Oh the places you'll go!

I did a very New York thing this week. I bought a dress I couldn't afford. Not even couldn't afford, couldn't imagine paying that kind of money on any one thing to be owned by me.

At first, I was empowered. Then, I was in tears. I think I cried more for my total lack of common sense, humility and wisdom than for the actual dollars signs I was coughing up. Upon returning to my apartment - which is tiny, has baseboard heating and doesn't belong with a dress of such caliber - I read on the receipt that I couldn't take the dress back.

More worried frowning...more feeling guilty. So I wore the damn thing out for a night on the town. Please don't ask me how I was able to afford said night on the town. It was a night of ritzy, well known hot spots where pretty people in nice clothes go to act casual. What's funny is that once I got to these places, I realized the clothes I had would have fit in just fine. Everyone was all shabby chic, hipster, casually rich. I'm sure they paid a fortune to look like they weren't trying hard, but you could only sense that instead of see it.

The night was a blast, the dress went over well and managed to take on two good spills of alcohol without staining.

All in all, the Catherine Malandrino dress was a success! Now... I'm going to sell it to the highest bidder on ebay. Take THAT urban chic peer pressure!

Fashion Week @ Bryant Park

The most pleasant surprise I have found living in one of the most expensive places in the United States is stumbling upon something that is FREE. Not free with a purchase, I mean real-deal no money comes out of your purse free.

Ian and I stumbled upon just that this week.

First, I found myself the beneficiary of a kind soul at work who gave me her Fashion Week

tickets for an evening. If you know me, you know I love fashion and also that I am entirely intimidated by it. The choosing, the daring, the wearing...it all kind of scares the crap out of me. So how I ended up in a tent in Bryant Park with fashion and all the kinds of people it courts, is beyond me. All I know is that tried to make

everything I bought last year look like I bought it this year. Wait, wait...I didn't even buy that stuff last year. Try college. When I had money and enough naivete to buy new outfits with my hard-earned Gambino's door girl dollars.

I Killed the Cookie Sheet...

No, I really did kill it. There's no coming back from what it went through.

But first I want to tell you how nicely it all started.

I woke up at 7:30 this morning, which merits a wag of the finger at me for not using the super sweet sun-blocking shades that replace the regular shades with the correct flick of the wrist. Trouble is, I don't know how to flick my wrist to get it right. Nonetheless, I was up early on a Saturday.

Early on a Saturday meant the Union Square Farmers' Market for me. I found a parking spot really close to the PATH and hopped on. When I got to Union Square I was delighted to see University St. blocked off for additional street vendors, which I think they must do once a month but that's only a guess.

Before getting food, a woman must get jewelry. At least this woman did. And for a steal, too! The next thing I want to add to my (puny) repetoire is jewelry making. I wonder if it will turn out as well my cooking...

Next, I walked through the farmers' market and dodged hipsters on bicycles and old women with carts muttering in yiddish. After about two passes through the whole thing I finally worked up the nerve to start buying. And buy I did! I had no idea what I was going to make, but I knew if I didn't start purchasing I would be wallowing in regret later. Here's my booty ------>

Looks pretty good, yeah? I know you're probably surprised by the eggplant and zucchini and maybe even the portobellos, but my Mom makes two of my favorite meals out of those bits so I knew what they looked like. Otherwise, forget it!

And I tossed the muffin...it wasn't great and I knew if I kept it I'd probably hoover the mediocre muffin later.

After running back out to SoHo to get things from work, lugging them to my car, going to B&N to buy the on hold Season 1 of Madmen only to find out that had given me Season 2... I finally went home to make my dinner. (By the way, this sound like a short trip or short day. It's not. It took about 40 minutes to get to work, 40 walk/subway back to my car, 15 to walk to B&N and 15 to walk back, plus the grocery store...)

Since we already know that I'm neither chef nor cook, I wanted to make something easy that I had eaten before--again, thanks to Mom. I wanted to make portobellos with extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, basil and red peppers. Not hard, right? RRRRWrong!

I covered the mushrooms and red peppers in my tasty (ungodly simple) marinade put them on a foil covered cookie sheet, covered with foil (as I learned on about.com) and put it in for 30 on 425 degrees. ALL ACCORDING TO INSTRUCTIONS.

EXCEPT...I don't think I considered how easy it is for juices of any kind to travel away from their intended destination. At 18 minutes my apartment smelled divine. At 23 minutes, I sniffed three times and ran to the oven! The acrid smell of burning (and failure) was leaking from my mushrooms! I pulled those babies out, ripped off the top foil and found that my little, easy peasy marinade had shifted its way directly on the pan and off the foil. "Shhhii"-- I won't finish that.

It turns out that the mushrooms were delightful. I enjoyed them in silence while sitting on my blue futon hunched over like gargoyle. I had to stop myself from eating all three. Wait, did I mention I added feta and reduced fat basil & tomato feta to the mix? Cheese cures all that ills. Thank god!

After enjoying my tasty buds of fungus, I let myself recognize the nasty burnt smell and attended to the pan. The foil was stuck fast to the pan by oil. Not just stuck, fermetically sealed to it. I pulled, I ripped, I tried not to think about having to clean it off.

In the end, I did what any loving kitchen utility owner would do, I let it die. My cookie sheet went to its final resting place (the trash can and then the trash chute because it was still stinking up my apartment) at 7:03 p.m. on this beautiful August day. I'm sad to see it go, but I'm happy to say I don't have to clean it.

R.I.P. Gourmetware 15.25" x 10.25" x .63", Senior

Finding my way in the city and in some cooking

I was on my way to meet a wonderful, humorous, lovely friend of a wonderful, humorous, lovely friend back in Cincinnati. I intended to leave work in SoHo and take the C up to W 4th and V up to 23rd in midtown Manhattan. If only intentions could support my sense of direction.

Instead I went down into the subway station I have passed several times, not even looking up to see if it was going Uptown or Downtown. I had my directions tucked in my tiny purse in such a way so that I could glance at them without looking like I was the new kid. So clever.

So clever that I ended up in Brooklyn. Shocked (and mad at myself for not noticing that I took the wrong train just by the condition of trains in BK as compared to Manhattan) I got off at the very next stop all flustered and anxious. Oddly enough, a family of tourists asked me if the platform we were standing on would provide them with a train back into Manhattan. Of course it would, I said! Well, I should have followed them because I got on the WRONG DAMN TRAIN--AGAIN.

And so...I found myself further in Brooklyn all dressed up from work and feeling like an ass.

Finally, I made my way back up into Manhattan and to midtown. I ran once I got off the subway because I felt so very bad for making my new friend wait. (And by the new friend I mean we had never met, but because we had a mutual friend, she agreed to go on this friendship blind date. Bless her heart!)

Along with the rest of the female and gay community, we watched Julie & Julia. Front and center. Perfect seats. I won't mention the fact that I dropped my peanut M&Ms halfway through the movie, that Michelle stepped on a lady's bag of popcorn when she snuck out to pee or that we were the only two people in the theater laughing over Julia's idiosyncrasies. Actually, I am mentioning it because all those things made it a better friendship date for me!

Afterwards, I took the PATH home, which I have done many times now. Lo and behold, I got on the wrong PATH train and found myself closer to Newark than Hoboken. G.D.! I tried not get anxious and tense up my shoulders (too late) and I got home just fine.

Now, in the comfort of my quiet apartment with my unneccesarily large kitchen I looked around to see what I could make. Afterall, you can't watch two hours of french cooking without getting a hankering yourself. And what did I come up with? Rice. Rice in a box.

So that's what I'm having. Rice that I simmered myself and wine that only called for a quick uncorking. No Julia Child culinary skills here, but after three wrong trains and a long week, it's my very best culinary foot foward.

Foodie Fears

What is it about food that tempts us to relinquish control? To savor or to scarf. It lets you fall to pieces or it can put you back together again. It can be the stale meals of the every day life alone or it can be warm and heavy goodness of meal cooked where you called home. It's an addiction and a necessity all at once. No other sensory infused act can be described quite the same.

I have been thinking about food often. Partly because I'm usually alone when I eat now that I live away from my friends and family and partly because eating has become burdensome and complex. When you're alone all evening, or in some cases all day, you only have yourself to find entertain. After a while the TV is terrible, reading is too sedentary and going out again for a tedious task sounds ridiculous. Instead, you make food, eat snacks and serve yourself more than your regular portions of muffins or cookies or what have you. Why? To pass time. To stimulate you senses. To have somewhere to walk to. And to make you feel full so maybe you won't feel lonely.

Being lonely is a bit stigmatized as it seems to point to the bearer of loneliness a big sign that says OUTCAST. Loneliness comes in all forms, from left out to without friends. But admitting that you're lonely seems to say that you've been by yourself and rest assured, you are just as boring as you thought you would be. I don't say that with any sort of a sourness or sadness, but aren't we all bored with ourselves from time to time? Isn't it our interactions that give us our spark and our chance to shine? Our shared laughs become our private giggles at home and the smiles that pop on our face during the work day without reason. It's other people that make us luminous.

Even when are interactions with others are fitful, angry, anxious or irritable. It still ignites our senses and stirs our thoughts and emotions. No matter what, after speaking with someone there is always something to think about.

When you're at home alone you're left with yourself and your fizzly sparks. And trust me, they get really fizzly after a while. So you eat, you think about how you would like to be able to cook or rather you would like to be able to enjoy cooking and therefore cook. Instead, (and by YOU I mean I) I make "Just Add Water" muffins and chicken that I probably won't eat because I'm so god awful tired of chicken I could be happy with PB&J. (Which, by the way, I had tonight and it's not as satisfying with raspberry jam. Mistakes can be made even in old standbys.)

Tonight, I tried to make it different. I read instead of watching TV. Although, futons make for miserable reading couches and there really is no comfortable way to read when you spine is in a "C' shape. And guess what? No unnecessary jamming of food down my lonely old throat. Just a mediocre PB&Jam that got halfway eaten, a fiberone bar for chocolate, a bit of dark chocolate because a fiberone doesn't count and a whole lot of milk.

So far so good, fellow eaters. I'm just hoping I make it all the way to bed without eating a whole pot of rice and seventeen snack packs. I make no promises.

Moving to New York

About three months after I first posted on PinkSpark about being afraid of moving to a big city, but dying to try it...well, I'm here!

After a little over a week living in Hoboken, and working in NYC and NJ, I can tell a few things if you're planning on moving to the area...

1. If you're moving to New Jersey...do NOT go to Paramus on Sundays to shop at IKEA, Nordstrom, Macy's, anywhere! EVERYTHING is closed on Sundays in Paramus so try not to spend 45 minutes driving out to the shopping/decorating mecca and come back empty handed like I did. In fact, if you can avoid going further into NJ at all I would suggest it. The traffic is nuts, the Walmarts look like they staging flash mobs on Saturdays and nothing looks like it should. Just stay around the city. Trust me! Go to Jersey City or Secaucus but no further. If you must IKEA, IKEA in Brooklyn!

2. If all the singles live in NYC, then all the couples live in Hoboken. Seriously. Hoboken's median age is 30 and I think I saw 30 forehead kisses while at the ShopRite. Normally cute...today vomit. However, there is also a better ratio for chicks in Hoboken. 103 men to every 100 women. Not too bad when you're living around a city filled with young and cute girls.

3. Everyone drives a BMW. (Not exactly true, but it's like Cincinnati's Jettas). Just get used to it and don't be afraid to use a choice phrase or two directed at those people (see below). They tend to be the most annoying drivers.

4. Don't say "Dang it". Apparently that will only get you slapped on the head here. Say, Fuck it. Smiles all around.

5. BUY RAIN BOOTS. My first day of work it rained sideways and I came into the office with my bangs fluffed and curled all nasty and my clothes were wet and I looked generally disheveled and unprofessional. The least I could have done was wear rain boots to keep from looking like I pissed myself from the knee down.

That's all the pointers I have for the moment. They may seem stupid but I definitely wish I had known it earlier!

Honestly, the transition hasn't been bad at all! I really like NYC. I feel comfortable even when I'm utterly lost. I don't mind the extremely glam women or the eccentric weirdos, nor does the smell of delicious food cease to amaze me. It all kind of seems like a backdrop to a play. Everything is fun to look at and it makes your experience rich in sensory pleasure...or displeasure if you've walked next to a spot where someone peed the night before...

So far so good!

Food & Working Out - they DO go together!

I'm certainly not a fitness expert. In fact, up until six years ago I hated working out, sweating or doing anything active. Not so much because I was lazy, but because I wasn't comfortable in my own body. I was tall and skinny and it took way too long for me to fill a bra. All I wanted to do was read and write and occasionally I would consider shooting basketball in the backyard only to entertain my little blooming athlete of a brother.

During that time I ate all kinds of candy, had Chocolate Fudge Pop Tarts for breakfast, Munch-ems for lunch, and one of three dinner items I wouldn't turn my nose up at--salmon patties, steak, or chicken and rice. I didn't care much about food and I didn't have to; I was a walking, talking pole in training bras until almost 18. Sad, isn't it?

Someone finally smiled down upon me when I entered college and granted my wishes. Well, not quite. For several years I would stare at Victoria's Secret magazines and wish I had cleavage. I think I did that more often than would be considered healthy, but then again I think adults still do that. Anyway, in college I finally got some fat on my bones, some strut in my step and a boyfriend. The combination sent me headlong into "I like my body, now let's see what I can do with it."

I never woke up one morning and was able to run six miles, but the routine started my freshman year at UK. My roommate was an avid (and by avid I mean absolutely obsessed) fitness fanatic. I started following her to the gym, proving her wrong by waking up before class to go. Sometimes I went, sometimes I didn't.

My sophomore year my work fell off as I dated a former frat boy who still cooked (kraft mac n cheese) and partied (beer pong) like a frat boy. For the first time in my life I had a little somethin' somethin' working around my belly. Now, let's get this straight, this was no freshmen fifteen. This more like sophomore 5 to 10. But on my body any extra fat just doesn't know where to go! It should go to my chest, but life doesn't work like that it seems.

After my sophomore year and the doomed relationship, I started going back to the gym on a regular basis and haven't stopped since. Granted, I took off a couple weeks when I got patellar tendinitis, but I've always had a routine. Now, it's the gym 5 to 6 days a week.

But I'm no "too cool for school" workout diva. I'm still learning just like everyone else. I absorb every bit of information I can find about workout ideas, how to stay motivated and the like. On top of that, I'm eating better now than I ever have. More whole foods, fruits, veggies.

But I should add, I can still eat a dozen chocolate chip cookies without blinking. And I occasionally binge on almond M&Ms at night, but I have learned a valuable lesson. One whopping helping of cake will not take down all the work I've built unless I let it. I don't think that I'm being "bad" or that "I shouldn't be eating this". Instead I think, "Hunny, life isn't a diet. You want that icing right off the top of the cake, then eat it. Just don't lick the thing clean and keep it up for the next nine days."

Thinking that way, I can have my cake and work it off, too.

The Land of the Imminently Laid Off

As if there weren't enough troubles with being laid off, the young idealist version of myself thinks I better make something of myself with new "opportunity."

Why is it that, especially if you're under 30 and without children, people say "Oh, now you can do anything you want!" As if by losing your job to a piss poor economy magically cured all the other ails in your life. I understand the spirit and intention of the statement, but not the reasoning. Just because I don't have a mortgage and three kids doesn't mean that doors fly open for me. That I suddenly, after two decades of struggling, know exactly what I want to do with my life. That isn't how it works. Here are the 10 stages for someone who is facing imminent laid-offness:

1. Fear - mostly of boredom in my case

2. Joy - Thank God I don't have to continue being the buffer for all marketing crises that take place even without my client's knowledge

3. Fear - what the hell am I going to do with my life now? I was comfortable being the whipping woman in the same city I grew up in all my life

4. More Fear - Shit...now I REALLY have to try to do all those things I have always talked about doing.

5. Excitement - Any city has to be better than Cincinnati. Do what everyone always thought you would do: move your ass to a big city and be insanely good looking while doing it (that's a joke)

6. Disappointment - In a big city, you're just another tall blond girl from the Midwest/South. And middle class to boot...

7. Confidence - It's not about how you look, it's what you experience. Of course you'll be scared and you'll miss your family and all your friends but you'll make new ones... Right? You are funny, aren't you? Aren't you?? D

8. Assertiveness - Apply for everything under the sun. You're smart, you're charming--you can make it happen!

9. Disappointment - No serious interest from any employer two months in to searching

10. Grad School - I always wanted to get my law degree right?

Please forgive me for what may seem to be a spoiled 23-year-olds perspective. I do not have any major bills, no loans to speak of, a Jetta I will continue to drive until it vomits German elves, no children, 1 boyfriend who is willing to move and a whole lot of clothes that are dying to see more action that the bland streets of Heartland, USA. But the question is: am I ready to take the chance and change? Will I still be able to hold my head high in a city full of models and city chicks? Will I burn up a credit card trying to look as good as the place I live?

I know it's sad that these are my concerns when the world is facing such a horrendous and heavy sigh. I am well aware of the burdens I don't have to face. I know I'm selfish. What I'm trying to learn is how to not be selfish and still thrive. How can I continue to be the spark in the dark when a whole city is made of lights?