Game, set, match!

"Yay! He won the game six to two!" I said to Brent while watching Rafael Nadal at the U.S. Open this past weekend.


"No he didn't. He won the set six to two," he quickly corrected me, then once again proceeded to explain that a "set" is made up of several "games." (I had already flubbed up the lingo earlier in the day when I asked when we'd be heading to the game, and he said we weren't going to just a "game," but instead would be heading to one whole "match.")


You see, it's important to Brent that I understand the way sports work because, like a typical guy, they actually mean something to him. He's actually told me that sports are "the social lubrication of the world." And he was serious.


To me, sports are meant to be PLAYED, not WATCHED. I'd much rather be playing football or basketball or tennis than watching someone else have fun doing it. Whenever the players mess up, I'm usually on the couch or at the stadium screaming, "Put me in, coach!" This annoys Brent a lot, though he's easily annoyed while watching his teams lose.


Back to the tennis match as I am attempting to master the lingo:


"OK, so they play games to see who wins the set. Whoever wins three sets wins the match," I said to Brent slowly, making sure I understood the lingo. "So it's game... then set... then match."


(Wait for the ephiphany)...


"Hey! Do you think that's where the phrase 'game, set, match' comes from?" I ask him. He rolls his eyes and laughs. Rightfully so.

Anyone up for some tennis?

For Brent, working in the corporate world of banking has its perks - and it had better have its perks for all the crazy long hours he's working!




One of the perks is if he's lucky, he can sometimes score free tickets to sporting events. This year, he was able to get each of us a ticket to the 2008 U.S. Open.



I have to admit that I didn't exactly jump up and down when he told me we had a chance to go to two matches - a women's match followed by a men's match. That's a whole hell of a lot of tennis in one evening!

But I went anyway and ended up having a blast!

Not did I have an entire evening alone with my husband (and more than 23,000 tennis fans!) but we got to have a VERY RARE middle-of-the-week night out in New York City doing something fun we've never done together before.

The evening started off with us roaming the grounds surrounding the Arthur Ashe Stadium in Queens watching the not-so-famous tennis players on the smaller courts while we kept an eye out for the Citibank hospitality tent so we could eat what Brent called the best, juiciest hamburgers he's ever eaten (he went to the open with colleagues last year before I moved to the city).

Though the hamburgers this year were a little disappointing, the hospitality tent awesome - free booze, free food, and table tennis in the corner, but I still felt uncomfortable.

First of all, I knew no one and in my jeans, black flats, and a tank top covered with a white sweater, I was easily the most under dressed. Everyone else was in khakis or skirts and some guys were even still wearing ties.

Even after Brent introduced me to a colleague he was chatting with, I still felt invisible and uncomfortable. I have nothing in common with bankers - except that I married one - and to be honest, the work they do would bore me to tears. But Brent loves it, so the more power to him. I'll leave the stuffy corporate world to him.

Luckily, we only stayed to eat and have one drink because we got to the venue more than an hour later than Brent wanted to, and Serena Williams had already started warming up for her match against a woman I'd never heard of in the second round of the Open.

Williams ended up winning in straight sets, and though our seats were really high up - we were in Row H of the upper deck - I thought they were great. We were low enough to see everything going on, but high enough to talk to each other whenever we wanted to* even when people sitting lower had to be quiet to not disturb the players.

(*I wanted to talk a whole lot more than Brent did. He took a keen interest in just watching the games.)

Following Serena was Rafael Nadal, the No. 1 men's single player in the world, who easily beat American Ryler DeHeart. Though I was excited to see Nadal play live, I still cheered for the American player.

Nadal also won in straight sets, and we watched him score the match point while power walking toward the subway that would take us back into the city.

If we would have waited until the match were truly over, we would have had 23,000 people to contend with as we all tried to get on the train at the same time. I doubt we would have easily won that battle!

Not even the Chinese food is cheap

I was hungry the other day around 12:30 p.m. and in no mood to attempt to cook. And I was sick of eating cereal. And I didn't want to walk anywhere, even across the street to the new cafe-type restaurant that just opened, Route 66, which has awesome breakfasts. I was just feeling lazy. And hungry.

And since Brent was at that pesky thing called work, I decided to do a New York City-type thing and order in food.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think that New York City apartments come standard with piles of take-out menus. I've accumulated a whole basket full of them - mostly from picking them up at restaurants I've liked. But there is also usually one lying on my doorstep every other week.

Since I was feeling not only lazy, but cheap as well, I reached for one of the several Chinese menus in the basket and called to order two egg rolls and the lunch portion of General Tso's chicken for the actually-not-too-bad price of a little more than $8.

Then I saw a line on the menu that shocked me.

It says "Fortune cookies (5).... $0.50."

WHAT?!?!?! I have to PAY for the fortune cookies?!?!?

Come on, man. The fortune cookies are as much a part of the Chinese food as MSG.

Even though I should have boycotted the cookies on principle, I knew I would quickly regret that decision after eating the deliciously spicy chicken and wondering what is in store for me (in bed).

So here it is: "A happy event will take place in your home." Score!

If I didn't get that cookie, I also wouldn't have learned that the Chinese phrase jin tian means "today."

I hope the happy event will take place in my home jin tian!

I'd better be squeezing little droplets of gold in my eye

Maybe it was the stress of being an important part of a beautiful wedding.

Maybe it was the travel involved, or maybe it was the rushing from one committment to another.

Regardless of how it happened, I developed an eye infection that will prevent me from using contacts for anywhere from seven to 14 days.

I thought it was pinkeye because my right eye started to become inflamed and all this white goop started coming out of the corners.

So I called an optomologists' office that was covered by my insurance, and was actually transferred to the doctor so I could speak with him personally on the phone. After hearing about my problem, he said I could come in right away. And no, I did not make this up nor was this some dream I had. Doctors in New York City rock, yo.

But when I got there, the optomologist I went to said even my "healthy" left eye wasn't looking so great either. Yikes. Apparently contacts designed to be thrown away after two weeks shouldn't be worn for months at a time. Who knew?

That means that I've dusted off my probably 3-year-old glasses and will be forced to look like a total nerd for two weeks. Some people look good in glasses. I'm not one of them. Sigh.

Plus, even though my prescription eyedrops were covered by insurance, I still had to pay $50 for them. That's right - FIFTY DOLLARS for a tiny bottle of eyedrops. And when I say a tiny bottle, I mean TINY. Look at how it's dwarfed by my salt shaker. It's madness.

It had better be holding little droplets of gold for what I paid for them. That or it had better cure my eye infection and magically make me have 20/20 vision. Then I wouldn't feel as ripped off.

Maid of honor speech for my amazing cousin

It took me a long time to write this maid-of-honor speech for my cousin, Breanne, and her now husband, Mike, because I absolutely love the girl and wanted my speech to be perfect for her on her wedding day - a day I worked hard to help make perfect for her. And I think we did OK (see my previous post on the wedding and reception).

But I love this speech, and meant every word as I was saying it. Even though I didn't give it word for word, this is what I said and/or had printed on my note cards, and I wanted to share it with you all:

MAID OF HONOR SPEECH:

Before I start, I would like to say that Breanne, you look absolutely stunning. I know it’s totally cliche, but it’s just that I have never seen you look so beautiful, and you guys look great together.

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Erika, Breanne’s cousin, and I have known her since the day she was born.

When Breanne asked me to be her maid of honor – also known to us as the “best maid” – I was absolutely ecstatic at the idea of being a part of her wedding day. The fact that I’d probably be asked to give a speech didn’t bother me at all because it gives me this opportunity to tell you just how great she is and how happy I am that she has found that special someone to spend the rest of her life with.

As I said before, Breanne and I have known each other since we were kids. It’s so easy for me to think of a happy childhood memory that involves Breanne. I know she and a handful of other people in this room with remember Sharky, Golden Hair, making stone soup in the wheelbarrow with veggies we stole from Uncle Chris’s garden, The Funny Show and, of course, COUSINS!

And we’ve stayed close through high school and beyond. For those of you who don’t know, I got married just a few weeks ago and had a blast planning my wedding with Breanne as she planned hers. But as I got closer to my big day, I felt overwhelmed by the whole process of making everything come together – a feeling I know Breanne knows all too well by now. But it was totally worth it, Brea – the wedding and this place is amazing! But Breanne was at my side in minutes whenever I needed her – especially when I was panicking over the tiny details or struggling to get the programs and favors all put together just two days before my wedding. But that’s just the kind of person Breanne has always been – enviously sweet, caring, and incredibly generous.

So I was a little nervous when this Mike guy started coming around with Breanne to family gatherings a few years ago. He was the first guy I remember her bringing to meet the family, so I automatically felt a little protective over her because she’s a second sister to me and I just didn’t want her kindness and generosity to be taken advantage of.

Turns out, I didn’t have to worry about a thing, and I can actually pinpoint the moment that happened – it was on December 24, 2006. The Ray side of our family always gets together on Christmas Eve and for the past few years have been playing this popular gift-giving game. It’s the one where one by one, guests either choose to open a wrapped gift from a pile or steal a cool one from someone who’s already opened theirs. By the end of the game, everyone ends up with one present – be it lottery tickets, a gift card, or a giant ceramic rooster. Thanks Uncle Chris. This is why we steal your vegetables!

Early in the game, one of our uncles chose the gift that Breanne brought, opened it up, and saw that it was some kind of decorative wall art. Now let’s be honest – a typical guy probably won’t be thrilled about receiving wall art as a Christmas gift, and this was no exception. I remember him saying something along the lines of, “Just what I wanted, thanks” while Breanne was good-naturedly defending her choice of gift, saying she thought it was pretty.

Mike, however, didn’t say a word. When it came to be his turn, it was toward the end of the game, so he pretty much had his choice of stealing any of the opened gifts, which I think even included an old Atari game system, which most of the guys had stolen from each other several times. But again, without a word, Mike stood up, marched right past the Atari game and the unopened presents, and made a beeline over to our uncle to steal that wall art from him. He then calmly put it right next to him and in front of Breanne. Then he simply just sat down and the game went on.

Mike may not have said a word, but he made his point to me loud and clear. It was in that instant that I knew he would be willing to defend Breanne in any situation with actions – which can mean so much more than words – and would always be there to look out for her. And though I know Breanne is a strong woman who would be just fine going through life by herself, I’m so glad that she has found someone with similar, incredible qualities to share the rest of her life with.

So I’d like to end with the words of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. They said it best: “All you need is love.” Though it seems so simple and straightforward, it’s something that will be there for the two of you for a lifetime. So here’s to my wonderful cousin, her new husband who I would like to warmly welcome into our family, and true love. Cheers!

Wedding bells... again!

No, they're not my wedding bells - I haven't even been married for three months yet! That's not enough time to get divorced and remarried... unless you're Pam Anderson. Which I'm not.

The wedding bells I'm talking about are for my cousin, Breanne, who I've known her entire life (she's 18 months younger than me).

About a year ago, she asked me to be her maid of honor, which I happily accepted. Since then, I've had a blast planning our weddings together. She was a major part in helping mine go perfectly, so I wanted to return the favor.

Not only was it another excuse to go home (score!) but her wedding was a great way to see my entire family, party, and watch happily as my cousin married the love of her life. What could be better?

WEDNESDAY

My five-day trip home started on Wednesday evening, when my parents, sister, and her friend, Zack, picked me up from the Detroit airport. I went home early because it was my sister's 23rd birthday, so we decided to celebrate in Detroit. Our evening started at Fishbones restaurant in Greektown, and ended at the Greektown casino.

Brittany and Zack had never been inside a casino before, so my mom gave each of us $20 with the challenge to see which of us could make the biggest return on our investment. Then, she tried to show them the ropes by sitting down at what she thought was a Blackjack table with a minimum bet of $5. So she puts down her chip and is dealt a 2. The dealer dealt himself an Ace, so he takes her $5. My mom then starts protesting that she didn't get additional cards to try to make 21. The dealer then laughs at her - rightfully so - and explains that she sat down at a war table. (You know war - the simple game where each person is dealt one card and the person with the higher card wins.)

My mom, being the person she is, just laughed at herself and we moved on to the slot machines, that is, everyone but me. I hate slot machines. I don't understand them and feel like I'm just pouring money into a machine and getting nothing in return except flashing lights and colorful, spinning characters.

I'm a girl who likes the table games, especially roulette. I think they're fun and easier to win at - and it showed, because even though I only played a few roulette and war hands, I ended up with $35 - and a 75 percent return, which I gave to my parents for their generosity and to make up for the fact that my mom ended up losing her entire $20.

THURSDAY

Thursday started off with my picking up my wedding video - which I loved - and my reception video - which left me a little disappointed. It shows all the important stuff, but missed a few funny things we asked to be taped - like all of us slapping hands and shouting COUSINS (inside joke). And it also included a few things I wished weren't on the tape - like irrelevant shout-outs to people I don't know by some annoying cousins. Who would keep that on a wedding video?

Then I ran around like crazy between other appointments - like my bridesmaid dress fitting - getting things together for her bachelorette party later that evening. I even managed to squeeze in lunch with some friends and former Blade colleagues in downtown Toledo. Though it was great to see Ignazio, Ryan, Maureen, and Laren at Navy Bistro, I wished I had more than an hour of time to spend with them. Sigh.

After spending two hours at the hall where the reception was being held, where I worked to put chair covers on and tie ribbons to them, I excused myself to go grocery shopping for booze, candy, and finger food, and other (in)appropriate bachelorette party paraphernalia and gifts to give to those who won at the games I was planning on playing with the girls.

Then, about 15 girls and I met Breanne at Max and Erma's Restaurant on Central Avenue and had a great dinner before heading back to her parents' house for games and drinks. Her mom's game, in which we all drew a pig, was pretty fun because depending on how you drew the pig on a piece of paper, there were personality traits associated with it, like if you drew the pig facing forward, you are direct and confrontational.

My two games were called "The purse game" and "How well do you know your spouse?" The purse game was for everyone - it's the one where you get points for having a certain item, like a checkbook, bobby pins, or a condom, in your purse. One girl got more than 100 points for what she had stuffed in her purse!

The second game was for Breanne. I asked Mike 30 questions about himself, chose the best 20, then asked Breanne what he said in response to questions like, "If Mike were a superhero, what would he want his superpower to be?" (He said "fly.") She got 10 out of 20 right, but in fairness to her, some of them were pretty specific, like, "If Mike could change jobs, what would his dream job be?" Mike said "construction worker," but Breanne guessed, "stay-at-home job with no kids." LOL!

All in all, it was a great night that ended with my mom and I watching my wedding video together until nearly 2 a.m.

FRIDAY

I had a bit of time to sleep in Friday before I again ran errands (things are so much cheaper in Toledo!) and got ready for the wedding rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. Then I again got to go to lunch with friends - this time Jon from college and a former Blade colleague, Meghan - at Calvino's.

I then spent a mere 20 minutes at my Aunt Mary's house looking at photos from my cousin Alexis's six-week study abroad in Spain. That's all I had to spare before heading to the church to practice the wedding and meeting Brent at The Clarion, which is where Breanne and Mike were having their rehearsal dinner. (Brent flew in late on Thursday, so I hadn't seen him in two days.)

At the dinner, Breanne and Mike read a hilarious poem they wrote about themselves and the people in the wedding, then played a cute video of the two of them in which they were interviewed about growing up, dating, and the upcoming wedding.

After eating a nice dinner, we headed over to Brent's sister and brother-in-law's house to see his two nieces and eat dinner. (I wanted to have three dinners that evening - the third being with my friends - but Brent convinced me I was heading over the edge if I thought I had time - or the stomach capacity - for three dinners.) I rolled around on the floor playing with the kids until after 10 p.m., then went home to watch my wedding video again with my mom, sister, and Zack while we, the girls, painted our nails for the wedding!

SATURDAY

My maid of honor duties took me to the hair salon at 8:30 a.m. with Breanne so the two of us could get our hair done for the big day.

The jobs I gave to myself for the rest of the morning included making sure she drank plenty of water, ate some carbs, and was distracted from panicking. But she did great. Her mom was the panicky one!

There was no need, though. Her wedding ceremony was a traditional Catholic ceremony at Christ the King church, which went off without a hitch. Then the happy couple, the bridal party, and their significant others piled into a party bus to drink and celebrate.

After a quick stop at the Toledo Botanical Gardens for some photos, we headed to the wedding reception at Parkway Plaza - a place where I think I might have chosen for my reception had I known about it! The only weird thing was that the DJ asked everyone but Breanne and Mike to stand all throughout the father of the bride speech, best man speech, the maid of honor speech, and the dinner prayer.

But after that, a photo montage of the happy couple, then Breanne, then Mike played throughout the formal dances and the wedding reception was such a fun time that Breanne's dad had it extended until 11 p.m. instead of 10 p.m. Even then, people were still busting a move right up until the end, which was great! All in all, I'm sure it's a day, like me, that Breanne will treasure for the rest of her life!

Calling in sick wouldn't have hurt this much

Those of you who have read most of my blog posts on working at my coffee shop job know that I've been burned more times than I can count, I've slipped on water and bruised my back and elbow, and dropped a number of things on several of my toes.

But I've never had to head to the emergency room... until yesterday.

All the signs were there to have prevented the accident. A colleague, Hansen, told me that he planned on taking care of the chore that I was doing when it happened, but I ignored him and went ahead and did it anyway. As a joke then, he handed me the box cutter without the blade, which I then put right back in to begin hacking away at the boxes of cups, lids, etc. Big mistake.

Then, while wildly weilding the box cutter, I started joking around with another colleague, Socrates, while looking over my shoulder. As in I was NOT LOOKING AT WHAT THE HELL I WAS DOING.

Here is the part of the story where I say the accident REALLY didn't need to happen. But it did. I started slicing the flaps off a tall box, missed the box about halfway through, and continued to slice right through the base of my thumb.

At first, I just looked at my thumb because it didn't register that I hurt myself that badly. As I watched the blood pour out, I remember being surprised that it didn't hurt more.

So I ran to the handwashing sink in the back and thrust it under running water. That was my first instinct: to wash the blood away. Instead, the water just poured into the wound and flushed out more blood. Genius.

Luckily, yet another colleague, Amanda, was back there who was brave enough to assess the damage for me. So I pulled it out from under the water so we could get a better look at it, and immediately regretted that decision. For the half a second that there was no blood and we moved the skin to see how deep the cut was, I saw that I could actually see INTO the base of my thumb. Her first words? "Erika, seriously, you need to go to the emergency room."

My response (because I was still in shock and starting to feel queasy and hot): "You really think I need to?"

Her response, while handing me paper towels and shoving me toward the door: "GO!"

On the way, I showed my thumb to the coffee shop manager, who will soon be going to school to be a nurse. She took one look, closed her eyes, and winced. That's when I started to get scared. She's going to be a nurse and didn't even want to take a second look at it!

Another colleague who was off work for the day took one look at me and thankfully asked if I wanted her to go with me. I will forever be thankful to Camille for everything she did for me, starting with simply just walking with me across the street toward the big sign that says "Emergency." (Luckily, the coffee shop is seriously a stone's throw away from the hospital.)

And if that wasn't enough, I had no idea what to do when we got there. No one seemed to care that I was literally putting pressure on the tip of my thumb to hold the meat and skin to where it should have been beneath a blood-soaked paper towel.

Camille took charge and started asking every official-looking person what we needed to do. Their response? "Have a seat." And no, that didn't mean "Have a seat where we can get someone out here to take care of your thumb." It literally meant "We're going to do nothing and you will wait until it's your turn."

Now I can understand the "wait your turn" concept. It's very helpful at the bank or the grocery store, but I seriously didn't think it applied to my situation at the hospital. I was BLEEDING in the waiting room. Why did they turn their attention to the guy who was there for an x-ray before me? I obviously would have fully understood if they took care of a gunshot victim or someone who was having trouble breathing before me.

So it was again Camille who went to ask when they planned on taking care of me and also to ask for something more sterile than a rough paper towel to hold over my wound.

When all was said and done, I waited about 10 minutes while trying to hold back tears because I

was not looking forward to the inevitable getting poked and sewn back up like a button that's fallen off a pair of pants.

Finally, they took me back to ask for my name, birthdate, medications I was on, etc., and asked if I was OK because then I actually started crying. It didn't hurt that much - I told her only a 2 or a 3 on the pain scale of 1-10 - I was just honestly nervous and scared.

Knock on wood, but I have been lucky throughout my 26 years when it comes to getting hurt. I've never been in a car accident, never had surgery, and have only had stitches one other time - when I was 5 and my brother swung a croquet mallet, missed the croquet ball, and slammed the mallet into my temple. It was a complete accident, and he felt really bad. And while I remember that day vividly, I don't remember being as scared as I was yesterday. That's probably because I never looked at the wound in the mirror. My mom told me later that it took all she had to keep herself composed because she had to see it.

So my mistake was actually looking at my thumb yesterday - I didn't feel physically sick until I saw what I did to myself. And that feeling didn't go away when the triage nurse told me to expect to be in the hospital for another few HOURS. Let me reiterate that I was BLEEDING, scared, nervous, warm, and feeling sick to my stomache.

So as Camille went back to report the news to the coffee shop manager, the hospital staff sent me to the window of another waiting room. I think they took pity on me there because by that time I was not very successfully holding back tears. I was quickly ushered into a room and told to sit down and put my hand on a tray. The first nurse that came in measured the wound (almost 2 centimeters long) said she thought she "saw white." Apparently, that's bad. I don't know if she was referring to bone or what. All I know is that it made me feel worse.

Then, since I have no idea when my last tetanus shot was, they had to give me that shot in the arm. The bad news is that now, 24 hours after the shot, my arm still hurts. The good news was that when all was said and done, that was the absolute worst part of my time in the emergency room.

The second nurse, Mindy, who came in didn't see white, so good news! That meant that all she had to do was numb the skin around the wound - with a needle, of course - and sew the top part of my thumb back together. That's what I was most nervous about - putting more sharp things near my already painful wound, so I told her that I needed to lie down. She said she expected that!

But it wasn't as bad as I thought. The numbing part happened right away, so all I felt was pressure when she started sewing. Weirdly enough, it sounded like she was sewing through a hunk of charred steak, when it was actually my skin. Yuck! Six stitches later, unlike poor Humpty Dumpty, my thumb was put back together again.

Afterwards, I needed to fill out more paperwork so I could file for workman's comp and was told I needed to take two days off work. Since I was already scheduled to have today off, all that cutting through my thumb got me was a few hours off work. Calling in sick would have been much less painful!

My thoughts exactly

Written on a third-floor women's bathroom wall in a Barnes & Noble on the Lower East Side of Manhattan:


"I am leaving in one week. I have lived here for four years, and when I'm gone, no one will know I was ever here."


I have not been able to shake those two sentences from my mind for a week now.


I thought about it while serving random customers at the coffee shop after I'd been there for six hours because after that long, everyone looks the same.


I thought about it while I was shoving my way through the throngs of people near Penn Station while giving myself some retail therapy.


I thought about it while sitting on the subway and watching people get on and off the trains.


I don't know who wrote that simple sentence, but wish I did. I want to know the girl or woman who needed so desperately to make sure that she mattered to someone, even if it was only to random strangers making a quick stop in the first stall of a bookstore bathroom.


I want to know because I know and have those feelings. I know that I'm also the faceless person in line at a coffee shop, shopping near Penn Station, and on the train.


Our plans are to live here for three to five years, but even if I was here for a lifetime, would it matter?