Drama Queen

"New Yorkers just love the drama of snow".

"You can get away with about anything in New York. New Yorkers have seen it all and are remarkably non-confrontational."

"Look it had to happen at some point, in a city of eight million people you're bound to run into your ex-wife and six years later you find yourself singing "Surrey with a fringe on top" in front of Ira!"

God, I love New York. As my beautiful city and her residents have come-up in conversation lately, I have just be struck once again by the sheer fun of this city. We New Yorkers are able to watch the madness all around us and revel in the drama of life. She is such a character all on her own, I think she may be my favorite actress. Films, books and television shows set in this city of mine take on a new life and meaning for me. Who knew a place could have such a personality? Just reason #1,238,000 I LOVE NEW YORK!

Pulling Myself Out of Funkland

Today I was in a funk. I simply felt ill over my life in general. All I wanted to do was sit on my couch and feel sorry for myself, but I had my EWI fried chicken lunch to go to. I picked myself up and tediously did my hair and make-up before heading to the train.

Lunch was nice, but I wasn't on, I still couldn't shake the feelings eating away at me. I rode down to Union Square, but with the icy wind blowing and the knot in my stomach, I simply rode past my stop and hopped on an uptown bus heading home.

H had invited Y and I to join her on a Midtown beer crawl, all I wanted to do was sit at home and sulk, I don't even like beer. Y texted me to let me know he would be joining her, then she texted me to remind me which bar I could meet her at. I begrudgingly slid off the couch and headed out. "Do one thing each week that you really don't feel like doing", well, at least I could check that one off my to do list. "Just an hour or two", I told myself, "then I can come right back home and wallow".

Well, the beer tasting was fun. I tried a few brews that I actually found palatable, I avoided the lecherous stare of one of her older friends and I met a delightful young woman Y had brought along. We laughed and talked about everything from careers to college sports.

Y mentioned that he was meeting his girlfriend and her brother downtown at "the best Mexican restaurant in Manhattan". I was intrigued. He invited me along and I surprised myself by saying, "Why not?"

Mexican Radio was just off the 6 train on Spring Street. After the fried chicken feast and long line of brews, I couldn't imagine eating anymore food, and my waistline certainly did not need anymore! I thought, "I'll just have a cocktail and split". Wrong again. Y's girlfriend had brought along yet another charming woman and soon we were all sipping Sangria and chatting like old pals. I threw caution to the wind and ordered along with them. The food was fantastic, but the conversation was even more delicious.

After saying our goodbyes and walking to the train, I felt light. The funk had dissipated and a smile played on my lips. I spent too much money and ate too much fat, but it was a small price to pay for salvation from the depths of my own murky melancholy. I feel as though I fought the funk, clawing my way out of the rubble, finally emerging into the light. Booze, fattie foods and good friends; who knew these vices would be the krypton I needed to fight the super monkey on my back?

Winter's Last Throws

I have been bracing lately, waiting for the punch of reality to come down on me. As with most things, I believe that waiting for this particular ax to fall is the worst part of the experience. See, I know D and I ended it, I know it cognitively, but my heart has never really learned the art of letting go. Due to this fact, I knew that in the end it would still be him who would walk away.

In 2010 technology has taken the place of telepathy. We no longer have to wonder what other people are thinking, all we need is an internet connection and the online stalking tools of facebook and blogger. I was in the mood for a little self-mutilation, so I logged-on and looked at his facebook page. There it was. Flashing across the screen; "updated status-It's complicated to Single". Ok. I knew it was coming, but seeing it, knowing everyone else was seeing his departure too, that really drove the punch home.

It's going to hurt like a bitch when he comes home, packs his bags, and physically walks away. Once again, I cognitively knew it, but now I feel it too. Damn.

I suppose this is all just part of the process. I know that things are going to happen just as they are meant to. If we are meant to be together, nothing will keep us apart. If we aren't, well then, I suppose that will be okay too, I just haven't really been able to face that one yet.

I think I am going through the grieving process, entering into the anger phase. On of my EWI members sent a request to the group for input on which restaurant he should take a date to. The thought and effort he put into the planning and reservation pushed some serious buttons for me. I began to think about the fact that no one has ever made a reservation for me. This boy's actions flew in the face of all the male excuses I have heard before as to why date planning and reservations were always left up to me. It left me feeling cheated. It then left me wondering if it was my fault. Maybe there is something about me that makes putting in too much effort seem unnecessary.

Well, my anger is waining. I sent D. a curt message about his "new status". It was childish and unfair. He did not do anything wrong. He is going through exactly what I am in his own way. I suppose he is just doing what men do, he is turning the page. As I mentioned, this is not my strong suit. I guess I just never really was able to wrap my head around the love thing. Not the beginning or the middle, but the end. In my mind I suppose love does not have an end, and this is not so much the end as the evolution. Still, I guess I have not learned how to make my mind and heart come together on this point.

What I do know, in my heart and mind, is that this is going to hurt like hell. I have not changed my relationship status, I don't think I can right now. Though we are not together, though I suppose I am single, my heart is far from open, my heart is far from available. I still act as though he is waiting just around the next bend, I still hear his voice in my ear, I even still write as though he is reading every word.

I have emotional anesthetic pumping through my veins at the moment, but I am not foolish enough to think that it will be any match for some of the things yet to come. There is hurt on the horizon, but just over the peaks I know there is something else coming. There is a peace, a calm, a glorious moment when I will be neither hurting nor numb. I can't see that ray of light yet, but I know, I just know it is coming.

I wonder what that will feel like. I imagine it will feel like the first real day of spring. That day when you walk out of your door and don't have to flinch at the sting of a cold air, the day that you walk languidly down the street feeling everything fully, a gentle breeze that soothes rather than torments. That day you feel so lucky to bask in perfect climate,free of the anxiety that comes from waiting for the next chill to strike though your bones. Yes, I imagine that is what it will feel like.

Adventures in Dermatology

While inspecting my face in the mirror, shortly after my 26th Birthday, I noticed a small brown blotch above my left eyebrow . Horror of horrors: I have an age spot! That coupled with my slight paranoia over a freckle being the thing to take me down inspired me to make an appointment with the dermatologist.

As the date of my appointment approached, I felt the familiar anxiety creep-up on me. My concerns were not ration ones, like them actually finding some malignant mole, oh no, I was perplexed over the idea of getting naked for a skin doctor. Mind you, I am not an overly modest or insecure person. I have no problem whatsoever getting breast exams during my annual physical or spreading my legs for the gynecologist. It's just that I don't see dermatologists as the types of doctors who regularly see naked women. I know this is nonsense, but I can't help but imagine that doing skin cancer screenings on young women must be something of a treat for these guys!

I made the necessary preparations for my unveiling; shaving my legs and wearing appropriate panties, and kept my face make-up free. The day of my appointment I wandered-up to the eighth floor. My doctor was of course a young NYU resident, and of course a man. I got undressed and put on my gown, getting tangled-up in the ties and debating whether to put it on with the opening in the front or back. I pulled the gown tightly around my body as he entered the exam room.

I had made a mental list of all the items I needed him to check out for me, starting with the face and working down. He initially though I was there about the little pimple on my cheek, I quickly assured him that it was a freakin PMS break-out and not a problem, I was more worried about my brown patch. He seemed bemused as I went down my laundry list of concerns. He started by looking at my "age spot" and telling me it was just a touch of sun damage and nothing to worry about. When I looked at him in horror, he said he would be happy to freeze the area, but it would simply leave a white mark where the brown had been. He proceeded to tell me that he thought it looked very natural and would personally leave it alone. I agreed, and sensing my dismay, he informed me that there were outside facilities that could use lasers to correct it if I was really that worried about it. I resigned myself to having a little brown spot and moved-on.

It was time for my skin cancer screening, and I could be insane, but he seemed rather pleased that I had requested this particular test. He unceremoniously pulled my gown open and started inspecting me. I know this is routine for him, but it certainly felt a bit sudden to me! It is a particularly terrible experience considering that the angle of exam tables always cause you to sit in a most unflattering position, maximizing any little gut you might have. Oh well, doctor visits are an exercise in shame! He worked his way down and then asked me to stand-up so he could inspect my backside.

At this point I decided it was time to stop being coy and simply let the gown drop. He took a quick look, then informed me he needed to pull my underwear down a bit so he could see my "butt", I just nodded, feeling myself blushing like an idiot. When the exam was over, I was standing in front of this guy naked while he talked about how normal my freckles and moles looked, I fumbled with my gown while he prattled on, trying to get re-covered as gracefully as possible.

He spoke to me about a new face cream he could get for me and told me to come back in a couple months to let them know how it was working for me. Finally, the appointment was over, as I left all I could do was shake my head and laugh. I could not stop thinking about the fact that only I could have a doctor's appointment that felt as awkward as a first date, a first date where you get naked and are inspected by a complete stranger.

I left the ward with a clean bill of health, a big slice of humble pie and an absolute certainty that I am a crazy person. All I know is that I am lucky that I don't take myself too seriously, and I sure am glad I only have to have a "date" in dermatology once a year!

Spring Cleaning

Today Spring seemed to give us an early peek at her splendor. The weather was mild and the sun was shining. The sense of new beginnings that accompanies spring inspired me to take a look at what potential new adventures are on my own horizon.

Last summer I asked the question: "Can I craft a life full of friends, adventure, passion and excitement on the salary of an executive assistant in only 5 weeks, oh, and figure out what to do with my life?" Shockingly, I did just that.

My culinary club is still going strong, despite a bit of a winter lull, we still have events frequently and several of the members have become true friends. My social calendar is full when I want it to be, my "Rolodex" containing women whom I can arrange outings with at my leisure. After some major upheaval, my life is fairly stable. My jobs both suck, but they are bearable! I finally know beyond a shadow of a doubt which direction I want to take career wise; passion winning out over pretension and money. I create little adventures in the city I adore, and my life is rather good. The question now is what to do next.

Some of my original weekly checklist items need to be maintained; I need to continue to fight my inner hermit (though this has become much easier!), continue taking care of myself in the gym, continue maintaining my blogs, expand my culinary repertoire and try to do at least one thing every week to push myself. I think my next set of goals need to be based on focusing my passion. Like I said, I know the direction I want to take, but I really don't know the destination and the only way to find out is to dabble in a bit of this and that.

I know I want to work in the culinary field, but doing what? I have no doubt that life has some interesting possibilities that I could not even imagine, so I am going to stay open to whatever comes my way! I need to start testing the waters though. With that in mind, I want to start writing restaurant reviews, possibly linked to yet another blog! The Treasure Hunt, will chronicle the gastronomical adventures of a young, broke woman in Manhattan. I think it could be really good. After many conversations, damning the new NY Times food critic Sam Sifton, I have realized that good reviews are not about scientific accuracy, but about telling a good story. I think I can do that! I will at least try and find out.

I also have some interesting food projects brewing; I was asked to conduct some kind of culinary class at the VA vet center in Brooklyn and one of my girlfriends is working on a culinary tours business idea and invited me to join her team. I need to dedicate some time each week to New Culinary Projects.

I have roughly six months before I could potentially be starting my master's degree program at NYU. I want to spend those six months enjoying everyday adventures, enjoying my interesting friends and meeting new ones, honing my culinary passion and making my life even more fulfilling. I don't know what my destination looks like, but I know I am on the right track. It will not be perfect, because life never is. There are more ups and downs coming my way, but as long as I can maintain my sense of wonder and adventure, I know everything will come together for me.

Here's to the next evolution of the experiment; crafting the career of my dreams. I'm in New York City, land of dreams and giants, if I can make it here I can make it anywhere.

How the Recession Saved the Planet

I have never been much of an environmentalist. I don't recycle, I leave the water running while I brush my teeth and I ask for my groceries double bagged. Oddly, that has been changing lately. I have not had an eye opening experience brought on by some bleeding-heart-save-the-earther, but my behavior and even my mindset have changed. I bring my own bag to the grocery store, I tell the guys at the bodega that I don't need the paper bag or napkins for my coffee, I turn the lights out when I leave a room. When I receive large packages with small contents, I immediately think about what a waste of packing materials that was.

Waste. I think that is the key here. As we move along in this recession, I feel like we are all a bit more aware of waste and need and that mindset carries over to our personal habits. No, those bags at the grocery store don't cost me anything, but the idea of being wasteful in anyway feels distasteful. Maybe it is just me, but the Recession has made me a more environmentally healthy person.

Recessions have a funny way of working on people. I think about my grandparents' generation. They survived the great depression and it made them a more cautious and responsible group. They were satisfied by the simple things in life and their desires were focused on survival over frivolousness. Our parents on the other hand, swung the pendulum in the other direction. They wanted more, they wanted it all, they luxuriated in the ability to waste. I think perhaps my generation has struck a kind of balance between the two extremes. We grew-up in the land of excess and now are living as adults in a land of new found scarcity.

My generation still wants the good things, but we are keenly aware of their value. We are not interested in wasteful excess, but controlled indulgence. I see my friends, wealthy and poor, enjoying the delights of New York. We have grand dinners, but perhaps at an East Village Trattoria instead of at Babbo. We buy fine ingredients, but only what we need for a special dish. I think that our ability to maintain our desire, while living responsibly may be the key to our success and happiness as a generation. I certainly see it as a key to my own! I appreciate the finer things, but I am just fine without them.

In the spirit of simplicity, I began thinking about cooking today. I have been waiting for some exotic new dish or ingredient to inspire me to try something new at home. This morning, gleefully eating my Sunday morning bagel, I realized that this simple pleasure might be worth exploring. I began to research the wonder of the bagel, trying to see if there was some kind of magical technique that makes them so irresistible to me. What I found was a simple recipe, somewhat time consuming, but absolutely doable in my tiny kitchen. I am going to end my new recipe strike next weekend, I am going to attempt to create my favorite carbie vice! Next weekend will be the weekend of the Bagel.

Yes, the recession might not be a barrel of laughs, but it has made me appreciate the grandeur of the simple things. It has fostered a new sense of responsibility without robbing me of the luxury of hope. Perhaps the recession will not save the environment, but it certainly has gone a long way in saving me from my parents' fate of an insatiable hunger for more.

Sunday Morning Hangovers

The worst part of a hung-over morning in New York is the curious inability to figure out where the boozy smells are coming from. Standing at the bus stop on my way to brunch, I kept self-consciously wondering if I was reeking of last night’s festivities or if the odor was creeping-up from the gutter in front of the bar behind me. Yes, nothing makes you feel more like a dysfunctional wino than your body’s unnaturally enhanced sense of smell the night after a bender, well that coupled with the special combination of aromas on a New York street corner. The wafting notes of cheep beer imply that New York herself had about as much fun as you did.

Being “On”

I am compiling a list of subjects to cover with my therapist next week. See, when I come-in and don’t have much to talk about or am in a particularly good mood, I feel like I must be disappointing her. I worry that I make her feel like I am wasting her time. Yes, you guessed it; that is absolutely something I need to talk to her about. It is a special brand of dysfunction when you worry so much about making sure other people are satisfied with you that you even extend this courtesy to your shrink!
This morning at brunch I was off. I tried to be on for Kyung, but I was tired and hung-over. I left very worried that I had not shown her a good time. Why do I feel like I need to show everyone a good time? Why do I need approval on some level from everyone around me? I also think that if I can people to give me a second chance I will wow them. I am compelled to prove myself and make-up for imaginary failures.

I suppose insecurities run deep and my phobic fear of disappointing people, of being rejected, of trying to prove myself, it runs deep and strong in me. That is what I miss about last summer; the beautiful feeling of being enough. I did not have to try to please people. I did not have to desperately seek approval. I was me, I was loved, I was confident in the fact that I was enough.
So much in my life points to this fact now. Not all 40 members of my group are active, but many are. When I invite girlfriends from the group out, they always say yes (Kaitlin being the striking exception, yet I still run to her, hmm.) Men of all ages and status are interested in me. I am me and no one thinks there is anything wrong with me, no one judges me except me. Why do I refuse to accept the idea that I am ok? Why do I focus on the slight ways in which I could possibly interpret rejection? Why do I constantly blame myself for imagined mutinies? Where did that beautiful sense of self-satisfaction and confidence go? Somehow I find a way to blame myself for everything.

Unlike the booze-soaked scent dilemma, when it comes to my invisible panel of judges, it definitely is me. So I suppose the question is, how does one go about quieting the critic within? Taking a lesson from my own personal history, the only logical answer seems to be brave, vulnerable, leaps of faith. I need to trust myself enough to believe the smiles, to accept the compliments without looking for the underlying sarcasm. I have to love myself enough to accept love without hanging my entire self-worth on it. I need to love myself enough that everyone else’s affection is simply a pleasant addition to the well of affection and worth I already confidently hold.

The truth is, I am a bit of a coward. I have lost a bit of faith in myself, believing once again that given enough time everyone will leave me. I will disappoint them and then they will turn their backs on me. I suppose the stench I thought I had washed away, the wafting aroma is my oldest fear: being alone because I am not good enough. After the phenomenal year I had, perhaps this is just an emotional hang-over.

I can’t clean-up the entire city, but I can take a good hot shower. I am enough. I am enough. I am more than enough. I will let this sentiment wash over me until the stench of insecurity disappears. I will go forth confidently, knowing with conviction that it's not me.