Thursday, March 5, 2009

Out of Kitchen

I will be hosting a bridal shower at the Shore this weekend and won't be able to post anything for a few days. I'll be back next week with a detailed description of the cupcakes and cake that I am preparing for the party.

To make my journey, I will be riding the often travelled but rarely discussed Casino Bus. For $30 round trip I receive about 1/2 of a seat on a dirty bus to Atlantic City. The bus-o-fun departs from the lovely Port Authority Bus Terminal, which makes me think of a third world country. Upon arrival the passengers are given vouchers for the destination casino which are usually valued at $20. If you go into the casino, you can turn in the vouchers and receive a crisp $20 bill or gamble the entire thing away. Now, I love a bargain, and since the entire trip costs $10 the dirty bus is worth it in most situations.

The problem is riding the bus alone. First, I have a history with mass transit. While I have been hit on exactly once while out and about in NYC (and I decided to stick with him), I am the queen of Amtrak. THE QUEEN. I am a bus/train/plane supermodel. I once was bombarded with date requests from a banker who I sat next to on Amtrak. The guy had boarded after me and gotten off before. When we finally met for a drink in the city, I stood up when he walked in and he looked at me in horror. The reason? Because in my 3 inch heels I was a full 7 inches above his head. That's right, he was 5 ft 3 inches and I was a massive giant. Needless to say, we did not go out again. Another time, I had the pleasure of sitting next to a really fly 19 year old enlisted marine who at one point leaned over and told me he totally goes for older women. Super, I am a 27 year old cougar.

The bus is even more of an extreme experience. While I have always thought that I won the prize for the person who fits in the least, last summer a fellow in critter shorts sat next to me and stole that prize away. This 24 year old Lehman fellow really rocked my world by telling me about how he is a trader and all that jazz and followed this broad statement up by asking me what RMBS stands for. I sure hope he was given a job at Barclays! To be fair to critter shorts, at least he was clean and did not drift over onto my side of the seat. This is a strong contrast to my most memorable bus ride. Yes, lady luck was on my side when an elderly man boarded the bus carrying a grease soaked bag and took the open seat next to me. For the next 3 hours he proceeded to eat a sausage, onion and pepper sandwich (he took breaks). This smell combined incredibly well with the musty BO smell that he was already sharing with the bus. To top it off, he turns to me, pops a piece of Dentyne Ice out of the plastic and tries to hand it to me. When I refused he told me with a heavy accent that I needed it. Shockingly, despite this truly grand gesture of chivalry, I refused again. Then he got mad. Oh, memories.

Maybe tonight I will get to sit next to a crying child. At least then there is no risk of getting hit on...

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Rainbow Challenge

The SELF challenge informed me this morning that I should only be consuming 1,600 calories a day. Diet is one of the five things I need to do every day...each one rewarded with a star.
This just won't work. First of all, I am not a 3rd grader. Second, I do not like being hungry. Third, I like to eat baked goods with every meal. Even the guy who owns the deli o
n my block knows me as "rainbow brownie girl" because I poke my head in at least twice a week to see if he has any in the cookie case.

Ok, so dieting is out of the question, but I do like to punish myself with exercise (star for me!). For my New Year's resolution this year I decided that I would take Pilates once a week. Please be aware, while Pilates is a great workout, it doesn't really flatten your stomach unless you also diet. This is a problem. The stomach muscles build up under your fat rolls and actually make you look bigger. Ick. Despite this, I continue to go ever
y week at 7:15AM because (a) I always leave in a good mood (even after I have been on the verge of tears because of the pain inflicted) and (b) it is the only time all week that I stretch (which probably has something to do with the tears). One really can't help enjoying something when the instructor yells out "spread your legs like a girl on prom night!", exuberantly as he pulls the legs of the girl next to you closer to her chest...or "your heads should be on the floor, not looking between your know what's down there".

Ok, so the class starts at 7:15 AM, usually makes my eyes fill with tears, results in my stomach sticking out farther and STILL has a positive side. This is big. I feel like I should be able to find the good in a lot more things. Alright new life outlook! Yay positive thinking! Another star for me! Oh, and one for stretching. Yay again! star a week for stretching. And none for sleeping because you can't exactly sleep 8 hours a day and get to the gym for a 7:15AM Pilates class.


This means I am only up to two legitimate stars. Now I feel like a failure (goodbye positivity star). How did this happen? I just wanted to read about Taylor Swift's bizarre rants against Joe Jonas, not find out I am living my life as a 1 out of 5. Blast you SELF Challenge. I don't need this criticism. If I wanted a magazine to make me feel bad about myself I would read the New Yorker. You can take your challenge and shove it. Months of doing things you don't want to do and not enjoying anything you like is called being a first year at a law firm...and I'm done with that.

I think I'll go to the deli.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Future Rose

I've been doing some thinking (and not just about that crazy Bachelor finale...Jason, you cad!). Despite the peanut gallery's insistence that I am 28, I am actually 27. I've been practicing law for almost three years at a large law firm in Manhattan. I can do my own taxes, buy a pretty sweet handbag on occasion and even make a successful souffle (ok, I did it once in a cooking class). I also have an amazing ability to constantly think that little narcissistic rant prominent in so many twentysomethings aka "when will my life become something?". You know, the quest for that symbolic "milestone" like when you fall in love, have kids, make a million bucks or see your picture on a Wheaties box (no dice Michael Phelps).

As a 2nd grader I often pondered the sad and empty state of my parent's lives because they were not famous. This seems quite amusing now, but I legitimately believed it at the time. I thought, and in many ways still do think, that there must be something that defines you to the world and makes you "something". For me, it has always been career oriented. Now, as the economy tanks and dreams of partnership in a law firm (or leaving said law firm to work for the public interest) tank right along with the Dow, what is a girl to do? Continue on to 28 maintaining the status quo? Keep whining about cupcake consumption? Do some random research to make myself feel better? Good idea.

Rachael Ray was 29 when she did her cooking segments on local cable tv in upstate NY. My father was 31 when, his wife in the hospital having just had their first child, he started his general contracting company. A prominent law firm partner for whom I have tremendous respect didn't graduate law school until he was 36. The New Kids on the Block are new all over again and Jon is close to 40. All of these examples combine taking a risk to become something by doing something - for example, getting rid of the name NKOTB was a really good idea.

So I guess we are all supposed to step out of our comfort zones more to find that something? Let's be honest, I have a tough time with risk. The will be no random declarations of personal goals I plan to pursue. I'm still trying to figure those out and will do so in my typical anal retentive fashion. Perhaps instead of planning the next 5 years, I'll figure out the next month, practice my souffles and write better entries on here...or at least decide what to wear to work.

One thing I do know is that I still have 2 years to starting cooking on TV. Watch out Rachael, we all know you can't bake...

Monday, March 2, 2009

Cupcake Tally


10:00am - Carrot cake cupcake at Tazza in Brooklyn Heights.

1:30pm - Blue frog cupcake from La Delice in Gramercy (GROSS but awesome looking).


12:15am - Billy's vanilla-vanilla cupcake.

12:45pm - Dim Sum red bean paste rice ball from deep in Chinatown (the Chinese equivalent of a cupcake, and I actually had 2).

5:00pm - The last of the almond Oscar cupcakes.

11:15pm - Freak out.
Maybe a cupcake detox is in order? I mean, this is pretty bad...even for me. Still, it is currently snowing out so it isn't like I need to dress for warm weather. And there is my expanding collection of leggings to consider....they are so comfy AND cute. Plus, it seems that all the magazines are showing how you can transfer your winter clothes to spring. I certainly hope that applies to long cardigans that cover cupcake tops...
Yes, it seems my "research" can continue as long as Danskin makes pants with 98% spandex.
I'm not worried.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Crumbs Update

Donald Trump, his two creepy kids and Joan Rivers were joined by the owners of Crumbs on the season premiere of Celebrity Apprentice tonight. The pair didn't mention their 48 new stores but Papa Trump did plug the 8th St. location and talk about the fabulous cupcakes (in return for a $15K donation). Score one for Crumbs and their mass marketing; they put the "celebrity" cupcakes to shame.

P.S. Watching Khloe Kardashian make more selling cupcakes for an hour than I will ever make selling baked goods in my life was a bit difficult for me...though anything that involves watching KK is pretty trying. And she is not a celebrity.