Saying Goodbye to the 2's

One of my very best friends is turning the big 3-0 in a few weeks.  No matter which way we try to slice it, turning 30 is a big deal.  The 3 somehow automatically makes people expect you to be a responsible adult.  It’s not like you’ll ever say “Oh, those 30-somethings, they’re so crazy, hahaha!!”  

In the 2’s you can still get away with “20-something.”  In the 3’s, you’re hanging onto every. single. year.  

“I’m not in my mid-30’s…I’m 33.  Get it right!”  Or at least that’s what I’ll be saying.  

I’m 28 at the writing of this post, soon to turn 29 in a few months myself.  The milestone birthday of my BFF has prompted me to reflect on my own feelings about turning 30.  Here’s what I’ve come up with:

• Children.  Children happen in your 30s.  Supposedly it’s better to have them in our 20s, but there’s really nothing we can do about that now.  I actually think having children in one’s 30s is preferable.  I got to spend my 20s as a selfish girl living in the big city.  It’s nice to have gotten that out of my system before bringing babies into the world.
• Travel.  As in, now I have the money to do so, but I better hurry up before those children come along.  I need to get to Morocco, Turkey, Egypt, and all other exotic destinations where strollers are more difficult to navigate.
• Settling down.  This could mean settling down with a person, but really Mr. S and I have been settled for years now.  It’s more like, settling into a routine that is, well, pretty lame.  It’s already started to happen to me.  My weekdays are completely predictable…gym schedule, tv schedule, they’re all set in stone.  Will my life be as spontaneous as it was when I get to the 3?  
• Having nice things.  Ooh this is probably the best part about getting older.  The NICE THINGS.  Nice clothes, accessories, vacations, etc.  This also goes hand in hand with…
• Money, money, money.  Not that there is an infinite amount of it, but there is definitely more than when I was in my early 20s.  However, I can see my superfluous spending dwindling in my 30s…see again “children,” and add “mortgage.”

So that’s what I have so far.  And honestly, it really is about turning 30.  For some reason 40 doesn't seem as scary as 30.  50 might be scarier...I’ll let you know when I get there.

The Chunk Chronicles: Part 1

Hey folks, the Chunkster here.  Just wanted to check in and introduce myself on this blog thing the girl is always rarely on.

So far, so good in my new digs.  The girl is pretty nice, but the boy is way better.  He's super awesome and we're already best buds.  I think the girl is a little jealous so I throw her a few cuddles here and there, but I really love cuddling with the boy more because he lets me lick his lips.

The first few days were a little rough.  Everything smelled weird, so I had to sniff, sniff, sniff and pee, pee, pee on everything until it all smelled better.  The only tricky thing are the garbage bags, because they always smell different.  I cried a couple of times when the boy and girl left me alone in my crate, but I figured out pretty quick that they were coming back for me.  Plus, they leave me in the crate with some delicious peanut butter too, so you know, that helps.

The worst part about the boy and girl is that they don't let me sleep on the bed.  On my first night I went up there to get comfy with them, but they kicked me off the bed.  WTF man, I'm cuddly, I'm cool, I'll keep your feet warm...  On my next try, I got a little more stealthy and made it to the bench at the foot of their bed.  I thought it was a good compromise...you have your space, I have my space.  But again, the boy airlifted me off the bench onto the floor.  Dude, I wasn't even on the bed, I was on the bench!  How rude!

Well, that's all for now.  I believe another nap is calling my name.  Check ya later!

- The Chunkster

Chunkmaster Flex in da house!!

I’m sure not all of you believed me when I said wasn’t goingto do any wedding planning or wedding thinking for one whole week.  Maybe this will help convince you – we got a dog!!  I know, I know, the amount of life events going on in our apartment right now is insane.  Truthfully, we are a little more excited about the dog than the engagement.  My parents offered to throw us an engagement party in a few weeks and our response was, “But that’s the date of Chunk’s welcome party…”

Introducing Sir Chunkmaster Flex of Carnegie Hill.  You can call him Chunk for short.

So, we don’t have him at home yet, but are going to pick him up from his foster moms’ apartment this Friday – and we are SO EXCITED!  So, for all of you wondering how I was going to occupy my anti-wedding week, I will be doggy-preparing and doggy-proofing our apartment.  The checklist of getting ready for a new dog vs. planning a wedding is so much easier to wrap my head around.

After we lost Arkam to another adopter, we started looking for our future pup online.  It took longer than we thought it would because we were so heartbroken over losing Arkam.  We met a few other dogs, and while they were cute and well-behaved, the emotional connection was never there.  We finally found Chunk and are so happy we did because we think he’s the best dog ever.  Chunk was rescued from the AC&C by the Bully Project.  They've brought him back to health and put him in a loving foster home, where he has been for the past 2 months.  As soon as we saw his pictures online, we were in love – like stupid, goofy, giggling school-girl love.  After stalking Chunk online for 2 days, we arranged for a meet and greet at his foster moms’ apartment, hoping and praying that he was a good match for us – and turns out he is!  We’re told Chunk is great with people (I can verify this since as soon as we sat on the couch, he sat on my feet waiting to be hugged) and great with most dogs (he sometimes doesn’t get along with other large male dogs).  We will be able to continue Chunk’s training, teaching him to have better leash manners and to focus on us when we are out for walks, rather than all the trees, garbage bags, lamp posts, and other animals (who can blame him, I’m sure they all smell fantastic).  We are so grateful to the Bully Project and his fosters for rescuing and  taking such good care of Chunk, and showing him all the love they did. 

To answer the burning question, he is a 4 year old pitbull mix (looks like there could be some Lab in there, but we don’t know for sure).  Every time we tell this to family and friends, the immediate reaction is “Pitbull?!?  Oh no…”  

Oh yes.  And before you go bashing the breed and start judging us, we acknowledge the pitbull history and are aware that dog aggression is in their DNA.  However, Mr. S and I believe that every dog should be judged individually and that with proper socialization and the proper owner, pitbulls can be wonderful and devoted pets.  And after interacting with Chunk, we have no doubt that he will fit in right at home with us.  We are not claiming ignorance of the breed – we fully accept the responsibility of owning a pitbull, which includes disciplined training, careful and thoughtful interactions with other dogs, making sure Chunk is an outstanding member of the community (pick up that poop!), and hopefully educating the general public about the breed.  I don’t know if I’m ready for the prejudice against my new family member, but I’m going to do everything I can to make sure that nobody has a reason to not like him.  And, I mean, how could you not love this face?

I am going to be a bald bride

Let’s face it, I’m a bad blogger.  I go off into the world and have all these fantastic /mundane experiences and never report back to you, my devoted readers.  For that, I apologize.  And to make it up to you, here’s a doozie of a blog post for you – Mr. S and I are engaged!

::: Trumpets, confetti, disco ball lighting :::

Mr. S proposed yesterday at Mama and Papa Rice Ball’s home in NJ, along with Pops (Mr. S’s dad), and Bro J and Bro J’s girlfriend, A.  I should have seen the signs earlier, but didn’t really get what was going on until Mr. S started making a speech about how much he loves me and wants to love me forever.  At least, I think that’s what he said…my ears stopped working at some point.  Only then did I realize that we were toasting champagne glasses at 11:00 am on a Sunday and why Mr. S requested we have breakfast with our parents (although in my defense – if someone told you “Hey, let’s go to Denny’s for breakfast,” would you be expecting a diamond ring at the end of it?)

Since he put a ring on it, I’ve been through a range of emotions… excitement, awe, disbelief, excitement again and then…anxiety.   Well-meaning friends and family want to know where, when, who, how, etc.  And the type A planner in me wants to get started right away and give them the answers – date, venue, family, friends, dress, shoes, hair, make-up, flowers, rings, music etc.  Cue anxiety.  Where do I even start?!?! OMG my hair is going to fall out.  OMG I am going to be a bald bride.

This whole range of emotion took about 4 hours to cycle through.  My solution:  F it.  I am going to F it and not think about anything wedding related for one week.  But, Urban Rice Ball, what will you be doing with yourself for one whole week?!  How can you abstain from the planning process?!  It will be hard, I’m not going to try and kid myself.  I’ve had to stop myself a few times already from googling, “I’m engaged, now what?”   I’ve found admiring my new ring and calling Mr. S “my fiancé” as often as I can helps to pass the time…  Here, maybe it will help you pass the time as well.

Edit: Since the time of writing to the time of posting, I admit to registering to theknot.com.  Also, Mr. S wants it noted that he did not propose at Denny's.

Icebergs Ahead!!

When I was in high school, my art teacher taught us with acrylic paint.  "We don't use oil paints in the classroom because of the chemicals and fumes."  The what?!

Since the age of 16, I was led to believe that oil painting was 1 part art and 3 parts science.  And I hated science (still do -- Mr. S really knows how to put me to sleep with that anatomy stuff).  And so I was happy to use acrylics and stayed far, far away from those oil paints and their caustic chemical reactions in fear that if I didn't use them right I would cause my painting to spontaneously combust.

It wasn't until I was years into my "career" and I decided to get back into painting that I considered oils.  And really, I only considered oil painting because there was no other option.  Well, there was watercolor, but watercolor is pretty unwieldy stuff and I'd rather risk burning my eyebrows off than wrestle with watercolor.  So, I signed up for a Beginner Oil Painting class and here is where all my misconceptions were cleared up.  Oil based pigment needs to be mixed with a medium to create a paint-like consistency.  Apparently back in the day only turpentine was available as a medium.  Turpentine is very stinky, and from what I'm told still a chemical to be feared.  Thankfully, I've still never actually come in contact with real turpentine because somewhere between the time of Michelangelo and the time of the iPhone, someone has created a synthetic medium called "Turpenoid"  -- works like turpentine, but is odorless and student-friendly.  It even comes in an eco-friendly version.

In most art classes, painting or otherwise, students are taught by performing "Master Studies," which is essentially taking a famous artist's work and copying it, thereby learning techniques and skills by doing what the artist did.  I selected Frederic Church's "The Icebergs" mostly because I liked the colors.

The Icebergs, Frederic Church, 1861

This was certainly a learning experience...I learned that I could spend 5 hours painting in one day and I still not get that craggy look to the ice rocks.  I guess this was a memorable experience for my teacher too, because almost two years later, he let me know that The Icebergs were on loan at the Met as part of a temporary exhibit.  He urged me to see it for myself in person.  So on Sunday, I dragged Mr. S to the Met with me to find The Icebergs.

The Met is gi-nor-mous.  I knew the quickest way to find The Icebergs was to ask someone in a black blazer.  The first Black Blazer directed us to the American Paintings exhibit.  I should have realized then that this was wrong because American Paintings is a permanent exhibit and The Icebergs are just on loan to the Met.  We walked around the multiple rooms in the American Paintings wing and asked a second Black Blazer where The Icebergs are.

Me: Hi, we're looking for Church's Icebergs
BB: Hmm...well, who is it by?
Me: Frederic Church
BB: Oh we've got lots of Church right over there
Me: Yeah...no...that's not it.  It's a big painting of Icebergs.

At this point, I pulled up the painting on my iPhone.

Me: This is what it looks like.
BB: Well where does it say it is?
Me: It says it's part of the Dallas permanent collection.
BB: Well then it's not here!!

At this point I want to shake the man and yell. "Obviously I know what city I am in Black Blazer!!"  Instead I said:

Me: Um, well no, I'm pretty sure it's here.  A friend told me he saw it here a few weeks ago.  I think it's part of a temporary exhibit?
BB: < thinking...thinking...thinking > Icebergs...icebergs...icebergs...
Me: < waiting...waiting...waiting >
BB: Oh yes!  Maybe the Civil War exhibit!!  That's our temporary exhibit.  There are some paintings of the Aurora Borealis there.  If Icebergs are anywhere, they could be there...

He at least knew the quickest way to get to the Civil War exhibit.  I had my blinders on as I zoomed past the tourists and other artworks.  I just had to get to The Icebergs.  Part of me was starting to doubt my information...maybe it wasn't really here?  Did I just pay $25 to not see The Icebergs??  Finally, we came up the stairs into a large room, and there it was, in all its craggy glory.

The real painting is very large, 64 x 112 inches, and it took Church one whole year to paint it. I started to take out my iPhone to snap a picture when a third Black Blazer barked, "NO PICTURES."  Party pooper, how about you go yell at all those tourists with their flash cameras.  So I settled at staring at it for 20 minutes, all up close and personal.  My art teacher says you can always spot a fellow artist in museums because they are the ones standing two inches away from the painting, trying to figure out how the artist did what he did.  After seeing it in person, I think 2 things -- 1) SO COOL 2) His is definitely better than mine.

I Heart NYC.

Pound Puppies

I’ve mentioned before that I want a dog.  Mr. S wants a dog too, even more so than me.  On most Saturdays, Mr. S and I will get breakfast then walk over to Carl Schurz Park and watch the dogs in the Big Dog park (we don’t waste our time with that crappy Little Dog park).  We aren’t allowed inside the dog park because we don’t actually have a dog, so we hang on the fence and watch from outside, discussing which one we would like to steal and take home for ourselves.  Mr. S also does great color commentary on the dogs, which is my favorite part of this whole ritual. 

One Sunday, I was looking through PetFinder.com, just for fun, and found a cute little pitbull.  His description noted that he had escaped Death Row once and was desperately looking for his Forever Home.  Ugh, he was so cute.  I showed him to Mr. S and he found out that he was only 20 blocks away from us. 

“Let’s go see him!”
“OK!!!”

On the way, we discussed what we would do if we fell in love with this dog and had to take him home.

Mr. S: We can hide him in the apartment.  Other people have asshole dogs.  Why can’t we have a kickass dog?
Me: Our neighbor will tell on us.  We can tell the landlord that we need to break the lease because I lost my job.
Mr. S: Yeah, yeah let’s do that!!

Nevermind that we might become homeless for an unknown amount of time, or that our rent would certainly increase, or that I am allergic to dogs.  We were determined to save him. 

Midway through our walk, my subconscious must have come to her senses.

Me (stopped walking and hiding behind a bus shed): I don’t think I’m ready.
Mr. S (like I knocked the wind out of his sails): It’s ok.  We don’t have to get him.  We can just go look and decide later.

10 minutes later we arrived at the Manhattan Animal Care & Control.  When we walked in there was a man dropping off his 9 month old Schnauzer mix.  His reason: she was too hyper and he couldn’t train her. Jerk.  

The Manhattan AC&C is basically the city pound.  They cannot refuse any animal that is brought in or found as a stray.  Due to this, and their limited government funding, they are a kill shelter – which means, if an animal doesn’t get adopted, he or she will be put to sleep.  Wah!

We headed upstairs to see the dogs.  It was the saddest sight ever.  As we walked by each cage, the dogs perked up their heads, and put on their most heartbreaking “please take me with you” face.  Some of them were sad, and just stayed lying down in their cage.  Others were so happy to see people walking by that they jumped up and licked to greet us.

 

Each dog is given a series of behavioral tests to see how they interact with people, children, and other animals.  All this information is critical to ensuring the dog gets placed with the right family.  The dog we found online would not have been a good match for us since he has issues being around other dogs.  Although we have both owned dogs previously, Mr. S and I have zero experience with anti-social dogs.  Plus we really, really, really want to be part of the Big Dog park club. 

We kept looking and landed on Arkam.  He was a tan pitbull that seemed very gentle and loving in his cage.  He stood right up when we approached his cage and had a big happy smile.  When it was our turn to talk to the adoption consultant, we said that we were interested in him.  She told us that he aced all his behavioral tests and would do great in any home.  YES!  We got to take him out and play catch with him a little bit.  He walked perfectly on the leash and brought the ball back every time we threw it at him.  In short, he was the best behaved dog we’ve ever come across (even considering the ones we have previously owned).  The consultant told us that they don’t have a lot of history on any of the dogs that come into the center, but she could tell that he was owned by a family since he knew how to “sit” and “lie down” and they don’t teach that kind of stuff at the center.  

Then she asked us if our apartment allows dogs.  I lied, “Yes, but there is a 50lb weight limit.”  And then I lied again, “But we are looking to move next month anyway.”    

After playing with Arkam, we told the consultant that we needed more time to think about it.  It is, after all, a big decision that would have a big impact on our lifestyle.  Mr. S and I headed home disappointed.  We knew we could take care of him, but we didn’t want to have to hide him or live in fear of being kicked out.  Plus, 3 of us in a studio might be too crowded?  Oh and I’m allergic.  However, I should note that I showed no allergic reactions during our visit, and it definitely smelled like dogs.   All in all, it just isn’t the right time for us to adopt.

Even with that rational realization, we vowed that if he ever got put on Death Row, we would go back to get him.  So far, he hasn’t appeared on the list.  (There is an “At Risk” list put out every night showing which 

dogs are to be put to sleep the next day.  Mr. S checks it religiously.)  If you or anyone you know might be interested in adopting a loveable, perfectly behaved pitbull, check out Arkam or any of his friends at www.nycacc.org.

Feelin' hot hot hot!

You’ll find that weekends in the summer are pretty empty in the city because most people escape to their little beach towns for the weekend.  I don’t blame them.  Summer weekends in the city are pretty brutal.  The oppressive heat in the subways makes it hard to breathe, steam rises from the asphalt, and the clunker of an A/C we have in our little apartment doesn’t do squat for cooling us down.  But for me, I enjoy the emptiness in the city.  I can sit anywhere on the subway, walk zig zag patterns on the sidewalk, and just enjoy all the space.  But it is friggin’ hot. 

Last weekend my friend A.Ho and I decided that we were too pale for mid-July and we needed to spend our Saturday rectifying this situation.  But because it was going to be so hot, we needed to tan somewhere with a pool.  And so we started researching our options:

• Find a friend who lives in a building with a rooftop pool – we have no such friends.  Darn.
• Swanky hotel pool – at some places we would have to pay a hefty fee to use the pool for the day, at others we could only use the pool if we were guests of the hotel (i.e., $400+ for a night at a hotel we didn’t need
•  Swanky gym pool – pay a lesser, but still hefty fee to use the pool for the day
• Public pool – free, but extremely crowded and must contend with cannon bombing children everywhere

A few weekends ago, I walked by a pool in an undisclosed location that looked pretty decent.  I looked it up when I got home and found out that it belonged to a rec center.  Membership to the rec center was $75 for 6 months.  Not a bad deal, especially since we could use the pool from now until the fall as many times as we wanted.  We decided we didn’t need anything swanky– just us, tanning oil, and a pool to plunge in.  I told A.Ho about it and she was sold. 

On Saturday morning we took a cab to the rec center.  At the doors, two “security guards” checked our bags for weapons and food.  We also needed to show we had a lock for the locker.  We passed the screening and headed inside the building.  Hmm…no front desk to sign us up for membership.  We kept walking in search of someone to pay and found the locker rooms, pool, and other amenities. 

“Wait, wait…we didn’t pay, we have to pay somewhere…let’s go back and ask that information desk guy.”

To info desk guy, who didn’t even ask for our membership card:  

“Hi, we want to use the pool –“
“Yeah, yeah just have the security guards check you out.”
“Um, yeah, we did, but uh, we need to pay membership?  We’re not members.”
“You don’t need to be a member to use the pool.”
“It’s free?!?”
“Yeah.”  (He might as well have said “Duh.”)

At that point, A.Ho and I looked at each other like we just won the lottery and scampered away giggling like little idiots, before the info desk man could wisen up and demand $75 from each of us.  Once in the locker room, we let our emotions go:

“FREE!!!!  FREE?!?!?  FREEEEEEE!!!!!!!”  

And then, like any good NYC-er, “We can’t tell anyone about this!”

Very few things in NYC are free -- and of those very few free things, almost none of them are something you actually want.  The free things that people do want either get so popular they become no longer free or impossible to get.  For this reason, New Yorkers keep things like this a secret.  Sorry folks, but I’m not gonna ruin it for the rest of us.

The pool turned out to be ok (but since it was free, it was amazing).  There were lots of rules to comply with and there weren’t any chairs so we had to lay our towels down on the concrete.  It filled up by noon time with children and teenagers who cannon bombed to their heart’s content.  We actually didn’t mind the splashing since it was so hot.  All in all, it was totally worth the $0 we spent.  

Let's pick up where we left off

Every good blogger out there knows that the key to blogging is frequency.  So, in order to keep the ball rolling and because I have nothing else interesting going on in my life, I will complete the "25 Things You Don't Know About Me" list that I started back in April.  Yeah, that Ode to Spam post last week - totally filler.  I haven't had Spam in months.

Let's see...where did we get to...oh yes!

12.  I have a tattoo. I got it 2 years ago, although I knew that I wanted a tattoo long before then.  It took me about 10 years to figure out what I wanted -- turns out I wanted the sun and stars from the Filipino flag.  Placement was an issue since I have to be boring professional-looking at work.  So I chose the left side rib cage area which is only visible when wearing a bathing suit.  I would get more tattoos except I can't think of another secret place to put them.  Just in case I have an epiphany, I save my tattoo ideas to Pinterest.

13.  My first job was at a hockey pro shop when I was a senior in high school.  I knew nothing about hockey, and I still don't.  I was told that the pro shop would grow to include soccer accessories, but it never did. It grew to include swim accessories since we were located in the YMCA which had a pool.  Our best sellers were hockey tape and waterproof diapers.

14.  My favorite candy is Raisinets.  Not chocolate covered raisins -- Raisinets.  And don't try to fool me, I can always tell an impostor.

15.  My favorite color is metallic (i.e., gold, silver, bronze, copper, etc.)  Mr. S maintains that metallic is not a color.  Pshh, what does he know.

16.  If I had to participate in an "All You Can Eat" contest, I would have the greatest chance of winning with clementines.  Or maybe dill pickles.

17.  I am 4'11" and three-quarters.  I was going to throw myself a party when I reached 5', but it never happened.  I looked into getting a handicap sticker for my car but found out that I had to be under 5' and have a disproportionate build.  Darn...but wait!

18.  I have freakishly small hands.  I have not met another adult with hands smaller than mine.  I avoid having my hands in pictures because the camera makes them look smaller.

Ok , let's stop there because I may need some blog fodder later this month...

Ode to Spam

Salty with crispy edges, you make me salivate

Mix with eggs and rice, so nice. 

From humble beginnings in a tin can,

You blossom in the skillet,

Or even microwave will do. 

Breakfast food of warriors,

Breakfast food of my home. 

Behind the Lens

This past Monday I bought myself my first big girl camera.  I had made the decision to upgrade before our trip to Portugal, but never actually pulled the trigger for 2 reasons:

1. DSLR cameras are big and heavy.  I wasn’t keen on the idea of lugging around a brick of a camera while traveling.
2. DSLR cameras are expensive.  I knew this would be an investment piece but the TJ Maxxinista inside of me resisted spending more than $400.  That’s a fairly lowball price for a high quality camera, but that was my budget and I was sticking to it.

I asked my photog friends to keep an eye out for any gently used (aka cheap) DSLR cameras, but no bites.  One day at work I struck up a convo with a colleague who is into photography and mentioned I was in the market for an upgrade from my point and shoot.  He introduced me to his little camera – The Fuji X100.  My first thought was, "How friggin’ cute!!"  (Form over function, always)  His camera is a mirrorless system, also known as the compact camera system.  It essentially functions like a DSLR (high quality pictures, interchangeable lens, completely customizable settings, and manual controls) but without the bulk, making it perfect for carrying along while traveling or just around the city.

Fuji X100

And with that, my focus was immediately shifted.  I don't research, I obsess.  I obsess about anything and everything, especially big purchases I want to make.  I can process 4 different websites/articles at once -- it’s quite impressive.  So after a few weeks of relentless reading of every review/blog/message board out there on the best mirrorless cameras for beginners, best mirrorless cameras for your buck, best retro looking mirrorless cameras, etc. I decided on the Olympus PEN E-P3.  

Throughout my obsessive reading, first time serious camera buyers kept questioning veterans on what camera they should buy.  The responses on what make and model varied, but most people answered “The best camera to buy is the one you will use.”  Makes sense to me.  So #1 deciding factor: the retro design.  It almost reminds me of Papa Rice Ball’s old Nikon, the one with real film and manual crank (somewhere out there, a person between the ages of 16-21 doesn't know what I’m talking about…ugh).  Holding something so nostalgic makes taking pictures that much more fun and therefore more likely that I will take it everywhere with me.  The #2 deciding factor: this baby was marked down 72%!!!  What?!?  I should have bought 3...

Olympus PEN E-P3

Granted my Oly (that’s what people in the biz call it) isn't as precious looking as the Fuji X100, but it’s also a quarter of the price.  Bargains like this make me feel like such a champion.  If bargain shopping was a sport, I’d be in the Olympics.  And those crazy coupon cutting people can't qualify for the Bargain Olympics because they are buying crap that nobody wants – who wants 300 deodorants even if they are 50 cents each?  

My obsession usually leads to prompt purchasing action since once I know what I'm buying I won't can't rest until it is in my possession. Turns out the retailer that I was going to order from online was located here in NYC -- instant gratification was only 28 blocks away!  After 1 hour and less than $400 later, I was the proud owner of a new big girl camera.  I'm currently obsessing on how to use it...

How ‘bout them apples

If you haven’t realized it by now, I am a planner.  Also, if you haven’t realized it by now, Mr. S is not a planner (go ahead and feel bad for him, but also feel bad for me). 

It’s not that I don’t love a good surprise or I’m a control freak.  It’s just that there are so many things to do and see in life, that if I don’t designate a special date and time for them, we may never get around to it.  And then I will be on my deathbed saying, “I wish I had made it out to the Brooklyn Flea market just once…”  And that would be so sad.

So it was a rare thing this past Saturday when we had nothing to do.  I don’t know how it happened, I think I was so focused on Sunday’s plans that I neglected Saturday. 

Me (frantic): What are we going to do today?!?
Mr. S: We can go look for the apples.

Background story of the apples:  In honor of the MLB All-Star game, there are giant apples located around the city, each painted to represent a baseball team. 

That sounded fun to me!   And that is how our innocent little game of finding the apples began.  Looking at the map of where the apples are, we decided to focus on midtown.  There are 36 apples in total and we knew we wouldn't get to all of them in one day.  The first apple was at the Westin on 46^th and 3^rd Ave.  I don’t know what I was expecting, perhaps an apple that lights up or spins around, but I was a little disappointed in the apple we found.  It was just a big apple sitting outside a hotel.  But wait, what was that next to it?  A bar!  And a fancy looking one at that.  Mr. S saw it too and asked me if I’d like to get a drink.  Ooh like a date!  And so the game evolved…find an apple, get a drink.  Here’s how we did (the last column was my downfall):

Team	Apple location	Bar location	His drink	Her drink	Food (if applicable)
Houston Astros	Westin (46th and 3rd)	The LCL	The Green Dream	Serenity Now	N/A
San Francisco Giants	Tommy Bahama (45th and 5th)	The Marlin Bar	Sangria	Pineapple Martini	Edamame hummus and 3 chips
Seattle Mariners	Nintendo store (Rockefeller Plaza)	Johnny Utah’s	Bud Light	Vodka tonic	N/A
Brewers	Office of the Commissioner – 45th and Park	Lobby bar at The Hilton	Pineapple something something	Watermelon something something	The smallest Buffalo chicken wings I’ve ever seen
San Diego Padres	SONY store (Madison Ave)	N/A – we didn’t pass a bar between this apple and the next, so we went big at the next bar…
Pirates	Niketown (5th Ave)	The Champagne Bar at The Plaza Hotel	5th Avenue Star	The Gatsby	Gourmet chips and dip
Baltimore Orioles	Chelsea Market	Mr. S doesn't remember	White sangria	N/A – I did not make it to this apple…	Mr. S had a burger

According to Mr. S, the story goes that from the Plaza we planned to take the subway downtown to Chelsea Market for the next apple.  Friend A was meeting us down there also, and from there we would grab our reward drink at a bar on the Highline.  At some point on the train, I decided that I was sleepy and needed to go home. 

Mr. S (after noticing I fell asleep on his shoulder): Are you ok?  You need to go home?
Me: Home…home…home…home…

So when we exited the subway, Mr. S put me in a taxi home and went off to meet our friend and see the apple*.  I saw pictures of the O’s apple the next day and was so sad I missed it.  Although it ended somewhat tragically, our spontaneous scavenger hunt was so fun!!  Maybe there is something to this no-planning thing...  Yeah right, I’m already planning to see more apples next weekend.

* This is not as insensitive as it sounds.  Mr. S claims (and I believe him because I am sneaky), that as soon as we got out of the subway, I immediately hailed for a cab.  “Taxi…taxi…taxi…taxi…”  This caught Mr. S off-guard because we were supposed to find Friend A first, apologize and let him know we had to go home, and then take a cab home together.  Obviously I had other plans.  Mr. S panicked and shoved me in the taxi with instructions to text Friend A when I got home (Mr. S’s phone was dead – typical).  20 minutes later, Friend A got this text:

Bem-vindo a Portugal!

Ok, ok, so I have been lagging in the blogging department.  Mr. S teased me that I have probably lost my legions of followers by now since it has been so long since my last post.  I assured him that my legions of followers are comprised of my mother and her friends, and they are fiercely loyal. 

There have been a few exciting happenings so far this summer.  Top of the list is that la familia Rice Ball recently vacationed to Lisbon, Portugal!  Our 6 day trip gave us plenty of time to explore Lisbon and its surrounding sites (Sintra, Cascais, and Fatima).  My cousin visited last year and raved about it saying, “If Madrid is like Midtown, Lisbon is like Soho.”  She described it perfectly.  Here are a few highlights of Lisbon (in no particular order):

Graffiti – Graffiti is everywhere in Lisbon, some of it good, but most of it just random writing on the walls.  Even though in most places it’s unwelcome, the graffiti seemed to be right at home on the 18^th century architecture, giving it a little edge and excitement. 

Graffiti on the bakery

Pasteis de Nata – My description won’t do it justice, but it’s a flaky pastry cup filled with egg yolky custard made with tender loving care by nuns of the Jeronimos monastery.  I imagine the nuns sprinkling magic dust on each one, saying a little prayer for it, and blowing it a kiss goodbye before sending it off to the bakery…I think that’s how they get them to taste so good.

Faux pasteis de nata, the real thing is in Belem

Cobblestone sidewalks – Running alongside all the charming architecture were these delightfully patterned cobblestone sidewalks.  I tried to get pictures of the more intricate ones since every side walk was done in cobblestone.  It might make for some treacherous walks on rainy days, but I’m all for beauty over function.

Rua Augusta, main shopping throughfare

Bacalhau – Seems to be that this is the national dish of Portugal, so I was aghast to find out that all the Bacalhau in Portugal is imported from Iceland!    Is nothing sacred?!  In any case, wherever it came from, we had bacalhau at every dinner – grilled, flaked and mixed with egg, smothered with béchamel sauce, minced and rolled into fried balls, etc – and it was all delicious.

Stacks of salted bacalhau for sale

Shhh – So we thought we might be ok with the Portuguese language since Papa Rice Ball is fluent in Spanish and Mama Rice Ball and I can at least order food and ask “where is the bathroom?” in Spanish.  You would think that since Portugal is so close to Spain, the languages would be similar.  And they are – in print.  In pronunciation, Portuguese is very different, with the obvious one being the pronunciation of the letter “S.”  Not “ess” like Spanish or English, but “shhh” like, “Be Quiet.”  After we figured out that our Spanish was getting us nowhere, we reverted back to good old English. 

Restauradores = Chreshturadoorsh

Tiles – From the influence of the Moors who occasionally occupied Portugal back in the day, older buildings in Lisbon are decorated with colorful tile work.  It’s very different from anything I’ve seen in Europe or otherwise, and we were instantly enamored with them.  Unfortunately, there seemed to be a continuing theme in Lisbon of not restoring/preserving these buildings.  Tiled buildings were usually abandoned and falling apart.  All I could think of was, “Transport one of these puppies to NYC and we’d be millionaires!”

Tiles on a building in Alfama

El Corte Ingles – So technically this is Spanish and not Portuguese, but it’s so amazing I don’t care.  El Corte Ingles is a department store + more (and by more I mean a super market and cafe).  It was the perfect place to do some air conditioned shopping and pick up some gifts* to take home.  In general, shopping when traveling is far superior to shopping domestically, mostly because the logic that sometimes prevails when shopping at home seems to be on vacation too. Do I really need that dress?  Is it worth the 50 euro?  It doesn’t matter, because:

1. I'm in a foreign land that I may never visit again, so I have to buy it now. 
2. I’m in a store we don’t have in America, so I have to buy it now.
3. It’s so Euro and therefore cooler than anything I could buy in America, so I have to buy it now.

The only pic that isn't personal, because really who takes pictures when there is shopping to do

So there you go, I think that’s a pretty good list -- don’t want to give away all the juicy details.  I would highly recommend a trip to Lisbon.  In our 6 days there, we got to feel like we were exploring the city, not racing from landmark to landmark.  This was the first time I have traveled out of the country and felt that I really got a vacation (i.e. I wasn’t completely pooped when I arrived home in NYC).  

* Mr. S was not enthralled with the gifts that I brought back for him.  Since the vibe of Lisbon is so laid back and reminiscent of a beach town, I thought that a pair of shorts and a bathing suit would be perfect mementos for Mr. S.  Although grateful, he felt they were too scandalously revealing in comparison to the American shorts he is used to.  I have to admit, it was very odd seeing all of his kneecaps.  

Let the Hunger Games begin!

Juice cleanses have intrigued me for a while, mostly because celebrities do it and they are fabulous and I want to be fabulous too.  I have been hesitant to try one though because (a) they are expensive and I don’t want to plunk down big bucks for something I may vomit up later and (b) I have the willpower of a sloth.  Enter cousin KCool1.  KCool1 has done the BluePrint cleanse before and just bought 2 GiltCity vouchers for the 3 day cleanse.  She intended to use both of them herself but when she found out I was interested, she so graciously offered to sell one voucher to me.  This seemed like a great idea!  I would get the cleanse at a discount (score!) and I would have a juicing buddy to encourage me through the process. 

Juice for one day

The 3 day juice cleanse does not mean just 3 days of juice.  It entails 3 days of pre-cleanse and 3 days of post-cleanse, which basically means going vegan for these 6 days so as not to shock your system into and out of the juice.  I cheated a little since Chipotle’s salad dressing is a honey vinaigrette…but really it was only a small amount and come on, honey?!  What could ever be wrong with honey??

Day 1

9:36 Juice 1 – “Green Juice” Romaine, Celery, Cucumber, Apple, Spinach, Kale, Parsley, Lemon.  It is really green, but not as bad as I thought.  Smells worse than it tastes.  Tastes very clean, like a salad with fruit in it.  It actually is quite refreshing after spending 30 minutes in the sweaty, humid subway.  Everyone at work is eager to see me suffer my progress. 

11:27 Juice 2 – Pineapple, Apple, Mint.  THIS IS AWESOME!!  Throw some vodka in here and I could drink this everyday!  I am feeling hungry though and I don’t know if this juice is gonna do the trick.  Also everything is moving in semi-slow motion, like I just don’t have my normal spring in my step. 

1:02 Juice 3 – “Green Juice” Romaine, Celery, Cucumber, Apple, Spinach, Kale, Parsley, Lemon.  I am starving.  Couldn’t hold off until 1:30 when I planned to have Juice 3.  Not as refreshing now that I’m not a soggy, sweaty subway rat.  Just bearable now.  Still hungry after drinking all of it. 

3:37 Juice 4 – Spicy Lemonade.   More sweet, not at all spicy.  This is pretty delicious but not the flavor profile I was craving at the time.  I really wanted something salty and crunchy – Cheetos would have been perfect.  My stomach was rumbling pretty loudly before I had this juice, but 20oz of water managed to confuse it into thinking it was a little fuller.  I’m starting to notice the high level of acidity in all these juices…should I counteract with a proactive TUMS?  Is that allowed?  I just read that canker sores or cold sores can develop as that’s a sign of the toxins exiting your body.  So my juices might make me look like I have herpes…great.

6:14 Juice 5 – Apple, Celery, Beet, Lemon, Ginger.  I started Juice 5 only to stay on schedule, not because I was hungry.  Not my favorite one in the bunch, but way better than the Green Juice.  I drank half of it before my Zumba class, and half after.  I felt great during Zumba, my energy level was up and I didn’t get lightheaded or feel weak.

9:37 Juice 6 – Cashew Milk.  Now I know what everyone was raving about when they talked about this “juice.”  It tastes like watered down leftover milk from a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.  I felt fullest and most satisfied after drinking this one.  

I was pretty tuckered out by 11:30 (my usual bedtime is more like 12:30) and fell asleep right when my head hit the pillow.  I woke up feeling super peppy at 8:00.  Usually I am dragging myself out of bed at 8:20, but on Day 2 I was ready to cartwheel across our studio to the bathroom.  Results of Day 1 -- 3lbs lost!  Whhaaaattt?!?!?  Let’s get Day 2 started!!!

Epilogue
I won’t go into as much detail for Days 2 and 3.  I’ll just note that these days weren't much easier like the reviews claim.  I started to grow an immunity to the Green Juice, but the hunger pangs and cravings for Cheetos never went away.  I would describe it as being in a constant state of un-satisfaction for 3 days.  I also really missed warm food.  I got into the habit of smelling hot foods, as if inhaling them was almost like really eating them.  I even made Mr. S let me smell his breath after he had some pizza for dinner.  He didn't think it was that weird.  True love.

I didn't make it through the 3 day post-cleanse since it only took 8 hours for me to succumb to a bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce made by Mama Rice Ball.  For those of you who have had her spaghetti before, you know I stood no chance of winning that one.  It wasn't without consequence though because I woke up in the middle of the night with stomach pains.

Probably the hardest part about the cleanse was living a normal social life.  I had to decline 2 dinner invitations, pass on tickets to a Mets game, and force Mr. S to eat dinner before I got home – all just so I could avoid the temptation of solid food.  It helped to keep myself busy with non-food activities, so I actually enjoyed being at the gym because it meant being away from food.  Also, it helps to stay away from Instagram because food porn is tor-ture.

Would I do the juice cleanse again?  Most likely yes -- hey, weight loss is weight loss and I got so many compliments on my glowing skin.  Next time around though I will definitely recruit more masochists participants and schedule it during the most boring, un-fun 3 days of the year.

** Poop Alert!  If you don't like poop, stop reading now**
For those of you wondering about my #1s and #2s, there were definitely a lot more #1s than #2s.  Some people could debate that a few of those #2s should really be classified as 1.5s...

Art is...

This past weekend I spent a lazy Saturday at the MoMA with my cousin.  We hadn't seen each other in a long time (I guess med school is an acceptable reason to live in the tundra that is upstate NY) and thus had much catching up to do.  Unlike movie theaters (where talking is unacceptable) or restaurants (where you inevitably get politely kicked out), museums are fantastic places for spending time with loved ones, just wandering around and filling each other in on all the recent happenings of life.  Not to mention catching a glimpse of some Van Gogh or Monet.

Of the larger museums in NYC, so far MoMA is my fave.  Mostly because it is a lot more fun to say than the others.  Try it.  MO…MA…MO...MA...MO...MA… MO.MO.MO.MA.MA.MA .  Fun, right?  Another reason I’m a fan of the MoMA is that there is always a piece of modern art in there that validates why I would have failed in pursuing a career in art.  I’m just not that weird deep.  Examples:

• Giant paper mache hamburgers, cake slices, or sneakers
• Chairs hanging from steel I-beams suspended from the ceiling
• A collection of miniature knick-knacks housed in a dark room
• A room full of industrial waste

Upon seeing bizarre installations like these, first I think, “Oh, nifty.”  Then I think, “How is this art??”  

Maybe I need to take an art appreciation class or something, but I just don’t get it.  As someone who enjoys making art, the ultimate goal of all my paintings is to make something pretty.  It’s never a commentary on the use of torture in the military or my perspective of environmental decline.  It’s more about sunsets and flowers.  Is that why these artists are in the MoMA and I paint in a senior citizen center?  I guess so.

Domesticated for one night only

I don’t cook.  At least not regularly.  To me, cooking dinner is an event that requires mental and physical preparation.   When people ask me, “Do you cook?” I respond, “Sort of.”  And it’s only “sort of” because my definition of cooking includes heating up things that were previously frozen, which I know is not real cooking.  But lucky for Mr. S and me, I am excellent at ordering!  Living in NYC, there are 5 major food groups: Pizza, Chinese, Thai, Japanese, and Mexican – all of them equally convenient.

So it must be a very special occasion when I do try to “whip up” something in the kitchen.  And by “whip up,” I mean research the dish I will make online, go to the grocery store to buy the required ingredients (because I have none of those so-called kitchen staples), precisely measure each ingredient using measuring cups and assorted spoons, and meticulously put together my dish using no less than 3 pots and pans.  Oh, and all the while, running back and forth from the kitchen to the laptop to make sure I am correctly following the recipe’s step-by-step directions.  See why I don’t cook often?  It’s exhausting.

But last night, I must have been feeling inspired by the 20 Costco chicken breasts staring at me from our freezer.  Why do we buy bulk chicken breasts if we don’t cook?  I have no idea.  All I can say is that we got a good deal on them.  I checked out the rest of my existing supplies in the refrigerator and cabinets: garlic in a jar, Dijon mustard, breadcrumbs, and dried herbs and spices.  The only reason I have these things on hand is that they are the non-perishable leftovers from those rare occasions when I was feeling particularly domestic.  I avoid looking at the stamped expiration date on things that come out of my refrigerator and have faith that my 5 senses alone will let me know if something has gone bad. 

I thought that all those ingredients would go well with chicken, but I did a quick Google search just to make sure.  Lo and behold! – my planned concoction did exist and it was called “Easy Breaded Dijon Chicken.”  Sounds delicious.  Any recipe I attempt is marked as either “quick” or “easy.”  I can’t imagine the damage my kitchen would endure with something called “advanced.”

And so, my normal cooking pattern began: sit at laptop, run to kitchen, measure 1 1/2 tablespoons of mustard, put in bowl, run to laptop, run to kitchen…and so on and so forth.  It’s a good thing we live in a small studio.

Here’s a list of my ingredients and supplies (I also made roasted asparagus and couscous):

• 2 chicken breast halves, skinless & boneless
• 1 1/2 tablespoon Dijon mustard
• 1 1/2 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1/2 teaspoon dried tarragon or basil
• 1 cup fresh breadcrumbs (who actually makes fresh breadcrumbs?!)
• salt and pepper
• chopped fresh parsley  (I didn’t have this and it was only for garnish, so I omitted it)
• 1 bunch asparagus
• 1 box 5-minute couscous
• 3 large dishes – 1 for defrosting chicken, 1 for soaking chicken, 1 for breading chicken
• 1 baking sheet
• 1 other baking vessel (I don’t know the technical term for this thing)
• 1 small pot
• 1 small pot lid
• tongs
• measuring cup
• 1 tablespoon
• 1 teaspoon
• 3 forks (used in the cooking process, not for eating)
• 1 big knife
• 1 small knife
• 1 cutting board

I should mention at this point that our small studio comes equipped with a very small sink.  It quickly overfloweth. 

One thing I am pretty good at is orchestrating the various cooking times and the final reveal.  Voila!

It wasn’t as pretty as the online version, but still tasty.  When Mr. S got home from the gym I announced my good deed for the day:

Me: I made dinner!!! (cue trumpets and confetti)

Mr. S: I see.  It smells good.

Me: Hurry, hurry, try it, try it!!

Mr. S: I have to shower first.

Me: EAT IT NOWWWW!!!!!

Mr. S: Ok, ok.  Are there carbs in couscous?

Me: I don’t know.  You don’t have to eat the couscous.  (That only took 5 minutes of my time…I didn’t care about his opinion of instant couscous)

< Mr. S eats while I hover over his shoulder >

Me: So is it good?

Mr. S (mouth full):  Yup!  Good job!

Although I’m sure Mr. S knows better than to answer that question with anything but an enthusiastic affirmation of my cooking skills, I really do think my Easy Breaded Dijon Chicken was a success.  Another one for the history books!