Resurfacing

Oh hello.

So this is my blog! Clearly, I had forgotten how to get to this website.

Could also be that I've been working far more than any reasonably sane person should and my mind and my life have been too filled with database-marketing-membership-orchestra-conference- orchestra-database-i-love-flying-on-planes-membership-conference-lmao-must-do-work-now-must-do-work-always for me to remember that I have actually done some fun stuff over the last 3 months and that you people might want to know about it.

Or something like that.

Let's start at the beginning, and by beginning I mean today, because that's the farthest back i can be counted on to reliably remember these days. This morning, Eric and I participated in our first half marathon! (I can't truthfully say we ran this race--but more on that later). All signs pointed to "No, you dumbos, no one should run that far. Go back to bed" but we are stubborn and slightly idiotic individuals so we proceeded with abandon and very little caution.

The preface: Last weekend, my left knee decided it had had enough with this running business (THE RELAY, and the many, many miles of running it required, was a mere two weeks ago, but that deserves its own time slot. Stay tuned). Madame Left Knee closed up shop on mile 9 of our last training run- excellent timing, week before our big race, left knee! Thanks for nothing, lady! Not to be deterred, I diligently limped around wearing my AWESOME black knee brace every day last week (looks great with sundresses!) and spent my evenings in my hotel room alone with my trusty ice pack. (Oh yeah. I was in DC last week for work. Never a dull moment around here.)

The ice and the great fashion statement helped to a degree, but I can safely say that a physician would not have cleared me to run today. Luckily for me, there are no physicians around here!

If a busted knee wasn't enough of an indication that maybe today wasn't our day for a half marathon, the warnings just kept on coming...First, yesterday the weathermen predicted a Severe Cold Warning (Ah, Californians. What are you gonna do?) for the entire Bay Area, complete with downpours, hail, and lightning for Sunday morning. Perfection!

Alas, we woke up to wet pavement but dry skies at 4 am this morning, and stumbled to our sweet wheels for the day, a rented Zipcar parked a few blocks from our house. But, lo and behold, it was double-parked and impossible to get out of its parking space. Brilliant! Did we turn right around? No way! Luckily, Zipcar has 24-hour customer service, and they found us a different car just another few blocks away. This car was in a fancy garage in an office building that was very clearly locked. Nice. Luckily (again) there was a jolly security guard who was more than happy to lead us to our new, easily accessible Zipcar.

Except there was one small problem. Surprise, surpise.

When we drove through the gate to exit, the giant metal garage door loomed in front of us. Completely. Un-movingly. Closed. Awesome.

Since this was a top-of-the-line garage someone came quickly to our rescue and told us that (obviously) you just had to drive within about 1 foot of the giant closed metal garage door and it would open. Obviously.

At last, we were free, ready make an easy getaway across the bridge and be to Lodi in time to pretend to stretch and to scarf a few pre-race pancakes. Wrong again! (There is a very clear pattern here, no?). Today was Bay to Breakers, San Francisco's annual clothing optional 10K run/excuse to drink heavily in public before 9 am. For us, on this fine day, this meant that every street leading to the Bay Bridge was blocked off. After talking to a few race volunteers who either a) didn't speak English, b) were still sleeping, or c) thought we were Martians, someone finally gave us an escape route and we got across the bridge.

Are you exhausted yet? If so, remember that this was all before 6 am and then you feel free to feel even more exhausted and, also, bad for us. We had a fairly uneventful drive to Lodi, until we realized that Google had taken us to the middle of the Woodbridge vineyards, instead of the actual winery, where the race was to begin promptly at 7 am. This was at about 6:45, and, turns out, Woodbridge is kind of a big winery.

We made it to the actual location with mere moments to spare and had to park a good half mile away, and, in case you were wondering, an extra walk is GREAT when you're about to "run" 13 miles on a busted knee. Against all odds, we managed to check in and get our numbers and goodie bags about 2 seconds before the race started. I furiously used an entire roll of athletic tape in a fairly fruitless effort to stabilize my knee while Eric ran back to the car to drop of our stuff and fill his pockets with our as yet uneaten pancakes.

Aaaannnnnd then we missed the start of the race.

Needless to say, at this point, I was getting the message loud and clear: This was not supposed to be happening. And, yet, here I was, all the way in Lodi, one leg covered in tape and the other held together with a tendon strap named McDavid, and you can bet I was running that race, despite the tears of frustration and disappointment that had inevitably started to fall.

A few things you should know about me (and you probably all do): I've come to strongly identify myself with physical fitness, I don't like to quit anything, and I definitely don't like to let myself down. So, even though I was already terribly disappointed that this was not at all how I had imagined things to be, I had to do this race.

Fortunately, there was also a 5K race this morning, so we started with them (we'll call it a 15 minute penalty for ignoring all the ominous signs) and only got a couple of strange looks when we blew past the 5K mark and started running our own private half-marathon. As one of the EMT's on duty said, "If you guys want to win, you're going to have to hurry." Touché, man.

My knee held up fairly well for the first half of the race and, and with a mixture of running and walking, we did actually catch up to some of the other half-marathoners. (Does it count as a roadkill if you pass people who are intentionally walking the race? I'm thinking yes, so, in that case, we racked up a good 45 roadkills today. Score!) At about Mile 8, though, my knee was tired of being a good sport.

Although this made me incredibly sad, I simply could not run anymore. It was not only painful, it may have been impossible at that point, so I waved the (off)white flag and decided to walk the rest of the way. Eric stuck with me and we finished in around 2 hours and 45 minutes, in approximately 300th place, which was not even last! Fine, fine work, I say. (Eric was second to last in his age group, but we can blame that one entirely on me. We won't put that in the record books).

Clearly, today was not the victorious accomplishment I envisioned when I registered us for this race, but I have to keep reminding myself that moving one's self 13.1 miles, whether at a sprint, a jog, a walk, or a crawl, is still something to be proud of. To help me remember, I have been wearing my medal all day. For real. It's cool, you guys!

The moment we crossed the finish line, the skies opened up and the big rain finally came. We snapped some pictures during a momentary dry spell and then sought refuge in a Lodi winery before heading to Stockton for Michael's Pizza. Because if there's ever a time you deserve pizza dipped liberally in the world's best ranch dressing, it's after a half-marathon, you know what I'm saying?

And now we're back, curled up with the sweet kitty and my favorite ice pack, drinking celebratory scotch/Champagne.

End of saga.

In our next issue: my re-entrance to the world of driving, THE RELAY, our adventures in Vegas, and other potentially interesting tales...

Initiation

Well. Seeing as how this is the eve of my first return to New York since The Big Move and you've heard nary a word from me about our new life in San Fran, I decided I better let you know that we have not fallen into the bay and are, in fact, having some (ok, a lot of) fun. In case you were worried.

Anyone well acquainted with our typical NYC weekend knows that it generally consisted of a muffin, a margarita, a brunch, some time in the park, and either a fancy party or rather rambunctious viewing of fine television with Paul (the likes of Man vs. Food, The Amazing Race, or, our personal favorite, The Worst Drivers in America bring out the party on any boring Sunday night). All of this generally took place in around a 5 block radius. (When you have everything you need within an arm's reach, why look elsewhere? This is just common sense.)

Our weekends in SF, so far, have been ever so slightly more adventurous (if you call a weekly excursion to Oakland adventurous- and who doesn't?) and, even though I find serious pleasure in sitting around and staring lovingly at all my fancy wedding presents that we finally have room for, our busy days have been great! We've stuffed our faces with several authentic Mission burritos and they live up to expectations, I'll tell you what. We also stayed out past 11 with some hipsters at an indie music festival in a warehouse, where the bands were less than great and seriously emo (those crocodile tears are the product of a very tough upper middle-class childhood, we understand...)

While Mom was here we hit the happy hour buffet at the San Francisco landmark, The Tonga Room, and we managed to eat our monthly quota of delicious grease in a mere two hours. Last week we went to Dollar Day (every Sunday!) at the horse track and, though we didn't bet, watching horses race is much more fun when you get a beer for a single dollar. Then tonight, I made my cow bell debut with the pep band at a Saint Mary's basketball game. The game was awesome despite the team's major choke in the second half, and, more importantly, the cow bell playing was outstanding.

Being back in the college atmosphere made me feel simultaneously alarmed and nostalgic. Alarmed, #1, because I don't remember wearing such little clothing in college, but I probably did. I mean, if I let Paul dress me, I definitely did. But, mostly being around all those college kids listening to pop music I've never heard, I had one of those moments where it hits you that you are most certainly not in college anymore and, thus, you are old. Alarm bells everywhere.

At the same time, it was nice being in that atmosphere for a few hours- there's an excitement and innocence at college that is truly infectious, not unlike the mono that is probably spreading through those dorm rooms as we speak.

Besides all that, I've been training for this relay race in April, which mean I'm pretending with moderate success to actually be a runner, and have been going to the pool. Please don't hate me. I promise I'm not turning into one of those people and I really am sad I've missed so much snow this year, but I'm not going to lie to you it is NICE to go to the pool in the winter.

Allegedly, it's "real" winter now, which means rain and dampness, so my early days of gloating might be coming to an end. But, just in case, I head back to the concrete jungle tomorrow, so that's sure to snap back to reality quicker than you can say "frostbite."

Break On Through To The Other Side

Well, I'm here. After much anticipation, many teary goodbyes, and a fair share of reluctance, I left that little New York City and crossed the threshold into my new life in San Francisco. And so, finally, it's time to figure out how I feel about this whole situation. Here goes nothin'...

The last couple weeks in Manhattan were chock full of we're-leaving-New York-fun-times. That was immediately followed by two weeks of nonstop I'm-so-happy-to-be-home-for-Christmas-in-Colorado-awesomeness (which definitely deserves its own post, thanks to the incredible combination of Family Game Tournament, Paul's arrival, copious amounts of fondue, meat pie, champagne, Just Dance!, and our annual family band and napkin costume contest. But, Christmas is already so last year, so you may just have to settle for a little Facebook action). Then, as quickly as it began, vacation was over and Day 1 of Operation: California was upon us. My days as a New Yorker are officially a thing of the past.

Before I attempt to reflect on my life-changing experience in New York, I should quickly sum up the rest of our final tour de force, also known as Rebecca and Eric Eat Manhattan.

In one huge Saturday, we knocked The Sunburnt Calf, the MUD truck, and the Brooklyn Bridge off the list. Plus, our adventures that day gave us some outstanding write-in candidates for future reference: tasty, rosemary nuts at Union Square Cafe and hands down the best milkshake ever- the toasted marshmallow shake at Stand.

AND, that Saturday just so happened to be SantaCon, the annual convening of people that want to dress like Mr. Claus and binge drink all over the city. Winner!

We both had lovely send offs and holiday parties from our office and, at Mom's recommendation, we braved the tourists at Rockefeller Center so we saw a really big tree and many, many people. Just look at how excited I am!

We stuffed ourselves at Mesa Grill, and Paul was able to join us for a last brunch at Calle Ocho, which was almost a bust but was saved at the last moment by the appearance of our waiter friend Antonio to wish us well and to try to make out with Paul. Well. Kind of.

After a long night of packing and cleaning and being sad, the big day dawned on us and we ordered a Big Nick's pizza (a tribute to our first meal in New York), drugged the cat, forced her into the world's smallest pet carrier, and closed the door at 101 West End for the last time.

If you would have asked me four years ago if New York would ever feel like home, I'm sure I would have said no. The days when I would be sad and reluctant to return to the city after a visit to the west coast really are not so long ago. Somehow, though, New York bewitched me. The person I became there and the life I built there made that peculiar, crowded, glittering city my home.

I couldn't tell you exactly what I liked so much about living there because, in reality, living in New York is a huge pain in the rear. And it's also really full of people. Rude people. And pigeons. Plus, it's expensive and it gets really hot in the summer and there's nothing I hate more than being sweaty. Despite all of these very legitimate reason not to like that place, I am more than a little bit in love with that city.

A lot of people would probably say that they like New York because of the galleries or the restaurants or the theatre, but it's nothing that specific for me. If I had to pick one reason I loved living there it would be because I didn't have to drive and would never be expected to. Valid point, but not quite romantic enough to sum up the deep and emotional attachment I have for the city. It's something much more intangible.

I love the crisp fall air in the parks and the balmy early summer nights by the river; my yoga teachers with their incredible knowledge, patience, and skill; the rush of people at any hour of the day, all hurrying to whatever comes next, like tiny pieces in a never-ending jigsaw puzzle; the miles and miles and miles and miles of walking; the snow-covered city before the grime and noise of the day takes over; the quiet cobblestones of the West Village and unexplored paths in Central Park; and, of course, Paul...

The list could go on and on. I love New York and miss it deeply for a million little reasons that add up to one big one: I loved knowing I lived there. With all its mystique, glory, intimidation, and enormity, Eric and I made a life there, and we were good at it, and it was ours.

That is what I'll miss most about New York.

Now that we've been in San Francisco for a couple of weeks, I'm ready to embrace it. The wound of leaving New York is not quite so raw and I know it's time to open my heart to this city as much as I did for New York. I won't pretend that there weren't rough days over the past four and a half years, but when I look back at this time in my life, I will always cherish it. I will always want to go back. But now is the beginning of my next chapter, and it's time to be excited, so I am.

And besides, San Francisco already has a lot going for it: my sis is here and the weather is pretty nice. Turns out it isn't so weird to not have winter; you actually just forget it's winter altogether. Apparently, I've adapted to the California life more easily than originally expected...

Progress Report

Our time left living in New York is rapidly depleting, as every minute seems to be filled with work, cramming in as many yoga classes with my awesome teachers as I can (big, BIG crocodile tear), doing move-related chores, and, of course, tackling the very fun and very important List. Since it's really too cold right now for me to go anywhere willingly and taking apart our bookshelves was making me a little too sad, I decided it's the perfect time to update you on our progress in the official New York countdown.

We hit the ground running with a frigid walk through Central Park on our way uptown on Sunday. I, being typically moronic in my choice of shoes, decided it was ok to not wear socks. Let's just say I was too busy worrying that my feet had turned to useless stumps due to lack of blood flow to take a Central Park photo. Despite the chill in the air and my numb extremities, it was lovely in that special way that Central Park always is.

Our destination on Operation: No Socks was Blockheads! Turns out that when you can't feel your hands or your feet, a frozen margarita is just what you need! We savored those cheap, completely tasty little concoctions along with our usual spinach burritos and then said "hasta la vista" to good old Blockheads.

Later that day (don't judge- time is short, people), we went with Paul to Mee Noodle House. Oh, Mee Noodle House....You and your egg rolls and noodle soup and carb cakes and sizzling platters of brown food have treated us so well. You will be greatly missed. There are three waitresses at Mee and luckily for us our favorite, we call her the Smiley One, was working that night. Paul decided she should be in our souvenir Mee picture, so he asked her for one just as she was leaving. For the night. How lucky for her that we made her stay at work longer! I have to admit that I have not been that nervous since the first time I paid just a quarter to go to a museum (that just does not seem right- wasn't the box office guy going to judge me??), but Paul is a charmer and Smiley One will forever be a part of our Mee lore.

On Monday, we got our Christmas tree- not on the list, but fun, nonetheless.


And it doesn't stop there, no, no- on Tuesday we hit up Loco Tuesday at 1849 for old times' sake. Loco Tuesday tends to draw NYU frat boy types looking for a $2 tequila shot, but we go to 1849 with one goal: Nachos Problem In Our Faces.

You all know that I believe nachos are the perfect food- what more could anyone need besides melted cheese, chips, salsa, and guacamole? Nachos Problem at 1849 may just be the perfect version of the world's perfect food.

Is your mouth watering? Because mine definitely is.

After resisting the urge to order another round of Nachos Problem, we took a detour to Washington Square Park. In typical WSP fashion, much of the park was still under construction and there plenty of crazies wandering around, but we did get to pay our respects to the hallowed campus of New York University. NYU, you may have cramped my style for nearly three years and will continue to cramp our bank account for the next bazillion years, but those were actually some pretty good times. Plus, I have a Masters degree, so that's pretty good I guess.

We're taking tonight and last night off because after this it's full steam ahead, see you at the finish line. Next on the agenda? A write-in: lunch with my department at Landmarc. Can anyone say "bacon salad"? Actually it's Frisee aux Lardons, if you're fancy...

And the Countdown Starts...

Unbelievably, today was the first day of the last month of 2010 and, even more unbelievably, it occurred to me that I have less than 20 days left in this fair city. Nineteen to be exact. Eighteen if you count today as passed, which it is, and I am here to tell you first-hand that eighteen days is not a lot, especially when you have a Goodbye New York agenda as packed as mine.

Despite Dolby's all-around awesomeness in making this the easiest move ever for us, Eric and I still have a whole bunch of boring stuff to do (cleaning dust bunnies out from under the bed, anyone? How about filling in the EIGHT MILLION holes we've made in our wall? No?). Don't worry, though, doing boring stuff has never been my priority and I certainly don't plan on starting that kind of behavior now.

So, to waste no further time (I have only eighteen days, after all), I present The Completely Unofficially, Entirely Inconclusive List (which could also be known as How to Eat and Drink a City in Eighteen Days):

-Unpack my suitcase from Thanksgiving (I mean, first things first)
-Mud Truck (pumpkin pie) chai
-Brunch at Sunburnt Calf
-Brunch at Calle Ocho
-Cider from the farmers market-fresh margs at Blockheads
-Walk through as many neighborhoods as possible (on my way to eat everywhere. Duh)
-Mee Noodle House (maybe I'll even branch out to some of those "Hard to Find Items" listed on the menu...probably not though.)
-STREET MEAT
-Nachos Problem at 1849
-Iron Chef brunch with the NYU crew
-Marseilles? Mesa Grill? Somewhere else fancy? (This depends heavily on my old moneybags, Eric)
-Brooklyn Bridge
-Row a boat in Central Park
-Giant beers, giant sausages, and giant pretzels at Radegast (I promise to share)
-Rockefeller Center (because those crowds of tourists never get old!)
-Central Park, Central Park, and more Central Park
-At least 4 cupcakes from Magnolia

Ok, that seems like a lot, or at least a lot of calories, so maybe that should do it. The good news is that I saw the very best of Broadway with mom and dad when they were here, so that is already checked off the list! Dad and I even had Shake Shack and fancy cocktails at the Parker Meridien last month, so there's two more down! Plus, we had huge trip to Coney Island with Allison Gomer, so even though that was a few months ago, it was so epic that it definitely counts. Plus, it's cold there now. Clearly, I'm already on a roll, so it's on to the (Un)Official List.

Are you ready New York, I'm coming to eat you, once and for all!

PS- if you have ideas for things I need to do to cap off my Manhattan life that DON'T involve stuffing my face, please let me know. My hips would probably appreciate it.

(no title can sum this up)

The story has broken and the rumors are true.

Our residence on this- the inferior but always fascinating and undeniably life-changing coast- is coming to an end.
...
Eric and I are moving to San Francisco.

Pause for simultaneous sobbing, cheering, wailing, sniffling, clapping, and sighing. All coming from me.

This was a pretty hard decision for the old hubs and I. We (especially me) are still very much in love with New York. It is an incredible city with a personality all of its own (I mean, really, I seriously doubt that I will even have a muffin stolen straight out of my lap ever again) and I am certain that nowhere else I will reside will live up to the mystique that Manhattan has offered for the past four years. Even on the worst of days, fighting my way through mobs of tourists or fruitlessly attempting to shield myself from the ice pellets affectionately known as the "wintry mix", I have come to embrace this city for all that it is.

But life has a way of interrupting your stride just when it gets a little too cushy- so off to the better coast we go. And, just so we're clear, it's only better because the people are slightly less high-strung and it's much closer to Colorado, aka the best place in the world.

Since my feelings about this whole situation are still basically unidentified (I'll be sure to let you know when I find them) and I'm not quite ready to wax poetically about my New York experience (not that this blog hasn't been pure poetry all along), for now, I'll stick to the short story of the big move:

Eric the Genius got a new, awesome job at Dolby. Though he no longer will get to mingle with movie stars or whisk me away to Bermuda "on business", he does have business cards printed in Japanese and gets every other Friday off, so really it's not a bad trade.

I'll continue to work for the League at least until June out of our new "West Coast Office." The best part of this deal is not that I get to work in my pajamas. No, I'm just excited to finally get an assistant of my own.



And, that assistant's name is Tucky Lou. (Look how good at it she's going to be!)

Speaking of Miss Tucky Lou, she has a big 6 weeks ahead of her. Our sweet and sour little Bronx kitten is going to get to go on a plane, visit Nancy's house, spend a week and a half hanging out (ALONE) with Nancy's furball/cat, Hubble, and then settle into brand new digs in San Francisco. Let's just hope Tucky hasn't come completely unhinged by 2011.

So that's the plan- we leave New York on December 19, and you better believe we're starting in on our New York Bucket List. That, of course, deserves a post of it's own, but this list consists mainly of restaurants I need to visit. Clearly, I have a one-track mind.

Get ready San Francisco! We're coming for you and we won't settle until we've found the best brunch and/or $3 margarita you have to offer!

PS- While I was writing this someone on TV said "Who doesn't love fried dough and sugar?" I so emphatically agree with that statement that I almost made it the title of this post. I mean, that's a true statement if I ever heard one and nothing else seemed to adequately sum up my feelings. Thank you, fried dough. You always have been a loyal friend.

Lowest Common Denominator

DISCLAIMER: The following post may or may not contain a rant. Despite being repeatedly instructed by my yoga teachers to remain unharmed in the face of life's trials and tribulations, I find that humans continuously make me HARMED. You have been warned.

It's been a while since I have blatantly voiced my less than positive opinion about the intelligence of my fellow citizens, which is probably good because holier-than-thou doesn't look good on anyone. Even me. But, lately I've been in a particularly judge-y mood. This could be for any number of reasons including, but not limited to, the increasing prevalence of absurd furry boots, the (count 'em!) TWO cell phones that went off last week while I was seeing Next To Normal, our new neighbors that insist on playing Rock Band every single night, and my new-found infatuation with Chelsea Handler. (I know, I KNOW. So obvious, so cliche, so low-brow. But, you guys, this girl has the EXACT same opinions about human behavior as me. Namely, that most everyone out there is short a few tools in their shed, if you know what I mean.)

So, yesterday I had a truly lovely New York day- a workout, a latte, a long walk rambling The Ramble in Central Park, listening to an amazing band in said park, a cocktail or three...and a movie. A nice 9:30 am, $6 movie (and I'm sure it's obvious that this is the only time I go to movies, given my predisposition toward falling asleep early in the evening, not spending more than $10 on anything other than food and booze, and avoiding crowds at all costs.)

I went to see Morning Glory (the new Rachel McAdams movie) and, I'm not ashamed to say, it was not terrible. It was actually NOT stupid and even a little smart at times. Overall, a win.

Except other people were in the theater with me. And they, overall, were NOT a win.

Being a 9:30 am showing, there were approximately 14 people in the theater- me, 4 old people, and 8 (yes, that's right- EIGHT) twenty-something girls out for a pre-brunch giggle-fest, who just so happened to pick the same row as me. So these girls, apparently, thought this movie was HILARIOUS. Were they laughing at the witty writing that sometimes made a surprise appearance or even at Rachel McAdams strangely sad but completely endearing and relatable awkwardness? No, no- these ladies (all eight of them) reserved their howling and hand-clapping and knee-slapping for the Asian weatherman who may as well have predicted it would lain on the palade later that day in Ros Angeres. For example.

Oh, hello, OBVIOUS!

Don't get me wrong- it's not that I don't love making fun of stereotypes. This can be comedy gold. Morning Glory, while sufficiently enjoyable, is no where near comedy gold, except, it seems, to my eight Saturday morning movie sisters.

And then, don't even get me started on the trio that waltzed in halfway through the movie and basically set up a four-course picnic- I was just waiting for the champagne to come out (only if they shared!).

To top it off, someone's cell phone not only rang, but the person ANSWERED it and had a whole conversation!

What is WRONG with people??

Despite there being just over a dozen people enjoying this film with me yesterday morning, I was once again shown that, without a doubt, we are only as good as our weakest link. And so, it is with utmost urgency that I'm BEGGING you, my friends and family, my intelligent and savvy and hilarious companions in this odd and distracted world-- Don't. Get. Stupid.

We are the only hope for the future.