The Ride For Your Life

Have you ever blurred your eyes in the gym? It is hysterical. You see all of the fuzzy-looking bodies of all shapes and sizes going up and down on large machines that don't go anywhere...

It occurred to me the other day at the gym as I blurred my eyes and giggled at all of the fools (like me) who paid 64 dollars a month to ride these machines that the whole notion of a gym is ridiculous! Usually when you go for a ride in a car, on a roller coaster, or on your significant other, you are having fun! But the gym is another story. And with the exception of the jacked dudes and body-obsessed women, we all know the moment we step out of the gym we blow it by drinking all night long or ordering a pizza as soon as we get home....

Hating every moment of my ride on that elliptical machine, I decided I needed to find a way to make the 64 dollars worth it!!!! Maybe un-blurring my eyes and enjoying the view was the key. Maybe divorcing cheese, hummus and wine would work? Maybe finally downloading some new tunes would liven up my workout? I wasn't quite sure....

Tonight, as I sip my Corona Light post Mac 'n Cheese I realize I have lost some of my will power. OK. I have lost most of my will power. There are several factors that play a role in the loss of will power.

1) No boyfriend - Now you would think this would be impetus to maintain a sexy bod.... when in actuality, you know no one cares what you look like and no one will see you naked. (Unless you get drunk at boutique sales with hot bartenders)

2) No Cooking Utensils - I only have 1 frying pan until my things arrive from California. Do you know how difficult it is to cook a well balanced dinner with only a frying pan??? (I mean, you saw how I made my coffee!!!!)

3) Every Restaurant/Grocery Store/Liquor Store Delivers - One of the most magical things about living in New York is the fact that you can order take out from virtually anywhere!!!! This is VERY DANGEROUS and very TEMPTING!!!!

4) Moving to New York - Anyone who makes any major move or change will definitely depend on food and alcohol for comfort at times... Who am I kidding? I depend on food and alcohol most of the time! Just today I had a picnic in Central Park followed by pre-job hunting mimosas at Tavern on the Green, then a beer accompanying the application process at a bar which shall remain nameless....

So basically I am throwing 64 dollars in the trash. I fully admit that. I know what I want to look like, and it isn't what I saw in the dressing room mirror today!!!! I am going to start to enjoy my ride at the gym. I am going to make some changes. I will continue to make the pilgrimage to the mecca of treadmills, ellipticals, stair masters, and weight machines in the hopes to have the bikini bod we all dream of having. But more importantly, I want to keep this heart of mine beating for as long as I can!!! After all, underneath all of the aesthetic desires in our brains, the heart is what is is all about in the end.... in the gym, and in our life. -M

A Very Lethal Combination

I discovered something extremely dangerous that I want to warn all of you about.

Shopping + Alcohol + Hot Italian Guy = A very expensive credit card bill and a make out sesh with a hot Italian

Two weeks ago, I had meandered Steinway Street in the hopes to find some cute and affordable dresses for work. I was doubtful after wandering through what seemed like thousands of really cheesy and trashy stores that housed clothes fit for a playmate. It was then I stumbled upon a tiny boutique where I was welcomed by Doria. Now, for those of you who know me VERY well, you will know why this was very appropriate. I now had a new reason to love Doria.... not only was it my favorite plate of food at Saizeria, but it was my new favorite wanna-be designer. And she had a boutique within walking distance to my apartment!!!

After being taken through the shop by her two gay assistants, I purchased two moderately-priced dresses that I adored!!! I was so excited to find my "diamond in the Astoria rough".... When I checked out, Doria invited me to her private sale the following weekend.

Sunday had arrived. I was exhausted from working the night before, but I managed to drag myself from my bed to get ready for the private, invitation-only sale at the boutique. It started at 1pm and I barely had time to grab a quick bowl of cereal before I left 31st Ave in Astoria. I walked down to the boutique in the intense humid heat of New York summer. In a blue terry cloth Juicy dress, I was completely drenched in sweat and cursed myself when I realized I had passed the store a block ago. I turned around and finally found the boutique. They had covered the windows with silk curtains. I found myself on the guest list and walked inside. There were a handful of ladies and girls wandering around. I was greeted by Doria and her gay entourage with a kiss on the cheek....Oh ya, and the Hot Italian Bartender....

I told myself, "No more than two glasses of wine, and do NOT spend the money you don't have!"

I was able to fend off the alcoholic refreshments for the first few minutes... (God, he's Hot) I wandered the boutique in search of more unique pieces and dressed for work. There were several jewelry designers there in addition to a camera crew for a local network. I found a few things to try on, and decided to purchase them. But first, I would have a glass of wine, and wander around for round two in case I missed anything.

Now, round two was accompanied by my wine. The two dresses that I had decided were too expensive from round one somehow found themselves in a dressing room with me. All the ladies were encouraging the purchase of these new items as they simultaneously proceeded to get drunk with me. The camera filming the reveal of the adorable dresses enhanced my liquid courage...I twirled for the camera, took a gulp of wine, and added them to my pile of things to purchase.

Somehow, I realized that my glass of wine was magically staying full. Hot Italian's Job was to keep us drinking, and he did his job well....

Round three consisted of a significant buzz and a look at the jewelry...not to mention Hot Italian picking out dresses for me to try on. Now, who can resist that??? I put on this gorgeous white, backless dress suitable for a date or a night out and everyone demanded it was made for me. The Hot Italian commented, "I hope you wear that dress when I take you out for dinner...."

**Gulp**..... of wine.....

Well, I think we all know how this story ended. Four hours later and after several drunk dials to friends in my excitement (you all know who you are), I walked out of the boutique with some great and unexpected purchases.... (ALL work related I can assure you.... with maybe the exception of that white dress!!!) I also was walked out by the HOT Italian where he proceeded to say goodbye to me the only way Hot Italians know how....and I am not talking "Ciao"!!!!

So the lesson learned? When in the company of wine, champagne, cute clothes one sale, and gorgeous men, prepare yourself.....with a credit card and some breath mints!!!! -M

Barking Dogs

Confessions of a newly-trained New York hostess....

When I entered the realm of the food and beverage industry, I knew it was going to either take some serious ladder climbing to get to the big bucks.... or I could lie about my experience for the money positions, or get into a certain "position" for the money.... I opted for the honest, non-prostitutional route.

But at times, I have my moments of doubt....

Under the table pay to some people is advantageous...especially if they are illegal immigrants or without a work visa. For me, it means I have more work to do when it comes to taxes and when I want to actually be paid, I have to find the time to trek to the office to ask for my money. Awkward. It also means the management can set whatever work conditions they like, such as: 8 hour shifts without a break, dressy attire (which means uncomfortable shoes for us), and no stool or chair to sit in behind our podium. The foot pain is almost unbearable!!!! My dogs are seriously barking!

Being the new girl in a venue that necessitates 4 hostesses on a busy night, I am definitely the "go-to bit%$". As the "go-to bi%$" I do what everyone else tells me to do. Then, when something goes wrong, somehow all heads turn to me as if it is my fault when I had just completed someone else's order!

It is always fun to make friends in a new workplace, right? The bartenders and waiters are great! But when they come up to you in their comfortable shoes and complain about their shift when we know they are making a SH*&-load more money, it kind of makes me want to scream..... right in their ear.

So, I find myself on the brink of many things. Watching my funds deplete to chase this crazy dream of mine, I can see why people will do ANYTHING to get where they need to. I am definitely feeling the pressure of the big move. I am beginning to contemplate certain jobs that I never had imagined. It is all about survival. I am but a minnow in a sea of sharks. But this minnow is gonna just keep swimming! And in the meantime she will go on the hunt for the ever-elusive comfortable AND cute pair of shoes! -M

Coffee From a Sock

OK... Can't a girl buy a Melitta one cup mug topper thingie to make her coffee in the morning??? "The 'bucks" was depleting my bucks and it was about time I reverted back to my good 'ol cup with flavored coffee mate.

I have literally searched far and wide in Astoria for a single mug topper thingie which I now know is called a "Cone Manual System" invented by Melitta Bentz herself in 1908. But alas, my search has ended up fruitless....or cone-less.

So the other day, I was at my local grocery store, wandering the coffee aisle. I decided once again to search through the filters. There MUST be a "cone manual system" hidden somewhere on this shelf! For the second time, I came across this packaged butterfly net looking thing. It had a picture of a steamy cup of fresh coffee on the front of the package. It seemed about the circumference of a coffee mug. "But how the hell do I use that", I wondered? I stood in the aisle holding the net-like object and hypothesized that if I could just shove a filter in there, I could hold i above my mug and make some coffee without a grind-y mess! And considering I had no kettle, I would have to manually ladle the water into the net. It seemed like such a process, but I bought the net, and some filters, and my favorite coffee mate. I was now ready to make my coffee... somehow.

The next morning, I woke up and put some water in my one and only frying pan. I opened the net, and realized it resembled a sock. The sock hung from the net handle and I shoved a filter in the bottom. It quickly occurred to me that this new coffee brewing process was not hangover friendly. After spilling grounds everywhere while trying to scoop the coffee into the filter at the bottom of the sock, I grabbed my ladle. The now boiling water was about to become my coffee. I ladled some water and poured it into the sock. I peaked over the edge of the mug and saw it drip into the mug. "It's working!" After about 5-6 ladles of water into the sock, I had a fresh cup of coffee plus a little bit of a burn from splashing, boiling water.

I am not sure what Melitta Bentz would think about my contraption coffee maker. But I now have a means of having that cup in the AM which has become such a ritual for me. I am willing to do what it takes to have that cup of coffee...whether it is surrendering to "The 'Bucks" or brewing from a sock. -M

"I Don’t Think We’re in Kansas Anymore..."

It was my first night in my city apartment. I couldn't wait. I had spent all day waiting for the two items I needed delivered most: a bed and an air conditioner. It was 10:00pm and finally my new queen-sized bed arrived. I dressed it with my new Ikea sheets and couldn't wait to get to bed! The air conditioner worked hard at cooling down the once vacant apartment. Set at a steady 60 degrees Fahrenheit, I was surprised at how well it was keeping my entire apartment cool. I could only afford one unit. I dreamed of the day I would be able to afford a luxurious condo with central heat and air....

My stomach grumbled, and I knew it was time to head to my corner grocery store for some staple items. I proudly walked down the street of my new neighborhood. I felt so New York-y! I wandered the aisles in an attempt to find the necessary items to fill my fridge, but it became evident that even if I did decided to cook something, I'd have nothing to cook it in, nothing to stir it with, nothing to eat it on, and nothing to eat it with.... I sighed, bought some milk and crackers, and decided to order a pizza.

As I walked home with my groceries, I was disrupted by a man's voice. "Excuse me!" "Excuse me! Can I help you carry your groceries?" He was an unassuming man. Clean cut and clean shaved, he appeared to have come from work wearing a button down shirt and tailored pants. "No," I replied. "Thanks, but I like the exercise." He continued, "Do you live around here? I live on Steinway." The ever-so-brief and surfaced conversation continued until we reached the corner. It became very evident to me at this point that this man could potentially be a stalker.

"What's your number? Can I call you?? What time do you come home every day? Where do you work???"

I scurried across the street to place my pizza order. I had almost lost my appetite from the odd encounter, but ordered anyway to take some time before getting home. As I left the pizzeria, I realized, he could be anywhere watching me. He could see where I would walk. He would see where I lived.

And he did.

The past week had been a crazy mix of job hunting, basic apartment furnishing, friend outings, wine drinking, and boy figuring....oh ya, and plunging for those of you who read regularly. Every day I loved my new surroundings more and more as if my dreams were one step closer than yesterday. I had completely forgotten about the strange and overly-forward man who had followed me home from the corner store that first night.

Until today.

I had just had the most amazing afternoon with my friend. After a movie, early dinner with wine on an outdoor patio, vintage and 99 cent store perusing, it was time to head home to 31st ave. I said goodnight and popped in my iPod. I walked home on my normal route, and couldn't wait to shower have a "goodnight glass" of red and surf my new net. I was so hot, and was relieved to remember I had left the air running. As I approached my gate, I saw a young boy playing while his father watched in amusement. I smiled to myself and pulled out my keys. I thought to check my mail, but didn't want to take the time. Little did I know it was a good thing I didn't.

As I went to close the locked door to the building, I looked down to the handle and closed the door firmly checking that it had locked. When I looked up from the handle and through the window of the door, there was that very man, standing directly in front of me on the other side of the door. It was as if he had magically appeared in an instant. He must have been waiting. He must have been watching.

I panicked and in shock turned immediately for the stairwell. I ran up the stairs so quickly that I tripped and fell as if in a dream when you cannot escape the monster that is chasing you. I ran and looked down hoping he hadn't gotten through the door. I opened my apartment, locked it behind me, and started to cry.

After much thought, and advice from friends, I called 911 to report this suspicious man. The police came, took the report, and now I am left here to ponder all the ways I can make myself more aware and more safe. This is not Lafayette, California. It is not Irvine or Newport Beach. It is not Shin Urayasu. And it is not Disneyland.

With my new awareness, I will leave my apartment tomorrow. With my new awareness, I will still live life the way I had intended. I refuse to let fear be a road block on my life's path. But don't get me wrong, I will not be ignoring any caution signs on that path any more!!! It is definitely better to be safe, than sorry. -M

Taking The Plunge....

If I can offer one piece of advice for all of you out there, always have a toilet plunger on hand.....

You all are aware of a little thing called Murphy's Law? ("Whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time, in the worst possible way"-Wikipedia) Well, I am quite familiar with this particular law in my life. I feel as though Murphy is laughing at me somewhere saying, "I told you so!"

I am pretty sure no New York experience would be complete without an disaster in the bathroom of your new apartment. But did it HAVE to happen the morning HE decided to stay the night?

I snuck out of bed to get my morning routine done in order to to give him the time he needed to get ready for work without me being in the way. I flushed the toilet using my ever-so-absorbant Charmin super soft T.P. and hopped in the shower. I couldn't wait to see if he wanted to grab some coffee together or maybe even some breakfast before he left.

I started to condition my hair and I heard a loud dripping sound that was in no way related to my shower... "Uh oh" I thought.... As I peaked out from behind my shower curtain, to my total horror, my entire bathroom was flooding and flooding FAST. As my purse started to float away and my clothes for the next day were now saturated with toilet water, I panicked and realized it was 8:30 in the morning, I had a guy in my bed, my bathroom was flooding, and I didn't have a plunger. His alarm would be going off soon, and I had to act fast! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU*%!!!!!

I threw on a hat over my non-rinsed conditioned hair and a juicy suit sans underwear and ran downstairs to the local grocer. He spoke little English and as tried to show him "plunger" in sign language, I realized that not only was I NOT getting the point across, but the gesture looked just a bit sexual! Imagining the water rising, I ran to the corner Rite-Aid Pharmacy and asked for a plunger. "Sorry hun, but we don't carry them." In total and utter desperation to prevent any further embarrassment, I asked for the Rite-Aid manager. After being paged over the sound system, the manager reluctantly approached me.

I realized was about to ask a man I didn't know to lend me his plunger. And I did ask him. And he gave me one. (Thank God) And I ran home to take the "plunge" but not in the good way, I can assure you.

All the while, he slept soundly in my new bed furnished by Sleepy's covered in soft white bedding surrounded by brand new pillows... and I threw every towel I owned on the floor along with some clothes and tried to mop up the mess. With my pants rolled up to my thighs, I mopped, and squeezed it outside the window, mopped and squeezed, mopped and squeezed.... oops... I may have mopped and squeezed on to someone below. This was just another victim of my overflowing disaster.

Finally, the bathroom was relatively back to normal, but not before he had peaked his head in the bathroom only to see me wringing out one of my towels. Trying to explain this situation to someone you're trying so hard to impress is just...well...awkward. I mean, toilets overflow from time to time. It's just that no one really wants to surmise just WHY a toilet has overflowed, especially with someone you are starting to date. And with that, he left my house, and left me with the discomfort of sheer embarrassment.

Well, to be honest, I am not sure if wine-buying pinkie grabber will be back to 31st Ave in Astoria. And seeing as how I try to keep my eyes and ears open for signs, maybe he's just not supposed to. Maybe my toilet was trying to tell me something?

In an effort to see the toilet "half full", I realize that I will be the proud owner of a brand new plunger, just what ever city girl is dying to have! -M