I smashed as many mosquitoes as I couldwith a magazine. I emulated someof the German Clint Eastwood’s moves to kill them with better precision.

Since I couldn’t get all of the mosquitoes, I slept as stiffand still as possible with the bedcovers pulled tightly around my chin. I took shallow breaths because I fearedthey might be attracted to carbon dioxide as I exhaled (an unproven theory). Iwoke up eight hours later in the same position with some buzzing around my ears.

Ben, on the other hand, slept shirtless with the covers kickedoff, which was a perfect diversion from me. Since he exposed his skin to the mosquitoes, they didn’tbother me near as much as they bothered me. I like to think that did that outof love.

He is such a good, good husband.

Mosquito Central

Free breakfast in the hotel courtyard

Sprichst du Deutsch, Clint Eastwood? I am impressed.

(Do you speak German, Clint Eastwood?)

France: Ecclesiastical Points

2011-10-09T13:29:00.000-07:00

I promise that this is the last post about Paris, even though I still have about 500 more photos left to share.

We toured the Notre Dame de Paris cathedral and emerged considerably holier, which is good because I am of Van Kersen lineage, and we all know what that means... I need as much divine intervention as possible. Hopefully, I gained some ecclesiastical points during our visit to Notre Dame.

* Ben looks so much better than me in the last picture, and I attribute it to his hair staying in one place and mine going everywhere from the open top bus tour.

France: Hanging In There

2011-10-03T19:48:00.000-07:00

I loved the Louvre Museum even though it took its toll on me. Don't get me wrong... I appreciated the paintings by world renowned artists, and I appreciated the thousand year old sculptures that lined the (really) long hallways. But, walking miles on marble floors and reading tiny placards exhausted me. What can I say? I was on vacation.

By the time Ben took this picture, I had consumed two packs of peanut M&Ms, leftover cookies, and one water. In the picture below, I was on the verge of sliding down the wall for a "wee" nap. I don't think Venus de Milo would have minded.

I continuously searched the area for the nearest snack bar as we moseyed around, only to find that it was in another wing of the former palace. Fortunately, for me, Amanda felt the same way and we left Brian and Ben to graze in greener pastures (literally, we ate at the restaurant located near the entrance while the boys checked out a few more exhibits).

France: Party People

2011-09-24T05:05:00.000-07:00

One evening, we cruised around Paris via boat to get a different view of the city. Unbeknownst to us, Paris has a pretty happening waterfront. People gathered and chilled along the Seine River - drinking bottles of wine, playing music, and shouting in French to the tourists on the boats (us).

France: Famous Friend

2011-09-22T19:06:00.000-07:00

We met the most popular lady in Europe (besides Kate Middleton)...

France: Paris

2011-09-15T19:06:00.000-07:00

The Eiffel Tower by day...

The Eiffel Tower by dusk...

The Eiffel Tower by night...

France: Paris

2011-09-06T19:42:00.000-07:00

I apologize for the absence of new posts. My computer slowed and became impossible to use after I uploaded too many pictures. Sixteen thousand two hundred and thirty seven (16, 237) pictures to be exact. I had to wait for Ben, my Mac Wizard Extraordinaire, to remedy the problem.

Below are two pictures of our flat in Paris that we shared with our two friends. The four of us fit comfortably in the one bedroom apartment, something Ben and I know well. Brian and Amanda slept on a pull out bed located behind me. Ben and I shared the one bedroom to the right of me.

I don't see any leftover baguettes or cheese on the kitchen table... Ben must snuck the last bits before taking this picture.

I snapped the picture of Ben below in the two-person elevator that took us up to our flat on the sixth floor. The elevator moved as slowly as my computer pre-picture removal and contained just enough oxygen for the two of us to make it to the sixth floor. We often held our breath and limited our movements in case a power outage occurred and stranded us in the steel shoebox.

France: Versailles

2011-08-24T08:15:00.000-07:00

No, it is not Versailles, Kentucky, nor is it pronounced that way. The French say "Ver-sigh." A mistake I made only ONCE.

Versailles is a short, one hour train ride outside of Paris. Our foursome joined a bike tour of about 20 people to see the grounds of Versailles for an all day excursion led by an animated young lady. Thankfully, we experienced good weather because the tour happens "rain or shine." I would have made for one unhappy and soggy biker in the rain.

I recommend the bike tour if physically possible only because Versailles is spread out with lots of castles and mini-castles to see. It would be impossible to walk to everything in one day, unless, of course, you're a speed demon or a marathon walker. The bike tours are leisurely and relaxing, although go-carts would jazz it up a bit. I doubt, though, that the French would approve of such a thing.

Our tour guide shared interesting stories about the history of Versailles and the man that truly enjoyed it as only a monarch could, King Louis XIV. My favorite story involved King Louis XIV and his obsession with large calves (on his legs, not in the field). He believed that large calves equated to wealth and a diet rich in protein. Good thing I wasn't alive then because I would have laughed out loud upon hearing such a preposterous idea. And, therefore, would have subsequently been beheaded.

After King Louis XIV's story, I made Ben take a picture with me that highlighted our massive and Amazonian calf muscles. Mostly, I wanted to prove to myself that we would have been a part of the elite class and not mere commoners. Brian and Amanda then did the same. We definitely eked into the upper crust of society.

France: Let Them Sleep (a rip off of "Let Them Eat Cake")

2011-08-18T10:28:00.000-07:00

As much as I love to travel and hit every sight, I sometimes need a little downtime. Luckily, I have perfected the art of being able to sleep just about anywhere. Distractions, like sunlight or throngs of people or loud noises, don't inhibit my ability to completely conk out. Apparently, our friend, Brian, falls into the same category.

Ben took these pictures outside a "small" castle in Paris where some members of the royal family used to summer. A cottage if you will. A weekend getaway.

I'm pretty sure after we awoke we sniffed around for the nearest crepe stand and ate a few before continuing on our journey.

France: Food Coma

2011-08-10T07:00:00.000-07:00

Perhaps, what I loved even more about Paris than the Féte de la Musique was the diet. We adapted to the French cuisine immediately upon arrival. For four days, we subsisted solely on baguettes, cheese, wine, prosciutto, and Nutella crepes.

Yum, yum.

Every day we smothered our faces with Nutella and stuffed ourselves with homemade cheeses. We coated most foods with thin layers of prosciutto. I couldn't eat enough and now my waistline shows it. My arteries thank me.

Below are a few food pics.

A Nutella crepe master at work...

A carb and dairy feast in the flat we rented...

An ice cream break...

A posed picture that Ben and Brian worked so hard to perfect...

France: Dancing in the Streets

2011-08-04T10:28:00.000-07:00

Paris was the second stop on our 2011 European Tour. Once again, it topped my list of "favorite big cities." Paris impressed me with it's perfectly manicured parks, swept streets, and clean buildings. People actually used trash cans and the city provided a plethora of public restrooms, though at a small cost.

While there, I noticed Parisians continually exuded a reserved and calm nature. They never yelled or cussed at each other in public. Can you imagine? Strangers not yelling at each other? Inconceivable... at least in New York. Jersey Shore wannabes and tightly wound urbanites just didn't exist there. Although, as Ben pointed out, I probably "misunderstood" a few French comments that I assumed to be nice.

We arrived in Paris the same night as the famed Fète de la Musique, which only happens once a year. Basically, any band of any size played anywhere in the city any time of the day and night. Paris turned into one humongous dance party until the wee hours of the morning.

People of all ages danced in the streets to jazz, funk, reggae, rock, soul, and techno bands. Kids threw bottles against medieval churches. Teenagers urinated on cobblestone streets. Adults toasted with glasses of wine. Tourists flocked from band to band. Our group reveled in the once-a-year romp, or debauchery (depending on a person's perspective), and constantly wondered how any of it was legal. The NYPD would have been all over that.

The pictures below aren't the best, but they give an idea of how many people wandered around the city.

Scotland: The Jig Is Up

2011-07-29T06:55:00.000-07:00

The coolest thing about the wedding in Scotland was the dancing at the reception. The bride and groom chose The Jiggers Ceilidh Band, a local Scottish band that played traditional music and taught the guests traditional Scottish dancing. Think of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet dancing in the bottom of the boat in the movie "Titantic," but then picture approximately 30 Americans doing that without any previous jig experience and after drinking cocktails. Quite a sight.

We jigged so much and so hard that I literally burnt the rubber taps off of my heels. It was that INTENSE. Throughout the reception, Ben touted the efficient ventilation of the kilt and debated on carrying the kilt tradition back to the States. I absolutely encouraged it.

During certain jigs, bodies literally flew in all directions. Think dodgeball with adult extremities. At one point, during a vigorous dance that lasted quite awhile, I feared that I was going to either 1) faint, or 2) throw up. That's how hard we danced. That's how into it we were.

The first picture is of a (semi) coordinated group dance, and the second picture is of Ben swinging me around during another dance. And, don't worry, Ben held tightly onto me so that I did not twirl right off the dance floor and into a marble column.

Scotland: Unchartered Territory

2011-07-24T20:41:00.000-07:00

The first stop on our European tour was Glasgow,Scotland. My sister-in-law, Ben’syounger sister, got married to a true, born-and-bred Scotsman. They held the wedding in a beautifulchurch and reception hall, or “cathedral” and “mini castle” depending on yourperspective, in downtown Glasgow.

The wedding was beautiful. The bride was beautiful. And, as a bridesmaid, the view from the front of the churchwas… perhaps “beautiful” isn’t the right word.

Most of the men in attendance wore kilts. The Scots owned their kilts, andthe Americans rented their kilts. The Scots grew up wearing kilts to formal occasions. They were accustomed to wearing anopen-bottomed piece of clothing. The Americans had undoubtedly crossed into unfamiliarterritory.

The American men sat with their legs together for the firstpart of the ceremony. But, as timewent on, they got a little more comfortable in the their kilts. They relaxed a bit. Perhaps forgot they donned a kilt.

Slowly, the Americans' legs driftedapart, inch-by-inch. By the timethe vows rolled along, a large portion of the right side of the church showedoff much more than the colors of their tartan! Fortunately, for some of them, their sporran weighted theirkilt down just enough to leave the bridesmaids guessing.

Below, Ben looked dapper in his kilt alongside his two sisters, a stunning bride and lovely bridesmaid.

Back in NYC

2011-07-13T06:51:00.000-07:00

We are back!

Ben and I returned to NYC late Sunday night from a 26-dayEuropean vacation where we looped through five countries (Scotland, France,Italy, Spain, and Ireland) and toured 14 cities (Glasgow, Edinburgh, Paris, Versailles, Venice, Murano, Cortona, Rome, Sorrento, Naples, Pompeii, Capri, Barcelona, andDublin). We slept in 10 differentbeds and took at least 11 modes of transportation (cruise ship, airplane,train, subway, boat, city bus, coach bus, car, taxi, bicycle, and foot) through Europe. We attempted to speak three foreign languagesand almost understood one, using extreme and over exaggerated gestures (or asimple “did you get that” smile and shrug with upturned palms) to communicatenonverbally much of the time.

Everything was as amazing as it sounds… and we plan topurchase a pied-a-terre in each of our top ten favorite cities as soon as wewin the lottery.

We brought back plenty of magnets, the best souvenir whenliving in a small and space restricted apartment, as well as a few extra poundsaround the midsection. Weightgained on our vacation further proved that we really let go and enjoyedourselves. I only said “no” onceto a chocolate filled croissant, but regretted it immediately and quicklyrecanted my initial answer only to again dive into my 50^th calorieenriched pastry of the trip. Ifeared that one more Nutella filled crepe would lead to a chocolate overdose. Europeans stay so skinny. How do they do it?

The next couple of posts will be dedicated to small ormemorable moments from our trip. It’s impossible to encapsulate the awesomeness of the sights, sounds,smells, and tastes of everything we experienced, but little vignettes andphotos will have to suffice. Untilthen…

Glimpses

2011-07-02T02:30:00.000-07:00

Two great photos of two great friends.

A New X-Men

2011-06-25T02:52:00.000-07:00

A couple of Saturdays ago, around 9:00am, I sat on the couch in the living room and typed reports for work. I randomly began to hear whistles, followed by a soft banging, coming from the opposite end of our long hallway. Every few minutes, a bell rang. The noises continued for about 25 minutes. I assumed children were playing in the hallway and their dad was attempting to control them by whistling (seemed plausible).

After almost 30 minutes of noise, I became highly annoyed. I threw on a pair of shoes and walked down the hallway. When I reached the elevator, I heard my name. I turned and saw that my superintendent was stuck in the elevator and had been for the past two hours!

Again, that darn elevator.

The door was ajar about six inches and my super and I looked at each other in disbelief. What do we do? I asked. Push it open, he said.

Push open the steel door of an elevator? Yeah, right.

But, somehow, I mustered a superhuman sort of strength (that or the door is more aluminum than steel) and slid my arm through the crack. Carlos and I pushed with all of our strength and...

Surprise! Who knew I had it in me? I knew I was tough, but destroying an elevator door is a completely new level of strength. Carlos enthusiastically thanked me. I dusted off my hands. No big deal. Just being a good tenant.

Up in the Air

2011-06-18T02:56:00.000-07:00

Love on the Highline.

It's All Relative

2011-06-11T05:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I took my camera to school to get some end-of-the-year pictures. I snapped pictures of two little boys that I work with each week. They were dressed so snappily and were in such a silly mood that I couldn’t help but capture the moment.

They eagerly requested to see their pictures. I showed them, and as I scrolled through their photo shoot I happened to scroll back too far and stopped on a picture of Ben and I.

“Wait!” they cried.

“What?” I said.

“Who’s that?” they asked, pointing to Ben.

“Who do you think that is?” I responded.

In unison and without hesitation, they declared… “Your DAD!”

Ha, ha… ha, ha, ha, ha… ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

I won’t tell Ben that one.

Miracle on the Upper West Side

2011-06-04T10:09:00.000-07:00

The unusually hot weather of the past two weeks surprised Ben and I. We assumed we had a few more weeks of cool temperatures before needing an air conditioner in the bedroom. Oops, we were wrong.

Apparently, the gods doomed us to live summer 2010 all over again.

Last year, we slept on an air mattress in the living room for months because that was the only room with an air conditioner. We vowed to never do that again. Except, somehow, we were doing it again.

I frantically searched Craigslist for used AC units that fit through the wall because a new unit costs around $500. Five hundred dollars! Insanity. I mean, I’ll pay that for a good handbag, but an electrical thingy, no way. Joking, joking.

I found a cheap (cheap being the operative word) one on Craigslist, but the measurements made Ben and I a wee bit nervous. If we bought it, carried it home on a borrowed dolly, managed it in the hole in the wall, plugged it in, and it didn’t work… the results would be disastrous. I can’t even IMAGINE the scene, nor do I want to. Our marriage would probably be in shambles and our building burned to the ground.

Then, Ben did something really smart. He talked to the superintendent of our building. And, the very, very, VERY nice man said, “I think I have an extra unit. I will install it for you tomorrow.” Ben and I immediately renewed our vows upon hearing such joyous news. But, we still crossed our fingers and nervously waited. What if it didn’t happen?

The next evening, I ran home from work. I threw open the door to our bedroom and heard a familiar humming. I felt a cold air rush against my face as I ran around the bed to peek at the hole in the wall and I found… our NEW AC!

A miracle. A real New York miracle.

Ready To Run

2011-05-28T04:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I ran twice while wearing nice shoes, a dress, and carrying two bags. I ran to first catch the bus and later the subway. An adult running to hop on public transportation may seem ridiculous anywhere else in America, but it’s a completely normal and daily occurrence here. We sprint to catch buses, trains, cabs, rickshaws, or anything else with wheels. We’re left with no choice when competing with hundreds of other people or relying on someone else to get us where we need to go.

I once said that I would never run. A lady only walks (and, I’m definitely a lady). Except, now, I could probably enter field day at an elementary school and leave the kiddos in the dust.

My morning routine is as follows… I briskly walk to the subway to warm-up for the energy I’m about to exert. I get on the subway. I step off the subway and immediately start to run to the bus stop. I usually steamroll a few children, but can’t stop. There’s no time. I then fly around the corner of the subway entrance at a deadly speed. I hit about 50 feet of open sidewalk and sail past storefronts. Skirts, dresses, or high heels don’t slow me down.

Penn Station is the running Mecca of New York City. Businessmen with briefcases, fancy women in stilettos, and tourists toting suitcases run. It’s total chaos at times.

I’ve watched Ben sprint two blocks in a suit to make the train. I’ve had goodbyes cut short because the bus came early. I’ve instinctually left family behind upon hearing an approaching rumble on the tracks. I’ve seen elegantly dressed couples exit performances at Lincoln Center and dash toward the subway. I’ve witnessed parents dragging their children down the street in attempt to make it on the train before the doors closed. Nobody is immune to the need to run.

So, consider this a friendly reminder for your next visit. Pack comfortable shoes and be ready to join in the races.

The Ballad of the Country Girl

2011-05-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

Last month, I thoroughly cleaned our apartment. I rid our apartment of clothes, shoes, books, old paperwork, unused kitchen utensils, ripped wallets… I think you get the picture. I ended my purging spree with two stuffed trash bags. Not bad.

I left the bags behind the bed for two weeks to see if I changed my mind about anything. And, I didn’t. Ben only snatched one thing out of the bags – an old pair of camouflage shorts from college. I wonder where he plans to wear them since foliage is pretty scarce in these parts.

I then hefted the bags to the Salvation Army store about a half a block from our house. When I got home, I saw that one particular item had fallen out of the bags and didn’t make it to the Salvation Army… a risqué Country Girl Halloween costume.

I’m sure you’re thinking… where would I get a risqué country girl costume? My mother. And, my mother got it from, oh yes, my father, who, naturally, ordered it off the Internet for her. Of course, the moment my dad gave it to my mom she hid it under the bed until she could pawn it on me during my next visit.

I brought the Country Girl costume to New York where Ben enthusiastically received it. Typical. Except, when I tried it on (embarrassingly so), it didn’t fit. So, I tossed it into the give-away bag.

Magically, though, it slipped out. The Country Girl costume just wouldn’t go away. Did the same culprit who saved the camouflage shorts also save the Country Girl costume? Hm.

Still, the Country Girl costume had to go because it took up unnecessary space in the closet. I placed it in a plastic grocery bag and decided to drop it off at the Salvation Army on our way to church on Sunday. I figured we could quickly sneak it someone else’s box and no one would ever know.

Except, the Salvation Army was closed on Sunday.

But, an adorable old man was accepting people’s donations and reselling them outside the locked front door of the store. Ben and I stood close by and quietly debated what to do. I didn’t want to take the Country Girl to church (the picture on the front of the package made it pretty clear what it was), but at the same time, I didn’t want to give it to a sweet, elderly man trying to make a little extra money. As we conversed, the old man shuffled over to us and gently asked, “Do you have a donation for me?” To which, Ben and I replied in surprised awkward unison, “Yes!”

I passed the bag to Ben (to lessen my part in it), and he handed it to the man. He took the bag and walked away. I started to say, “It’s for young people on Halloween…” But, then stopped. Better to leave before he realized exactly what was in the bag.

After church, Ben and I walked past the old man busily selling stuff to an older lady. Maybe, she bought the Country Girl costume. Who knows? Hopefully, someone, somewhere in New York City appreciates the rural-provocative-Country-Girl thing. And, for his or her sake, I hope it works.

Feelin' It

2011-05-04T17:42:00.000-07:00

Ben’s enthusiasm for things is initially intense, but then the enthusiasm quickly fades. For example, whenever we make chili, he exclaims, “I love chili! We should have it EVERY week.” When we make meatloaf, he says, “I forgot how great meatloaf is. Let’s make it EVERY week.” Each time we do laundry, he says, “We should never wait to do laundry. Let’s do it EVERY weekend.”

“… I love having no dishes in the sink. Let’s do dishes after EVERY meal.”

“… My beard looks good. I’m going to grow one EVERY winter.”

“… I enjoy getting up early and having a cup of coffee. I’m going to do it EVERY day.”

“… I feel great when I get plenty of sleep. I’m going to bed early EVERY night.”

“… I love your face wash. I’m going to use it EVERY morning.”

Several Saturdays ago, Ben went for a run in the park. He returned home and cried, “I feel fantastic! I’m going to run EVERY day.” Uh-huh. I nodded encouragingly, but secretly doubted that he would run again within the month. (And, I was right.)

Ben declares an undying allegiance to something new almost every week, and it’s always short-lived, which is fine with me. I find it very entertaining. I pointed it out to Ben, and at first he denied it. But, he caught himself exuberantly proclaiming his love for things so often that he finally acknowledged that I was right.

He then exclaimed, “I can’t help it. I’m very passionate about things. I’m a passionate person. I’m going to passionate about something EVERY day…”

Hairy Situation

2011-04-24T09:42:00.000-07:00

April is National Poetry Month. To celebrate at school, we spend the month learning about different poets, types of poems, and how to write poems. I am teaching my kindergarteners, first, and second graders about Shel Silverstein. We are reading a short book about his life and what inspired him to write poetry.

I googled a great photo of Shel and showed it to my first graders. We studied the photo intently. They talked extensively about one physical trait… his lack of hair.

The first grade boys found the fact that Shel had no hair hilarious. They laughed even harder when they learned the term for having no hair is “bald”, and they joked endlessly about Shel being bald. I casually commented, “You know that one day you will be bald, right?”

A chorus of “no way” and “uh-uh” ensued.

“Yup,” I said. “You will all be bald just like Shel when you get old.”

One of my littlest first graders defiantly responded, “I will NEVER be bald.”

“You don’t know that,” I said.

“Oh yes, I do,” he said confidently.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“Because,” he said very seriously, “I'll get a weave.”

I stand corrected.

It Wasn't Me: Part Deux

2011-04-16T06:42:00.000-07:00

Again, another wacky toilet experience. What is with me and broken commodes lately? I learned my lesson the last time and, this time, I didn’t come clean.

On Wednesday, I ate at a restaurant by work and decided to use the restroom before hopping on the subway to head home. I walked into the ONLY bathroom in the restaurant and surveyed the facilities. They looked functional.

I used the restroom and then I kicked my leg up to flush the toilet with my foot. When I tapped the handle… it fell off and clinked on the tile floor! Consequently, the toilet didn’t flush.

My eyes bulged and I immediately began to sweat. I prayed that no one would knock on the door or hear the commotion. That was probably a futile wish considering the bathroom door was made of plywood and conveniently opened to a group of tables and the line to place orders.

I bent over and peered at a screw that jutted out from where the handle had been. I figured that the screw must still flush the toilet. So, I pushed it.

Except, it didn’t flush. Instead, with Hulk-like strength, I pushed the screw so far back into the hole that it disappeared! No handle, no screw, and one un-flushed toilet. My stress level skyrocketed knowing that I would, once again, be blamed for a defunct toilet that was NOT MY FAULT.

I quickly assessed my options and decided not to repeat my last experience. I opened the door, scanned the restaurant, avoided all eye contact, and acted as if nothing had happened. Then, I did what anyone would do in my situation with my history of public humiliation and… fled.

Making Space

2011-04-11T02:01:00.000-07:00

I'm not into exercising. It's just never really been my thing. I always have good intentions to work out, but just can't stick with it. I get bored and my attention span decreases to the point of being nonexistent.

About a year ago, Ben and I had joined the gym for a short lived six months. We dropped our membership as soon as we realized that not only did we have to change our eating habits to achieve the bodies we dreamed of, but that we also had to exercise every day. Exercise every day in a hot and smelly gym with the same equipment and people? No way.

But, now spring is here and skirts and swimsuits will replace sweaters and pants. I feel that I should once again start to exercise, make myself more presentable to the public. This time, though, I've decided to work out at home instead of joining a gym. That way, I can leave my PJs on and I only have to roll off the couch to get started.

Our apartment doesn't really lend itself to lots of jumping and moving, but I will make it work. I will just push the couch a few inches, wedge a chair in the corner, roll up the rug, close the blinds, and crack open the window to get some cool air. Of course, I can only open the window about 5 inches because any more than that would give the apartments dwellers and the mechanics at the car garage across the street an eyeful of an uncoordinated and wimpy blonde. Nobody wants, or needs, to see that.

Then, to complete my workout setup, I will hook three different cords from the computer to the TV and stereo (the DVD player broke a few months ago). I can't forget to lock the apartment door. Again, no one needs to walk in and see me blundering around the room with a side ponytail in a mismatched outfit. That. Would. Be. Bad.

So... after writing this, I realize how much work it is to just work out in our apartment. Perhaps, I'll just go back to counting my walk to and from the subway as exercise. Yup, that sounds like a good idea.

Different Monday

2011-04-04T02:22:00.000-07:00

About two weeks ago, I schlepped to work in the pouring rain. I walked to the subway in the rain. I walked from the subway to the bus stop in the rain. And, then, I waited in the rain as three packed buses flew by me. Everything seemed a little worse when my umbrella flipped TWICE because of the strong wind.

I made it to school in one piece and as I hung my coat in the closet I felt my phone buzz in the pocket. I pulled out my phone to see a text from Ben, who was on his way to Washington D.C. for work. I opened his text to find this message:

“Love you so much babe! JUST made my train!!!! Speeding down the coast right now drinking a latte. Love you!”

Yeah, I know. The multiple “I love you” lines with exclamation points are sweet, but the “speeding down the coast” in a warm, dry train with leather seats and free Wi-Fi while “drinking a latter” almost sent me over edge. Did he have to be that happy on a dreary Monday morning? I almost drowned on the sidewalk and squished into the stairwell of bus to get to work on time!

No biggie, though. I took it all in stride… kind of.

Compliment?

2011-03-28T17:21:00.000-07:00

Last week, my wittiest little student complimented and then zinged me in a matter of seconds. We greeted each other at the beginning of our session. He said, “You look beautiful today.”

“Thank you,” I responded. “That’s a very nice compliment.”

“I hope my future wife will be as beautiful as you…” he continued.

My smiled brightened as I threw back my shoulders and sat up a little straighter, ready to bask in more niceties.

“Except, I hope that my future wife will be 20 years younger,” he concluded.

My body (and ego) deflated instantly.

Smells

2011-03-21T16:24:00.000-07:00

I encounter a variety of smells in New York City on a daily basis. Today, I passed through five different smells on my two block walk from the subway to our apartment. Some good, some not so good.

I stepped out of the subway and waited for the light to change next to a sewer grate. I held my breath as a cloud of, literally, sewage engulfed me. I bounded across the street as soon as the light changed and dived headfirst into the sweet aroma of roasted nuts from the vendor on the corner.

I continued down the block and my mouth watered as I passed the Super Taco burrito truck. Warm tortillas and steak filled my nostrils and made my stomach growl in anticipation of dinner. The smell of black beans and rice lasted for only 30 seconds before a wave of fresh laundry placated the need to stuff my face with street meat.

I walked to the corner where I caught whiffs of rotten fruit from the garbage bags lining the sidewalk. Laundry/rotten fruit/laundry/rotten fruit. I alternated nostrils and inhaled quickly depending on which way the wind blew. I focused so intently on my breathing that I almost missed my light. Luckily, the next half block was void of pungent fumes.

My short jaunt to and from the subway is a smorgasbord of smells. I've learned to inhale when appropriate, and I've learned to hold my breath and risk passing out from a lack of oxygen as well. I thought living for so long with my dad and my brother would have better prepared for a variety of foul odors, but I guess not.

Smells, both good and bad, are just a part of the city that I have to accept.

Hot Commodities

2011-03-16T17:50:00.000-07:00

A girlfriend and I walked to "happy hour" last Friday to meet our co-workers to celebrate a week of completed work. As we crossed the street, a minivan drove by and the middle-aged man driving catcalled to us. My girlfriend and I looked at each other in disbelief.

Are we now in the age bracket where this is the type of men that we attract? Men in minivans? Yikes.

It Wasn't Me

2011-03-08T18:37:00.000-08:00

On Friday night, we ate dinner at a nearby Greek restaurant. I excused myself from the table to use the restroom. I walked into the single-stall ladies room to discover that the person before me had thrown a wad of paper towels into the toilet.

I didn’t want to flush the toilet because (thanks to several years in the restaurant industry) I knew that the toilet would clog or overflow. So, I headed toward the kitchen and caught our waiter. I explained that someone – but not me –threw paper towels into the toilet and I didn’t want to flush it. The waiter shook his head and said, “Okay, one moment.”

He then turned to the kitchen of five male cooks and waiters and loudly explained the problem in Greek, a language that I don’t understand. I awkwardly stood near the door. I thought I had clearly stated that I was not at fault, but I somehow think that was lost in translation because the entire kitchen staff stopped and looked at me and shook their heads when my waiter finished explaining the situation.

A cook then stepped around the corner of the counter and said, “Don’t worry. I fix the problem.” I again declared my innocence. “It wasn’t me!" But, somehow, that claim fell on deaf (or Greek) ears.

The cook took a few steps toward a door in the floor that led to a cellar. He repeatedly yelled, “Jesus”, into the darkened hole. Jesus, another restaurant employee, climbed out of the cellar. The cook explained the situation again, but this time in Spanish, another language that I don’t understand. Mid-conversation I hear the word, “caca,” one of the few Spanish words that I do know. “Caca” was definitely a word I did NOT use!

“No! No! I know that word. Not caca,” I said, dumbstruck that I said the word to strangers and in an attempt to defend myself. “Paper towels. Paper towels in the toilet.”

The men just looked at me. I then waved my arms and proclaimed, “I DIDN’T DO IT!”

Jesus nodded at me and snapped a pair of rubber gloves over his hands. The cook laughed and said, “Don’t worry. We fix it. He’s toilet doctor.” Jesus then strode by me.

Next time, I will just use the men’s room.

Save My Seat

2011-03-03T19:23:00.000-08:00

Today, I played with one of my little four-year-old clients in the back gym at work. We busily drilled plastic screws in and out of a PLAYSKOOL workbench. We were the only ones in the room.

Then, a lady walked in and out of the room. She left the door ajar and noise filtered in from the hallway. I asked my little client if he could shut the door so that we could continue to play and talk in a quiet atmosphere. He jumped up and excitedly said, "Yes, but please save my seat!"

I looked around the empty room and smiled. "No problem!" I yelled.

Buddies. That's what I'd call us. Buddies.

City Love

2011-02-27T12:20:00.000-08:00

My brother visited us for the first time since I moved to New York City. New visitors are nice because I once again get to experience the city with fresh eyes. Old, everyday routine things become interesting again.

My brother noticed details that used to fascinate me, but I now overlook. He marveled at the size of skyscrapers and the construction that went into building them. Each time we went into the subway he noted the arched ceilings, the girth of the steel beams, and the speed of the trains. He liked the number of people always on the street, no matter the time. All things that I love about the city, but take for granted.

Sometimes it takes a new perspective to reinvigorate my appreciation of what's around me.

Full House

2011-02-23T22:09:00.000-08:00

On Superbowl Sunday, eighteen friends watched the game at our place. Eighteen! Talk about a full house.

Our apartment, though roomier than the first two places, still lacks lots of space. Fortunately, our friends didn't mind and they happily squeezed into any available spot. Four nudged onto the loveseat. Two plopped on the floor. Eight settled into chairs. One hopped on a barstool. One rested on a big pillow. One sat on a step stool. And, one stood.

I never doubted that everyone would fit into our 11x19 ft room. But, Ben... he stressed just a little about everyone's comfort level. Despite limited space, the party was a success and felt very "New York". Nowhere else in the U.S. would it be normal for that many adults to be in the same room of this size.

Hopefully, everyone had a great time. If needed, we'll lure them back next year with the chili cheese dip. Here's to Superbowl XLVI in 2012.

Spring Is Coming

2011-02-19T05:44:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, the sky wrapped New York City in a beautiful shade of blue. The temperature reached 60 degrees. That combination meant perfect weather for happy hour with the girls at work.

At happy hour, we noticed how the signs of spring were bringing pleasant changes to the city. People traded apartments for parks. Strangers laughed and smiled, their faces visible when no longer hidden behind scarves and hats. People sat outside to eat at restaurants. A man at our restaurant actually held the door open for me. Held the door open!

Of course, the niceties will be short lived. It’s supposed to be 40 degrees tomorrow with a chance of snow sometime this week. But, the good weather definitely whetted a few New York appetites for the coming of spring.

My New Schtick

2011-02-13T18:35:00.000-08:00

I’ve learned a lot of new words since moving to New York, specifically a lot of Yiddish words. I’ve expanded my vocabulary. Added a little flavor to what I say.

I hear words like kvetch, chutzpah, yenta, oy vey, and mensch quite a bit. Although, I feel I lack the pizzazz and authority to pull them off in normal conversation. I have incorporated a few into my daily speech.

Like the word schlep, which I use at least several times a week. In New York, we use the word schlep to refer to our grueling commutes around the city. For example, “I schlepped home from work in the rain with three bags of groceries.” Schlep really gets the point across to people. We don’t walk or stroll, we schlep. I also like to throw in a jubilant mazel tov when appropriate, which isn’t too often, but often enough for me to include in this post.

Since moving to New York, I’ve munched on bagels with lox, eaten latkes, schmoozed at parties, and shook my tukhus on the dance floor. I’ve dealt with a schmuck or two on the street and have participated in Shabbat on several occasions. I’ve listened to people spiel about things, and once saw a stranger’s schlong (totally by accident on the way to the subway).

The new vocabulary really suits me. It makes me feel very “New York”. I think a few of these words will transition into a permanent part of my vocabulary. Yes, that’s right. I will make it a part of my schtick.

* Check out wikipedia for the definitions of the Yiddish words mentioned above if they elude you.

Say That Again

2011-02-10T17:11:00.000-08:00

I happened to walk into a classroom when the teacher was reading a book about a famous baseball player from Louisville, Kentucky. Except, she pronounced Louisville as "Looeyville."

Uh, oh. Definite out-of-towner. I had to interject.

I announced to the class that a true Kentuckian says "Looavul" or even "Luhvul," but not "Looeyville." The teacher tried again, and I gave her credit. She tried. She bravely attempted a southern accent, but it still didn't work. It just sounded like "LooEville."

Perhaps only those from the heart of the Bluegrass can really say it just right.

Mistaken Identity

2011-02-05T05:58:00.000-08:00

Here is another post dedicated to the Second Avenue Select Bus Service...

On Monday, I settled into a bus seat and popped in my earbuds to relax to some good music. Unexpectedly, I felt someone tap my leg. I looked up to see an unfamiliar man in a dark hat, coat, and gloves. He mouthed something unintelligible and, what I assumed to be, unimportant. Annoyed, I gave him a dirty look and returned to my phone. No way was I going to interrupt my music and waste my time on a strange man.

A few minutes later I felt another tap on my leg. I looked up to see the same man standing there. I reluctantly removed my headphones, expecting him to say something inappropriate or weird.

"I am with the MTA (Metropolitan Transportation Authority) checking valid bus tickets. Please get out your ticket," he said.

Oops. He wasn't a strange man on a mission to bother me or ruin my day. Nope. He was just an employee of the city doing his job.

That's when I realized just how hardened of a New Yorker I've become.

Breakdown

2011-02-01T19:03:00.000-08:00

Last Friday, a girlfriend and I took the M15 bus down Second Avenue. The bus was barreling toward our destination when it stopped suddenly and we heard the engine turn off while in the middle of the lane. All of the passengers, including myself, groaned in annoyance.

Then, a lady in the front yelled that the bus driver was sick and couldn’t drive. Another bus would pick us up. Everyone looked at each other in confusion. Then, another person yelled to check out the driver as he ran into the emergency room at the hospital across the street.

I stared out the window and, sure enough, I saw him running for the double doors of the hospital. My girlfriend, a Midwesterner, and I, a Southerner, immediately worried about the fate of the bus driver. What happened? Was he okay?

But, a few of the rough ‘n’ tough, born and bred New Yorkers were not so worried. One woman bellowed from her seat, “I’m not moving out of this %$#@ing seat until he gets back from the $%#ing hospital.”

Never mess with New Yorkers during their commutes.

* I snapped this photo with my phone as we filed out of the bus and into the street. Some people ran down the street. Some caught cabs. And, some stayed on the bus.

It's All In The Pronunciation

2011-01-27T03:42:00.000-08:00

The fifth grade class gave a presentation to the school about the U.S. government, specifically the Constitution and the Articles of Confederation. One student excitedly reported to the school that there are three branches of the government. He leaned into the microphone as he carefully read his note card.

It went something like this… we have the “LEG-islative” branch, the “JUDD-i-cal” branch, and the “EXECUTE-tive” branch.

I don’t know about anyone else, but the last one, the EXECUTE-tive branch, sounds a little intimidating.

Third Time

2011-01-22T11:37:00.000-08:00

I walked into Trader Joe's grocery store this morning, and I ran into Tina Fey. Again! This is the third time that our paths have miraculously crossed.

I casually run into a mega superstar more than any other person in the city. Is it fate? Are cosmic forces trying to bring us together? Am I destined to be her sidekick (or she mine)?

Or, as I asked once before, is Tina Fey stalking me?

I Go Walking

2011-01-20T20:32:00.000-08:00

One more picture from our weekend away. It's hard to believe that we were only 2.5 hours outside the city in the photo below. See, it's true. We have everything in (or around) New York City - mountains, beaches, oceans, rivers...

Hunterfest

2011-01-17T17:52:00.000-08:00

My girlfriend and her fiancé invited Ben and I and another couple to spend the weekend with them at her family’s home near Hunter Mountain in upstate New York. We gleefully accepted the invitation, which promised days of relaxation, fun times with friends, skiing, snowshoeing, and a break from city life. We’d be crazy to turn that down.

Here are a few pictures from the weekend.

Need More time

2011-01-13T21:36:00.000-08:00

I promise to post soon. Just give me a few days...

Safe Zone

2011-01-06T02:58:00.000-08:00

I walked past something terribly frightening on the sidewalk on the East Side yesterday. I stopped mid-stride as feelings of panic flooded my body. There's only one thing in New York City that could cause such an immediate reaction... bedbugs.

I approached a pile of trash that included a mattress covered in plastic with the words "NYC Bedbugs" scrawled across the front in black sharpie. I froze. Then, I freaked out as I imagined little bedbugs leaping from the plastic wrap onto my coat. I imagined them scurrying across the concrete and up my legs. I imagined baby bedbugs parachuting down from the scaffolding and landing in my hair. I imagined an entire colony of bedbugs celebrating the fall of their new victim.

I turned to run back, but knew I had to press forward (a real trooper). I frantically tiptoed across the pavement in an attempt to decrease my surface area in a potentially contaminated space. I sighed with relief when I made it to a self-declared "safe zone." I finally looked up and, for the first time, saw a bystander and his dog watching me.

I started to feel slightly embarrassed until he half-smiled and nodded. Oh, yeah. He understood.

Return to the City

2011-01-04T18:54:00.000-08:00

We luckily missed the blizzard that hit NYC over the holiday break. We returned Sunday night to mostly melted snow and a city on the rebound. The snow is pretty much gone, but the trash that never got picked up is still around. The picture below has not been an uncommon sight on the sidewalks of the five boroughs. The city is working on it, though. No worries.

He's Making A List...

2010-12-24T05:35:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I worked with a group of three students. Two were very excited for the Christmas holiday while one was not. The unhappy student had gotten in trouble earlier in the day, and that negatively affected his feelings toward the holidays for the rest of the afternoon.

Every time the first two students exuberantly declared their love for Christmas, the third student attempted to thwart their enthusiasm. I intervened, of course, but it didn’t really change his attitude. I thought nothing would change his mindset until one of the other students offered his opinion.

“You know, maybe Santa checked his list twice and you weren’t on it. Maybe when he checked his list he found out you’re naughty, not nice,” he said in a matter-of-a-fact tone. “You should be better next year.”

Then he paused to let the unhappy student digest this information.

“Yup, I think I’m right. You’ve been naughty,” he concluded.

Here’s to hoping everyone has been nice, not naughty, this year.

Bad Timing

2010-12-22T04:05:00.000-08:00

Apparently, having weird experiences on public transportation is a reoccurring theme for me this month.

On Thursday night, I took the train to Queens to meet Ben and friends. I luckily found a spot to sit on the crowded train. I wedged myself between two people and started to relax until I noticed the girl sitting across the aisle looked pretty woozy and pale. Uh oh.

I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable about not feeling well, but I decided to “monitor” her. I needed to know when to bolt if she was going to get sick and possibly projectile vomit across the car.

I turned my head for two minutes, and when I looked back my eyes almost popped out of my head. The girl sat with her eyes closed and a hand over her mouth as vomit dribbled through her fingers!

YUCK.

As soon as I saw her I almost got sick.

Unfortunately, she threw up just as the subway doors closed. She had to sit like that until we reached the next subway stop, which was about three to four minutes away. She stood and stumbled across the car as soon as we the train began to slow down and we neared the stop. She stepped over a man’s legs and when the doors opened she leaned outside and released everything.

SIIIIIIIIIIIICK.

I was weirdly grossed out and fascinated by the whole experience for two reasons. One, she experienced one of my worst fears – to get sick while on public transportation. And, two, not a single person (with the exception of me) even blinked. Everyone acted normal. No one seemed phased by the situation at all.

New Yorkers really are immune to everything (err… except the flu).

Bus Ride

2010-12-17T05:30:00.000-08:00

On Thursday afternoon, I proved to myself once again how tough I’ve become since moving New York. I sat on the bus and read a magazine while listening to music. I felt a bodily presence beside me, but paid it no mind. A minute later, I realized that that the body was also speaking to me. I looked up to see a disheveled and very inebriated man with a cigarette wedged between his lips. He repeatedly mumbled incoherent sentences and one understandable one, “Miss, will you zip my jacket?” I replied, “No, thanks.” He asked again and shoved his zipper toward me. I replied again, “No, thanks.”

After several requests he became frustrated and yelled in clear, perfect English, “Thanks a lot you worthless $*%& $*%&#.” The front of the bus turned my way and heads rolled to watch the scene unfold. I sat motionless for a few seconds. I then slowly replaced my headphones and returned to my magazine, mostly annoyed to have been interrupted for no reason.

The man couldn’t speak to me in complete sentences at a normal voice volume without an audience, but he had NO difficulty yelling profanities at me in front of a crowd. Interesting.

The old me, the freshly scrubbed straight-off-the-plane me, would have taken his insult to heart. I would have fought back tears and harbored hurt feelings. I would have wondered what I did to deserve such treatment.

But, the new me? Oh, no, no, no. I barely blinked, didn’t even flinch. I chuckle at the new me and just how New York street tough I’ve become.

New Coat

2010-12-04T07:52:00.000-08:00

I broke down and bought a long winter coat. Long like it hangs down to my calves and has big furry trim around the hood. It’s my Christmas present.

NYC gets so cold in the winter. The temperature drops, and I still spend the same amount of time outside. I am always walking a couple of blocks here, a couple of blocks there. Waiting for the bus here, catching a taxi there. I spend quite a bit of time in the blustery outdoors.

That’s why I got a long coat. Of course, I opted for the version that is stylish as well as warm. It fits like a shapely sleeping bag that's been upgraded with a fur trimmed hood.

I never understand Ben. He wears a flimsy, waist length wool coat all winter. If it’s really cold, he’ll add a scarf, hat, and gloves. Otherwise, a wool coat is it. I wear a wool coat in October and then switch to a thigh length down parka in November, which I will now exchange for a calf length down parka for the rest of the winter. (This is in addition to the long johns I wear under my jeans.)

Somewhere I lack the same internal heat source that keeps Ben warm. But, we’ll see this winter. Maybe my comfy, wearable sleeping bag will persuade him to the warmer side.

Shine On

2010-11-28T18:03:00.000-08:00

I got my boots shined the other week at The Sole Man in Penn Station, the same place businessman go during the workweek. Usually, Ben said, businessmen fill the chairs and a line snakes out the door. And, he would know since he frequents The Sole Man himself.

Ben had noticed that my boots looked a little ragged and worn, so he suggested this as a solution. And, man, did it work! The guys there are like magic. My boots now look brand new.

The guy literally put seven coats of polish on my boots. He massaged them, whipped them, and sprayed them. At one point, he wrapped his rag around the heel of my boot and pulled really hard on both sides, rubbing the rag against the leather. I grabbed onto the arms of the chair and dug my bottom into the pleather to keep from sliding right out of the chair. He was pretty strong.

I read the NY Post and watched a football game on an old, snowy TV set while my boots slowly came back to life. The whole experience left me feeling very manly and very Mad Men. I periodically checked the entrance, fully expecting Don Draper to walk in and take a seat. Although Don never showed, I still feel that he would have appreciated my being there.

Life Changer

2010-11-18T19:38:00.000-08:00

Trader Joe’s opened in September in our neighborhood. Life got better overnight. Seriously.

The awesomeness of this grocery store has completely changed my perspective of grocery shopping. The place is a godsend. It's unlike any other grocery store, and I am now a new woman because of it.

The selection of food is limited, which makes shopping easier. For example, they may offer four kinds of peanut butter as opposed to ten or three types of oatmeal instead of eight. They choose items because of quality, not quantity.

I like the limited selection. I don’t comb through twenty brands to figure out which one tastes best. I don’t try to recall the one good brand I luckily found on sale last week. I don’t compare prices. I don’t pay attention to “price cuts” or “deals of the week”. They already sell everything at the cheapest price because almost everything they sell is their brand. No middleman increases prices.

Milk, fruit, cheese, guacamole, burritos, and vitamins –cheaper! Cereal, apple cider, dark chocolate covered caramels, olive oil – cheaper again! My shopping budget grows every time I shop at Trader Joe’s. I love it.

They offer cool meal combos that save me time. I make a dinner with the frozen vegetable fried rice, frozen stir-fry vegetables with sauce, and steamed pork buns. I don’t hunt down a bunch of spices or sauces that I only use once every three months. I don’t waste time cutting five different vegetables on our teeny countertop. I just rip open bags and throw stuff in a skillet. I look like a world-class chef… until Ben finds the discarded packages in the trashcan.

The best and perhaps most well known thing about Trader Joe’s is their cheap wine. It’s “wine on a dime.” I should probably coin that phrase. Trader Joe’s “Charles Shaw” wine, aka Two Buck Chuck, goes for $2.99 a bottle… a bottle! The Heavens just parted.

You may read this post and think I’m plugging Trader Joe’s to get some sort of kickback. I wish Itty Bitty held that kind of clout. No, no. I just love Trader Joe’s this much.

Elevator Woes

2010-11-11T06:04:00.000-08:00

No one will murder me. No one will kidnap me. A taxi will not run over me. But, the likelihood is pretty good that our elevator will end me.

Say your goodbyes now.

Our apartment building is old and not everything functions properly. The elevator is a prime example. It’s the one thing that I do want to work right in our building since it’s what could also kill me.

Several months ago, the elevator randomly stopped working, prompting everyone to climb and haul belongings up five flights of stairs. Ben viewed the situation as a great way to get exercise, but I saw it as a form of torture and feared it would never be fixed secondary to some tiny clause in our lease that I overlooked.

Fortunately, maintenance fixed it. But, then it broke again. So, they fixed it again. This broken-fixed-broken-fixed relationship continued for weeks.

It annoyed me, but didn’t scare me. Until the day we walked into the building and pushed the button to go up. We heard no murmur of the elevator moving. Instead, we heard voices crying, “help us.” We bolted to the fourth floor where the voices were the loudest.

Apparently, the elevator broke mid-ride and between the third and fourth floors with two tenants inside! Their roommate stood outside the elevator on the phone negotiating their release with the building superintendent. By the time we arrived the girls had been waiting in the elevator for an hour and a half. By then their hysteria had faded into a calm delirium.

After the girl’ rescue, and as much as that single incident should have persuaded me to never set foot in the elevator again, I rode it the next morning.

Luckily, I have managed to avoid a situation that extreme, but I have panicked a few times. Like the two times the doors opened to a concrete and brick wall of pipes. Or the countless times the doors opened six inches below the level of the floor. Ben once climbed up and crawled out of the elevator when it similarly stopped several feet below the floor.

It’s hard to believe we haven’t called and complained yet.

I guess the point of this story is to alert readers to the realization that if posts suddenly cease to appear… I have probably departed this sweet Earth. It wasn’t a crazy driver. It wasn’t an axe murderer. It was a defunct elevator.

Paparazzi

2010-11-02T17:34:00.000-07:00

Courtney seems like a celebrity in these photos. I mean, yes, the photographer is good. The lighting in the pictures is good. But, honestly, she just always looks this fabulous.

You Again

2010-10-26T15:51:00.000-07:00

Bret Michaels is back in NYC. And, I am very happy about it. My long lost friend has finally returned.

We last saw each other three years ago when I was unemployed with a lot of time on my hands. We spent hours together each week and really connected on many levels. At the time, I counted his show, "Rock of Love", as one of the few quality television programs in the afternoon lineup.

I understood why he liked crazy women and slept in his bandana. I had no qualms with his pink lips, tattooed eyeliner, and Ed Hardy getup. I got it. It worked for him.

Yesterday, after years of no Bret, I got an unexpected surprise as I walked past the bus stop on 96th street. A larger-than-life (and incredibly photoshopped) picture of Bret graced the side of the crosstown bus! I contemplated a brief hug, but settled on this post instead.

Apparently, Bret is in a happy place now and doing well. As am I. I like to think that we met at a time in our lives when we both needed each other most. Together, we embarked on a new, exciting, yet nerve-wracking adventure. We needed each other then, but not now. We both made it.

Life definitely rocks.

* I attribute the over-the-top cheesiness of this post's ending to the overwhelming influence that Bret often exerts on me when left alone for too long in his presence.

Wine Tasting

2010-10-20T02:40:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, Ben and I hopped into a car with Craig and Courtney to visit Chris and Melissa in Ithaca, New York. Chris and Melissa moved from NYC to Ithaca several months ago.

We wanted to visit good friends. We wanted to see their new spacious apartment (and not visibly seethe with jealousy). And, we really wanted to relax in a suburb void of noise and crowds.

We left of Friday evening. MapQuest said that the drive to Ithaca would take four hours. But, thanks to a host of inconveniences (weekend traffic, bad weather, and roadwork) it only took us seven hours. Fortunately, the endless rows of chain restaurants eased the pain.

On Saturday, we supported local businesses by visiting several wineries. Ithaca boasts quite a few and, as visitors, we thought it best to partake in as many wine tastings as possible in order to get a real taste for the area.

I took my camera and hoped to capture a few pictures of the weekend. That wasn't hard to do once our group loosened up after a few tastings. At first, everyone hesitated to pose or smile for the camera, but after a couple of wineries I couldn't keep them away. Suddenly, everyone was a supermodel.

At one of the wineries, we found an awesome spot to take portraits. The lighting was perfect and made us look good, real good. Although we got a nice shot of each group member, I'm sure we annoyed the other patrons. We repeatedly scooted them to the side so that we could capture our best selves.

Location, Location, Location

2010-10-14T18:58:00.000-07:00

Ben asked where we keep the scotch tape. He needed help finding the camera cord. We last saw his passport somewhere in the living room.

Ben not knowing where commonly used objects are kept is one of his quirks that I have gotten used to over the years. I accept it. I embrace it as one of his unique qualities.

But, last week, he definitely surprised me when he had no trouble locating one item. He immediately knew where to look and didn’t even hesitate when I questioned its very existence.

The one, single, lone item that Ben knew the exact location of was… the chip ‘n’ dip tray.

I say no more.

Caviar and The Carlyle

2010-10-04T01:57:00.000-07:00

A couple of Fridays ago, a girlfriend and I enjoyed happy hour on the East Side. She proposed the idea of going to Bemelman’s Bar at the Carlyle Hotel. “It’s famous and expensive,” she said.

Famous, sounded good. Expensive, didn’t sound so good. But then I thought about it a little more…

“If we go,” I replied, “we will always be able to offhandedly say in conversations, “Oh, the Carlyle? Yes, yes, I’ve been there.”

“And,” she continued, “we might see Barbara Walters since it’s one of her favorite spots.”

I immediately saw images of myself nudged on the couch between the women from The View debating ‘hot topics’ and pop culture. Barbara would quickly recognize my raw talent and put my journalistic skills to use on 20/20 to grill celebrities, politicians, and world leaders.

“The Carlyle sounds great,” I said.

We weren’t even sure that we would get into The Carlyle because of our casual attire. We arrived in an air of we’re-supposed-to-be-here-don’t-you-recognize-us-fingers-crossed and hopeful looks. To our delight, the doorman ushered us in without question and a hotel employee escorted us to the restaurant. We knew we were in the right place with service like that.

The host first sat us outside the restaurant at a little table. I ordered the cheapest drink on the menu – a $14 glass of wine. Quite a steep price when compared to the $2.99 bottle of wine from Trader Joe’s grocery store that sat on our countertop.

The host then scooted us inside the restaurant and sat us next to three men in their mid-forties who proclaimed to be self-made CEOs. Each claimed to have a net worth of several million dollars, and they were celebrating a deal they cinched earlier that day. Would we like to join? “Everything,” they added, “is on us.”

Free drinks and free food? Oh, yeah! Barbara would just have to wait.

They bought drinks and food for everyone to share. They ordered steaks, three platters of oysters (at $4 an oyster), crab cakes, shrimp cocktail, mini burgers, and a silver bowl of $325 caviar. We had entered a world of no limits and it was pretty, pretty fun.

I stuffed my mouth with caviar and mused about the New York moment we were having. Legendary hotel, fancy restaurant, random people, free food… only here, I thought. Nowhere else in the world would this happen to me. My girlfriend and I partook happily for about two hours and then hopped into cabs, stuffed and excited to have shared another awesome New York experience.

City Dwelling

2010-09-27T17:43:00.000-07:00

Recently, an old college friend moved to the city. She scoped out potential apartments before her arrival and signed the lease for an apartment in Brooklyn. This apartment was so much better than the other ones she looked at, she said.

Her apartment had just been renovated. Everything was going to be brand new. The other apartments the broker showed her were nice too, but in less desirable neighborhoods or a farther walk from the subway.

The apartment she liked boasted a kitchen with full size appliances whereas the other places did not. One apartment only had two college-sized mini fridges in lieu of one normal sized fridge. So, in comparison, the apartment she chose pretty much sounded like a luxurious urban oasis.

She felt pretty lucky about her decision… until she actually moved into her newly – not totally – rehabbed apartment. Half of the apartment was either missing or not working.

She lived for THREE WEEKS with NO:

1) Hot water

2) Kitchen sink

3) Gas

4) Working stove

Ben and I laughed and shook our heads with pity when she told us the story. Nowhere, NOWHERE else in America would a person be expected to live in such conditions and pay rent. But, in New York City, we are.

We do it with a smile on our face because it’s New York. New York! We know that surviving in this city will make us stronger (we hope). We know that if we can make it here, we can make it anywhere.

Home

2010-09-18T10:55:00.000-07:00

I don’t know when, exactly, or what triggered the evolution of my feelings and perspective over the past four months. I just know that it happened. It’s something that I’ve waited 2.5 years for and finally decided wasn’t going to happen. But, then it did…

I have fallen in LOVE with New York. I have fallen in love in a big kind of way, head over heels. I now love New York so much that I often think about how much I love it, which somehow must equal even more love.

For a long time, I wondered if I would ever feel this way. I really worried about it after my first year of rocky starts. Everyone I had met loved New York (or at least said they did), so naturally I had to love it too. For a long time, I tried to force myself to love a place that I didn’t feel 100% a part of.

Then, everything changed and evolved around April or May of this year. And, by June, I cemented my love for this great city. I finally felt truly happy and at peace both in my heart and at a conscious level.

It hit me when I was flying home from a wedding in June. As I walked onto the plane I got an overwhelming yearn to go home. That’s right… home.

It was the first time in almost three years that I felt I was going home. I was no longer going to an apartment in a city that served as a shell of what was supposed to be my home, but really wasn’t in my mind. It no longer acted as a substitute for what I missed in Kentucky. It was the real deal.

I had waited for so long for that.

This past summer only intensified my love for New York. The reasons of why I love New York piled up everywhere I looked or went. I couldn’t cross a street or turn a corner without finding something that I loved.

My job, of course, is one of my number one reasons of why I’m so happy. I’ll stay in New York as long as I can to continue to work at my school. It’s my haven.

My second number one reason (I guess that’s called a ‘tie’) is my group of friends. New York is New York because of them. They changed everything for me.

And, lastly (to round out a list that could go on and on and on)… correction, ironically, all of the reasons of why I like New York now were all of the reasons of why I disliked it in the beginning. Many things that bugged me, frustrated me, and annoyed me before are now the very things that I find oddly endearing and sometimes comforting. It’s weirdly true.

Don’t get me wrong… some of the same things still drive me crazy and always will. I will always hate to walk home 5, 10, 15 blocks without an umbrella during an “unexpected” thunderstorm, pay a million dollars for a box of cereal, and faint during run-ins with rats and roaches. But, overall, the good far outweighs the bad. The good makes living here fun. The good added together makes it feel like home.

Happy Inhabitants

2010-09-13T02:25:00.000-07:00

I greet fall weather with much enthusiasm. I wholeheartedly welcome the cooler temperatures. I embrace the change of season.

Autumn means that we will no longer bake in the heat of our apartment, something that we’ve done since the loss of our AC unit. Our apartment is finally, once again, a comfortable temperature.

Our place no longer turns into a sauna when the sun beats in and we turn on the oven. We no longer feel heat from the street radiating up five floors. And, we no longer sleep with three fans pointed at us.

Temperate weather = tolerable apartment = happy inhabitants = us.

Babies

2010-09-10T12:28:00.000-07:00

Two friends from work had babies this summer. A group of us made a trip to visit them. We spent all afternoon oohing and ahhing over two very sweet baby girls.

Meet Avery...

Meet Sabina...

Labor Day

2010-09-07T06:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, we celebrated Labor Day in Central Park with friends at an impromptu picnic. Several thousand other New Yorkers also had the same idea thanks to the great weather. Fortunately, the Great Lawn can hold many, many people.

Getting together was the perfect way to end the holiday weekend.

Supernatural

2010-09-01T07:52:00.000-07:00

Something fishy is going on with our Netflix account. It’s been happening for a while now. I hope that this post will fix the “situation”.

My movies never change positions in the queue.

I frequently check our movie queue. I see my movies at the top of the list. I anticipate their arrival.

But, they NEVER come. Instead, we get movies I’ve never heard of, movies that were in the middle and at the bottom of the queue. I then get confused and recheck the list.

Hmmm, my movies are still in the same spots. They’ve held the top three spots for months now. Yet, they never move. They never come. It’s inexplicable!

Amazingly, though, Ben’s movies ALWAYS weasel their way to the top of the list and make it in our mailbox. His movies always mysteriously move to top at just the right moment, like on the day they’re sent. I don’t understand how their positions switch at the very last second.

It’s so weird.

There must be a phenomenon that I don’t know about that prevents movies that I choose for us to watch to actually be watched. Maybe that same thing happens elsewhere. I’m not sure what the formal name for such a phenomenon is though. I will continue to research until I find an answer.

Speaking of AC units...

2010-08-27T01:09:00.000-07:00

We once had two window AC units, one in the living room and one in the bedroom. The bedroom unit broke in June. Its absence left us with an insatiable thirst for cold air at the beginning of one of the hottest summers New York City has seen in the last seven years.

We wanted to resign our lease in August before we plunked down money for a new AC. We decided to survive without an AC in the bedroom for the next two months. That proved to be impossible in 95-degree weather.

So, we blew up an air mattress and camped out every night in the living room under the cold air of our ONE working AC. We decided to enjoy the experience. We pretended that sleeping on an air mattress was like camping or being on vacation.

In August, after we resigned the lease, we searched for a new AC. We no longer wanted to sleep in a bed that rested four inches off of the ground and deflated during the night. We went to Bed, Bath, & Beyond and bought the very last AC unit they had left in stock.

It was fate.

We carried the heavy AC unit to a waiting taxi that dropped us off at the corner a half a block from our apartment building. Ben carried it inside and up the elevator to the fifth floor. We put it together and plugged it in wall. We then waited for the room to fill the room with frosty air.

We enjoyed the AC unit for two, TWO, nights before we awoke to a machine gun, lawnmower explosion sound. Our AC broke. Broke!

I waited silently in bed and didn’t move. I hardly breathed and waited for Ben’s response. I suppressed a laugh and knew that Ben was probably about to go crazy. Luckily, he was so disoriented from sleeping that I don’t think the he grasped what happened until the next morning when we awoke to a hot and humid room.

I double-checked the AC again yesterday just to be sure. Still broken. Our one shot, our last chance for cool air that promised nights of good sleep is gone. Guess we’ll have to sweat it out until next year.

Keeping Cold

2010-08-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

Most New York apartments don’t have central air conditioning. Most New York apartments use window AC units. Not what you would expect, right?

It's certainly not what I expected when I first moved here. For some reason, I imagined EVERY apartment to be modern and cutting edge, to have the best and newest of everything. After all, it is New York.

Newer apartments (usually pricey ones) do have central air, but most cute and charming (read between the lines... old) places don't. I guess I never considered the fact that many apartments were built before central air. But, after living here, window AC units make sense. They're affordable and an easy fix.

So, although Ben and I can't boast about the luxury of having central air, we can boast about having a true New York experience of living in old buildings and sweating through summers together.

Perspective, people, perspective.

The first and second pictures show what a typical window AC unit looks like.

The third and fourth pictures demonstrate the popularity of AC units in a typical apartment building in NYC.

Celebrity Sighting... Again

2010-08-20T08:10:00.000-07:00

Amazingly, I saw yet another celebrity! Yes, another celebrity. Even I can't believe my luck these past couple of weeks.

Yesterday, my girlfriend and I enjoyed a cup of gelato on a bench outside a little bakery on the Upper East Side. I noticed an attractive lady walking toward the bakery while we chatted. She walked right in front of us and then into the bakery. It was Kelly Rutherford. She plays Lily van der Woodsen on the hit TV show Gossip Girl.

I loved Gossip Girl for about two seasons, and I'm only slightly embarrassed to admit that. The show was about rich high schoolers with crazy lives from the Upper East Side. It took place in New York so I had to watch it. It was my duty as a New Yorker.

I also watched Gossip Girl for research purposes. The show taught me cool places to take visitors when they stay with us. I equated watching Gossip Girl to taking a bus tour of the city or reading Zagat books. The show helped me become a better hostess and tour guide.

Riiiiight.

Anyway, here is Kelly Rutherford...

Skills

2010-08-17T07:04:00.000-07:00

People always ask how and why I have seen so many celebrities in the city. Two reasons... 1) I wander the streets during the weekday when a lot of them are filming or shopping, and 2) I have eagle eyes with which to spot them.

Celebrities go out when most people don't. They hit the clubs and restaurants on off nights. They shop during the week when most people are at work. Most of them, surprising, don't really care to be noticed. I learned all of this when unemployed with lots of free time on my hands. I see it happening again now that I have the summer off from work.

I do pride myself on my ability to recognize someone from a distance or when dressed down as a "civilian". One of my most impressive sightings was when I spotted John Slattery from across the street and about 1.5 blocks away. What can I say? I'm good.

Last week, I walked to the grocery store and passed the film set for Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. I've never watched the show, but I know many people love it. I snapped a picture of the set with my iPhone and realized that I got a picture with one of the lead actors in it - Christopher Meloni who plays Detective Elliot Stabler. He's the guy in the middle of the picture wearing a black sleeveless shirt and a gray tie talking on a cell phone.

Parked Cars

2010-08-12T02:29:00.000-07:00

I have written over and over about how important space is in the city. How can it not be? There are so many people and cars and buildings crammed onto one small island. Below is another example of how New Yorkers work creatively with limited space.

A number of people drive into the city for work. They have to park somewhere, but parking garages are not that common and finding a spot on the street is difficult. Instead, New York has small parking lots where they use "lifts" to stack cars on top of each other to increase the number of cars that can be parked in one space.

Below are two pictures of two different parking lots in the city that show how many cars they can fit into a small area.

When The Stars Align

2010-08-10T08:04:00.000-07:00

I just ran into the one celebrity who all girls my age wanted to be and all boys my age dreamed about when kids… Tiffani-Amber Thiessen! She played one of the main characters on the hit TV show Saved By The Bell. She was the one and only Kelly Kapowski. KELLY KAPOWSKI!

I was waiting for the light to change at 67^th and Broadway when I noticed a really tall, muscular man standing with a baby stroller across the street on the opposite corner. He was so big that I knew he wasn’t just any regular guy, but I didn’t recognize him. I immediately looked for his wife who was standing next to him. I couldn’t tell who she was because she was too far away, but I got the weird feeling that they weren’t just any normal couple.

The light changed and I weaseled through the crowd so that I would be within an arm’s length of them when we passed. I realized who she was before even reaching her. My body shook with excitement and I couldn’t mask the goofy smile on my face. It took complete self-control to not shout out the most famous cheer that she often led with Zach during the show…

B-B-B-B-B, B-B-B-B-B, Go Bayside!

Summer Fun

2010-08-05T02:37:00.000-07:00

My life is pretty perfect.

First (and this reason alone makes everyone insanely jealous), I only work two days a week this summer. And, I hardly count it as two days because I only work two hours on one of those days. Incredible, I know.

I knew people wouldn't like me because of my summer schedule, but I'm amazed at the number of people that really hate me. At first, I felt bad. I felt guilty for having so much free time. But, I got over that and I don’t feel bad anymore. I actually feel pretty AWESOME.

This is where I triumphantly pump my fists into the air.

People roll their eyes and scoff at my schedule, but I don't get offended. They are just so consumed with envy that they can't help themselves. I can empathize. I usually sigh and shake my head to show that I understand their predicament. I offer advice and say, “Become a teacher.” They then usually say something about not liking children. Well, I can’t do anything about that. So, I return to the morning paper, sip my pina colada, and enjoy my break.

I am traveling almost every weekend this summer. I have the time to visit people that I normally would not get to see. It also helps that they live in all of the right places- Cape Cod, North Carolina, Kentucky, Arkansas, Indiana. I plan to earn enough frequent flyer mile points to cover my trips for next summer.

I have to give props to Ben. He is fantastic. He encourages me to take trips to see friends even when he has to work. He doesn't get mad when he can't get ahold of me at noon because I'm at the beach. He happily listens to stories about mid-day trips to the movies or lunch dates. He's the best. He's very supportive of my lifestyle.

Oops! It’s 11:30am. I better get out of these pajamas and do something. Then, I can say I did more than just write this blog post.

It's Getting Hot In Here

2010-08-01T10:20:00.000-07:00

My husband was a good sport the other day. He let me photograph him to practice and improve my skills. Here are some of my favorite pictures.

Sorry, ladies, this stud is taken.

Supermodel

2010-07-28T05:09:00.000-07:00

One of my girlfriends allowed me to practice my photography skills with her as my subject. I think she looks beautiful in this picture. We took about 50 pictures, but this one is my favorite.

Another Celebrity Sighting

2010-07-22T02:42:00.000-07:00

I went to lunch with a group of girls several Wednesdays ago in NYC. We stopped by the Gap after lunch to peruse the sale racks. As we chatted, Jen suddenly said, “Ooh, ooh! I see a CELEBRITY!”

I instinctively reeled around and slipped into stalker mode. A celebrity? In my midst? At the Gap? Jen described her in detail and I zoomed off to find her.

Unfortunately (for me), I lost her in the dressing rooms. I debated about checking under the stall doors, but thought that might be considered a felony. I don't need a rap sheet. So, I halfheartedly retreated back to the group disappointed that I missed the celebrity.

But, don't think that I gave up quite yet.

We hung out for a few extra minutes by the cash register and waited. We waited just long enough to catch a glimpse of her coming out of the dressing rooms. We finally got to see her, and although I didn’t recognize her (What has happened to me?) I was happy to add another sighting to my list.

We saw Merritt Wever. She plays a character on the HBO show “Nurse Jackie.” And, apparently, she appreciates a good sale at the Gap like the rest of us.

Preparedness

2010-07-19T21:03:00.000-07:00

Next weekend, Ben will hike the mountain, Pikes Peak, in Colorado with two friends. He’s slowly been gathering much needed items for his trip, including new top-of-the-line hiking boots. The boots have gotten him pretty excited.

About two weeks ago, Ben mentioned that he was beginning to feel anxious about climbing a mountain, especially since he had not done any physical activity to prepare for it. He also had not yet broken in his new boots. He then started to panic about possible blisters and not being shape. He decided that he must practice for his journey IMMEDIATELY.

So, I slipped on flip-flops and he laced up his new boots. We walked straight to Riverside Park and began a 20-block “hike” along the Hudson River. I walked on the paved path and Ben marched his way through a well-manicured park.

He stomped across asphalt. He trudged though grass. Midway through our “hike”, Ben climbed and jumped off a rock. He proudly stood up, stretched out his arms, and asked, “What do you think?”

“I think,” I said, “you are definitely ready for a mountain.”

Nighttime in New Jersey

2010-07-14T20:18:00.000-07:00

One night, during our stay at the farmhouse, we tried different settings on my camera in an attempt to achieve a movement effect. You can see our hair blurred a little bit in the first picture. We worked so hard (evident by the intense looks on our faces) to get it right. In the last picture, you can see Ben and Nathan walking.

I like the background of the black tree line against the dark blue sky. I know that to get a good movement picture the shutter needs to stay open longer, but a belly full of BBQ and the dark made it hard to figure out. We did the best we could.

Barn Parts in New Jersey

2010-07-08T02:38:00.000-07:00

Fourth of July

2010-07-07T06:18:00.000-07:00

This past weekend a group of us rented a farmhouse in Princeton, NJ to celebrate the fourth of July and to, quite simply, get out of the city. I know what you’re thinking… a farmhouse? We laughed, too. You can’t get much more city slicker than the four of us.

But, the farmhouse offered some great perks not available to us in the city.

One, it sat on a piece of grassy land surrounded by fields with no neighbors. That’s a nonexistent concept in New York City.

Two, Bambi was all over the place! There was a group of deer in the front or back yard every time we walked outside. We’re not used to seeing such a lovely, non-disease carrying animal. Rats and pigeons are the fauna we tend to see within our zip code. We don't "ooh" and "aah" when those cross our path.

Three, the back porch had two rocking chairs and a porch swing. Perfect for chewing on Twizzlers and watching the sun set.

Four, the farmhouse came with a huge outdoor grill where we concocted a delicious meal of hot dogs, burgers, and corn on the cob. A grill is a rare find in the city.

Five, we ate on an actual adult-sized kitchen table! We liked the table so much that we spent the next three nights playing card games there.

And, six, we got to drive a car around the town. It’s so fun to drive when you never get the chance.

After this trip, we can think of ourselves as a pretty versatile group. We have gathered together in tiny NYC apartments, in an art-deco Miami hotel, in a cabin in the Catskills, and in a farmhouse in New Jersey. What's next? Hmm... time will tell.

Newport, Rhode Island

2010-07-02T06:13:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about New York is the accessibility to get places. We can hop on a bus, subway, or train and be just about anywhere within a several hundred mile radius. We can easily (and pretty cheaply) get to cities like Boston or Philadelphia, or to towns like Cape Cod and Princeton, or to beaches like Long Beach and those in the Hamptons. Several weekends ago, we took the train to Newport, Rhode Island.

The main draw for tourists in Newport is the mansions. We toured mansions built in the mid-late 1800s by various American tycoons and millionaires like, for example, the Vanderbilt family. Walking though other people's homes was something that we knew we’d enjoy and appreciate thanks to years of watching HGTV’s shows “Flip This House” and “What’s My House Worth”.

Checking out the mansions online still didn’t prepare us for their monstrousness. The immense size and opulent style of the mansions were insane. I-N-S-A-N-E.

Houses were made entirely of marble, adorned with 24-karat gold leaf imprinted walls, decorated with bronze sculptures, and topped with artist commissioned painted ceilings and crystal chandeliers... exactly the kind of stuff you’d probably recognize in our one bedroom apartment. Look closely to see that our miniature tub is pure porcelain and imported from Italy. Little Italy, in NYC, that is!

After the mansions, we ate the best clam chowder at The Black Pearl and then walked downtown along the water and piers. Check out a few of the pictures I took. Notice how tiny the people are next to the huge Weeping Willow tree that was in the backyard of one of the mansions, and look how tiny we are next to the mansions.

Summertime in the City

2010-06-29T07:26:00.000-07:00

I spent Friday evening at a picnic with friends in Central Park. We enjoyed awesome weather, good food, and great company - not an unusual combination with this group.

At 9pm, the park patrolmen kicked us out. I then leisurely walked 25 blocks home to soak in the sights and sounds and (often peculiar) smells of the city. A perfect ending to a perfect evening.

Here are some pictures from the evening. Notice the city skyline in the background. So awesome.

Small World

2010-06-24T17:46:00.000-07:00

On Tuesday night, we went to the Met with a group of friends to see the ballet “Swan Lake.” The ballet was awesome. But, this post is not about that.

I introduced myself to one of the girls in our group thinking that she looked vaguely familiar. We talked, but just couldn’t figure out how we could possibly know each other. Our only connection was our mutual friend that proposed going to the ballet.

Finally, we figured out that we both live on the Upper West Side. But, we had never run into each on the Upper West Side. I then asked the cross streets of her apartment building. She said that she had recently moved to a new building, but told me her old cross streets.

I said, “Wait! I live at around there.”

She then replied, “Well, my building wasn’t that nice. It was pretty old.”

That was all I needed to hear.

“Oh, so you lived at blah, blah, blah.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “How did you know?”

“I live there now,” I said.

I discovered, with more probing, that the reason she looked so familiar was because I toured her apartment last August when looking for a new place, and I actually spoke to her! I had asked her a few questions as I walked through her apartment.

We were flabbergasted! In a city of eight million people, I share a mutual friend with a girl whose apartment I randomly toured and happened to talk to a year ago as she typed on her computer. I don’t even know the odds for that happening.

It’s a small, small world.

* I just want to add that she was a really nice girl and felt bad about saying that her old apartment/our current apartment was old and not super nice. I said that our apartment, while nice and a million times better than our old place, doesn't compare to her new apartment located in a brand-new-top-of-the-line apartment building. So, no hurt feelings.

Perspectives: Part X

2010-06-17T18:25:00.000-07:00

The kindergarten classes went to the Bronx zoo for a field trip. One of my kids returned with a plastic toy that he found on the ground, a tiny battered chipmunk. He proudly held it out for me to inspect.

“Wow,” I said. “This animal is called a chipmunk.”

“I know,” he said excitedly.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

“Take it home!” he said.

“Where will he live?” I asked.

“With me!” he exclaimed.

“Who is going to take care of him?” I asked.

“I am!” he said.

“What is he going to eat?” I asked.

“JUNK FOOD!” he cried.

Ah, spoken like a true five-year-old.

Perspectives: Part IX

2010-06-13T13:45:00.000-07:00

The first grade has been learning about our national symbols. One week they learned about the Statue of Liberty and then took a field trip there (because that’s possible in New York City). The next week they learned about the bald eagle. And, this week they studied Mount Rushmore (an impossible field trip).

On Wednesday, their teachers held a trivia contest. The teams- the purple table, red table, blue table, yellow table, and green table- battled against each other for points. I sat at one table with some of my kids and didn’t help them, per se, just nudged them in the right direction.

One of the trivia questions was, “Can you name the four presidents on Mount Rushmore?”

The class did pretty well. One table seemingly knew the presidents a little better than us. They wrote “George, Teddy, Thomas, and Abraham” on their post-it note.

“Apparently,” their teacher said, “some people are on a first name basis only with the presidents.”

Nickname

2010-06-09T02:39:00.000-07:00

For some reason, New Yorkers LOVE to shorten my name. At least, about 75% of them do. It’s so interesting.

And, coincidently, they all call me the same name… Liz.

Liz?

I’ve never been a Libby or Liza. Not a Beth or a Bess. And, no, I’ve never been a Liz. In fact, I’ve never had a nickname. My dad wouldn’t let me. He said that Elizabeth is too beautiful to be shortened. Yeah, you read that right. My name is too beau-ti-ful.

Still, introductory conversations in New York often go like this…

“Hi.”

“Hi”

“What’s your name?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Hi, Liz.”

“Oh, no, no. (Laughing politely.) It’s E-liz-a-beth.”

“Ha, sorry about that. No problem, Liz.”

Shoulders deflate. I surrender and from then on respond to “Liz”.

Like everything in New York, Liz is shorter, faster. More efficient. I guess that time is of the essence.

Easy Shopping

2010-06-01T17:31:00.000-07:00

There's not much room in New York, so stores often build up and not out. The Bed Bath & Beyond about 30 blocks south of us is multiple floors with escalators for people and shopping carts. I had never seen an escalator for just carts until moving to New York. So clever.

Boom Boom

2010-05-26T02:01:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I experience very “New York” moments. They’re just crazy, weird, or totally random moments. Things that would and could only happen here.

A girlfriend and I went to the Boom Boom Room, a bar in The Standard Hotel on the 18^th floor in the Meatpacking District. I know, I know. What a name.

The coolest thing about the place was that the walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, so the view of Manhattan was incredible. Even the bathroom walls were glass! Thankfully, the bathroom was high enough up that no one got an unwanted eyeful of… well, you know. But, I couldn’t help wonder about the few weirdoes out there with binoculars and easy access to You Tube. Oh well, too late now.

I snapped a picture of the view from the bathroom with my iPhone. Only in New York City could you sip a $20 (yes, you read that correctly) martini and enjoy that view. Very New York.

* Someone informed me, after our visit to the Boom Boom Room, that supposedly women from Russia like to frequent the Boom Boom Room because they find “rich” husbands there. I can only imagine how many times we were mistaken for being on the prowl. Grrr.

We Heart Italians

2010-05-20T02:57:00.000-07:00

My great aunt had never met Ben. She and my great uncle were unable to travel to our wedding because of their age and health. So, our visit to Texas was Ben's big unveiling.

Last Saturday morning, around 9:30am, we rang the doorbell at her house. My great aunt shuffled to the door and warmly invited us in her home.

She and my parents exchanged hugs. Then I hugged her and introduced Ben. The top of her white hair barely brushed his shoulder. She stepped back slowly to look him over.

"You know..." She said, with wink in her eye and a deadpan look on her face, "I've always had a thing for Italians."

Please, God, let me be that awesome when I'm 90 years old.

More Room

2010-05-17T02:23:00.000-07:00

Ben and I stayed in a hotel the first night we got to Texas. Our plane landed really late, and we didn't want to show up at my great aunt's house in the wee hours of the morning. So, we schlepped over to the Red Roof Inn around 1:30 in the morning.

Our love for Texas grew tremendously when we opened the door to our hotel room and saw TWO full size beds. In NYC, we share one full size bed. A pretty tight squeeze at times.

Imagine our joy! We immediately sensed a good night's sleep was upon us. Our excitement continued to grow.

I threw my bag down and leapt into one bed while Ben dove onto the other. We giggled and kicked the covers into the air. Our own beds! It was a dream come true.

There was so much room, so many beds. Ah, we loved it.

Don't get me wrong. I love to sleep in the same bed with my husband and vice versa. But, when the opportunity to sleep uninhibited comes around - stretch out, sleep diagonal, lay like a starfish, and roll up in the covers like a burrito - we're gonna take it.