Melebration NYC: Day 1

Melebration in New York City seems so long ago that I'm almost ready for another birthday - although, the next one will be less monumental. 31? Snoozer. As Paul put it, "Life has been so boring since Melebration!"

Mostly for my memory's sake, I'm going to post about the glorious 5 days with 5 of my wonderful friends in chronological order so I can remember what we even did. The weekend was a bit of a blur.

But first, before I left, I received my first present:


Sooooo awesome. I can't wait to pretend that I don't wear it while secretly rushing home to lounge in the purple plushness. And it's so practical too. Thanks Susan!

(An aside also for my 60 year old self reading this blog - this has got to be the longest my hair has ever been. It's entering Rapunzel territory.)

Day 1:
I purposely arrived in NYC a day earlier than the others so I could have a personal reunion with the city I adore. I lived here for several months back in 2004 and this trip was my second time back since then. It really just fits me like a glove. I glove that I probably can't afford and that keeps honking at me.

When I checked in, I was suprised with a package waiting with the concierge. My friend Dru had ordered a beautiful floral arrangement for me - it was so thoughtful and perfectly timed. I had just come off the subway from the airport (Hello? $7 compared to $50 - I'm not a Rockefeller!) and was bumping my stupid wheelie bag through uneven sidewalks, street heat and oddly, 8 foot palm trees. By the time I arrived in the cool lobby of the hotel, I was beaten down. The flowers made me feel very special and vastly improved my morning.


The funny part of the flower story is that later Dru told me when she called to order them, she ended up chatting with the flower shop guy (for some reason I think his name was Bruiser, or something) for a while. She inadvertently told him that I was turning 30, in the city on my own, my friends weren't arriving until much later and that I was single. After she hung up, she worried she had perhaps set me up to be murdered. She had just told this stranger that a young (young, right?) single girl was staying alone in the city and gave him my exact address. Panicking, she called everyone for advice before calling Bruiser back and making up some story about either me being a black belt in some martial art or my friends arriving early - anything to dissuade him from attacking me while I watch Project Runway in my hotel room. It worked.

I spent the afternoon walking around and stopping to eat more deli sandwiches than I can count. I went back to my favourite places and soaked up the memories: Madison Square Park, the diner near my old apartment, that H&M on 34th street, the wiry tables in Bryant Park...

Julie, Ryan and Paul arrived in the evening and we hopped a cab to Little Italy for a perfect dinner on the sidewalk. I love the Little Italy vibe, the lights strung across the streets, gelato on every corner, and fire hydrants painted in red, green and white.


Ryan and Paul had never been to NYC and Julie was only here for a short work trip. We plotted our weekend and came up with a list of places everyone wanted to see. My favourite thing about being in the city with my friends was that I was able to guide everyone around and occasionally point things out. I obviously don't know everything, but it was suprising how quickly most things came back.


We walked back to our hotel - one of many long walks during the weekend - then made fun of Paul for bringing his own oatmeal/protein breakfast stash in a city of limitless dining options.


Seriously, dude. How did you even get through the airport with that contraband?

What Your Grocery List Says About You

Hmmm...

Is it that obvious from this grocery list that I'm entertaining guests every night this weekend? It must be, there's butter on there.

Welcome, friends!

Jump To It

Hey Bed Jumpers! Just when you were beginning to worry that there isn't a suitable place to display all those crazy photos from hotel bed jumping, I present to you:

www.bedjump.com

I found this on another blog and am considering submitting these gems. Such a cheap and easy thrill.

Weekend What's Up

I've had quite a few wonderful weekends this past month. I always find that fall is the most social of the seasons - people usually have fewer vacations than in the summer and are therefore around to take me up on offers to come over or to go out. I love hosting people at my house in the fall. Since my backyard is pretty lumpy and full of dueling squirrels, my place isn't the perfect option for summer parties, but the autumn is all mine.

This fall will be about soul-warming cocktails and relaxed evenings with dinner parties and games nights. Last night I used these hide placemats that we were sort of convinced are made from dog. Class all the way.

Weekend Outing #1:


Langdon Hall is one of the most amazing places I've ever been lucky enough to visit. The level of service and luxury is unmatched in this area. However, I have yet to drive there without incident. Snarled traffic jams and wrong turns that take me back to Milton always seem to tie me up. By the time I arrived, I was in much need of the spa, fine dining and impeccable grounds. The staff greeted me by name and the entire time was so fabulous (finally bath robes and unsolicited turndown service!). Have you been? It's pricey, but I recommend it for something special.

It's always lovely to have baked goods waiting in your room.


And a prompt kerplunk!



Weekend Outing #2:

My first foray into the country music scene...yep, I did this. I was invited to a country songwriter showcase at Casino Niagara. We sat and watched a round-table performance about pick-up trucks, dogs on porches and sorrowful twangs about dogs run over by pick-up trucks. Inexplicably, there were two different songs that mentioned Gatorade!? Does Nashville have some sort of endorsement deal or are they all so low on electrolytes down there?

Following our evening's pattern of live music we found ourselves at an awesome 50s/60s concert in the casino - complete with doo wop girls and a old front man.

As you can see from this photo he also liked to rip his shirt off onstage. This man was easily 70 years old. After I took this photo, security came over and reprimanded us - we suggested they reprimand the great-great-great-Godfather of Soul-sucking images I can't get out of my head. (See what I did there? You have to look hard, but it's there.)

My gambling experience is limited to 2 times in Vegas where I lost a cumulative $45 and every time I eat anything from Taco Bell. I always get the highest highs and the lowest lows on the casino floor. And I will cash out for almost any profit. Here I called it a night with $3.75 in my pocket. Luck sure was a lady that night.

Weekend Outing #3:

There was a two year span back in the mid-2000s where myself and a dedicated group would frequent this nightclub called Koi. Yes, we may have called ourselves Koi Krew during that time. It was our "Cheers" bar, except with dancing and more visible midriffs. The other night, perhaps spurred on by nostalgia, I convinced 60% of the original Koi Krew to come over for pre-drinks and then some kickin' it old school.

I lured them here with pomegranate martinis.


Historically, I have not been the most adept at cocktail mixing.


But, I think I'm getting better. Friends, please disregard those watermelon mojitos that somehow had glass in them this summer.
These were actually pretty good.

So, then we went to Koi, well 40% of us did (a.k.a. Paul and I) and I found not much had changed. The music was similar, we ended up in our favourite dancing corner, and the same drunk girls kept smashing their Payless heels onto the top of my foot. I had a good time, but I hit a wall around 2:00am where I had to get out of there. This is what it's like being 30, people.

Adios, Barcelona

As Liz Lemon says, "I want to go to there."

This picture is burned into my brain and it has just replaced Spain as the next place I have to go.

Sleeping My Way To The Top

I've slept in some pretty shabby beds in my time. No, Mother, not like that. I've spent most of my life in a twin bed, dabbled in a futon, flopped into a variety of dorm-style mattresses and recently remembered that when I was 7 years old, my parents had me in a huge waterbed. A waterbed? With a developing spine? Weird.

So, since I decided that 30 years of ruining my back was enough, I was treated to a real, honest-to-goodness proper mattress. Thanks parents! As much as I loathe their jingles, I did go to Sleep Country - I mean, why would you go anywhere else?!
It was pretty fun playing Goldilocks for an afternoon and I finally settled on a pillow top, deluxe, single coil, not made of water, blah blah blah mattress set.

Oh happy day!

I went about getting a bed frame and new sheets and I was all set for a supreme sleeping experience. However, a problem. Everything was standard - regular size bed frame, standard box spring, standard mattress height...and yet, this:

Why is it so HIGH? I know it's in a basement, but come on, this is crazy high. I feel like the princess and the pea. When I sit up in the bed, my head nearly touches the ceiling. Standing beside it, I feel like I'm at a counter. It's hard to exactly see from the pictures, but trust me when I tell you, this bed is out of control.



My feet don't touch the ground and I have to reach waaaay down to my nightside table.
I haven't figured out a solution that doesn't involve me having to take apart the bed frame and exchange it (which sounds like the worst task ever) or removing the box spring and storing it until I move into a home where my bedroom is on the main floor (seems like a waste).


So, I've been sleeping on it. And the truth is, I kind of love it. I can pretty much see out the window and I feel like royalty - so much nicer to sleep up high. I highly recommend it. Plus, it's been nice to fall asleep without the sloshing sounds of my childhood.

Autumn Events

So, the past month has been crazy busy with events. Here, I will break down the highlights.

1) Bridal shower for 200 women
Yes, it was as awful as it sounds. I have been to only one of these and I was in the bridal party, so it was more fun. But I can't imagine being a guest at one of these would be that great. It's like a wedding without men or alcohol, essentially. And no dancing. Those are the best things about weddings - dancing with men, while drinking alcohol. And it's during the daytime. :(

The one difference is the cookies. Ohhh, the cookies. Dozens of little nonnas and zias (these are the Italian words for grandmother and aunt, right?) begin to trail in carrying trays and boxes of all sorts of pastries. It was then my job to organize them and get them ready for the mad rush of hungry women. They throw elbows.


(And, yes, that is a hula dancer dressed in a bridal gown you see. Just another day.)

Needless to say, I add "Sampling" to my job description that day. But, other than those lemon glazed ones and cannoli, the rest are sort of blah. And all taste the same. Like the same piece of cardboard. Give me some AngloSaxon or Waspy treats any day - Nanaimo bars, buttertarts, Belgian cookies...

2) Bar Mitzvahs - several
Boys became men, I became bored. Or at least exhausted by the end of the weekend. Giving a 13 year old kid everything he wants is hard work. Ok, that came out wrong. Way wrong. Regardless, there were photo booths, cakes bigger than my dehumidifier, kids being lowered from rock climbing gym ceilings, candy bars, DJ services that cost more than my last 2 cars - combined, kids stealing booze and nary a piece of bacon to be found. Although we made up for it with food trucks - THE thing in Hamilton these days. However, if anyone is looking for a cupcake truck - ask me which one NOT to use! I've got a personal vendetta that I'm trying to keep alive.



Eventually, the bar mitzvahs seemed to blend together and I always found myself sitting and waiting for the 3 hour service to finish. Being the Sabbath, we weren't allowed to do any work in the synagogue - this was a nice change from the last minute scramble of typical events.




3) 600 guest Italian wedding
This is my second one of the summer - brothers, no less - and it's exactly what you might think it is. For me, it was a long day and I had to deal with a groomsman getting locked inside the church (INSIDE!), stabbing the father of the bride with the boutonniere and many children flying all over the place. The one good thing was that I did NOT tell the bride to think about dog fighting this time. I'm learning to shut up.

I actually got to eat a meal at this one, which was a nice treat. I usually get to eat like this - sitting in the hallway for 20 seconds at a time between running to tend to things.

But, really, is this just not a little bit ridiculous? Yes, I get that it's a jumbo shrimp, but wowsa!


Looking forward to some slower downtime - and more posting!

Rethink the ink

This blog drought is out of control. It's been looming over me and gets worse every day that I don't blog. So instead of focusing on how many things are swirling around in my head to write about and how many days it has been since I last posted, I thought I would just chill. And post something. Just one because that's all I have time for today.

Tattoos. That is the subject of today's post. I read a funny tweet recently that said "White girls spend 15% of their lives talking about cutting bangs." This is quite possibly true. I also think that white girls spend about 15% of their high school years talking about getting a tattoo.

In my high school group of friends, there were a few who did get them done, which of course left the rest of us to talk about what WE would get - when we all knew we never actually would. I can remember many a lunch hour spent discussing the merits of your name (apparently too self-absorbed), a Chinese symbol (the word "courageous" really gets me through those tough times or the symbol for the word "pineapple" looks kinda cool), our zodiac sign (yeah, I've always wanted the picture of a virgin on my lower back) or some sort of douchebag tribal whatsit. Oooh, or the arm band and tramp stamp.

These were the options 10th grade girls came up with in the 1990s.

I think there are two types of girls - ones who actually get tattoos and ones who don't. I don't mean to bash anyone who has them - I'm learning that some people find it perfectly acceptable to not live their life exactly like mine - but they're not for me. I think getting a tattoo says something about the person and I'm pretty sure it's not what they intended it to say.

Somehow, of the few girls who got tattoos in my group, TWO of them got geckos. On their ankles. WHAT?! A gecko? Seriously? What does that even mean? They might as well inked a mailbox or an Allan key on their skin FOR-EV-ER. They weren't even the same geckos. Not sure why that matters, but maybe it would have been cooler if they seemed to be in an amphibian gang or something.

The reason the tattoo is on my mind is because for the last 24 hours there has been one on my arm. I was producing a bar mitzvah and the kids go crazy for these temporary hand-inked tattoos. Hopefully this will lessen the interest in them later on.

In an attempt to keep my eyes open at the end of a very long day while waiting for the party to end, I decided to get one done. Lots of people were getting those hearts with banners exuding their love for "Mother" or "Jenny" or some other person in their lives.

I thought it would be funny to get this - the true love of my life:


I can tell you right now that NO ONE got it. NO ONE. I had several clients come up and take a look - then a blank stare. In hindsight, it might have been career suicide.

I thought it was funny.
The next morning, it freaked me out and every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I looked like a stranger. I had a baby shower to go to that day and purposely chose a dress that tried to hide it. Yes, I could have just washed it off, but it proved to be a very interesting social experiment. Well, more like a personal experiment. I hated it. I hated how I thought people looked at me or the type of person they might think I am based on this tattoo. I wasn't expecting this, but it defined me (at least in my own head) as someone I didn't want to be. It was like an instant label.

I was embarrassed by it. I kept trying to hide it and make sure everyone knew it was fake...I actually felt desperate to do so. Strange. My family also hated it and thought it looked weird - seeing it puts me in a different category of person than the one they've known for 30 years. I know these statements seem really melodramatic, but it truly felt that way.



I thanked my lucky stars that I had the good sense to resist the peer pressure and amphibian gang initiations back in high school. It would not have been a good idea.

Hmmm...

Why does my green bin always look the healthy, fresh food I should have eaten during the week? This can't be right...

What Big Eyes You Have...

I don't know about you, but this really doesn't seem like the most prudent name for an optical boutique. But who knows? How I got talked into these frames is still a blur.

Neighbourhood Watch

Lovely day in the neighbourhood. I do really appreciate how neatly printed and visually appealing it is.



The next day the sign was gone - I'm pretty curious how this rumble will shake out.

The Devil Is In The Details

It's not so much that I'm bothered by their clubhouse being located in my city, but it's the incorrect punctuation, or lack thereof, that really irks me.



I drove by last night and tried to take my own picture, but then saw all the video cameras perched on the roof and remembered the newspaper article I had read. I put the camera away.

Off With Their Heads!

Since you all surely use this blog as an arbiter of trends, I thought I'd fill you in on the latest in ridiculous ways to spend time, typically when you are tipsy or hopped up on cheese. Planking is so July. Horsemaning is where it's at. From the headless horseman of lore, this requires two people and if done correctly, it will look like Person 1 has had their head detached from their body:


If done on a Tuesday night while drinking wine on the porch with hilarious friends, it will look like this:


Yep, it needs some work.

Exercising Redux

Perhaps it's the looming decade and the big 3-0 around the corner, but I'm in a mood to make changes across the board. Whatever the reason, I found myself making an appointment with my friend Paul. He is a personal trainer and pretty much the most buff and fit person I know.


I've dabbled in working out before but it never really took. This time I was committed. Having a personal trainer and standing appointments really makes it easier for me. I hate breaking plans, so I'm determined to show up. Plus, we get to gossip about our weekends in between sets. We like to play the game of "Who Made The Worst Decision on Saturday Night?" It's often a tie.



So, I committed to working out with him 3 times a week. And it has been 6 weeks and I haven't missed an appointment. Who is this new Winnie Cooper?!? I still dislike it, but at least I'm there. We only do weight training, no cardio and at the end he "rewards" me with a protein shake that tastes like an orange creamsicle. It's insane how excited I've become for that shake. I'm like Pavlov's jacked dog.



A food reward used to be, well, every single meal, especially those with cheese. Now I'm getting excited for water and powder? We were discussing my diet recently and he couldn't believe what I eat and I came back with, "Of course I'm going to eat what I want. I (have had) a wicked metabolism and I'm an adult - isn't this the whole point of adulthood? I no longer have to eat food I don't want to and why would I choose to do so?" He is attempting to put a stop to this.



So, for the first 3 weeks I still ate whatever I wanted and worked out thrice weekly. For the fourth and fifth weeks I endeavoured to overhaul my diet and eat only what he told me. Mostly this was whole wheat pasta, tuna, oatmeal, Udo's oil, spinach, pita, salmon, chicken sandwich on ONE piece of flax bread and cottage cheese. Hardly any bread, no real cheese, NO sugar. It was awful. Well, that's not true, it was okay for the first few days and I lost some weight pretty quickly.

Then came the sixth day. Before, when I tried a 180 degree change the sixth day always proved the most difficult. This time the sixth day came on a rainy Saturday where I was working all weekend, exhausted and in a general funk. The thought of eating chicken (which is the most bland of meats) with 1/2 cup of whole wheat pasta made me want to cry. So, I broke down and ate what made me happy. Grilled cheese.

Food makes me happy. It just does. I get pleasure and enjoyment from food. Nothing in the diet made me happy. How can someone live like that? So, the one day slip stretched into a weekend and then a week and now I'm back to eating whatever. This is not good. We are in the process of coming up with a realistic compromise meal plan.

The thing about the working out is that I do get a small amount of satisfaction from it. For example there are these Romanian deadlifts that he's had me doing and the first time, I could barely lift the bar alone - 45 pounds. Now, I'm doing 115 pounds. And I really like that and feel accomplished.

So, I guess we'll see what kind of compromise we can make with regard to my meals, but I'm sticking with the workouts at least until Melebration and we'll see what's what.

But Tracy, I have just one thing to say to you: I'm coming for a rematch. And I'm bringing my guns.

Mail Round-Up

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