The Second 30

I am officially a grown up. I've been denying it for a while now. I have a tendency to think I am still in my twenties although I don't know many twenty somethings who secretly pump their fist when they get carded. Mike and I have even managed to shirk the typical responsibilities of adulthood. We've never owned a home. We purposefully do not have children. We think caring for a pet would be too much of an anchor to our whims. Come to think of it, we've never even kept a plant alive for a decent stretch. But, it's become quite clear that despite my efforts, some things cannot be avoided. I have thought and said things lately that I used to roll my eyes over when I heard my mom, dad or even an unknown adult say.

To the person next to me at the bus stop "Geez, it's really coming down out here!". I used to think it was way cooler to ignore people but now I like to commiserate over the weather with strangers.

To the NYU kids partying all up and down my street and below my window at all hours "Some people are TRYING to sleep!!". I USED to be one of those kids.

And finally, "Where has the time gone?". Could I be a little more cliche? But seriously, time is flying. It's already been another 30 days of life as a New Yorker. And before I continue, I would like to thank anyone reading for allowing me to be so self-indulgent with this blog. It has become sort of a confidante for me. I can come here and sort out my thoughts and emotions and make better sense of this whole experience and for that I am grateful. So without further ado, here is what I have learned in my second month of this endeavor.

1. This much rain at this time of year is NOT normal according to every New Yorker I so much as make eye contact with. Although I can't say it has been all bad. With the daily intermittent rain, I am guaranteed to look like a drowned rat, so I save about 45 minutes of careful blow drying and flat ironing or curling. I mean, I still looked like a drowned rat, but one with a little more free time.
2. It can be exhausting living here. There are always 6000 things to do and on any given weekend, we want to do 20 of them. By Sunday, we are so wiped out and ready for some downtime that school and work actually feel like a break.
3. It can be exhilarating living here. See above.
4. I hate IKEA and their stupid Allen wrenches, but I love the free water taxi that they provide to take you there. It goes right past the Statue of Liberty and drops you off in Red Hook. I have already decided to use it as my primary mode of transportation whenever I need to be in Red Hook.
5. I need to be in Red Hook at least every other week because I am addicted to the chocolate granola that we get there.
6. When you install a much needed AC in your living room window, it will cool of considerably within 2 hours and downpour.
7. If I apply self tanner to my pasty legs, it will, without question, rain on me, which causes me to look like I have a nasty skin fungus that presents in the form of pale blotches. Sexy.
8. I am a drowned rat with a skin fungus.
9. I feel like I live here now. It happened gradually and I still don't feel like a true New Yorker per se, but it's really starting to feel like home.
10. If you are with the person you love, anywhere can feel like home.
11. I thought it was totally unnecessary at first when Mike insisted, but now it's my favorite part of school days: I love coming out of class at 11pm, sweaty and exhausted and seeing him waiting across the street. Since it's the only time we see each other on school days, it's nice to have those 15 minutes to walk home together and catch up. Plus, he carries my bag and that thing is a beast.
12. I love everything about food. This is nothing new really, but is reaffirmed for me daily here. The markets, the street vendors, the coffee, I could go on and on and I haven't even touched on school yet!
13. School is pretty amazing. I love being immersed in the process of learning how to cook properly. I love the organization of the french kitchen, the emphasis on technique and the standard of perfection. It is a challenge but I am up for it.
14. I have a lot more experience in the kitchen than I previously gave myself credit for and it has made me more confident in my abilities in class.
15. I love having what feels like infinite possibilities for my culinary future.
16. I attended a demonstration this week by Chef Nils Noren (he's a VP at my school and also can be seen on Top Chef Masters this month on Bravo) and I had no idea how fascinated I would be by molecular gastronomy. Chilling champagne glasses with liquid nitrogen. Binding strips of scallops and veal together so they look like pieces of bacon (and the cleverly calling them veal scallopine). Infusing an onion with apple juice so it tastes like an appley-onion...all very cool. Who knows what's next?
17. I am hoping that I may literally sweat off several pounds. Between the humidity, hauling that giant school duffel around and the pressure cooker that is my classroom, I must sweat like 3 liters a day (I am officially converted to metric system).
18. I am a drowned rat with a skin fungus that sweats profusely. So glam.
19. Speaking of rats, Mike is starting to get skittish about them. Apparently, whenever he walks to school at night to meet me, one will dart out in front of him from a pile of garbage. Whenever we pass shrubs or the next day's trash pickup, he gives them a wide berth.
20. I think it's impressive that I have adapted to sleeping so well given the liveliness of our street, but compared to the guy that sells used books, old pots and pans and pretty much whatever he can set up on the sidewalk around the corner, that's nothing to blog about. He had a finch sitting on his face the other day while he was napping.
21. A set of earplugs and an eye mask are as good as an Ambien for me. I have a Pavlovian response whenever I use them. Zzzzzzzz.....
22. Soul food in Harlem = delicious. Soul food buffet in Harlem priced by the pound = lack of restraint = regret and discomfort.
23. If we ate a different restaurant every night of the week, we would probably not run out of new places to try for a decade.
24. I will absolutely be returning to Arturo's on Houston for thin-crust brick-oven pizza, Grom on Bleecker for true Italian gelato (their original store is in Rome, which we visited on our trip 2 years ago), Blind Tiger for craft beer (it is our new Hamilton's, which was our San Diego version of Cheers, where everyone knows your name...except no one knows our name yet but is starting to recognize our faces).
25. Mussels are the easiest, most delicious thing to prepare at home that seemed intimidating previously - thank you Erica for helping me see the light!
26. I love my tiny kitchen. I missed having all of my kitchen gear and gadgets and still love cooking at home despite all the fabulous food at our fingertips.
27. I can do 500 square feet no problem. It's actually made me neater because there is no room for clutter. (see a few apartment pics below)
28. Having pictures of friends and family on our walls only makes me miss them more. Especially the little ones because I know in two more months they will look even more grown up and I am missing seeing it happen. Thank god for skype!
29. A 60 square foot room does not need surround sound, ahem...Mike.
30. Life is good. Really good.





For more pics, you can go to this link.

Sheep, Flamingos & Other Things That Don't Belong in a Kitchen

My culinary education has officially begun! Well that's not entirely true, it actually began almost 10 years ago when Mike gently encouraged me to try my hand at cooking in an effort to lighten the impact of our dining out on his wallet. My early experimentation in the kitchen included me testing out complicated recipes from Martha Stewart while intermittently googling terms like mesclun (Isn't that a psychedelic? Nope, it's a salad blend) and buffalo mozzarella (Does it come from Buffalo, NY or an actual buffalo? Turns out it's an actual buffalo). Over the years my cooking has evolved from elaborate recipes that left my kitchen a disaster and produced mixed results to a more simplified preparation that changes with the seasons. And now after a decade of devouring food magazines and cookbooks, scouring local markets for exotic ingredients, and throwing ridiculously large dinner parties in my tiny apartment, I actually get the opportunity to learn to cook like a pro.

Yesterday was my first day as a student of the French Culinary Institute and although I have been preparing for this day for nearly a year, I felt anything but prepared. As I changed into my uniform in the locker room, I realized that I failed to bring an undershirt for my chef's jacket and I would be forced to wear my bright yellow tee shirt under the stiff white coat. Nervous sweating ensued. I tied and re-tied my neckerchief several times. I clumsily shoved my hair up under the white cap and looked in the mirror. I didn't know what to feel looking at my reflection. My first thought was that I looked like a giant dork and a little like a man. The next was a realization that I was just feeling out of my element and a touch uncomfortable with being stripped of my outward identity. I also felt like a sheep in wolf's clothing. I know the fable is told the other way, but in this case, I definitely wasn't a cunning wolf pretending to be a docile sheep. I was more like a clumsy sheep pretending to be a chef and trying to figure out to hold a knife with my hoof. As I filed into the kitchen-classroom and took my place at a station, I nervously glanced around the room. Was anyone else as ill at ease as I? It was hard to tell. In my mind, everyone probably had several years of experience in a professional kitchen, exceptional knife skills, and palates that would be able to identify even the most elusive of flavors. As I mentally added up my inadequacies, my instructor, Chef Nic, interrupted my self flagellation, calling out in his Ukrainian accent "Hee-eey guu-uuys! Would you relax? There is nothing to be afraid of! We are going to have a lot of fun together!"

There was a collective sigh of relief around the room and from that moment on I decided to take the advice that Mike had given me earlier that day - to have fun. And I did. Ultimately this is why I chose culinary school: because cooking is what I enjoy doing most and mastering it will be a very personally rewarding experience. And to kick off my career in the kitchen, I picked up several valuable tools. I learned how not to seriously injure myself or poison others. I acquired my knife & tool kit, which was very much like Christmas morning for me. It is truly a thing of beauty. I attempted my first taillage, which is the classic French technique of cutting vegetables. (I would like to take this moment to say thank you for nothing English system of measurements. Why do we insist on measuring everything on an entirely different scale than most of the world? If we didn't, I would know how to cut a carrot into a jardiniere that is 5 mm x 5 mm. I guess I can look at this as an opportunity to become fluent in metric system.) I also learned that standing for 5 hours even in the hideous required orthopedic shoes gets to be excruciating around the 4 hour mark. I kept looking around the room wondering if anyone would notice if I crouched for a while during the demonstration. I also did the stand on one leg to give the other a break or lean heavily on the cutting board to take the pressure off for a minute, both of which are wildly popular poses among my classmates. I wondered if I could sneak in one of those fold-up stools that subway musicians and street performers are so fond of. I doubt it. That really was the only low point. My classmates seem to be friendly people at this stage. The chef instructors were interesting and encouraging. The content of the class was everything I had hoped for. And to top it off, we are provided a family meal each evening prepared by the Level 4 students who are in the catering stage of the program. It was delicious and only slightly undermined by the fact that I had to eat it standing like a flamingo at my station. I am sure I will get used to the foot pain and I am confident that I can handle whatever Chef Nic has in store for me. The uniform...now that may take some time to get excited about. But even if I don't feel like the epitome of feminine grace, I no longer feel like a big, bungling sheep now that I have Day 1 under my belt...or apron.

I Will Not Make the Same Mistake Thrice

So my cousin, Erica is in town this weekend, visiting from Oakland - our first official house guest. Unfortunately for her we aren't fully moved in and our sofa bed doesn't arrive until the day after she leaves, so she is occupying an air mattress next to the problem boxes in our tiny living room and being a trooper about it. Actually, she has been a trooper all weekend. Between the near constant rain and the madness of Coney Island, she has had a smile on her face through it all. I, on the other hand, spent the better part of Saturday kicking myself for returning to Coney Island. I clearly learned nothing from our first experience there.

Mike had his sights set on attending the annual Mermaid Parade there, which is a complete spectacle of all things under the sea and/or completely odd. People dress up as sea creatures and mermaids or whatever they feel like, which in many cases was garbage (shrugging) and there is a lot of flesh exposed that was never meant to see the light of day. I am talking to you, guy in the day-glo Borat over the shoulder thong onesie with the dimply bum. (Shuddering). Anyway, we knew it was meant to rain that day, but for some reason still thought it would be worth the trek. Again, did I learn nothing from my last bad weather related Coney Island trip? I mean is there really anything more depressing than a carnival in the rain? Carnies huddled in the ring toss booth trying to stay dry. Empty rides and discarded snow cone cups strewn on the ground. Bad pop music blaring out of cheap speakers for no one in particular. I should have taken it as an omen when the D train whistled loudly like a tea pot the entire 45 minute ride. Despite the terrible weather, there was still quite a turnout for the parade. We spent the first 45 minutes walking the streets and boardwalk searching for a dry place to stand and view the procession. Do you know how difficult it is to walk through a crowd of umbrellas with an umbrella without poking someone in the face, getting poked in the face or getting snagged on another umbrella? It is not possible. I challenge anyone who believes otherwise to try it and enjoy the barrage of face pokes both given and received.

We finally decided that we were stuck in the Great Umbrella Sea and took a spot in front of a giant speaker broadcasting at maximum volume the hokiest announcing of a parade ever. I was literally plugging one ear, peering through a slice of space between two umbrellas, all the while trying discipline my umbrella for it's penchant for pushing other umbrellas and face poking.



After what felt like an eternity, but was probably 15 minutes, I had had enough. Which is putting it mildly because I was on the verge of full blown panic attack: sweating, lightheaded, heart pounding, nauseous. No joke, my brain was screaming for me to get the hell out of Coney Island. I finally bolted leaving Erica and Mike to follow me through the crowd in search of a way back to the subway. After an extensive walk in circles in the rain, we resigned ourselves to the fact that we were indeed trapped in parade hell and would have to wait until the freak show finished before we could head home.



We set off on another extensive walk in circles searching for a safe, dry haven with a rest room. We found a dumpy bar filled with Coney Island memorabilia and confirmed that they had a restroom before ordering. Erica and I eventually made our way over to the bathroom line only to find out that you had to pay a dollar to use the one restroom, for which the line was at least 10 deep. Talk about adding insult to injury (and the injury is umbrella induced). We spent the next 20 minutes sandwiched between a drunk merman and his very irritated girlfriend and really loud trailer trash mermaid Barbie. Once that personal nightmare ended, we finished up our beers and Mike decided it was now time for him to get in line. (Steam coming out of ears). We spent the next 20 minutes receiving complaint texts from Mike about the pregnant lady who cut and his unfortunate position in the middle of a shouting conversation. When he was finished, the parade was finally over and we were able to navigate our way back to the subway. At one point, however, the crowd became so thick that I was secretly sure that I was going to get crushed against a chain link fence soccer stadium style. Mike seeing the panic in my eyes, kept shouting over his shoulder "It's much clearer up here, you're almost there!"

Am I a basket case or what? Regardless, I have never been so happy to be on the subway and we did have a great time ripping that day to shreds on the way home. So the takeaway from this blog should be if you are coming to visit us, don't let us convince you that Coney Island is worth seeing. Under no circumstances should you let us take you there. The weather will be terrible, the atmosphere depressing and the people generally creepy. If you love me or even mildly dislike me but wish me no ill will, please don't let me make this mistake again.

Home: Smells Like Really Loud Tempura

To say that it's been a busy week would be an understatement. It's been a back breaking, bone aching, exhausting, fall into bed at night and sleep through anything week. Well, almost anything, but I'll get to that later.

This past week was moving week. We've been assembling furniture, unpacking boxes and basically playing real life Tetris trying to fit our belongings into this small, but happy space. It's a challenge that's required several trips to Ace Hardware, another IKEA run (and another subsequent round of Big Buck Hunter), my longest Target excursion ever (which if you know my proclivity for wandering the aisles of Target aimlessly while talking on my cell phone, is pretty mind boggling - and yes, I know that I just described the most irritating person in the world, but because I always hang up before I get to the checkout I have deemed it completely acceptable). Where was I? Oh yes, it's been a challenge, to say the least, with each day bringing another, usually purchased, storage solution. I am currently sitting in a newly assembled and incredibly comfortable chair with all of the problem boxes to my left, a glass of wine on my right and Golden Girls in HD in front of me. I now know firsthand that everything is not better in high definition.

I am tempted to drape a decorative throw over the problem boxes and call it a daybed so I no longer have to stare at them for several minutes before ultimately walking away while thinking one of the following:

1. Did I just dump the junk drawer into this box? Wow, that was lazy of me. I don't want to start a new junk drawer. Get this started right! Stay organized! Although, I could fit all of this in that empty drawer in the night stand...

2. Ooh cool! Games! Oh right, most of these are for 3 or more players and I only know one other person. Why did I bring so many damn games? (One particular time that this thought was looping through my head I read the words "Ages 8 to Adult", which led me to wonder what it would be like to play UPWORDS with an 8 year old and if I would go easy on him. I decided I wouldn't because the rules are the same for Ages 8 to Adult and there is no special addendum about using the game as a tool to build self esteem. Don't worry, I already know there is something wrong with me).

3. Is this just a box of wrinkly printer paper? We don't even have a printer. What the hell!?!

So you can see I've hit a bit of wall in the unpacking process, but other than the unsightly daybed, the apartment is coming together nicely. We spent our first night here Saturday after a very long day of unpacking and trying not to snip at each other. We were soooo looking forward to sleeping on our divine new mattress and this is the point where I tell you about when we fell into bed and almost slept through anything. Anything would be the loudest music I have ever heard outside of a club or a concert. I am a light sleeper so normally this would have made me irate, but I was so groggy, I kept drifting in an out of it all the while wondering what the source of the music was. It went something like this:

Sleeping...Wow, that's loud, I wonder if it's a street performer....Sleeping....Too loud for a street performer...unless they have an amp...Sleeping...Our windows are closed, but it sounds so close, is it coming from downstairs?...Sleeping...There's no way someones stereo could be that loud....Sleeping...Maybe they are having a jam session?...Sleeping...What if it's like this every weekend? Is it coming from a club?....Sleeping...I should go find my earplugs...Rummaging around at 2:30am...Found 'em!...This song is actually really pretty, this must be live...Sleeping...Wait, now they are playing the Gambler and it's definitely Kenny Rogers singing, so it can't be live...But that would be so cool if it really was Kenny Rogers...Sleeping.

Mike and I woke up the next morning and just looked at each other like "That sucked, but we better get used to it". Luckily, we later found out that there was some sort of concert going on at Washington Square Park and the stage was pretty much facing our window. Still, there are definitely things to get used to living where we do. On the weekends, the sidewalks of Greenwich Village are perpetually mobbed with people looking to eat, drink, dance and shop. It's pretty amazing to be so close to all the action and to have literally anything you can imagine at your finger tips. The dining and drinking options are endless. There are great vintage shops and record stores. Colorful flower stands and street vendors are set up on every block. There are even two stores dedicated entirely to chess around the corner from us. I don't know why and I don't really get it, but it's unique. (Or is it truly unique if there are two on one street? By definition unique means one-of-a-kind, without equal, so I guess I misused the word. Unless we are talking about the uniqueness of there being two chess shops on one street. How often does that really happen? I stand by my word choice, it is unique.) I digress. On the ground floor of our building I can turn left and get Indian takeout or crepes and if I turn right I can walk right into a great sushi spot. Although I do occasionally get a whiff of tempura in our bathroom, which is a little off putting. I am guessing we share a vent. Oh well, what are you gonna do?

I've also taken a stab at some decorative improvements to our otherwise bland assembly required furniture. I thought it would be cool to glue a pretty paper to the back wall of our bookcase headboard to add some color (decoupage for the crafties out there). I loved the result so much that I ended up giving a similar treatment to a large shelving unit that we turned into a pantry in the kitchen. And if that weren't enough I papered some hideous plastic storage drawers so they would be presentable on the top of our fridge. When Mike arrived home from work last night and saw them he commented that he wouldn't be surprised that if the next time he walked through the door I stepped out of the wall wearing a decoupage suit to match the wall like that Target commercial with the Black Eyed Peas. I am tempted to do it just to avoid unpacking the problem boxes.

I'll post pics as soon as I locate our camera in this mess. Until then think positive, successful, un-clumsy, no nervous sweating thoughts for me - I start school Monday!

Neurosis, a New Apartment and Other Disjointed Thoughts

We have been all over the place lately. Geographically and mentally. I probably make up 90% of the mentally being all over the place. Okay 100%, we all know Mike is the calm, stable, grounded one in this relationship. But I'm all over the place in a frenetic, lots of exciting change happening kind of way. The excitement is largely centered around our finally securing a place to call home. It has been a long time since we have had a place that we could call our own and we are so ready! But as anyone who has moved knows, a long To Do list accompanies any move. In the past week I have scheduled movers, deliveries and shipments. I have filled out countless change of address forms for bank accounts, credit cards and magazine subscriptions. I've set appointments to install cable, Internet and phone service. I have researched storage solutions, read consumer reviews of products and bookmarked color schemes and design ideas. More frighteningly, I have spent, bought and spent some more on furniture, electronics and decor. Mike has likened my hyper-focused research, planning and execution to his playing with army men as a child.

"You are determined to get everything just right. This guy is shooting this guy and this guy is launching a sneak attack on this guy. And then once it's all set up, you don't know what to do with yourself".

He's completely right. I lay awake at night rearranging furniture and hanging window treatments in my head trying to figure out which set up will be perfect. Crazy, right? But anyone who knows me, knows that I turn into a hyper focused planning monster when I have a project. I was IMing a very dear friend the other day about all my design ideas and color schemes and it wasn't until the second or third time that she said "Wow! You have SO many great ideas. Maybe you should start with one room..." did I get the hint that it may be time to slow down, take a breath and realize that Rome (or a 500 square foot apartment) wasn't built in a day.

But seriously, how great is it to have a friend that can handle several minutes of rapid fire IM's on accent colors, wall decals and decorative storage and still gently tell you that you're crazy while making it sound like a compliment. Love you Jill!

The point is, it made me realize that the reason I am obsessed with making this apartment perfect is because it is sooooo not. We are spending an ungodly amount of money on the tiniest apartment I have ever lived in. It has no dishwasher and no laundry in the building (hello laundry service!). It is a 4th floor walk up (hike up) and 3 of 5 windows look at a concrete wall 2 feet away. The living room is the size of my bathroom in our old apartment in San Diego. When you sit on the toilet in our new bathroom your knees hit the wall in front of you. But...I absolutely love it! It has hardwood floors and high(ish) ceilings with crown molding. The kitchen is big by Manhattan standards and has enough counter space for my beloved food processor and KitchenAid. There is a dining room (unheard of)! The living room is still big enough for our new Jennifer Convertible (the Hyundai of sleeper sofas). The bedroom has a walk in closet, a view of NYU and great morning light. Oh and did I mention it's in Greenwich Freakin' Village? That alone is enough to make me close my eyes and write the rent check. I thought about posting pictures, but it's empty right now and I want to wait until all my army men are set up before I share.

As for being all over the place geographically, when you rely on public transportation and two feet, roaming around the far reaches of Brooklyn, Manhattan and Queens (in Mike's case) feels like all over place. We have been covering some ground lately. Here are a few places we've been and things we've done that are worth mentioning:

Last weekend we stopped by the Bang On a Can Marathon in the Financial District, which was a 12 hour marathon of off the wall, boundary bending musicians. The orchestra that we saw used a combination of normal instruments (i.e. with strings, keys and horns) and pieces of metal and other contraptions. The resulting sound was both beautiful and intense, and at times overwhelming. Plus it was at the Winter Garden at the World Financial Center which I found out is the best place to view the rebuilding of the World Trade Center.

While making the obligatory trip to IKEA in Red Hook, Brooklyn, Mike and I discovered several new favorites. First of all, IKEA seems at odds with the eclectic/artistic/industrial feel of Red Hook, which is located on the East River in South Brooklyn and has killer views of Lower Manhattan and the Statue of Liberty. We stumbled upon the best brownie in history (the Sweet and Salty) at Baked, an adorable little bakery with equally fantastic chocolaty granola. We also enjoyed the fried mac n' cheese fritters and grilled chicken on baguette with fig jam and blue cheese at Hope & Anchor Diner down the street. But what really took the cake was Red Hook Bait & Tackle. It's a kitschy dive bar that's decorated like a hunting lodge and bait shop. They have 2 great pinball machines and Big Buck Hunter, which it turns out I LOVE. If you've never seen it or played it, it's a video game where you shoot antlered animals with a plastic rifle. We liked it so much that when we had to make a return trip to IKEA last weekend, we planned for another round of mild video game violence. After walking the 10 blocks from Big Box Hell, we were completely bummed to see that it hadn't opened yet for the day. It was 1:20 and the bar didn't open until 2. We debated for a few minutes and when the bus didn't arrive right away, we decided to grab a beer at the BBQ joint next door while we waited for RH Bait & Tackle to open. All this for Big Buck Hunter. We walk into the Ice House ready to wait it out and directly in front of us is Big Buck Hunter! We totally dorked out and high fived each other. Apparently in Brooklyn it's hip to pay homage to all things trailer park. $2 cans of PBR and Old Milwaukee abound and there's Big Buck Hunter in every bar. So this just in, crappy beer is cool.

If you know Mike, you know that he does not think crappy beer is cool. I call him a beer snob, he calls himself a craft beer lover, but all I know is the beer he likes does not come in a $2 can. Sunday, we attended The Brooklyn Beer Experiment in Gowanus in a performance space/music venue and it was well worth the hour long-hot sidewalk-sweating everywhere wait. It was an amateur competition featuring local home brewers (Mike's considering entering next year) and cooks preparing recipes made with beer (I'm considering entering the cooking with cheese competition in the fall). You pay $18 and try 1 oz pours of each of the home brews (plus an extra pint from the bar) and taste all of the 26 home cook's dishes and then vote for your favorite. There was a panel of judges (local brewers, restaurateurs and television personalities) who announce their picks (and the prizes) as well as the audience picks at the end of the afternoon. It was a ton of fun and the food and beer were all really interesting. Our favorites were the beer braised short ribs with a spicy potato salad and the s'more bites made with a cherry lambic jam (lambic is a sour fruit beer). It was kind of like acting out my fantasy of being a judge on Top Chef except instead of sitting at a big fancy table with internationally acclaimed chefs and critics, I was crammed into a corner using Mike's back as a writing surface getting beer spilled on my sandals. Clearly another great week in NYC!

The First 30

It's been 30 days since we moved to New York and this is what I have learned:

1. My feet hurt at the end of every day.
2. If you get onto a packed subway and you spot two open seats when several people are standing, you did not totally score. There is a reason why no one is sitting in them. And that reason is the man surrounded by 3,000 plastic grocery bags filled with who knows what. If the scene I am describing were in a comic strip, the man and his bags would have squiggly lines emanating from them.
3. I love impromptu subway performances in the form of drum circles or cello solos. But not the ones that involve a man clipping his nails for 15 minutes. I am not joking, he clicked away at them for 15 minutes. How do you even have nails left to clip after that duration? Gross.
4. I need to buy small bottles of hand sanitizer in large quantities because I use it compulsively when I have no choice but to touch something on the subway and I am burning through the stuff.
5. Despite the subway tales above, I love not having a car.
6. Having a finite amount of space forces you to simplify your life and pare down to the necessities. Whether it's what you can carry home from the store or what you can fit into a 400 square foot apartment, you have to decide what is most important to you.
7. It turns out that what is important to me is shoes, wine, and cheese, in no particular order.
8. There really are rats the size of house cats.
9. For the price of a beer at the SoHo Grand you can do any of the following (all of which are better ways to spend your money): eat about 30 dumplings in Chinatown, take a cab home to Brooklyn, or buy 6 Gray's Papaya hot dogs. The only downside is that none of them come with the entertainment value of watching all the cool kids and scenesters squeal when the cat sized rat ran through the VIP area.
10. For an insanely expensive city there are endless really cool, free and cheap things to do.
11. I had no idea how much the art and culture would move and inspire me. It's tough not to be awed by the creativity, diversity, and originality that abounds here.
12. Talking about how much you pay in rent is not declasse.
13. It rains every other day.
14. I didn't know I was moving to Seattle.
15. I could eat a bagel every single day.
16. The effects of walking several miles a day are countered by a daily bagel.
17. The sheer volume of men in skinny jeans has caused Mike to run out of ways to make fun of men wearing skinny jeans.
18. I am willing to push people out of the way to get a seat on the subway as long as they are able bodied and over age 10. Watch your back 5th graders, you are fair game.
19. The Upper East Side portrayed on Gossip Girl exists. Except in real life it is disturbing. But the clothes are just as good. Example: While walking down Lexington, I got cut off by an 8 year old boy who was wearing a prep school blazer, carrying a Starbucks, and was simultaneously talking on his cell phone and whining to his Dominican nanny.
20. I still hate the Yankees.
21. I'm not sold on knish. It's mashed potatoes in a pastry crust, so what's not to love? But my reaction was "Hmmm....meh."
22. I am totally sold on 4 dumplings for $1 in Chinatown.
23. There are more delicious cheese shops than my fromage loving mouth knows what to do with. Oh wait, I know exactly what to do with it.
24. I delight in other people's indignities. Well not categorically. But there was this obnoxious gaggle of wannabe socialites in front of me in line at a shoe store the other day discussing what hot spot they were headed to later. The conversation went something like this: Blond #1 - "Ewww...no way am I going there. You know Katie Wyatt will be there and she so wants to be me." (All her minions voice their agreement that said place is lame and Katie Wyatt is a stalker.) When Blond #1 went to pay, her credit card was declined. This filled me with an inordinate amount of glee and led me to speculate that Katie Wyatt's card wouldn't have been declined.
25. Walking through Times Square makes me want to indiscriminately trip people.
26. Walking around the Village makes me feel like I am exactly where I am supposed to be.
27. I love the Sweet & Salty Brownies from Baked, Liquid Gold from Captain Lawrence Brewing Co., and the wine deals at Red, White & Bubbly.
28. I don't really like cats. (I know this doesn't have much to do with New York, but we are cat sitting at our sublet and I'm over it. I'm over the hair, the litter box, and the irritating meow from Camille when she is hungry, wants to be pet, wants to sit on my lap or laptop. I don't like being yelled at by a cat. Reeeeehhh. Reeeeeehhh. REEEEEEHHHHHH! You know what, scratch that, I don't mind cats, I just don't like Camille.)
29. I am going to have to live without a dishwasher and laundry. Again. And I swore I never would.
30. This city wouldn't be half as much fun if I didn't have Mike to share, experience and explore it with.