I get it - he's a weiner dog dressed up like a hot dog. How original.

If ever there was a day that I was cursing myself for leaving my camera - and my camera phone - at home, it was the day that I randomly stumbled upon a Halloween parade... for dogs.

Yes, people still dress up their dogs and yes, the people who attended the Upper West Side Dog Halloween Party at the 72nd Street dog run were no exception.

From Great Danes to Chihuahuas, I saw bumblebees, rock stars, ballerinas, sports fans, and dogs dressed up as I don't even know what.

And they were all HILARIOUS.

All these poor pups wanted to do was play fetch and gallivant around with the other dogs, and all their crazy owners wanted to do was make sure they STAY! and SIT! so as not to mess up their costumes.

I had intended to go on a walk with Chloe and my friend Amanda, who was getting off work right as I was passing by and decided to join me, but we couldn't pass up the opportunity to sit on a bench right beside the spot where all the (at least 50) dressed-up dogs were going to pass by parade-style while being judged in several categories, including "best costume" and "most original costume."

Although they were all pretty cute in a pathetic kind of way, Amanda and I had no problems picking out our favorites. She chose a gray Scottish terrier wearing a police cap whose head was sticking up through a hole in a box painted to look like a police car, and who was accompanied by about a 10-year-old boy.

I chose a tiny Chihuahua with a simple costume. He was wearing a tiny red saddle complete with a tiny jockey in a matching uniform who would bounce up and down to the gait of the pup while he ran. Adorable!

Both of our pups ended up winning in one category or another, but who cares - everyone loved just being there. Stumbling upon events like this is yet another reason to make me love NYC!

Not so metaphorically throwing crap in your face

It's no secret that I'm counting down the days until I can quit this job at the coffee shop. Some days are better than others. Yesterday was not one of those days.

It was one of those days where I screwed up every drink, got frustrated with the customers who hemmed and hawed over the menu when it was their turn to order, dealt with several insubordinate employees, and was just in an all-around pissy mood.

And everything just came to a head when I handed out a grande mocha frappuccino to a customer who looked at it without missing a beat and said, "I asked for no whip."

"Do you mind if I just scoop it off?" I asked her as politely as I could without moving my clenched teeth.

Though she didn't answer, her expression was enough for me to know that was absolutely NOT OK.

"Fine," I said as politely as I could while displaying my frustration the only way I could while at work - by chucking the entire drink in the garbage can as hard as I could.

Unfortunately, I wasn't actually LOOKING at the garbage can while hurling the drink to my right, and though it fell inside the can, I banked the shot.

That means that when the cup crashed into the inside wall of the garbage can, all its contents splattered outside of the can... and landed all over the counter, the register screen, and on a 20-something blond woman carrying a Coco Chanel purse and wearing a stark white jacket.

My mouth dropped open the same time as hers, and we both stood there for several seconds not quite comprehending what just happened. Then it hit me - I essentially (though accidentally) threw a mocha coffee drink all over a customer. It was on her jacket, in her hair, and some of that damned whip cream was even on the side of her face.

"OH. MY. GOD. I. AM. SOOOOOO. SORRY." I repeated over and over while clumsily fumbling around for some paper towels.

She said nothing. She just slowly pivoted and walked straight for the bathroom. I remained standing there not quite believing what had just happened while mentally trying to figure out what to do once I got fired.

After a few minutes, this woman came out of the bathroom, marched right up to me, held up her right hand,and let me have it.

"Are you OK?" she asked, softly.

I'm sorry I must not have heard you right, I thought.

"What?" I said, stupidly.

"Seriously," she said with genuine concern in her eyes. "Are you OK?"

I just threw a drink in your face and YOU'RE asking ME if I'm OK? Something is seriously wrong with this person.

"It... I mean, yeah... not really," I stuttered, dumbfounded. "It's just one of those days, but again, I can't apologize enough. I AM SO SORRY. What can I get for you - whatever you want. And here's a bunch of coupons for more free drinks. I AM SO SORRY," I rambled on and on.

"It's fine," she said. "I just want to make sure you're OK."

"Yeah... It's just... you know," I said, not quite knowing WHAT the heck to say to this obviously crazy person. I mean, if a coffee shop employee threw a drink all over me, I'd have a whole hell of a lot more to say than a very nice, "Are you OK?"

After I was done making her vanilla skim latte, all the while apologizing over and over, I handed it to her, apologized again as if that would make it all better, and she smiled at me and said, "You're just lucky it was me because I'm chill. Don't worry about it. Take care, OK?"

Every sentence she said to me contained two letters that formed one word. An O and a K. OK. It's amazing how a single two-lettered word coming from a genuinely nice person can totally change your outlook on life. I've never seen that girl before and probably wouldn't have looked at her twice while she was ordering unless it was in annoyance, but am so blessed that I was able to see just the kind of amazing person she is - however crappy the situation had to become for me to see it.

Man, I hope that one day my outlook on life can become even remotely as positive and upbeat as hers. Sure stuff happens - sometimes crap gets thrown in your face. But the true testament of who you are comes from how you deal with those types of situations. You can let it get you down, or you can rise above the situation. And rise above is exactly what she did.

I've got miles to go to take the negative situations with the class and grace that she did, and am still astonished that she was able to turn them into something so positive. You go, girl.

Precisely why I bargain-shop

Living in New York City, I'm surrounded by all things high-end.

I live just a few blocks away from 5th Avenue, home to places like Tiffany's, Saks and purses in glass cases with price tags that cost more than my annual paycheck.

I live around the corner from Trump Tower International Hotel and the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, which overlook Central Park and have room rates that start at $695 per night (a one-bedroom Premier Park Suite that has access to the Club Lounge at the Ritz goes for $2,750 a night).

I'm surrounded by beautiful people who don't even go grocery shopping on a Sunday morning without full makeup, brand-name clothes, high heels, and armpit dogs.

And although my shopping habits haven't changed (I've always been a conservative sale-seeker), it's nearly impossible to spend the typical amounts I had been spending on shopping trips in Toledo. Sure, there's still Forever 21 and Old Navy, but there's also Bloomingdale's and Bergdorf Goodman.

My latest splurge (and trust me, they've been very few and far between) has been a pair of beige UGG boots. (I know, I know - totally cliche, but they're oh so warm and comfy!) Before taking this plunge, I had worn a hole into a pair of knock-offs, so at the urging of my husband, (What's wrong with him? When has any husband ever urged his wife to buy an expensive pair of shoes?!?! Proof that it's seriously rare that I splurge on anything! Plus, it was considered my Christmas gift, which let him off the hook to go shop for me.) I reluctantly handed over my American Express at the UGG store, even though the decimal point on the register came after three digits.

That was about a month ago, and I absolutely LOVE these boots. I wear them to work every day, except for when there's inclement weather or the threat of inclement weather (even though I should be wearing comfy boots WHEN there's inclement weather). This is important because I haven't even had time to truly break them in yet, and now they're ruined. That is, unless, I would prefer my beige boots have bright pink nail polish streaks all over them. Which I don't.

The pink nail polish was being stored in the freezer at my work because apparently it keeps longer, and when I opened the freezer to get out some bread, it fell and shattered on the linoleum and all over my boots.

Even though I immediately tackled the stains with a wet paper towel, it did nothing. Even though I was pissed, I was more upset at myself that I didn't just go with another pair of cheap knock-offs. That way I would have more of a "oh, well, it happens" kind of attitude instead of a WHAT WAS I THINKING TO SPEND SO MUCH MONEY ON A SINGLE PAIR OF SHOES?!?!

Yet, there's hope on the horizon. Even though I got turned down by six different dry cleaners, who said they could not be cleaned, our intern and another colleague know places that specializes in cleaning UGG boots, and American Express has a Purchase Protection Plan that will reimburse customers for items that have gotten stolen or damaged within 90 days of purchase. I'll be pursuing both of these options and see what I can do to fix them. Stay tuned for the results of this.

But I've learned my lesson the hard way. Besides being expensive, high-end items simply aren't worth it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to Old Navy.

Yes, I absolutely would LOVE some cheese with that wine.

My very first sip of alcohol was a dry Merlot at dinner with my now-husband on my 21st birthday. (Such a good girl in high school and college!) Since then, I often enjoy a nice glass of wine - either white, rose, or red; I love them all for different reasons - at happy hour, while I'm cooking, or when I'm out with the girls.

And I haven't been out with the girls in a long time, as I'm most often going out in mixed company where the beer pitchers appear out of nowhere or being the only girl among the beer-loving guys on my basketball team.

So it was a refreshing change to go out with three girls I met through NYU's publishing program; one from Washington who was staying with me while apartment-hunting, another who decided to get her M.S. in publishing at NYU, and a third who's a talented copy editor whom I leaned on quite a bit while revising my resume.

Though we waited nearly an hour for a table at Casellula Cheese & Wine Cafe, their cheese menu alone was totally worth it. Truly nothing pairs better with wine than ridiculously overpriced cheeses. Dani, Danielle, Cat, and I not only enjoyed sampling a few that were served warm, but very much enjoyed the aroma wafting from the cheese case directly adjacent to our table. Yum!

And of course nothing washes down cheese and wine quite like Cold Stone ice cream.

Gotta have more of these ladies' nights!

A beautiful meal and beautiful women. What more could a man want?

One of the huge perks of working at a food magazine is, well, the food. My job revolves around food; and not just any food, but good, gourmet food. My waistline may soon be suffering, but right now, my taste buds are saying Mmm, Mmm Good!

We're constantly getting samples of great stuff sent to our offices. (By the way, the single most common food sent to our office - barbecue sauce. Soooooo many people have their own barbecue labels. And here I am having grown up with Kraft in our refrigerator!) We also get invited to a food-related event at least a few times a week. And if there ever is a place to have scores of opportunities to taste great food, New York City ranks right up there!

Speaking of scores... that's where I just came from. Yep, THE Scores... as in the legendary gentleman's club. Before my visit, I asked Brent what to expect.

"Barbie dolls," he says.

Now you may be asking yourself what in the world does a strip club have to do with food? Well, because men also like to eat, Scores just recently re-opened Robert's Restaurant, which is located adjacent to the main stage. And we were there to scope out the menu and try the food.

I accompanied the editorial director to the restaurant, and after our water glasses were filled from a tiger-shaped pitcher, we started with an amazing appetizer of heirloom tomatoes and mozzarella cheese with Merlot, and later chatted with the head chef as we enjoyed the Moroccan lamb, New York Strip steak, everything fries, beer-battered onion rings, and saved (a little bit) of room for grandma's rice pudding. It was a beautiful meal. Oh, and did I mention that we were surrounded by beautiful women? What more could we want? Maybe to be a guy...

Haven't found "my" place yet, but am sure enjoying the hunt!

I love New York's versatility. If a friend and I are meeting up for happy hour in virtually any area of Manhattan, we have our choice of anything from a dark hole in the wall to such a swanky joint that we could probably only justify buying a single drink - and splitting it. Thank goodness for happy hour prices!

With all the options out there, it's easy to pick a bar that you're completely comfortable with; one that's "you." I love that one of my girlfriends chose to have her birthday party at Madame X, which totally fits her sexy personality, and enjoy tipping back beers with my brewsky-loving guy pals at Valhalla, which boasts 33 beers from around the world on tap.

Though I have yet to find "my" place (although Lincoln Park, the bar I live above, fit pretty well until its renovation project has kept it closed since this summer) I am thoroughly enjoying trying out new places on my quest!

It's so hard being a dog - sleeping all night and day

One of the reasons why I don't have kids right now is because I'm having way too much fun in New York. There's always a party to attend, a new restaurant to try, or a new adventure to go on.

Unfortunately, that fun affects the quasi-child that I have right now-my dog Chloe.

She's already alone for the entire workday (for me, that means until 6:30 p.m., for Brent that means until 10 p.m.) and there are many days in which I come home with enough time to change, take her outside to pee, and then leave her again. Poor baby.

So, I make it a point to take her wherever I can. If I want to meet up with a friend, I'll suggest a walk in Central Park so I can catch up with my friend while strolling around on a nice day or relaxing on a park bench and Chloe can keep an eagle-eye on the squirrels (the one she's not letting out of her sight at in the photo is up in a tree).

And because I live in New York, Chloe can go almost anywhere with me that doesn't serve or sell food. That means no restaurants (unless we sit outside, in which case dogs are allowed at many establishments) or grocery stores, but everything else is fair game. She most often accompanies me to Bed, Bath & Beyond, Best Buy, the bank, through the mall, and the liquor store. (Before we knew how dog-friendly New York is, a giant Great Dane scared the crap outta Brent as he was browsing through the racks at J Crew. Shirt, sweater, jeans, GIANT DROOLING DOG! Ha, ha!)

And since none of my friends have dogs (save the dog-sized cat that belongs to my college buddy, Ryan) they often ask me to bring her along when we're hanging out. So I took her down the street to my friend Janine's apartment to watch the Dolphins (Ryan's team) and Jets (Janine's team) battle it out during Monday night football, although the friendly banter between Ryan and Janine was much more fun to watch than the game. We ate pizza, fed Chloe probably two slices of pizza one morsel at a time, drank beer, and took turns petting the pup. (My dog knows how to get what she wants. The second someone stopped petting her, she simply walked a step or two to the nearest person who took their turn petting her, which went on and on until she started the round all over again.)

Come to think of it, it's not that bad of a life. Sleeping all day followed by Bed, Bath & Beyond, pizza, beer, and then bed. Sure beats work.

You're wearing scarlet and gray HERE? You're totally just asking for it.

Even though I grew up right near the Michigan/Ohio border, there's really no in-between. You're either a Michigan Wolverine or an Ohio State Buckeye. But because I spent most of my life living in Lambertville, Michigan, I've always cheered for the ferocious Wolverine over the state tree of Ohio. Obviously.

What wasn't so obvious until living in New York for awhile, though, is just how many other Wolverine fans also live here. It's not uncommon to see the block M on hats and coats of passers-by, and I've seen the maize and blue represented much more frequently than I've seen the scarlet and red O. This was no more evident than spending one Saturday afternoon at Professor Thoms in the East Village when the Wolverines (cough, lost, cough) to the Michigan State Spartans.

Standing (because there was no room to sit, much less have a personal space bubble) in the bar during that game was like standing in the student section in the Big House during the Ohio State/Michigan game. The energy was electric, and the cheering coming from both stories of the bar was, literally, deafening.

And even though the Wolverines weren't playing the Buckeyes, there was still a whole lot of animosity directed my because the guy Brent and I were meeting to catch up and have a few beers with was wearing an Ohio State shirt. Seriously. (Thanks, Jake.) Though I will say he took the jeering with good nature - as well as a tiny tree in the middle of a hungry pack of ferocious animals could do. Yeah.

And it was bright orange. Awesome.

One of my biggest pet peeves at the coffee shop (although I must admit I'm a complete hypocrite, although I will at least apologize when I do it to someone else) is when I have to "interrupt" customers' cell phone conversations to ask them what they would like to order.

I've gotten around this by blatantly skipping the people who are on their cell phones and asking the people behind them what they would like. This gets them off the phone R-E-A-L quick.

Cell phones are annoying, yet essential and nothing new. In fact, I was in a cab today and saw headline roll by that said "New Yorkers say they like sex a little more than they like their phones." In my mind, I disagreed with that statement just a bit. Sadly, my cell phone is my lifeline at times and I actually, ashamedly, sleep right next to it at night.

But what IS new is cell phones that look like landlines.

I wasn't quick enough to get a photo, but on the street today, I passed by a guy who was talking on a bright orange telephone receiver that reminded me of the one attached to my grandma's rotary phone. (Side note: While writing this blog post, I just yelled to my husband, "what's that phone called that has a dial on it that you put your finger in and turned?" Because he didn't know, I found the term - rotary phone - because I Googled "old phone." HAHA!)

And he wasn't a crazy person with an old rotary phone receiver. It was PLUGGED INTO HIS CELL PHONE so he appeared as if he were talking on a land line (pretty soon people will be Googling that phrase) while walking down the street. Click here to see what I'm talking about.

And at "only" $45, who doesn't want to enjoy this blast from the past?