Does Anyone Know Where This Train Is Going?

I don't know how this happened. I have been known to avoid things I don't have the energy to deal with until they become this dark cloud hanging over my head or a weight on my shoulders constantly reminding me that I have unfinished business. The best analogy I can come up with is that the last few months have been like the aftermath of a wedding. If you're married, you probably know what I'm referring to. You spend months, even years planning your big day, endlessly researching invitation styles, centerpieces, favors and a bunch of other crap that doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things (no offense to my friends about to tie the knot). You have this perfect day, a week of honeymoon sex and bliss, and then you come back to reality and what do you have? The rest of your life. Which if you're like any other bride, you've only thought about one day for the past 12 months and have neglected to think about the day after that or the day after that. Not to say that those following days aren't great days, but there's an adjustment period where you have to switch gears and refocus your energy on sustaining day-to-day happiness and rid yourself of the princess fantasies. So basically, graduating culinary school was a lot like that. There was this huge sense of achievement and possibilities, a lovely vacation and then what did I have? The rest of my life.

I've spent the past few months interviewing, working here and there, and doing a fair amount of traveling. And every time I sat down to write about it, I just felt lost. I didn't know what to say because I wasn't sure what the hell I was doing or what direction I was moving in, so I did what I tend to do when I become overwhelmed. I distracted myself and pretended like this blog never existed. But I always knew it was there, waiting for me to come back, and in a way taunting my writers block. So I bit the proverbial bullet today, dusted myself off and got back on the wagon (cliche hat trick!). I thought about writing in detail about all the things I've done and the ups and downs, but I am nothing if not lazy, so you're getting a blog equivalent of a recap episode so I don't have to linger in the past and can look ahead at what's to come. Here we go!

Previously, on Emily's life:

1. We celebrated our 7th wedding anniversary in May. I am happy to report that the aftermath of our wedding has been a great ride.

2. In May, I applied and interviewed for several jobs, thought each interview was a raging success, and then was repeatedly punched in the face with rejection. While it's amusing now, had I blogged about it, I would have had to send anyone reading free Xanax to recover from the downer. And let's face it, I needed it more than you.

3. June was a much better month. I was able to do some giving back. By giving back, I mean fly off to Paris on a whim to comfort a lonely friend who had just moved there. And by comfort I mean wander aimlessly around the City of Light eating, drinking, and people watching with a side (trip) of Brussels sprinkled in. Interestingly enough, it was better than Xanax and gave me a fresh, conquer-the-world perspective.

4. I picked up some freelance catering gigs in June with some fantastic women chefs. I got to cook alongside a Top Chef contestant for a bunch of fashion industry types (and models) and I did a really fun party up in Connecticut for some arty people with a beautiful country home. Hopefully this will turn into more freelance work because I very much enjoyed it.

5. Mike had a conference in Atlantic City for an entire week, so I took a bus down and joined him for a few days. While it was lovely to spend some time laying on the beach and walking hand in hand on the boardwalk in the evenings, there are two things I won't be doing again: taking the bus to AC or doing anything that involves AC. I'll try to explain this delicately. People watching in New York City is always entertaining, sometimes a train wreck, but mostly just wacky fun. People watching in Atlantic City, you just want to take a giant broom and sweep everyone there under a rug. Then roll up the rug, put it in a weighted garbage bag and toss it off a pier. Better yet, we could put the rug in the Greyhound bus I rode down in and drive it off the pier. So much for delicately.

6. We spent the weekend of the 4th with our good friends Trisha and Mike, boating the days away in the waters of the great white north. Or whatever Canada is nicknamed. Despite the fact that everything that possibly could go wrong related to our plans went wrong, we had a fantastic weekend with perfect weather. It was so nice to be away from the city.

7. I finally reeled in a job from the endless sea of interviews and one that I am very excited about at that. It's a part-time, six month position at Food & Wine magazine in which I will be assisting the two wine editors with story research, wine tastings, wine inventory management (I have built a three bottle cooler into all of my purses so the bottles won't clink together when I make off with them each evening), and hopefully some website writing. It should be a great opportunity that will bring more of the same.

8. I'm still rowing through the endless sea to fill in the rest of the work week as well as the gaping hole in our bank account, I'll keep you posted.

9. I turned 33 this weekend and I am convinced that this is going to be my best year yet. I don't know why, but there's just something about the number that makes me think it's magical. That's the koolaid I am drinking today anyway.

10. I think I am becoming too New York for my taste. I was walking home from yet another interview today, which was on the Upper West Side (73rd and Columbus). I called my sis and decided to walk for a while and chat since it didn't feel like the inside of a dragon's mouth outside. I cut through Central Park and then headed down Broadway, which of course took me straight into the lions den of Times Square. I caught myself telling two different people to "Watch it!" when they stepped in my path because they were so busy staring dumbly at the pretty lights. About 20 blocks south, I was chatting with Mike (earphones in) and some kid approached me with a clipboard for Greenpeace or gay rights or whatever, it was easily the 14th kid who had approached me while I was walking. As he started to talk, I cut him off with a quick "I'm on the phone" and tried to maneuver around him. He ran alongside me, telling me he knew I wasn't actually on the phone. I stopped and loudly said "Yes I am, NOW LEAVE ME ALONE!". Mike just laughed. I tried to recall the exact moment in time when I became a rude, surly creature, but I think it may just be a transformation that everyone who lives here goes through from the constant barrage of leaflets, campaigners, panhandlers, drug dealers, knockoff accessories pushers, tourists, crazies and morons.

So now you are all caught up on my last few months and can picture that I will soon need Botox to get rid of the lines I am getting from scowling at people.

Getting the Crazy Out & Other Appetizers

Garde Manger (sounds like guard mon-jay), which is the appetizer station, is where I have spent the last 4 class sessions, which have been scattered over a few weeks thanks to the abundance of holiday weekends recently. Before I get into the nitty-gritty of what Garde Manger entails, I have to confess something. I have been avoiding posting anything on here lately because I have been overcome with football related depression and I spent the last week feeling like I got dumped. I moped, I didn't get out of bed for a full day. I ate junk food. It wasn't pretty. And to top it off, I've gotten flack for writing about football from some of my friends, so I didn't even feel like this was a safe place to come and cry about it. (Side note: when one day I have a blog devoted entirely to one topic, for example: food, which I will, and I stray from food to football, then feel free to chastise me. Until then, you're stuck with the unfocused thoughts that run through my head.) I finally shook it off and realized two things: 1. It's just football and 2. It really wasn't about football at all.

For the past few months, I've been in a cycle of panic and then determination, anxiety then focus, self doubt then fear, then a search for temporary distraction. Yes, I know, it's the life everyone dreams of. A lot of times the distraction I found that calmed the anxiousness was football. Something to focus on that wasn't my impending graduation and career doing...doing WHAT?! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NEXT?! You see, having moved 3,000 miles away, dumped a truckload of money into school, and uprooted my husband from the life he was quite fond of, has created this intense personal pressure to make something HUGE of what we are doing. And as I continue to learn, to work (for free) and to meet people and make connections, I still don't have a dream job waiting for me. I don't think even I expected me to have the perfect job lined up with 3 months to go before graduation, but for some reason that has not quieted my internal panic alarm. It all came to a head this weekend in a really unbecoming blubbery moment the likes of which never seem to scare Mike away. He listened to me wail about my fears and inadequacies and then said "I wish you believed in yourself as much as I do". Which then caused the "poor me" tears to turn into "I'm so lucky to have him" tears. After career services talked me off the ledge yesterday and assured me that I am doing everything I need to be doing and moving in the right direction, I think I can safely write about it without alarming anyone about my mental state. Or maybe that ship has sailed.

Regardless of popular opinion on my emotional stability, it was what I needed to regroup and refocus on what's ahead. Mike's second gem of wisdom was "You should be excited about having all of this possibility in front of you...you can do ANYTHING you want!". Seriously? What is wrong with me? I came storming in here ready to conquer the city and 9 months later I am sniffling in the kitchen over some made up obstacle? Probably a good idea to never follow me into battle if the situation somehow calls for it. Although I'm sure once I have the troops totally distracted with karaoke and fantasy football and pretending like the war around us isn't actually happening, Mike will step in quietly, pull me together and let me lead everyone to victory as he steps back into the shadows. So, that weird analogy is actually a foreshadowing of when I am wildly successful, you must know Mike is always behind me helping me get there. (Cue Bette Midler: You were the wind beneath my wiiiiiings).

Well that confession took up most of the allotted blog time I've scheduled between working on my menu project for school, doing taxes, and updating the resume. So I'll give you a quick synopsis of my time on the Garde Manger station. 1. Chef Karen was super snippy with me and I did not like it one bit. ONE BIT. 2. There are 3 too many people in our group of 5 to ever feel particularly busy. We only serve 3 things in Garde Manger: a sweet potato gnocchi with rabbit ragu, a warm potato and goat cheese salad, and a digestive salad served between the savory and sweet portions of the meal to cleanse the palate. This could be handled by 2 or 3 people and would make me infinitely more confident in my abilities to hack it in an actual restaurant kitchen. 3. Between the waiting around for orders to come in and doing something irritating to Chef Karen like hold a pan incorrectly, it hasn't been my favorite station thus far. It also could have been my attitude lately. We'll see if regrouped Emily has a better time in pastry. Menu project recipes and photos to come shortly...

Nothing Interesting Happens In This Blog

I've been lacking inspiration lately. There are times when I sit down with my laptop and tap my thoughts right onto the keyboard and the page magically fills with a cohesive account of my experiences. And then there are times when I sit down and stare at the blank screen willing it to be filled with something readable. On those days, I am usually tempted to create a complaint filled blog that virtually whines when you read it. If I were to peck on the keys on one of those days the result would be organized something like this:

Introduction: Poor me doesn't have enough money to live in this fantastic city.

Body: I'm tired from being so busy with work and school and friends. Nothing new, exciting, or glamorous happened to me in class or on the weekend.

Closing: Waaaaaah.

So I sat down today determined to continue my weekly updates with a clever, engaging little tale of life in the Big Apple. But I got nothin'. And I realized that the reason for this is that our life here has become pretty routine. Now that our steady stream of visitors has dried up, we actually have time on our hands to do chores, do Christmas shopping, write Christmas cards, and catch up on Tivo. So the thoughts that are running through my head involve football, bills, and "The Situation" on the Jersey Shore.

(Side note: If you have not watched this trainwreck of a show on MTV (Jersey Shore), you are missing out on the opportunity to be assaulted both verbally and visually and to have your sense of decency ripped to shreds. The premise is much like the Real World, but in this case 8 Italian-American twenty-somethings move in together for the summer on the Jersey Shore. I am sure there are young adults of similar ethnic makeup that don't spend all of their time either A) in a tanning bed, B) applying hair product, C) punching someone in the face at a bar or D)calling themselves classy while wearing booty shorts and a top that can only be described as a cloth necklace, but MTV failed to find one to put on the show. Oh and "The Situation" is a nickname that a cast member gave himself because his six-pack abs are such a situation. You couldn't make this stuff up.)

So as you can see, life is pretty boring. But boring in a nice, calm way. We put up a Christmas tree last weekend while the first snow fell outside and promptly melted. (It is flat on one side which is good for two reasons: it fits snug up against the window and it was cheap because it's deformed.) We pulled off wins with our fantasy teams. We ate meat loaf last night. I mean, seriously, I got nothin'. So I won't bore you with any more details of our leftovers and chores, but just know we are happily plugging along, getting ready for the holidays and in the full throes of Charger playoff anticipation. I will now return to HBO on Demand and a meatloaf sandwich. Have a great weekend!

The Honeymoon is Over.

I knew when we moved to New York that there would come a time when I was homesick. I figured it would happen early on when we had no friends and were in unfamiliar territory. I waited for the loneliness to set in but we were so busy exploring the city that it never came. I expected bouts of frustration at not knowing my way around and irritation with navigating foreign grocery aisles, but I was so busy marveling at the volume and variety of exotic and interesting food that it never came either. I figured our honeymoon period would come to a screeching halt when the bad weather set in and leave me longing for 75 degree November days in San Diego. That too has not happened because the fall here has been absolutely gorgeous. And yet, slowly but surely, the Big Apple is losing its shine. For the first time since we've lived here, aside from the occasional fleeting thought, I find my mind wandering back to California and wondering what our friends are doing at that exact moment. When I realized that I was having recurring thoughts of life back in the Golden State, I had to ask myself "Why?!". I am still loving school. I've met some really fabulous people and made some wonderful friends. New York is an amazing city and there are endless opportunities to sate my inner gourmand. So why are visions of palm trees and gridlocked freeways dancing in my head?

It took some self analysis and reflection, but I think I've figured it out. It's true that this city offers more food, art, culture, diversity and nightlife than any other city in the country, but when you walk into a market and begrudgingly hand over $50 to pay for the makings of one meal, you feel a little beaten down. When you spend more in quarters on laundry each month than you did on your entire gas & electric bill in San Diego (which included the washer and dryer that was conveniently located in your apartment and not down three flights of stairs and around the corner), you start to think about what you would do if that money was still in your pocket. The bottom line is well...the bottom line of my bank account. The Big Apple is the most expensive damn apple I've ever eaten.

When you eat an expensive apple, the natural progression of thought is to ask yourself how good that apple really is and if it justifies the cost. Let's say that the apple is one of the best that you've ever tasted. I'll go with Honey Crisp because they are my favorite. The rosy pink and lemon yellow skin is gleaming. When your teeth break through to the fruit, sweet and tart juiciness hits your tongue and zings the back of your cheeks. The texture and flavor is a revelation of the origin of its name. When you eat this apple, you understand what tempted Eve and you know you will come back again and again. Oh, there's one more thing, you now have to pay for your apple and it costs $100. So I could beat this analogy to death a little more, but I think you understand where I'm at. I want the apple but I have buyers remorse after eating it.

This doesn't mean I intend to pack up and head back to California as soon as I graduate. (I need to interrupt myself for a second and say that if a few years back someone had told me that I would want to move back to San Diego or the Bay Area in order to save money I would have rolled my eyes and rattled off all the reasons why California living doesn't come cheap. And it doesn't. It just happens to feel that way when you are afraid to walk into a swanky bar for fear of paying $20 for a martini.) I digress, we have no plans to leave Manhattan any time soon. We plan to squeeze as much out of this city as we can...and then we will turn tail and run back to sanctuary of the sunshine and the slightly less horrifying cost of living. So now that the novelty of New York has worn off and the cold reality of being a Manhattanite has set in, Sinatra's words mean a lot more. If I can make it here, I'll make it anywhere...I'll just have a much happier bank account. Now, excuse me while I go blow an entire paycheck on a carton of eggs and my dry cleaning.

Diary of a Mad Fan

A Pre-Game Stroll Through Central Park

I've been intending to document our first ever attendance of a Chargers away game since it occurred the Sunday before last, but I am just now getting around to it. I cleared my schedule of laying in bed catching up on Tivo and I am ready to share this tale of triumph in enemy territory. First of all, my sister and brother-in-law came to town for a visit which was directly influenced by the prospect of a game at Giants Stadium. They are not actual Chargers fans, but they support our habit and root for them mainly out of fear for our mental health on Mondays. We actually ordered Chargers beanies for them and had them sent a few weeks in advance of their trip so they would have some gear to demonstrate their loyalties, not knowing that it would be a balmy 70 degrees at the Meadowlands that day. We took the bus from Port Authority early to meet up with the Charger tailgate that was planned by a group of New York Chargers fans that we are acquainted with through the Charger bar, MJ Armstrong's. We had been seeing Bolts fans all over the city throughout the weekend, high fiving as we passed of course, and it was no different at Port Authority. The winds changed, however, when we boarded the bus and a chorus of boos erupted in a sea of Manning jerseys.



As a football fanatic, I can handle ribbing, taunting, and heckling. I expect it going into an opponent's stadium. Part of the fun of being a fan is trash talking and bragging rights. I mean, let's be honest, if and when your team ever wins the Super Bowl, the big game, the championship, isn't the best part of it the fact that you get to gloat about your team reigning supreme for 7 months before you have to relinquish being called "The Champs"? Maybe not for all, but for me, it's what you want and what you hope for and the only way you can shut up all those Patriots fans or Steelers fans or whatever stupid franchise that has had more glory than any one team should have bestowed upon them. (Seething and grumbling).

Anyway, we arrived at Giants Stadium (poor Jets) and met up with almost 300 Charger fans in full gear causing a huge ruckus with the Giants fans tailgating nearby. It was fantastic. The group of Bolts fans were loud, rowdy, and exactly the kind I would hate if I were the home team.



A group of maybe 40 of us paraded through the parking lots blaring the San Diego Chargers fight song and chanting at the mostly dumb struck and disgusted Giants fans. At one point, I got named parade master and was shoved to the front of the pack to show off my Chargers poncho with pride. I have to admit it was both frightening and fun, with pretzels being thrown along with insults and lone pockets of Chargers fans high fiving and cheering us in our brave march through G-men territory. It was all in good fun though for the most part. There were a few drunken idiots (cough, Jersey, ahem), but it was good natured overall.

That was until we got to our seats. I won't go into gory details but there was a crowd of hecklers behind us that could not have been more of a Jersey cliche (with their ripped off sleeves and head bandanas, Springsteen much?) that made the game unpleasant. My sis and brother-in-law were not only troopers, but at times defended our honor and Mike's blue mohawk. As the story has already been written I won't tell it again, but watching Rivers march the offense down the field like nothing was standing in his way (I'm talking to you Giants D) was a thing of beauty. We could just feel that they were going to pull out the win. I don't know if it was the electricity of the team or the anger brewing in the fans around us, but when Rivers sailed that pass to the back corner of the end zone right into Vincent Jackson's hands...it was the perfect punctuation on a perfect day. (Insert sound of needle scraping across record here with visual of Mike's Charger head band being ripped off his head, thrown 20 rows down with fighting words exchanged).

We left Giants Stadium with a win minus a headband and with renewed excitement about our season. I know that my friends who could care less about football and sports are reading this (if they haven't checked out already) and rolling their eyes, but for us, it was a glorious day. So, like any tumultuous relationship, I will keep going back for more because the good times are so good and they manage to wipe away any memory of the bad. And that is why I am a football fan and will remain one until something terrible happens...like Eric Mangini. I promise to be back soon with something more universally appealing, but until then play this a few times for me.



Happy Bus Ride Home

My Own Personal Papparazi

As far as friendships go, I am incredibly lucky. I have several amazing girlfriends each of whom brings something different to my life and teaches me something valuable. They are women who have unique and varied opinions, lifestyles and personalities, but the thing I share with each of them is a mutual respect and a willingness to understand and accept differences. Now before you think that this is going to turn into a blog version of a cheesy Lifetime movie about girlfriends, stop right there. I just put my BFF into a cab to JFK and it got me thinking about quality friendships and how much they enrich your life. There is something beautiful about being around a person who knows you and loves you completely, not only understands and relates to your craziness, but truly believes it is what makes you so awesome, and allows you to just be you. I could make this same statement about Mike, although I would have to change "understands your craziness" to "accepts your craziness". And that, my friends, is the root of all problems between men and women.

Moving on, I had a fabulous weekend with Jill and I am grateful that I have a Jill in my life. I am looking through the 6,000 pictures we took this weekend and am loving that I can count on her to provide me with enough facebook profile photos for the next 5 years. She has a ridiculous camera and is constantly taking pictures of us, of strangers, of food, of doors, of garbage and basically anything that she thinks looks cool. And she's good at it. The girl will not pass up a good photo op. Example: Walking back to the subway from the Brooklyn Brewery on Saturday evening, she spotted two very old office chairs in front of a chainlink fence and insisted that we sit in them and have someone take our picture. It did not matter to her that they were covered in dried bird doody. You will notice me looking stiff and posed, trying to keep just one butt cheek on the chair, while she looks gorgeous (and eerily at home) sitting in bird crap.



A short while later, she convinced me to get on a bike chained to a tree and pretend like I was riding it. This shoot yielded some great shots and led to the following exchange:

Jill: "I love taking pictures of you..."
Me: (thinking it's because I am so lovely on film that I must be her muse)"Thanks! Why?"
Jill: "Because you are such a ham and attention hog that you will do anything I ask."

And this is why we are friends. She knows me and that I will do anything for a laugh, but she doesn't think it's annoying. We have cut away all those outer layers that you show to other people and have peeled back to the ones that you hide or try to disguise as something else. Meanwhile, Mike, being the patient man that he is tried not to show his irritation when she and I reviewed, deleted and retook several photos. Again, accepting the craziness does not necessarily mean you understand it.



Me waving to my peeps as I cruise down the street on my bike...that is chained to a tree...next to a minivan.



Insert your own caption.

The photo madness reached new heights when she started taking action shots, which she is fond of. Every time I would look at them, which were usually of me walking, I would think of US Weekly's ridiculous spread called "Stars - They're Just Like Us!", which shows celebrities drinking coffee, feeding a parking meter or shopping. Like this one below:



If I were famous and in US Weekly, it would be captioned something like "Emily Davis on her way to the post office - she's just like us!", which is probably a sign of the apocalypse that our culture has elevated people, most of which don't seem to have any discernible talent, to this status where we need to be reminded that they eat, sleep and poop just like the rest of us. I would love to see a section where they had pictures of misunderstood and discriminated against populations titled "Muslims - They're Just Like Us!" or "Gays - They're Just Like Us!" that showed the same thing. But that's just me. I will now excuse myself for 20 minutes to find out through Perez Hilton if anyone is in rehab and if Jon & Kate are still a trainwreck.

A few other tidbits about this weekend before I head off to class. First, Jill developed a new superpower this weekend which allows her to buy a new sweater, a pair of jeans, some sunglasses...or whatever, then lose it within 2 hours. No joke, she lost a bag of clothes who knows where that she purchased just hours earlier. The following day, she bought a pair of sunglasses from a street vendor, put them in the bag her breakfast pastry was in and then threw it in the trash. She also paid her subway fare 3 times for the same ride. So basically her superpower is incinerating money.

Second, we tend to spend a significant portion of our time together analyzing every aspect of our lives, our friends lives, our behavior and the human condition. I am sure any men reading just noticed blood coming out of their ears just imagining this scenario which I believe is their personal hell, but it's what we do. In our thorough analysis we realized that we are very aware of our mistakes but often make them repeatedly before learning from them, if ever. We decided that we should pen a book called "Learning Nothing From Your Past: A User's Guide". It will be due out in stores as soon as we stop staying out too late and spending too much money and get our acts together.

Finally, I want to leave you with the other running joke of the weekend (besides Mike saying "Don't give that to Jill! We don't want it to disappear mysteriously."), which involved Mike running up walls and jumping off fire hydrants shouting "HARDCORE!" and "EXTREME" a la the Office episode a few weeks back. Here's an action shot by Jill:

In Defense of Football

Today feels a lot like Christmas morning except I am watching everyone open their presents and I have to wait until tomorrow night to open mine. Okay, that may be a little dramatic, but when you have been waiting since February for this day to come and your team plays the late Monday night game, it's a mild form of torture. Football Sunday is finally here and so begins the first of many Sundays spent parked on the sofa, a bar stool and in one stroke of luck, a stadium seat since the Chargers play the Giants this year. This football season will be a huge adjustment for Mike and I for many reasons, most obviously, we no longer live in San Diego. No more games at the Q. No tailgating (well technically it was condo-gating). No rolling out of bed just before the 10am game. No more of Emmy's Football Sunday snacks (mmm...fried tofu in peanut sauce). No more touchdown shots...well maybe. What remains the same is our Sunday routine of making last minute adjustments to our fantasy teams, Mike making a quick run to the store to pick up supplies for our favorite red curry-lime chicken wings, and the irritation of our non-football friends that our lives revolve around it for the next 5 months.

You see, there are two extremes when it comes to football, or sports in general. There are the fans, and by that I mean the real fanatics that live and breath for their teams, never miss a game, own a wardrobe of team gear and have anxiety about how they are going to watch games when inconveniences like weddings, funerals and untimely visits from non-football friends pop up. Then the other extreme are the people who think we are crazy. The ones who just don't understand what the fuss is about and why anyone would care about a team as if they were a family member. Of course, there is a huge group of people in the middle: the casual fan. The casual fan varies in degrees from the girlfriend who roots for a team because her boyfriend is a fanatic and if she wants to see him on Sunday, she better play along, but she really is only rooting for them to win so he isn't a complete grouch for the rest of the day if they lose. Then there is the guy who claims to be a fan but couldn't tell you the names of any of the starters on his team beyond the QB and star running back. And there are the casual fans that go to games, don't really know what's going on, don't pretend to, they're just here for the beer and atmosphere. There is nothing wrong with any of these people, well maybe the pretend fan guy, but really, I get it if you don't care for sports or if you think it's a waste of time or if it's just not something you can get into. But this time of year, I often find myself having to defend the way we choose to spend our Sundays. So I am going to preemptively issue a statement to all of my friends, family, visitors, classmates, associates and people sitting next to me at a bar where I am watching the game. I love football. I love it the way you might love to play golf, go shopping, eat cupcakes or watch Lost (if you do any of these things obsessively and you know who you are). I look forward to it like you would a vacation, a holiday with presents or Thanksgiving dinner. The anticipation of watching my team gives me a buzz a day in advance. The joy of watching them play, play well and win is a high like no other. Alternatively, the gut punch and ensuing depression that settles in when they lose can be torturous. If you've ever woken up the day after a brutal playoff elimination and the first thing that dawns on your awakening brain is the heartbreaking loss you suffered the night before and you just want it to be a bad dream, then you and I have something in common. So please, let's put football in a category with religion and politics. I won't tell you who you should vote for, what you should believe in and how you should spend your Sundays and all I ask is that you do the same. Now please excuse me for the next 5 months while I board the roller coaster of being a Bolts fan.

Debbie Downer Does Double Cheeseburger

In my post Labor Day glow, I was totally moved to blog about the joys and antics of family gatherings that I imagined everyone would be able to relate to and laugh about. But then the phone rang and then I had to attend a hot dog eating contest at school (I know, priorities). And then day turned to night turned to day and I spent the morning paying bills and growing more and more surly and mopey. Which is how I ended up at McDonald's ordering a 10 piece Mcnuggets and a McDouble. I marched straight past the crepe stand, the pizza joint, the peanut butter sandwich place, and countless other better options. It's like I felt bad and wanted to ultimately feel worse. I think there is a chemical in their food that sedates me. It's like for a few minutes after the pig out I feel a little numb and blissed out and then I crash back to reality. I also think it is a measuring stick for how I feel about life at the moment. Before we moved to New York and were living with friends, I had no job and basically felt like I was waiting for the next stage of life to happen, all the while sponging off friends. I ate at McDonald's at least 3 times a week. I am still not sure how I didn't suffer cardiac arrest or develop diabetes. Since we moved here, I've eaten at McDonald's exactly twice. Once I needed a McMuffin to soak up the previous evenings festivities and then there was today's post bill paying episode. As I sent more and more of our money off into cyber bill space, I realized that our plans for Thanksgiving at a Dominican resort were looking more like we would be eating at a Dominican restaurant in Washington Heights. (Taking a huge bite of double cheeseburger). This city is like a money pit. A glorious, exciting, wonderful money pit. Then add friends visiting to the mix and you can double your usual expenses because you want to put your best foot forward and show them what Manhattan is all about. And it is all about lighting your cash on fire any time of day or night. I think now is a good time to wrap up this entry before I bring you down anymore. I will leave you with the one thing that I know will cheer me up. A photo taken this weekend of two of my favorite people in the world, my nephew, Dylan and my niece, Gianna. I really need to remember to use this as an upper instead of 7,000 calories from McDonald's. UGH. I'll be back shortly with a better attitude and quite possibly a little fatter.

Long Hot Days and Ratless Nights

Is it really only Wednesday? I need a weekend badly and I need it right now. But it needs to be one of those weekends where I don't have anything planned and I can lay on a blanket in the park and stare at the sky. I am definitely going to make that happen. Yesterday afternoon, I put my mom in a cab to JFK after a marathon week of cramming as much New York as possible into her visit. I had some concerns about her visit, mainly centered around the fact that she had both knee and shoulder surgery in the past year and we do a lot of walking. We also live in a 4th floor walk up and I could swear that they are the three steepest flights I've ever climbed. And then there's the weather. You know that vent that pumps hot laundry air out of the dryer at your parents house? The one that makes a small part of your backyard smell like hot, windy Bounce? Well, pretend the sky is a dryer vent and instead of Bounce your mom uses a dryer sheet called Rotten Swill, that's what the weather is like right now.

My mom doesn't do well with humidity and I know this firsthand. She came to visit us when we lived in Buffalo back in 2002 and there were a few key similarities between that situation and our current one that alarmed me. 1. We lived in a 3rd floor flat that had steep stairs. 2. It was June and beginning to get warm and a little muggy. Let's just say that our most vivid memory of that visit is my mom fanning herself and acting like she was going to melt. And I say that with love mom. So fast forward 7 years, add a flight of stairs, raise the temperature by about 15 degrees and mix in a pile of garbage. I'm sure you understand why I made sure to remind her in every conversation we've had since she booked her flight that the weather would be awful and that the stairs would be hell. I think it worked because she was a trooper. We walked all over the place, up and down countless sets of stairs all the while drenched in sweat and she did it with a smile. It was the sort of smile that said "See? I'm not complaining!" but it was a smile nonetheless. And to her credit, she actually was melting this time. It was brutally hot and humid, probably the worst weather we've had all summer.

Despite the heat, we had a great time and we did SO much. Perhaps I should have been more concerned about my ability to keep up than hers as I am thoroughly exhausted. We hit the ground running when she arrived Wednesday morning with a sightseeing cruise around Manhattan. I went to class, Mike took her to Arturo's for authentic New York pizza. Thursday started off with a classic New York experience: a trip to Target in Brooklyn. Okay, so it's not in any way a cool NYC thing to do, but we always go to Target together, it's our thing. Some mothers take their daughters to afternoon tea at the Ritz, mine takes me to Target for household goods, cheap sundresses and a bucket of popcorn and I love it. After our popcorn breakfast I took her to my school where we attended a demonstration by Aaron Sanchez, of Food Network's Chopped & Chefs vs. City. He also has two restaurants in Manhattan: Centrico & Paladar, which I will definitely be trying after sampling his cooking at the demo. He's charismatic, engaging and very proud of his Mexican heritage, which made the food even more delicious. We were given small plates of seared scallops with a charred corn salsa, duck breast with a chili and orange infused dulce de leche sauce and some ridiculously good pork belly tacos.



Friday, we slept late,then saw Julie & Julia before I headed off to class. Saturday, we did some shopping at my favorite place in SoHo, The Market NYC. It's a bunch of young designers in a church gym with table after table of cool, unique accessories and clothing. The three of us then headed to Brooklyn to the Botanical Gardens and a stroll through Prospect Park, which I think she loved. We gave her a brief tour of Park Slope that ended with a much needed mani-pedi before we hopped the subway back to the city to get ready for dinner at L'Ecole. L'Ecole is the restaurant at FCI, which I will eventually be cooking at during levels 5 & 6. We had a 5 course meal that was truly delicious.



Sunday, we headed to Times Square hell to pick up tickets for a matinee of "In the Heights", a fantastic musical about life in Washington Heights (the barrio in Manhattan). In the remaining days, we also managed to get her to Ground Zero, took a stroll along the Hudson through Battery Park City, toured Central Park and then lunched at Jean Georges, which deserves its own blog entirely, made a short visit to the Met to find that the three things she really wanted to see were closed, took her to Chinatown for dumplings, ate a Gray's Papaya hot dog and her first falafel. I think the only thing that we didn't get to see that she was disappointed about was a rat. Some people would be delighted to not encounter a rat in New York City, not my mom, she was actually bummed about it.

A week can be a long time with family in close quarters, but there was no (major) bickering or meltdowns. We had a really nice time and I'm happy to have shared our new city with her. It was a week that I will not soon forget and this time my most vivid memory will not be of her fanning herself. Well, maybe of her mopping her brow but doing it with a smile. Love you Mom!

Another Year Older & Quite Possibly Wiser...Maybe

I have control issues. If you know me well, you are probably nodding your head. I know how I got them (ahem, Dad) but I don't know how to get rid of them. They manifest most obviously when Mike tries to plan something. (I am imagining more nodding from close friends). You see, I am nothing if not a planner. I research meticulously. I leave no stone unturned. I make sure every detail has been attended to. Whether it is a big vacation or just dinner plans, I want to make sure that we have a perfect experience. Logically I know that there is no such thing as perfection, after all, even the best laid plans, blah, blah, blah. But that doesn't stop me from trying. And who am I doing it for? Do you think Mike is going to be let down if the food didn't make him see fireworks or the hotel's complimentary breakfast didn't actually have waffles? Nope, it's me that is disappointed when something minor goes awry. When you spend so much time reading up on a destination, reviewing, comparing, and in general, daydreaming about what you'll do, you've already created this unattainable, in all likelihood, expectation of how things will play out. I really don't know how to kick this compulsion for coordination, this dependence on deliberate preparation, so we have learned to deal with it through trial and error. Mike would say I've gotten better at going with the flow and at just enjoying the moment, but I still fall off the wagon every now and then. And like any family that has dealt with addiction knows, it's usually the supportive loved ones who suffer the most. I in no way mean to diminish true addiction, just intend to highlight Mike's saintliness for putting up with what is sometimes impossible behavior on my part.

Birthdays are never easy for him and I'm sure I don't need to explain why. We have recently come to the agreement that for special days it's okay for me to just tell him what I want to do and it's okay for him to just do it. While it may lack romance, pomp and circumstance, we both know I am getting what I want and he doesn't have to try to decode let alone choreograph my idealized vision of how things should play out. This was our first time putting the new agreement into action and since my birthday fell on a Saturday, we decided that I could plan my ultimate day in Manhattan and that would be that. No compromising about where to go, what to eat, what to drink, basically the perfect gift for me because not only did I get to plan, but I was the only person I had to consider when making choices. (If you are cringing at my blatant selfishness and boorish behavior, I can only say in my defense that the vast majority of the time, I am not a monster, just on special occasions that will be forever remembered...and tainted). My plans were fairly simple, a relaxed day doing the things I enjoyed, a little eating, a little shopping, and a little cooking. We kicked off the day around 11 with my favorite pain au chocolat (chocolate croissant) at Amy's Bread on Bleecker. We wandered around and out of the Village into SoHo about an hour early for our afternoon lunch reservations at Mercer Kitchen. So we meandered a little more until we came upon Lusso, a contemporary Italian cafe that had an interesting Italian craft beer menu. We shared a bottle of Baladin Nora, a refreshing brew with a floral aroma and a juicy citrus flavor. As our server delivered the check, she also placed a small tray of crostini topped with chicken liver pate, frisee and a drizzle of honey in front of us, just because. The pate was delicious, but there was WAY too much of it. They could have used about a third of what was on there and it would've been perfectly balanced with the other elements. It reminded me of when you eat a bagel that has so much cream cheese on it that it squirts out the sides and through the center when you bite into it. What is with the tendency to pile cream cheese on bagels? Are we in a cream cheese surplus? I don't know about you, but I like my bagel to be flavored with cream cheese, not my cream cheese to have a hint of bagel. Regardless, it was a nice little treat and with that, we were ready to eat for the third time that day.

I was really looking forward to Mercer Kitchen, which is part of the Jean Georges Vongerichten restaurant empire. If you are not an insane foodie, Vongerichten is arguably one of the world's most famous chefs and successful restaurateurs. We ate at another of his restaurants, JoJo, for our anniversary and were very pleased. I could go into extreme detail about our experience there, but I won't bore you. The food was good (spring pea soup and a tuna wasabi pizza for me, soft shell crab and a lamb sandwich for Mike), but I wasn't impressed. The service was less attentive than I would've expected for a Jean Georges enterprise and the food was good, but didn't blow me away. I was disappointed in the sense that it didn't live up to the hype, but not in the sense that it ruined my day, it was still a great meal. (See, I am not a total beast and people CAN change).

After lunch, we walked the few blocks to my school where I took Mike on a brief tour, and we ran into Chef Nic, who I think took a minute to recognize me in street clothes. I guess when you are used to seeing someone with hair tucked away, no makeup and drenched in sweat, it's difficult to make the association right away. From there we headed to the Bowery, which is the restaurant and kitchen supply district. I had a great time stocking my kitchen with fun new tools: a mandoline for precise slicing and cutting, a fine mesh chinois for straining stocks and sauces, a new saute pan, a candy/deep frying thermometer, plus some rings and squeeze bottles for creating fancy plates. If you are in the market for quality kitchen gear, I urge you to find a restaurant supply store in your city (any major city will have one). The quality is comparable to what you would find at Williams Sonoma and it is a fraction of the price. Granted, there are no pretty colors and beautiful displays, but you are saving a ton of money.

From there, we made a few stops for provisions for dinner and then headed home to prepare homemade gnocchi and a caprese salad. We spent part of the evening in Washington Square people watching and then tucked ourselves in pretty early for the surprise Mike had planned for me on Sunday. I imagine some of you are scratching your heads wondering why Mike would even attempt to plan something for me when we agreed that it was not necessary and knowing the potential for Emily the Barbarian to rear her ugly head. Some of you might even be trying to warn him against it even though you know it's too late and he can't hear you. Believe me, I tried. I told him that I loved him and that he really didn't have to do anything because I know how difficult I can be. But he insisted. I'm not sure if it was because I had already had my day or because I had no idea what we were doing, but I was relaxed about it. I know some of you have got to be thinking "Really?! Wow, good for you being relaxed about someone doing something really nice for you. You should get an award for your efforts". But I know you are probably just as crazy in some other way that I'm not, so be nice.

Anyway, Mike had packed our wine backpack (you know the one with the plates, wine glasses, blanket all conveniently rolled into a backpack?) with quite a spread. He then told me he needed to run a quick errand and that he would call me when he was ready. When he called I should bring the backpack with me and meet him downstairs. I figured we were probably going to Central Park to catch a free concert or something like that. A few minutes later, I get the call and I head downstairs to meet him. I am waiting on the sidewalk in front of our door and he is nowhere to be found. A few cabs pass by and I begin to wonder if he is hiding somewhere watching me. As I'm staring up the street, I hear a horn honk behind me and I turn around and there is Mike in a Mini Cooper. Being a rocket scientist, I realize we are heading out of town and I think I know where. I clap my hands in glee and jump in beaming. He looks at me and says, ready to do some wine tasting? YES!!! We are headed to Long Island's North Fork to sample some of the local wines and have a picnic. I am so excited and surprised, I just keep looking at him smiling. He is smiling, I am smiling, we are one big smile on wheels. He knows he nailed it and he knows I will never underestimate his planning ability again. It's like he slayed a freakin' dragon or at the very least that monkey on his back. He recounts the entire planning process for me: the pitfalls, the triumphs and we smile some more. I know this may sound ridiculous to some of you, but this was huge for me. You know how they say (whoever they are) that people show love in the way they want to receive it? Well, when I plan a secret surprise tour of all your favorite breweries and all your friends are in on it and I stay up all night making lunchboxes for everyone, well maybe I want you to do something like that for me. And he did. Everything was flawless. The drive was gorgeous. The weather was a perfect 78 degrees with brilliant blue skies. We never got lost, everything we went to was open for business and the winery we picnicked at even had a band that was playing all of our favorite songs, like some strange soundtrack just for us.



We stopped at a farm stand for some corn, squash and green beans then drove down a country road to a white sand beach and waded in the very warm waters of Little Peconic Bay.



When I realized that the day Mike had planned completely topped the day I'd planned, I learned a valuable lesson. Perfection is possible, but it can't always be achieved by calculated design. It comes when you embrace the adventure and see the bumps and hiccups as part of the beauty of the fabric instead of as flaws. Mike may argue that the design of the day was very calculated which led to its success. But I think the most important thing I realized was that it's okay to let go and let someone else take the reins. Apparently, he still has some tricks in his bag.

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!