Me and the Ring

Germa-phobia

2011-03-30T05:56:00.000-07:00

I'm all for staying healthy in the 2011 flu season. I keep hand sanitizer in my purse, albeit Clean Cotton scented from Bath & Body Works. I wash my hands and sing Happy Birthday twice before leaving the ladies room. I sneeze and cough into the crook of my arm. I take precautions; I'm no dummy.

Yesterday as I approached the DeCamp bus window to purchase my monthly, way overpriced tickets, I felt a tickle in my sniffer and felt a sneeze approaching! I quickly turned my head to the right and sneezed into my puffy coat. I didn't sneeze into my hand, so I pulled out my credit card and handed it over to the lady behind the 3 inch thick windowpane.

You'd have thought I drowned her puppy. If looks could kill I'd be six feet under. She grabbed at a Lysol wipe before picking up my Visa and wiped it down as if it were slathered in an Anthrax pudding. She handed me a pen using the Lysol wipe and immediately swiped it again when I handed it back to her. So rude.

Maybe she's a germa-phob but in my book she was a rude one.

Your "Eck-tiquette" Tip for the day...

2010-02-17T06:08:00.000-08:00

If someone familiar greets you in the following way:

"Good morning - how are you today?" with a smile...

The only acceptable responses are:

"I'm fine - and you?"
"Good, thank you, and how are you?"
"I'm great. Thanks. How are you doing?"

It is impolite to say:

"Good."
"Fine."
"...."

In fact, its quite rude to ignore the other person's feelings by not asking how they're doing.
Practice this polite manner of speaking with your friends today!

Beautiful on the outside

2009-12-17T08:46:00.000-08:00

There are many times I've played "verbally abusive girlfriend" to the city of New York. I've complained about, yelled at, sworn at and even broken up with Manhattan in the past 4 years I've lived up here, but always come crawling back with flowers asking for forgiveness.

When we make the commute from the Bloom to the City each day, we tend to have our heads stuck in books, blackberrys and are pecking frantic emails to work explaining that we'll be late yet again due to "traffic on 3 leading to the Tunnel".

But there is a moment, each day when, as the bus rounds the overpass towards the belly of the Lincoln Tunnel that everyone looks up towards the Manhattan skyline. Even if for just a moment. The NYC skyline is breathtaking; full of history, life, first-kisses, drama and sadly even death.

But as ugly as the city can be on any given day, it is truly beautiful on the outside.

the saddistic side of sample sales

2009-12-10T15:46:00.001-08:00

It is probably common place for NYC women to scour their favorite designers sites for sample sale info and to stand in line outside in 30 degree weather to save $200 or more on this seasons latest, vintage inspired and still way too overpriced look.

It is not common place for me, however. But when I stumbled across a DVF sample sale I was instantly reminded that a very good friend of mine had once uttered, "I'll know when I've made it when I can buy a DVF wrapdress." I was in full support of this dream and off we went to 5th Avenue, the mecca of NYC style and high end fashion.

The very words "sample sale" to me scream, "suck it in because its tiny" and I don't know what I was thinking trying to cram what I like to refer as my "Marilyn-Monroe-Wore-A-Size-14" body into a DVF dress, but I walked into the mayhem that ensued anyway.

Dozens of NYC girls clad in patterened leggings, minis and boots clamoring over one another to grab the sample pieces and spring dresses is what we saw and we reluctantly handed over our bags and coats and begin scouring.

I find a few "my tag says 14 but I'm really a size 6" dresses and we head to what we think are the fitting rooms. But what we find is not multiple rooms but one large fitting room complete with runway-esque mayhem.

Doe eyed and terrified I scan the room to see half naked women in teeny tiny thongs and lacy bras pulling on shirts and tugging on pants.

"Yeah," I say to A, "I don't know if I can do this." My bra seems about as stylish as a salvation army swimsuit top and this ass hasn't seen a thong in, hmm, about a year. There was no way me and my Grannies were stripping down in front of these Louis Vuitton wallet carrying women in their size 4 sweaters. So, I did what any body conscious woman would do. I tried a dress on over my cami and stared straight at the wall. Nope, didn't fit. I wasn't dropping my pants, so I tried an old trick of wrapping the waist band of a skirt around my neck to see if there was hope and nope!

Defeated, I pull on my bulky grey sweater and head out of the hellish fitting room back to the racks. I ponder over a $30 pair of DVF leggings before I remember that I just paid $7 for a new pair a week ago.

As I looked around at the tiny girls with armloads of fashionable finds, I start to feel a sense of happiness that I didn't eat the black and white cookie I craved today. And well, my husband will feel happiness upon reading this because my Amex is safe from debt.

So who cares if that amazing DVF dress didn't fit? I felt lucky to have the means to buy it if it did, and a great friend to have experienced the evening with. And the best part was that she did find her wrap dress, and I couldn't have been happier for her. She has made it :)

Anyway, I think I'll stick to sample sales of purses and shoes from now on. At least I know they'll fit-and I don't have to take off much to try them on.

In New York...concrete jungle where dreams are made of...

2009-12-04T08:10:00.000-08:00

I'm really digging the "Empire State" song by JayZ and Alicia Keys. It's inspiring to hear a song that represents New York so well, the good and the bad. But I'm listening to the lyrics again and they got me thinking. JayZ quotes Frankie when he says "If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere" and I believe that to be true.

But what does it mean to "make it"? And how do you know if you have?

On paper it probably reads that I've "made it"....does it?

Amazing husband
Great friends
Glamorous NYC Job
Better than average salary
House in the 'burbs
2.5 dogs
SUV

Have I done it? Have I achieved the American Dream? Has NYC helped me get there? I'm tempted to say....

wait for it....

No!

Despite the glamour that comes with working and living in / near NYC, I can't help but wonder if something else is missing. Working in NYC is hard. The commute sucks. Its literally a concrete jungle. People are mean. The streets are mean. It's incredibly frustrating, especially walking through Tourist ridden Times Square.

So yes, maybe we've 'made it', but it doesn't make it right. There's got to be a better quality of life out there that lets go of the monotony of black clothing, taxis and sirens, overpriced drinks and impossible to get into restaurants. Where does that all exist?

I think, that after the time spent in NYC I've become a stronger person; perhaps it's been better for my career, but it's also made me a bit more cynical and pessimistic than I'd like to admit. So I think the time has come to search for greener pastures. Perhaps I'm ready to make it anywhere else but here.

Everyone loves the house!!

2009-09-24T05:59:00.000-07:00

In planning for a visit from Mom and her best friend Joyce I've sent them 'reservation confirmations' from our "hotel", aka our house. Enjoy! But look at my sister's response below. Its not like she spends every weekend at the hotel or anything! LOL.

Please do not reply back to this email message as this email address is used for outbound messages only.You are receiving this email notification to advise you that your travel arrangements have been posted to the Chateau D'Eck Travel Groups web site. This web site allows you and any other person(s) you have designated to view and print your travel invoice/itinerary 24 hours a day for up to 90 days. ** Travel Tip - Pack your bags for a fun filled and relaxing Spaaaah....weekend. This email serves as confirmation of your hotel reservation at:

Chateau D'Eck, Bloomfield, NJ
Hotel Details: Chateau D'Eck opened for business just three short years ago in charming Bloomfield, NJ. Hotel owners Heather and Tom are delighted to have out of towners in their warm and cozy 1929 home. Make yourself at home in this out of the ordinary Chateau where service is never second best. While staying with us enjoy complimentary shuttle service to and from Manhattan, just 15 miles outside of the city of Bloomfield. Dine at 5 star restaurants like Gencarellis in hip Montclair, NJ. Wine, water and coffee are complimentary at Chateau. Hungry for breakfast? The chefs specialize in banana pancakes and blueberry muffins with fresh squeezed orange juice, or grab a bagel at the local noshery. Join us on Saturday evening for a "Spaaaah Night" (ladies only please). Please let us know how we can be of service to you during your stay.

Dates: Thursday 9/24 - Sunday 9/27
Check in: After 3:00 p.m.
Check out: 8:00 a.m., Sunday, 9/27
Room Rate: $0.00 / night
Rewards Redeemed: 500,567
Balance Remaining: 33 J

Joyce
Room Name: New Orleans (NOLA)
Room Type: Single occupancy, queen sized bed, non-smoking, pet-friendly
Room Details: Recently renovated, including new ceiling fan installation. View overlooking the north lawn and patio area, iron, ironing board, bedside table and reading lamp. Complimentary hi-speed internet service.
Turn Down Service: Promptly at 7:00 p.m.
Wake Up calls are available - please confirm with management upon checking in

Robbie
Room Name: The Green room
Room Type: Double occupancy, queen sized bed, non-smoking, pet-friendly
Room Details: Beautifully renovated guest favorite. View overlooking the west lawn, bedside table, reading lamp and fan. Complimentary hi-speed internet service.
Turn Down Service: Promptly at 7:00 p.m.
Wake Up calls are available - please confirm with management upon checking in.

If you require airport shuttle service please confirm at least 24 hours in advance with your flight time and number.

Tip is not included in hotel price. Thank you and enjoy your stay!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Stacey's Response~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Management,

I was delighted to receive the confirmation for my stay at Chateau D'Eck this weekend but disappointed to see that my room reservation was not included. I have included the details of my stay from when I made the reservation and hope the Chateau can accommodate my stay.

Room Name: Living Room
Room Type: Single occupancy, green microseude couch, non-smoking, pet-friendly
Room Details: Comfortable living room space with television including DVR and movies on demand. Views of the front lawn and lovely relaxing sounds of the grandfather clock. Complimentary hi-speed internet service.
Turn Down Service: Promptly at 7:00 p.m.
Wake Up call: When yellow lab stares at you or licks your feet
Please let me know if services can be rendered. Otherwise I will be required to sleep in the Brookdale dog park. Thank you!

Day 2...

2009-09-22T04:42:00.000-07:00

9/22/09
Weight: 203?! (At home WW scale vs one at Curves...which is right?!)
Feeling: well rested!

So I survived yesterdays Nutrisystem meal planning, albeit I didn't eat enough apparently. I forgot to stock up on veggies, fruits and eggs to supplement the portion controlled, read, teeny tiny, meals. So, after a long and hunger ridden day I stalked to the grocery store for some food!

Back at home I tossed mushrooms, shallots, zucchini, squash, tomatoe and a touch of olive oil with some garlic and pepper. Whala! Instant veggie medly and right on time. The sweet and sour chicken meal made me want to toss my cookies so I opted for dessert: almond chocolate cookie and a sugar free, 60 cal pudding cup. Yummmmm.

No time for work outs today; I've got homework tonight, so back to being curvalicious tomorrow! Have a great day!

Me and the Ring need a Makeover, Day 1

2009-09-21T05:10:00.000-07:00

Day 1
9/21/09
210 lbs
Feeling: excited to get started!

As the boy and I are approaching our one year anniversary, it has come to my attention that my ass has become quite sizeable. In one respect I can blame it on the delicious meals and wine my beloved has served over the last 336 days. In another it can be perceieved that I've grown lazy and comfortable and really, let's face it "happy fat"!

But this has got to change; it has got to change. And so today I begin a workout regimine and diet to strip off the 60 plus pounds I've accumulated in the past four, maybe five years. Yes, that's right. 60. Jesus, its hard to type that.

Today I start Nutrisystem and Curves to health-ily remove those extra pounds and become the svelt slim person I once was...

Wish me luck! Ill be keeping you posted on my progress...

Hne

A woman of many talents.

2009-08-12T20:02:00.000-07:00

Last night during our weekly Tuesday night Sushi night, my adoring and lovingly attentive husband pointed out to me that I am a woman of many talents. And since he's away for the evening and I'm here alone, I began to ponder our conversation...

His assessment of me was this:

1. I am an astute Business woman: I may at times disagree; my lack of strategic insight is sometimes made up for by my ability to simply align with the fact that most things, when given the right amount of thought are plain old common sense.
2. I am somtimes a Motivational and Spiritual speaker: Let's face it - if you need to philosophize on all things karmic, I'm probably your girl. A very smart woman once told me that what you put out into the Universe comes back; negative thoughts spur negativity - and likewise, positive thoughts can yield positive manifestations of your own exciting destiny. I will win the lottery, I will win the lottery...I digress. You know what I mean.
3. I sometimes revert back to a 14 - year old Gossip Girl: I make no apologies. I am, without a doubt, addicted to all things Twilight. My guilty pleasure is nothing more than a weekly celebrity gossip magazine, and while pink may not be my favorite color, you'll never find me turning down a fun piece of costume jewelry or a bargain bin sale.

Quite frankly, I think his observation was right on point. And who knows, maybe I'm more than those three things; certainly I'm not all 3 at once, but it sure makes for an interesting evening. And you know what? Maybe Liz Phair had it right all along....

"I am extraordinary, if you'd ever get to know me
I am extraordinary, I am just your ordinary
Average every day sane psycho
Supergoddess..."

Chivalry is in fact, dead.

2009-07-28T05:52:00.000-07:00

I've said it before and I’ll say it again. Chivalry is dead. Forget the good old days when people held doors open (now they're automatic), when they said please and thank you (now you're lucky if you get a head nod much less a grunt) and long gone are the days when a man stood and freed his seat for an expecting woman (What? It’s not his fault she's standing for two).

This morning I reached the bus stop just in time to board behind two young, strong, and seemingly polite men. As I climb on fresh and ready to start my day, I find that there are no more seats. OK, I think and shrug. I assume the position to stand for the 12 mile trek to the City. Arms flanked on either side of me clutching the, for lack of a better word, overhead bin of the bus – I feel like Touchdown Jesus or the Karate Kid minus the awesome jump kick he does at the end. As I’m holding on for dear life, sweating away the mineral makeup I applied so gingerly this morning, it occurs to me; every single person occupying the aisle seats this morning is a man! Well surely, I think, given their proximity to me and the fact that I’m standing is the perfect opportunity for one to brush up on their chivalry manners and offer me, the only woman on the bus standing, their seat.

Before we reach the arches of the Lincoln Tunnel, about 45 minutes into our 55 minute drive, it becomes increasingly clear to me that not a single one of these men will stand and offer their seat to me.

Now a few things enter my mind. What if I were a cute Blonde wearing a cute black dress? Oh that’s right. I am. What if I were a cute Blonde pregnant woman? (Don’t get any ideas!). What if I were just a woman, the only woman, standing on a bus full of men, overweight men, and young men, ugly and attractive men reading newspapers, Blackberrying, sleeping? Surely their mothers, grandmothers, wives, sisters, nieces, etc., would be sick to themselves with shame that they wouldn't have given up their seat, right?

Not quite. While I’m stuck staring down at the Kangol-hat-wearing-metro-sexual listening to “Bella’s Lullaby” on his iPod shuffle, I come to the conclusion that yes, chivalry is dead. Even Touchdown Jesus would have at least offered His seat to me, and he’s an inanimate object!

Let us all bow our heads in mourning for the dearly departed Chivalry. May it rest in…no! May it stand, for all eternity, in traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel.

OK, Maybe I Was a Bit Harsh

2009-05-28T05:07:00.000-07:00

Ok NY, I get it. We all have bad days. Maybe I was a little rash dumping you like a Rock of Love bus girl on a Tuesday of all days. I know we can work this out and establish a solid frienship again; after all, you do have some redeeming qualities.

Of course I don't feel like listing them all right now, so we'll just pretend that I already have.

Besides, it might not even be your fault-I do spend the majority of my time in the Dirty Jerz.

Dear NY, I'm Breaking Up With You and I'd Like my Personal Space Back!

2009-05-26T14:52:00.000-07:00

Its been three long years since I first ventured to NYC from DE and I've got to tell ya, I'm ready to move back. There are countless times each day that I curse my commute from a beautiful house in Bloomfield to the wicked grey garden of the City. If I could transplant the house and my job to greener pastures, I would; I can't afford the carry on fees.

New York, why do your narrow sidewalks always seem to be under the awning of construction? Why do tourists flood the sidewalk in zombie like droves like peaceful building watchers who clog the streets with flash photography and faux Louis Vuitton bags?

I'm so tired of waiting at a light and getting brushed in the back by one of your cynical city dwellers, pushing their way through a crowded sidewalk corner just to be the first to cross the street when the light turns green.

I'm tired of feeling so alone in a city full of so many people. In your efforts to make me feel part of your incrowd, I feel exhausted at your empty promises and seemingly endless diversity and I mean the crazy kind.

New York, I'm tired of feeling like a bad person because you've taught me that if I'm behind someone walking slower than I am, be it a Grandma or a toddler, that its ok to push past them briskly and say nothing.

I'm tired of politely holding the door open for rude commuters only to have them briskly sidle past me and step on my newly manicured toes.

And frankly, I'm tired of sitting closer to the stranger on the subway than I do my own husband at the movies.

New York, I've had it with you. And if Frankie says I can make it there, then I'm ready to make it anywhere else.

Its been fun.

H

I'm surrounded by drunk, angry leprechans

2009-03-17T15:44:00.000-07:00

There was a time that I relished in a cold, green beer in the mid-morning of St. Patrick's day. Rubbing shoulders with other fellow "Irish-for-the-day" revelers was a common affair each year requiring a shopping excursion for the best tiny green baby tee with an Irish enuendo emblazoned across the chest and a tiny packed Irish Pub blasting the Flogging Mollys.

We (and you know who you are) would dig out mounds of shamrock shaped beeds, search for the perfect green accessories (purse, hair ribbons and socks) to complete our festive looks all so we could drunkenly stumble thru the streets of Hoboken or Manhattan celebrating this American holiday while needing a mid afternoon sopping meal from McDonalds (you know, that Irish place?)

Today, as I leave my office to head home I can't help but wonder why I didn't take today off to drink green beer and celebrate that St. Patrick drove the slithering snakes from Ireland many many years ago. At least I think he did.

And then it hits me. Literally, a drunken, hungry, street meat craving leprechan, springs off the sidewalks chanting in his faux slurring Irish Brougue...."Kish Me, I'm Iris"

And then I realize...I'm too effing old for this shit.

It runs in the family

2009-03-12T14:10:00.000-07:00

had to share this funny conversation between my sis and I....some background:

Mom and Dad: Met at a wedding in 1971
Me and the Boy: Met at a wedding (again) in 2005
The boy's Dad married a woman with the same name as his sister
The Boy married me; same name as one of his sisters...weird, right?

The sis' take on it....

Stayday (4:46:20 PM): i have deteriorating bone loss in my teeth
hnnyc (4:46:29 PM): really?!!
hnnyc (4:46:34 PM): how do you know? did you go to the dentist?
Stayday (4:46:37 PM): yes just went to dentist
Stayday(4:46:40 PM): on my lunch break
hnnyc (4:46:43 PM): what did he say to do?
Stayday(4:46:47 PM): i have to be a freak who brushes like 5 times a day
hnnyc (4:47:03 PM): did they say to take a calcium supplement or anything?
Stayday(4:47:07 PM): no
Stayday(4:47:10 PM): but i take a multi vitamin
hnnyc (4:47:16 PM): random
Stayday (4:48:43 PM): i know rite
Stayday(4:48:46 PM): mom says it runs in our family
hnnyc (4:48:52 PM): ugh -
Stayday (4:48:54 PM): so i have to get a cleaning tomorrow before i come over
hnnyc (4:49:02 PM): thanks mom - big hips, big teeth; bone loss
hnnyc (4:54:42 PM): any word from any prospects on e-harm?
Stayday (4:55:00 PM): im done with eharm tomorrow
hnnyc (4:55:03 PM): you are?
Stayday (4:55:26 PM): yep
hnnyc (4:56:15 PM): boys suck
Stayday(5:01:51 PM): i think ill meet someone at krissys wedding
hnnyc (5:01:57 PM): what makes you say that?
Stayday (5:02:10 PM): it runs in our family like bone loss

Reading Rainbow

2008-11-18T11:47:00.000-08:00

I'm a fast reader. I'm not a speed reader but I've been known to curl upon the coach with a good book and not leave until every page is devoured, taken in and used for at least a good laugh or cry. I buy new books when I travel but for the most part I borrow them or re-read my own books if I'm desperate for something to read-anything. There were times when I was young that I would want to escape the terror of my little sister and would hide in the bathroom for an hour or so for some private time with my books. I guess you could say it started with little house on the prairie. I read and re-read Laura Ingalls Wilder from the time I could pronounce her name right on through to high school until we moved and I either donated them or sold them in a yard sale. I used to imagine that I was going back in tine where one had no electricity and had to cut the ice for their ice box from a frozen pond in 12* weather. I"d imagine that Laura popped by my house in modern times and I'd take her on a tour of our house. "Would you like a glass of ilk?" I"d ask, to which she'd respond "but I where do you keep your cows?"

You might say that I was a bit of an odd kid and that would probably be an understatement. When my mom would take me to the library near our house in DE I became fascinated by the book check out process. The grey haired librarian would take the hard cover books and stack them neatly on the counter in front of her and one by one, open to the back flap and pull the borrowers date card from the Manila flap taped to the back. Then she'd stamp it with the return date, telling my mother that her best sellers were due back sooner than my Little House on the Prairie books. I always took out too many books from the library at one time and almost never finished them. In the second grade there was a summer reading contest and I spent more time in the pool than I did with my books. I remember the panic I felt as the days to school grew ever closer and I hadn't even read the required five. I skulked to my moms bookshelf and wrote down the names of the books she had there. Danielle Steele, Stephen King, Nora Roberts and other books I probably shouldn't have been reading just to add some weight to my list. I turned in my list of the 53 books I had read that summer on the first day of school. I chose to list 53 because it seemed like an arbitrary number. As if I had time to read 53 books but couldn't squeeze in that extra two. The top reader had read 113 books and I wondered if their mother's bookshelf simply had more books than mine.

Many, many years later I still lag behind my mom's passion for reading and she typically passes me more books than I pass along to her. She's recently joined a book club and the devout readers choose a new book a month. My mom kills that book in less than two weeks so she recently went back to our local library to become a member again. When she handed over her ID the librarian told her she needed to clear a fine from her record in order to join. My mom and I speak nearly everyday so when she called me on my bus ride from the city I had to let her call roll into voicemail. When I got off the bus - I checked it. "Hey, its me. Need to talk to you about the money you owe me-call me back". Instantly I think back to the parent loan they took out for me for college, the money I borrowed to buy my first car, the $20 bucks she sent me to Wal-mart with that I never gave her change for. All things she's never asked me to repay. I reluctantly hit her number on speed dial and wait for the wrath. "Hey! "She says like she always does, "Did you ever return that Laura Ingalls book to the Library?" Your ten year overdue fee is $2.15 and I'd like my money back please."

Bada Bing

2008-11-18T11:44:00.000-08:00

I had never seen The Godfather. My husband, who was then my boyfriend couldn't believe that I'd never seen it let alone ever read the book since I've been known to buy and plow through books in a couple of days. In my stocking last year was a copy of The Godfather. I couldn't wait to get started reading it and in true form, devoured the book like it was smothered in Mrs. G's red sauce. I've always been obsessed with Italian food and while I just recently started cooking and enjoying wine I've been eating lasagna, spaghetti and gnocchi since I was old enough to chew solid foods. I've also got a strange kind of fascination with the Mob and enthusiastically watched every episode of the Sopranos. I get excited about driving past Satin Dolls, the strip club in the Sopranos called the Bada Bing and I live around the block from the local diner where they filmed the last episode. I'd probably pass out if I ever met "Tony Soprano" but the fact that I can sit in the same booth that he did during the last episode is pretty darn close if you ask me. And as many people know the last song that played during the last episode is my all time favorite. And in case you're wondering, I do think he was whacked.

This past weekend I had the opportunity to attend a food and wine show in NYC. My husband and I talked about it all week and couldn't wait to walk through the event tasting wines and snacking on the delicious foods prepared by some of NY's finest restaurants. Armed with a list of wines to sample and tasting glasses we circled the floor searching for some new wines to try. It is a strange and wonderful thing to attend events like these. Not only for the variety of things you'll encounter but for the people watching. Dressed in a simple long sleeved black dress with a hint of cleave and open toed kitten heeled shoes, I felt very New York chic. The hubby looked dashing in his 'cute professor' look; jeans, white collared shirt and hound's-tooth jacket. The average food and wine event attendee wore jeans, a sweater, sneakers or flats. Many didn't seem to give a damn about their outfits and while it shouldn't matter what they were wearing it seemed to me that if you are to attend this kind of event you'd probably give a little bit more thought to your outfit than you would if you were schlepping around Disneyland. The event was held at the same time in the same venue as the Chocolate Show so we occasionally dodged an over-sugared child with chocolate smudged fingers and brown stained lips. We pondered the idea of bringing kids to an event like this; especially a chocolate show. There are literally 25 – 30 booths all distributing free samples of chocolate products: truffles, brownies, cookies, hot chocolate, milk chocolate, dark chocolate, chili powder chocolate. How can you contain a small child and hold him back from this delicious disaster? What do you say? "Ok honey, now you can only have five pieces and then you have to drink water and sit down."

Even the hubs and I had trouble pacing ourselves from table to table. Who can with that amount of free chocolate?! But for the low price of $28 per person, I guess you can let your kids overdose on sugar once a year. That sugar high and crash must be terrible. There were numerous presentations and demonstrations happening that day and we paused to watch NYC firemen create pancake delicacies and were dazzled by the world famous pizza dough tossing team. It was at this time that volunteers began passing out slices of Sicilian style pizza. I'm not kidding when I say that you must literally throw elbows to get a sample of almost any food being served. Like starving Ethiopians people swarm the poor volunteers and grab slices off his tray. I watched my overly polite husband try like hell to get the attention of the server who looked like he'd rather be anywhere but there than surrounded by I Love Chocolate t-shirt wearing families of five. The wine booths all opened at 1:00 p.m. so we proudly stood in the line waiting to get in about 10 minutes before hand. Most people seemed to know a thing or two about food and wine and enthusiastically approached the wine booths with cleansed palettes ready to sample wines from all over the world; Chile, Australia, Italy, Spain and even Long Island. We walked the floor two or three times began sampling the wines. We started to see some of the same people staffing the booths over again. It made it a little awkward when you've already sampled the wines at that booth to approach it again and ask for more. Sure it was free, but who wanted to be seen as the freeloading wine samplers. It wasn't a frat party.

On our past a booth we had tasted at before, we noticed a crowd forming. I recalled the booth because behind it hung a poster of a handsome older Italian man who has probably lain in far too many tanning beds. His wine's label shared the same font as the recognizable Godfather and there were pictures of 'the family' posted as well. The man in the picture was staffing the booth and we noticed that in addition to his wine he was also selling red sauce. We stood about 10 feet from the booth and squinted, staring at the older man, wondering why he looked so familiar. Another couple approached us and asked if we knew who the older guy was. He looked like he could have been the younger brother of George Hamilton. He wore a dark pin striped suit with a white collared shirt open to the second button. His gold chain and pinky ring glistened in the fluorescent lights and his tan skin looked leathery and aged. We notice a picture from a famous scene in The Godfather in which Sonny beats up his sister's husband, Carlo Rizzi. Our eyes move from the old guy's face to the picture and suddenly it hits us. He's got to be the guy who played Carlo Rizzi. The name Gianni Russo is listed on the bottles of wine. The resemblance is clear but is it really him? I start to question it but quickly remember that the movie is a couple decades old and while Carlo was young and handsome, this tan gentleman could possibly be him. Remembering that I've got my Blackberry on me I quickly Google Gianni Russo. The IMDB website quickly pulls up a list of movies that Gianni Russo has starred in. Sure enough this guy was Carlo Rizzi. Not only that but he was also in Seabiscuit, The Freshmen and Any Given Sunday. I tell the couple we're chatting with that the old guy is indeed Carlo Rizzi and we all laugh about the fact that we've been staring at him for the last ten minutes. He suddenly notices us looking at him and gives us a dead pan mobster stare. We smile politely and nod in recognition and take our tasting glasses to the next booth. He wasn't exactly Tony Soprano, but I'd say he's just about close enough to get my movie mobster fix in.

There's No Wordsmithing the Almighty

2008-10-06T19:08:00.001-07:00

So we've finally heard back from the Officient...remember that blog back in April (An officient in Starbucks)? Yes, he's still our officient (Associate Pastor - who knew he had such credentials? we found him online - I'm not ashamed.) He's been helping us write our ceremony. I want a little more humor...the boy? He's all business. Let's face it. He's in PR. He writes for a living. He edits, he screens, he talks a good talk. His pen has been gliding over this ceremony draft in smooth edity like marks. It's ridiculous.

We're trying to find a nice way of recognizing those who are no longer with us in a way that remembers their contribution to our lives without being overly sappy. AKA, I am trying really hard not to cry at this wedding ceremony thing. Let's just do it already.

We recieved the ceremony (draft 1) from our officient today and over a magnum of wine, I convinced my loving fiance to sit down and edit it to a place where we both feel comfortable. Among the words 'some may argue', 'respect', 'miracle' and many many more words we're struggling with, we begin to edit to a point where we begin to feel more like ourselves and less like the ceremonies heard time and time again. And for those of you who know us - you know that we're flip flops and beer (or good wine) kind of poeple.

We arrive at a reading I've selected because it reminds me of my Grandfather, Poppee, who loves a certain Psalm. When he passed away I wrote a song to his favorite Psalm. I sang it at his memorial. To commemorate him and his song, we've asked that the Officient read it. The boy, still in editing mode begins to take his pen to paper. Suddenly, he looks up at me, blue eyes glistening. He leans back in his chair and sighs. "There's really no wordsmithing the Almighty, is there?". "No babe," I say. No edits.

The smash and grab...

2008-09-20T18:12:00.000-07:00

We're looking for our wedding rings. It's a circle, a symbol of unending love, commitment, trust and whatever else you can think of. We visit the local jewelry store in search of a platinum band for my soon to be hubby.

Perusing the cabinet of platinum and Tungsten bands, we listen as the underpaid jewelry saleswoman describes the varying overpriced designs.
Smash!

I duck.
Smash! I scream.
My soon to be husband grabs me and pulls me toward the back of the store. The jeweler runs out of the store. "Call the police!" he screams. I start to get a migraine.
We stand there silent, thinking, wondering, what will happen next. The jeweler has reentered the store just as the woman we're working with says to the cops, "They've apprehended the suspect!" Obviously someone has been watching a bit too much of CSI

We're asked to remain in the store until the cops come. Apparently the 'suspect' has attempted a smash and grab in the engagement ring window with a concrete brick. He attempted getaway on foot and has yet to be found by the Clifton Police.

My migraine subsides thanks to the Excedrin I carry in my purse.
We leave the jewelry store and don't purchase the $250.00 platinum band.

We hit TGIF for an appetizer and beer. Later that afternoon we purchase a Tungsten band from Overstock.com. There has been no smash and grab reported there and the price is significantly lower.

It's safer to shop online.

Why I no longer travel underground

2008-09-04T17:46:00.000-07:00

When I left my job at the bank and started at the agency, I traded my pin striped suits and heels for jeans and flip flops. I also traded my hour and a half long commute which consisted of a bus, a 4 block walk and two subway transfers for a 45 minute bus ride and a 7 block walk. It was beautiful. I had finally given up underground travel.

While clients typically provide enough out of pocket to cover our travel and food, they don't often think to build a budget for taxis to and from downtown where we typically meet. On this latest project I've been working with 4 wonderfully low maintenance men who opt to save the client money by traveling the 9 stops downtown via subway; versus cab. And while I appreciate the effort to conserve gas and save some green, I have long since given up underground travel.

Here's why:
1. Subways are hot. There is nothing worse than roasting underground away from sunshine and fresh air to arrive at a client meeting looking like you've just run a 5K.
2. They're crowded. You remember the whole ass in face issue? In this case its "anything in face". Armpits, asses, bellys, shoulder bags....unmentionables. If you're standing up you can sometimes avoid this fate. If you're sitting down, good luck to ya.
3. They're weird! From the prodigy musicians to the panhandlers, you never know what you'll see, or God forbid, what you don't need or want to see down in the basement of Manhattan.
4. I personally happen to like the sunshine. Why anyone would choose to drive a silver bullet through the darkest bowels of the city is beyond me. Give me a crazy cabbie anyday.

But the worst, my all time least favorite thing about the subway are the ticket machines. Sure they accept credit cards and cash instead of tokens, but 90% of the time they don't actually take any of the above and you're forced to try and try and try again while countless trains come and go leaving you stranded, sweating, being accosted by crazies and pissed off New Yorkers whining about how long it is taking you to buy a freaking Metro Card.

Give me the more expensive cab. I'll just expense it anyway.

Get Your Ass Out of My Face: A Guide to Public Transportation

2008-09-03T19:05:00.000-07:00

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP - the alarm clock sounds and I immediately think of the million and one things I need to accomplish in my, at minimum, 12 hour day. Don't think: routine. Coffee, shower, teeth, dog, clothes, kiss the boy and out the door.

You've already heard about the countless hours I've spent waiting for the bus in the morning. But you haven't heard this. About 50% of the buses that pass by our stop are standing room only. Sometimes you just have to deal to make it to work on time. This morning was no different. Fortunately today, for those who were lucky enough to get seats, we relaxed in the 1970s comfort of the overly patterned cushions. The boy on the other hand gave up his seat to a woman who is 5 months pregnant. He's a trooper - what can I say?

For the other strap hangers haphazardly swinging to the bumps and constant swaying of the bus this is yet another thing we must deal with on our way to work. Ass in face.

What is ass in face you might ask? Well, it's like this. For someone standing on a bus traveling 50 miles an hour down route three, there are only three options; face front and risk falling head over feet. Face backwards and be that awkward guy staring at everyone sitting (picture an elevator with one guy facing everybody instead of the doors) or be that guy who casually flaunts his ass right in your face. I prefer to face forward. Other people prefer ass in face.

It's difficult to ignore. You try to engulf yourself in your Clive Cussler novel and lose yourself among the submarines and Generals but you can't help but notice and / or stare at the ass in face. I know what you are thinking, but its not even like that. Remember, we live in the suburbs - mommy and me, soccer practice and report cards. You may have that image of the cute, little thing just out of college trying to make their way in the work-a-day world...this image is that plus 20 years (and 20 pounds, give or take).

Now that you know about "ass in face" you are ready to learn a little more about the inside, or should I say, underside, of commuting in Manhattan.

Wedding Adventures

2008-08-28T07:44:00.000-07:00

So we're officially about 50 days from the wedding and so far things had gone pretty smoothly. Ok, so the wedding diet isn't going as well as it should be, I nearly lost my engagement ring and my sisters bridesmaid dress was temporarily lost somewhere in Asia. But overall, things are AOK. We set out to send our wedding invitations and in the spirit of saving money had them printed by a friend of ours (thanks Michele!). Over the course of two nights we left work early (6:30) and sprinted towards the dining room table, aka invitation central. While I addressed in my calligraphy pen, the boy stuffed the invitations. We started loading all 50 of them into envelopes and got ready to seal them. Wanting to add a little something extra to them we opted to seal them with some maroon wax.

For the last 10 months I've been thinking and planning and tracking and shopping for this blessed event all the while managing to go uninjured, unless you count the 99 sale at Davids Bridal. The boys idea od wedding planning is venturing to Home Depot.

On this one evening, when he finally contributed to the wedding outside of the proposal, while literally playing with fire, he managed to burn himself with the hot wax as he was dripping it on the envelopes.

Now if you've ever gotten married or planned a wedding you know that the whole thing will leave you with scars. They range from the debt of the catering bill, the blisters from unforgiving wedding shoes or the blindingly brutal work outs to fit into that Oleg Cassini gown. But when, when, does one have a story about injuring himself while doing the invitations?

Those Grooms.....they'll do almost anything for attention. :)

PS-it may seem as tho I've thrown my wonderful groom under the bus but he's been very helpful with planning. That said, he will likely retaliate with an equally as biting blog. Stay tuned for a guest entry :)

The Rings Big Adventure

2008-08-26T05:52:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago I was thinking about blogging about the extinction of customer service and my declining faith in the human race. At its best the city has started to turn its cynical head in my direction leaving me at a loss for my "happy-go-lucky-people-are-basically-good" attitude of days gone by. Recent experiences with retail stores, restaurants and even work have left a bitter taste in my mouth. I missed the good natured people of my home town. Until last friday.

The boy, the ring and our dear friends set off to Queens to cheat on our beloved Yankees. A quick game at Shea and we set off on back towards Manhattan. A natural fidgeter, I've been known to actually twiddle my thumbs, drum my fingers and twirl the rings on my fingers. Standing at the edge of the raised subway platform neat the exit of Shea, I anxiously awaited the 7 train back to the city and found myself mindlessly playing with my beloved engagement ring. I held my breath as it fell off of my finger onto the subway platform. Thinking I was in the clear it bounced off of the rubber plane near the edge of the platform and tumbled two stories down to the street below with drunken mets fans and crazy cabbies. Time stopped.

I ran to find my unsuspecting fiance and broke the news. Starting to sob I ran down to the street and began searching, praying and thinking about my empty finger and the money the boy had spent on it the ring that once sat on it. I cried some more. A NYC cop blew his whistle and angrily yelled for the boy and I to vacate the busy streets until we started to describe what had happened. He pulled the boy off to start looking and yelled for me to stay put. A kind older woman asked what was wrong. A young man asked if I was ok. A few people were searching the ground wondering what we were looking for. It seemed like hours until we started to slow down the search for my beloved missing ring. I began to fill out a police report. It seemed the ring was gone, destroyed or plucked up by someone who may be nice enough to return it to the police. A woman approached us and asked me what I had lost. My ring-I said barely audible. Describe it she said. And I did. Moments later she held up her hand with my beautiful ring sitting on her pinky!!!!I cannot describe how wonderfully happy I was. I hugged her like she was my mom, didn't let her go and thanked her profusely. The boy arrived and also wouldn't let her out of his hug. We asked what we could do for her-money, flowers, a gift. She said her daughter was getting married in November and she felt so bad for us-she knew someone was missing it and would be devastated to have lost it. She asked us to just be happy together and to appreciate each other. A car arrived moments later and picked her up. Her husband congratulated us and wished us luck. In the back seat of the car was the woman who had first asked me what I had lost. Strange the way things work out.

With new found faith in the city of queens and the good people of NY the boy and I set off for home. There was someone watching out for us....someone who knows that people are basically good.

That's How You Know It's Love

2008-07-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

After a great weekend with my parents and my brother down in DE the boy and I braved the DE beach traffic and what should have been a 3 hour drive back to Bloomfield. Well, that took about an hour longer than it should have but we made it safely nonetheless. We unloaded the car of the moo and our bags of tax free goodies and headed into the house. Now of course, there were a few wedding items acquired over the weekend so I headed down to the basement to put them away with the other things.

Wait-whats that smell?...It smells more like basement than it should down here. I turn the corner and see the Elliptical machine, the Pilate's Machine and other precious items all sitting in about 1-2 inches of water.

Oh crap.

"Babe?" I yell to my fiance who is happily unloading our cabinets for new dishes we acquired over the weekend. "I think we have a problem!". The quite old hot water heater gave up on us sometime over the 90 degree weekend and roasted in the blazing heat down in the basement over the weekend.

After two and a half hours of disgusting, water drenched 1962 Disco carpet and tile removal from the finished side of our basement, the boy and I looked at each other. I was standing in one his old t-shirts and my old black Capri pants painted with different colors of rooms of our house. I was also wearing my argyle rain boots. We were standing in the filth of the of the once finished side of the basement sweaty, hungry, tired and dirty. I kissed him and said, "These are the things that build character". He said he was proud of me for helping out so much. Besides-I hated that ugly old carpet anyway.

And that's how you know its love.

My Marilyn Monroe Moment

2008-06-27T11:46:00.000-07:00

Last weekend the boy and I took a much needed vacation down the shore, OK, a three day weekend, but it felt like a vacation to us. Knowing that the wedding is 4 months off and my pasty pale self burns at the sight of the sun, I slathered myself face, shoulders and arms with SPF 45 to avoid any unsightly tan lines. I settled in my beach chair and thumbed through the last few pages of The Prince of Tides. After an hour or so I felt my legs getting hot, so I went ahead and gave them some sunscreen and went back to my book. Thinking I'd head in for a sandwich and a shower, I packed up the beach bag and headed for the house.

Fast forward 45 minutes. I exit the shower t day-glo legs. Thinking my pasty Perdue legs might be shaded by the book I was reading, I obviously didn't protect them in time! For three days now I've been bathing my fire engine red thighs in aloe with Lidocaine and wearing loose skirts and dresses to work.

Fast forward to today-your typical windy summer day in new york.

I've got a good pace as I weave and dodge other commuters hopping alternatively from sidewalk to street, depending on what feels less crowded. I land on a skinny patch of sidewalk, one half covered by impassable construction awnings, the other, grated subway covers. Knowing I've got to move quickly to avoid the inevitable upward breeze of a passing subway, I start to pick up my pace a bit. And then....the man in front of me stops to let the people coming in the opposite direction pass.

Just as he does, the E train barrels under 8Th avenue just under the patch of side way grate were standing on, with just enough force to cause a hurricane of wind up my dress and before I can even think to grab the skirt and hold it down, it flies up in my face and I'm standing on 8Th avenue, in Manhattan, in my granny panties (because they didn't hurt my sunburn, duh!) and my lobster red thighs for all the world to see!!!! I wanted to crawl into the subway crate like a sewer rat and never emerge.

Oh my God.

I grab the ends of my skirt and force them down just in time to hear the snickers of my fellow New Yorkers and tourists alike as I turn down the closest side street and trudge the rest of the mortifying walk to Port Authority on 9Th avenue.

And as I write this, I'm standing in the bus line behind the good Samaritan who happened to let the others pass us by on the sidewalk.

He smirks at me. "Usually you buy a girl dinner before you get to first base." I say to him, as I pushed my way past him in line to get on the bus first.

Welcome to New York.

At what points do alarms become alarming?

2008-06-26T11:56:00.000-07:00

The truth of the matter is NY is a bit of a scary place to work, let alone live. With the recent crane accidents, manholes blowing up, steam pipes exploding and the random muggings and murders that still occur, I find myself trying to get into the city when its still early enough to see what the hell it is I'm walking under, into, around, or past and getting out as soon as I possibly can.

While the boy and I enjoy venturing back in on weekends to explore the city in all its touristy glory, we tend to vacate the hustle of the city as soon as the work bell sounds. I like to call it self preservation. Call me paranoid, and those of you who know me will, I'm afraid of everything, and you'll find me knocking on wood more often than you'll find me brushing my teeth (don't worry-I still brush at least twice a day).

So when the sounds of New York City start to fill my ears, I begin to wonder, should I knock on wood and hope for the best or run? But unfortunately, you kinda get used to it and maintain your steady walk.Tonight while on the phone with my big bro during my walk to port authority, we paused our conversation 6 times while the screaming sirens of New York's finest plowed into the streets heading uptown. While my brother commented that it sounded like he was stuck in the middle of a NYC movie soundtrack, I commented that I hoped that traffic wasn't going to be jacked up in the tunnels as a result. What can I say? You become immune.

And upon entering Port Authority to flashing lights and the shrill sounds of fire alarms, I found myself looking up at the escalators. Nope, nobody running around terrified, no cops ushering people out or barricading the doors, so it must be fine. I continue with my everyday auto pilot commute to the fourth floor bus line and knock three times on the hand rails all the way up. At some point you can only hope for the best, right?