I Was Tricked. It Was A Treat.

My thighs are killing me today. It hurts to sit down.  As I descend to get myself into a chair (or into Second and Third part of Awkard pose - like in tonight's Bikram class), my thighs spasm and cry out in pain.

What caused this?

A man who tricked me.

The hottest ticket each Sunday at my gym is the 11am Spin class.  It's called "TranscendCycle."  I assumed, because of the name, that it would be a more peaceful version of the Spin class I sometimes take on Saturday mornings.  

Boy was I eff-ing wrong.

I walked into class, up to the bike I book for each class (number 34!) and get myself situated. I see a highly stylized gay man walking around helping everyone.  He is tall. Buff.  Black.  And super sweet.

But that sugar and spice niceness only lasted till he turned on the music and kicked the class into high gear.

Before you knew it... he was screaming at you to "run" on your bike.  That meant, "Stand up on your bike the entire class, peddling as hard as possible while occasionally turning up the tension on your bike."

I had to laugh, because I thought this would be a "zen-like" experience in a spin class.  

And now, my thighs are so tired.

I'll definitely be going back.

Wild Bluebell On My Pillows.

My apartment has become quite the girlie place. Don't get the wrong idea... I don't have any pink anywhere in the place. Or any Hello Kitty. (Though I am considering getting an HK toaster!)  It's just got a girlie feel. A grown-up girlie feel!

And even more girlie... My bedtime ritual lately...

A half hour Skype session with The Husband. Followed by Bedtime Yogi Tea, a lighting of my bedtime candle and a spray of Jo Malone's Wild Bluebell Cologne on my pillow.

I like falling asleep with the floral notes dancing around me. It makes my sleep more girlie.

First Snow Fall.

Busy week... But I am finally settling into life here in NYC. And I am loving it.

Even when it is cold out and snowing, like today...

Peaceful. Serene. And I am cozy and safe in my little apartment.

Two Buck Chuck.

My most favorite thing about being back in the States is the cost of groceries. More specifically... Trader Joe's.

All through university, I had access to a TJ's... But I never went to it. It was on the "other side of town" and it just wasn't convenient.  In Boston, I shopped there maybe twice... Preferring Whole Foods.  

Then I moved to Canada, and saw expensive groceries really were. Holy crap! 

While away at Teacher Training last Fall, I rediscovered rader Joe's. Like nearly all of the other yogis and yoginis at #BKTT, on Saturdays I would hit the aisles of TJ's to do my weekly grocery shopping. Then, after 9 weeks in lovely San Diego, I headed back to the Great White North. And back to expensive groceries.

High quality groceries. But expensive.

Now that I am back in NYC, I am lucky enough to live around the corner from the TJ's.  And I am a mere 10 minute walk from another one that has a Trader Joe's Wine Shop attached to it. Score!

Even more of a score, as I have now had a chance to try out the legendary "Two Buck Chuck"...

I picked up a Charles Shaw Pinot Grigio.  I am not a fan of white wine. And seeing as this bottle was only $2.99 (thus the name), I figured I couldn't go wrong.  It was low risk.  And quite frankly, I buy one cup of coffee each day that costs more than that.

I got it home. Chilled it. And tried it this evening.

It was delicious.

Well worth the risk. Tempted to stock up and get some delivered to store in the mini wine fridge in my apartment. Though, I just don't see myself drinking white wine enough to necessitate a few bottles always lying around.  And I don't see myself taking it to a party as a gift for the hostess.

But it is absolutely delicious.  Yum.

A Slight Flight Delay.

Yep. And it was all my fault.

At least I think it was.

No. I am pretty sure it was.

See... I like to check in online. Preferably with my mobile phone. And this one airline I was flying between Toronto and NYC today doesn't have a mobile app for checking in. You CAN check in online. But then you have to print your ticket out. Seeing as I don't believe in owning a printer (and being as a paperless as possible), I couldn't print my ticket.

"I'll just check in and print it out once I get to the airport!" I said to myself.

But when I showed up to the airport and went to the machine to print my ticket, I was informed that for "U.S. Travel, check-in at the counter."  Meaning I had to wait in line just to get my ticket printed out.

Oy.

This took about 15 minutes, as everyone and their old wheel-chair-bound family members (as noted by the number of wheel chairs in the check-in line) were traveling to the States today.  I got to the counter, slapped my passport down and said I just needed ticket printed.

"Absolutely ma'am," the agenct said. "Are you checking baggage?"

I told her I was not. That's when she said she needed to weigh my carry-on. I obliged.

"Sorry ma'am," she said. "We're going to have to have you check this bag. It's two kilograms (4 pounds) over the weight limit for carry-on luggage."

That's when I said I would be happy to remove the extra pounds from my trolly carry-on into my "personal item" Balenciaga Weekender bag.

She eyed me suspiciously and said, "That's not how it works."

She tagged my bag. Then she informed me that because their luggage belt behind the desk was out of order, I would have to take my bag over "there" (point off into the distance) and drop it off on the "Oversized Luggage" belt.

I didn't see a belt... I only saw a large crowd of disorganized people and wheelchairs.  It was the line to add the luggage to the belt.  And it was moving slow.  I looked over at the security line and saw no one in it.

"Eff it!" I said to myself. And I tore the luggage tag from the airline off of my bag and walked into the security line.  Two minutes later, I was in the gate lounge, drinking a cappuccinno and relaxing.

Then it came time to board the plane. It went very smoothly. The only hold up was a little old lady, dressed very posh, who was in line ahead of me as we were boarding the plane. She stopped to confirm that the airline would have someone with a wheelchair waiting for her at the gate in NYC.

"You didn't have enough wheelchairs today," she said to the agent. "So I had to walk all the way myself with my bag.  And it wasn't easy."

We got on the plane, and I noticed she was in the same row as me.  We all boarded and were ready to take off on time.

But we didn't.

We sat for about 10 minutes. Eventually, the captain came on and said, "Apologies for the delay. We appear to have a miscalculation with our baggage count. It should be a few minutes more. We should be airborne in about 15 minutes."

That's when I started to worry.

"You know what that means," the guy next to me said.  "That means they lost someone's luggage and can't find it."

That's when I realized it was probably my fault. My bag had been counted as "checked."  But I didn't actually check it... Because really... Who wants to check a bag flying into the international terminal in NYC?

I sat in my seat and prayed that we would take off soon, and without a long delay. I also prayed that the flight attendants wouldn't come to me all apologetically and say, "Sorry ma'am. It's your bag we can't find. When you land in NYC, we'll take care of you."

The guilt. It was weighing on me the longer I sat.  But eventually, we took off. (Yay!) And I felt a karmic imbalance.

Once in the air, the captain came back on the intercom to tell us that today was the 5th anniversary of the airline. And as such, they were going to be drawing a seat number at random to gift with a free roundtrip ticket to anywhere the airline flies.

"The seat number is 12B," he said.

That was my seat number.  The person in seat A, next to me smiled at me.  But there was quickly debate as to whether the captain had said "12B" or "12D"... the seat with the old lady in it.

I don't know if the captain did call out my seat. But given my guilt from the whole baggage delay... And the old lady's experience with the lack of wheelchairs...  I played dumb and said, "Yeah, it was 12D he said. I would love to win it. But I didn't."

Hoping my karma is evened out now.

Bootie-ful!

Wandering out in my neighborhood this afternoon, I came across one of my favorite designer boutiques.  I went in just to look. But came out with a new pair of shoes...

Shoe boots!

Wedge shoe boots!

I can't wait to try them tomorrow. So much more comfortable than regular heels... And nice chunky buckles for Fall.

Rethinking "Neutrals."

Decorating can be a non-stop process.  We've had our Toronto house for over two years, and we are not even close to being complete with what we want to do in it. But with the NYC apartment, I am far more determined to get a "complete" feeling.

Because I pretty much bought everything for the apartment at West Elm, and on a West Elm account that I opened, they rewarded me with about $500 of their "Design Dollars."

SCORE!

I wasn't even expecting these. So when they showed up, it was an amazing treat!



I decided to take my treat back to the store this weekend to find something on which to use them.  What I found were mostly pillows, which I needed for my very bare living room couch.

I originally wanted a bright yellow or orange pillow.  Preferably in a silk of some kind.

But I wasn't in love with the fabrics they had at West Elm. So when I saw the Gilded Grasscloth and the Snow Lynx ones, I fell in love.




I think natural-looking materials and animal prints are great neutrals.  For the most part, they mix well with pretty much any color.


And to be honest, you aren't likely to ever see me where animal prints, as I just can't pull them off stylishly.

It goes back to the idea of carrying a Louis Vuitton, Coach or Gucci logo bag... I just ain't polished enough to look sophisticated with it. I look way too "juvy."

But in my home? I can totally make it work!

I will note that The Husband (who is likely to read this at some point today, whilst he works very hard researching some things for work) will not like my choice of "neutrals." He prefers grey, black, white and beige. He will proclaim my neutrals "too girlie."

But guess what, dude?

I'M A GIRL!

Well, technically, I am a 34-year-old woman.  And part of 51% of the population. GIRLIE IS THE NORM!

And animal prints and natural elements are indeed great "neutrals."

Patience Is A Virtue?

Oh the fun stuff people send you via SomeECards!

This pretty much sums up my Type A feelings most of the time... (Which is probably why I should never be a mother.)

Two Homes. Two Empty Fridges.

Not that you thought it was glamorous... But in case you did, I am here to break your heart with the idea that having two homes was glamorous.

If anything, it leaves you starving.  

No, not because you are paying for two residences (in my case, one in Toronto and one in NYC).  It is because you find your self not wanting to keep food in your kitchen for fear that it is going to go bad before you have the chance to eat it.

I am in Toronto today, and I am starving.

The Husband, who resides at this house full time, isn't the best at grocery shopping.  That was something I usually took care of when I lived here.  And now that I am not, the fridge is kind of bare. But the story isn't any different at the NYC apartment.  I keep my kitchen pretty bare too. 

So I come home to Toronto to an empty kitchen.  I go home to NYC to an empty kitchen.

Only Kate Moss would (probably) say that "an empty kitchen is glamorous."

The Gayborhood.

The Husband is visiting me this weekend for the first time since I moved back to NYC to live full time.  When we were here nearly two months ago, he approved of the apartment I chose to rent.  (Because it kicks ass.)  And now that he is back for the first time since, I have made an effort to walk him around and show him my lovely new neighborhood.

We had brunch at a place around the corner.

We went shopping a the drugstore on 7th avenue.

We ate dinner at the Italian restaurant two blocks away.

We meandered down 8th Avenue to 14th street.  

After all of this, The Husband had one question for me...

"Why do you always choose to live in gay-centric neighborhoods?"

Don't get me wrong... He doesn't have a problem with gay neighborhoods.  In Boston, I chose to have us live in the South End. Which is a beautiful neighborhood with a strong and lovely gay community. Then, when we moved to Toronto, I campaigned to have us move to the Annex... But The Husband really wanted the Rosedale neighborhood. So we split the difference and ended up in the Yorkville neighborhood. And this time around in NYC, I am in Chelsea.  An upscale neighborhood with a strong and lovely gay community.

Which brings me to this evening...

The Husband and I were eating sups at an inexpensive Italian restaurant a block away from my apartment. It is the second version of a restaurant we ate at 10 years ago that resides at 50th and 2nd Avenue, in the The Husband's old neighborhood. The difference with this new location, though, is that the waiters are hotter.

Much hotter.  

And in muscle shirts.

And super sweet and kind-natured.

And the The Husband definitely noticed, and commented.

"Why is everyone in this neighborhood so good-looking?" he asked.

"Because they're mostly gay men, and it's the rules," I informed him.

That's when he asked me why I chose to live in a neighborhood where everyone is super-duper hot, as it can be intimidating.

"Because I want to be hot too," I explained.  "And the best way to be hot and get in that mold is to surround yourself with people who are super-achievers in 'hot-ness.' It's inspirational."

He gets it now.

Gayborhoods are friendlier.  Prettier.  And more inspirational. For me.

Rules For Making Your First Time (Watching The Notebook) Special.

Hard as it is to believe... I have never in my life, ever, seen the movie The Notebook.

(Pause for all my girl and gay guy friends who wail out with their pity and horror with me.)

I don't know. I like chick flicks. But sometimes, when I watch the trailers for them before they come out in theaters, I sense myself pulling detaching from the appeal that most girls (and gay men) have for them.

I guess I just can only handle the sweet and sappy love stories if there is a general consensus that they're to be made fun of... Like with the Twilight series.  I love those! Because it's GOD AWFUL writing. But it is a love story, written by a Mormon woman.  And it's filled with sap. But it's awesome to watch (and read) because it doesn't try to be remotely real (beyond the fact that it's a vampire/werewolf story, and those things don't exist).

(I mean... I assume most chicks know that a fellow like Edward doesn't exist.  And though someone with Jacob's personality probably exists... Would you really want to date Edward or Jacob in real life?  They're stalkers! And obsessed! But I digress...)

I never watched The Notebook.  I think I may have rented it circa 2006... But never actually watched it. And when I told two friends this last night at a party, their mouths dropped.

"WHAT!?!?!" screamed one.

"What's WRONG with you?" another wanted to know.

I explained my aversion to the film, and the genre.  But they insisted that I see it. And they took it another step...  By offering suggestions around how I should "make it special for my first time" watching it.

Rules for Making Your "First Time" Special:

• It must be a cloudy day.  Preferably Sunday. And it is even better if it is raining.
• You must wear lounge-y pants, comfy t-shirt, sweatshirt and fuzzy socks.
• Pull hair back.
• If you wear contacts, take them out. Put your glasses on.
• Have snacks of the "comfort kind." You know... Like popcorn. And mac-n-cheese. (Their recommendations.)
• Essential to have a full stock of Kleenex.
• Sit on the couch, have a blanket to wrap yourself in tightly.

I don't know... This list is pretty high maintenance. If all this is recommended in order to enjoy the movie and be prepared for the emotional roller coaster it seems to be, I may never watch it.

If someone could guarantee that I will get to see Ryan Gosling's abs in it... Or something like that... I would be far more motivated to try and watch it.

"From The Corner Room At The Carlyle... Everyone Loves New York."

Rare are the occasions that I get to see my friends (Bail & Frogger) from Boston. But as fate would have it, they both were able to schedule business meetings here in NYC that coincided with the end of my first full week at my new job.

This meant it was time for celebration and catching up.  Naturally.

So to be indulgent, we booked a table at the Cafe Carlyle, inside the Carlyle Hotel. It's a supper club that features classic talent, performing cabaret style.  And the night we went, we were treated to Elaine Stritch's reflective and inspirational portrait of her life.

Why Elaine Stritch?  Because she is a sassy old broad!



Elaine loves New York. As do I. And her show was a joy to watch.  Well worth the money, listening to her sing Stephen Sondheim's works and drinking champagne.