Breaking a sweat and having fun doing it

I've said it before, and it's no secret: I absolutely hate the gym.

Other than having an opportunity to spend time with my now good friend, Janine, who I met at the gym, I really, REALLY had to guilt-trip force myself to go to the gym EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Sure, I had some fun taking some of the classes there, but it was the getting there part that was tough. And the gym is RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER from my apartment. Talk about LAZY.

So after awhile, even the ungodly amount of money I was spending at the gym wasn't enough of a motivation, so I quit the gym (along with Janine. Worst workout buddies ever.) And I was SOOOO happy about it... until I got my job at a gourmet food magazine where eating ALL DAY is practically a requirement. Sure, I could abstain every day from eating the delicious morning snack and the free gourmet lunch and the cookies, cake, or pastry at 4 p.m. tea time (yes, every day we have 4 p.m. tea time complete with dessert) but it's SO HARD 'cause all the food is SOOOO GOOD - for my taste buds, but not for my waste line.

So I bought something that would put me in the hall of fame for laziness if I didn't use it to exercise because it allows me to do so right in my living room: the Wii Fit Plus (the photo is the Miis of myself and Chloe).

And, lo and behold, it's actually become something I enjoy. I won't go so far as to say I look forward to it, but it is a lot of fun. Through it, I have learned that I put too much of my weight on my left leg (probably from trying to overcompensate from the groceries and work bag that I always sling over my right shoulder) and that I have horrific balance (and poor scores on the balance games to prove it).

The reason it works for me is the same way basketball works for me: I have fun doing it and, therefore, it doesn't feel like exercise. I love that when I jog in place, the game has Chloe trotting along beside me, and I get a kick out of the fact that Brent's two Miis are in my karate class and pop up in almost all the other games. Plus, I feel like a rock star when doing the step aerobics because I'm on a stage in front of a HUGE audience of cheering Miis.

I like that I am working toward a fitness goal and I can check my progress daily and am determined to meet it. I have two months. And so it begins...

Stepping into someone else's shoes to tell their story

Excerpt from an e-mail I received just after 10 p.m. tonight:

"Hi Everyone,

Here is the cast for the play:

Ms. Dee - Erika

Autumn - Ingrid

Adela - Ellie

Tamara - Maxine

Lulu - Kayla

Celeste - Danielle

Musician - Miranda

Our first rehearsal will be at Friday 7 p.m. The plan is to talk about the characters and read through the script as a full cast with a completed script..."

That's right: The "Erika" who will be playing Ms. Dee is me.

I actually got the part. Never saw that one coming.

I've lived in New York for nearly two-and-a-half years, and have tried many extracurricular activities (knitting class, painting class, basketball league, and book club to name a few) to not only have some fun, but find some friends. Although I didn't move here to pursue an acting career - like the 6.5 out of the 8.3 million New Yorkers did - now that I'm around it all the time, it's hard not to catch the acting bug.

A bunch of my friends are trying to make it as actors (no surprises there) and I live just a few blocks away from Broadway, which is home to some incredible shows. (As a Mother's Day gift for my mom and a birthday gift to myself, I again bought tickets to see Wicked. It was that good the first time around.)

When I told my mom that I got the part, she immediately asked: "So, is this play going to be right on Broadway?" and then laughed when I told her no, but that it would be shown in a theatre in the new Off-Off Broadway theatre district.

I've always had a fascination with acting, but never had the opportunity to do it in high school (I swear the high school drama teacher had it out for me!). So now that I do have this opportunity, I'm going to make the most of it. I have to say that I'm about as excited as I am nervous.

Now to start - gulp! - memorizing these pages upon pages of lines, which Maxine said was the easy part. She says the hard part is actually acting them out. As of now, I'm going to stick to my guns that acting isn't as hard as she makes it out to be.

Time will tell if I turn out to be totally wrong.

Do I have time for a fantastic dinner with great friends? Umm, let me think about that one... HELL YEAH!

One of my favorite things is when a good friend calls me or texts me or e-mails me or messages me on Facebook (isn't technology amazing!?) to tell me that they will soon be in town and ask if we can catch up.


Hell yeah we can!


So this week, I had the pleasure of going to dinner with friends I made while a reporter at The Blade: Ryan Smith and his wife, Jen, and their adorable 4-month-old son on Thursday, and Maureen Fulton and her mom on Friday. With the Smith family, I scarfed down pizza at the famous Lombardis, and with Mo, I enjoyed Spanish Tapas at Sangria 46. Both meals were, of course, topped off with Pinkberry. Obviously.

Gossip was shared, Sangria was sipped, and I had a fantastic time with my good friends who I've known for more than two years, unlike any of the friends I have here. Though I absolutely love my New York friends, it's just nice to spend some time with people who I've known for a long time and whom I miss so much. If only all my family and friends were here, I'd never leave.

Should have kept my mouth shut, although it'd be hard to say my lines

Once again, my big mouth has gotten me into trouble.

It started with me good-naturedly teasing my former coffee shop colleague, Maxine, who is an actress enrolled in the American Musical & Dramatic Academy (AMDA) for acting.

“So instead of English and math class, you go to classes with names like ‘Improve 101: Make Stuff Up As You Go Along’ and ‘Pantomiming Like Someone Believes You’re Really Saying Something?’” I would say to her, and then she’d laugh and try and defend herself.

I have to admit that I would often bring up Maxine’s acting because I was actually interested to hear about the types of things she was learning. I’ve never really done any acting before, and Maxine has dedicated her college career to it, so I very much enjoyed hearing about something someone else is so passionate about.

She told me that in one of her classes, each student had to stand up in front of his or her peers and tell a story. The moment it became boring, each student was instructed to get up and leave the room, which teaches the students how to remain engaging and keep people’s attention. She also told me about the time they were told to do a monologue while pretending to be some type of animal, like a tiger or monkey.

But nothing she said really convinced me that acting was difficult. You essentially memorize some lines and then pretend to be someone else, and I remember telling this to Maxine a number of times in the year or so that I’ve known her… which I regretted immediately after getting her phone call yesterday evening.

“Hey, Erika! You know how you always say that acting is easy?” she asked me. “Well, I just was cast in this play that I think has the perfect part for you, and I think you should read for it.”

“I have just one question. Is this part the lead? Because I would only consider trying out for a lead role,” I joked.

“Well… kind of,” she replied. “I thought the playwright was going to play her, but I guess not.”

“Wait, you think I should try out for the lead?” I asked her. “Are you crazy? All joking aside, you know I have no experience with acting!”

“Yeah, I know but the character is a teacher who teaches poetry, and I know that you like poetry,” she replied. “Plus, the other parts are teenagers and we need someone older – not that you’re old or anything…”

“Thanks for clarifying,” I said sarcastically.

“You know what I mean!” she replied. “Anyway, we need someone who looks older who can play the part. And why not? Acting is easy, right?”

Crap, I thought. I mean I can’t not go or that would be pretty hypocritical.

“Right,” I said, sighing, trying to come up with a way out without having to admit that there just might be some skill to this whole acting thing. “It sounds interesting but, come on, do you really think the playwright would even want someone with no experience?”

“If you’re good,” she said. “Meet me at the coffee shop on Friday and I’ll go with you to the audition.”

“OK, fine,” I said hesitantly, then hung up.

This will be interesting.

So many options, but I don't FEEL like any of them. Bad place to be in.

Man I had a bad day at work today.

I had absolutely, positively NOT A SINGLE OUNCE of motivation to speak of. Not One. Single. Ounce.

It was one of those days where my interns were annoying the hell out of me, the clueless photographer was constantly asking me for direction, and I had extra peaks upon the mountains that have already formed on and around - for lack of space - my desk, but no clear direction on where to start and no motivation to actually start something. For awhile, I just sat there looking at all the work and thinking about how good it would be if I could just take a nap.

This happens to me every once in awhile, and not just at work. I come to a point where I just don't know what I want. I feel like how a new mother must feel when her newborn just won't stop crying and she just doesn't know why.

Staying at work wasn't appealing. Going home didn't sound much better. Sleeping might have been OK, but going for a walk or watching TV or shopping didn't excite me. I just didn't know WHAT I needed at the time, which is just so frustrating. I knew I needed something, but it wasn't like a pregnant-lady craving where I know I'll be satisfied once I have a pickles-and-ice-cream sundae. It was a craving for something I didn't understand. Sigh.

It wasn't until around 9:30 p.m. when I found what it was I needed. Fun. And friends. My friend Janine told me she planned to see Rusty The European Tour at Bar Nine - the same bar where I sang with said band on my birthday - and I was welcome to join her.

New York to the rescue. Again. Again I was able to simply just forget about the hellish day I had by donning my official Rusty The European Tour T-shirt, walking two blocks, going into an awesome dive bar, and letting loose with a beer in my right hand and my left hand up in the air while rockin' out to songs like "Pour Some Sugar On Me" "What's My Age Again?" and "Build Me Up Buttercup."

Beer, Best Buds, and Blink 182. Yup - that's just what I needed. If only it were as simple as pickles and ice cream.

Someone had to lose... this time it was us

For the third consecutive season, my basketball team, Hoop Doggy Dogs, not only had a winning season, but we again made it to the playoffs; this time in the Sammi Division. (For the first time since we've been playing basketball together, my team decided it was time to move up from the fourth, and lowest division, the Snookie Division. We might do so again, but at this time, we don't feel like we're ready for the first- and second-highest divisions, the Angelina and J Woww Divisions.)

Even though all six of us were wearing our new, matching white sweatbands around our heads, we could not head off Dunkachino and The Flava Shots (formerly known as Butternut Squash, our basketball arch nemesis). The first game was so close that it was tied at the end and went into overtime, but after losing that one by a basket, it was hard to motivate ourselves to win the next two games in a row.

I won't blame it on the stiflingly hot gym or the hasn't-been-swept-in-at-least-several-years slippery floor, but WILL blame it on the rim that did not touch the basketball as it went through the hoop nearly every time the other team shot a three-pointer.

On the bright side, we've already signed up for next season, which starts in just two weeks. I'm already counting down the days!

The luck of the Irish was not with me today. Damn you, leprechauns.

Because I am too sick to celebrate, I refuse to wear green today. Go ahead and pinch me.

I spent the entire day in my fuzzy gray sweatpants and over-sized blue Collegian shirt obtained from my days as the Copy Desk Chief for The University of Toledo's student newspaper (yes, the same one that says "Idependent" instead of Independent. Wasn't asked to copyedit the T-shirts before they went to the printer, unfortunately.).

But I made up for it by making sure at least someone in my family was celebrating one of the heaviest drinking days of the year, even though the only thing she drinks is water out of her dog dish. I AM Irish after all, and will take the kisses as long as you're willing to get close to me and ignore the coughing and snotting.

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone!

Total waste of a beautiful day

The TV tray is set up next to the couch holding up a box of tissues, a tall glass of apple juice, and dishes devoid of anything but dried Chinese food. Used tissues litter the floor alongside furry blue socks and the TV is set to "Family Feud."

It's 60-plus degrees outside and I'm stuck at home with a nasty cold with several more hours to wait before I have someone to be home with me and get me more juice and rub my pounding head. Blech. I hate being sick. There's so much to do around the house and even though I had high hopes for having some time to get some housework done today, there's no so much motivation to get anything done that can't be done from this couch (hence this blog post from the laptop resting over my blanket).

Sure, I cleaned out my e-mails' inboxes, searched for available Manhattan apartments, trolled around Facebook and LinkedIn and caught up with some reading, but when the husband gets home and asks me what I did all day, I'll have nothing to show for it. That's OK with me, though. Give me a break - I'm sick!

Do I really want to hear, "Hmm. This may be more difficult than I thought" after being cut open?

"Soooooo after sleeping on it a few days, I've decided to go ahead with the surgery. What happens now?" I ask the breast surgeon who said he'd support me if I decided to remove the tumor in my breast.

"Well, we schedule the surgery," he says matter-of-factly. "What does your schedule look like?"

"Um, well, my mom is coming to town in early May, so can we schedule it then?" I ask like I'm a juvenile instead of a grown woman.

"Sure. How should I schedule it?" he asks.

"What do you mean?" I reply. I have no idea what he's talking about. I have never had anyone cut open my body before - I've done that just fine on my own - and am nervous as hell allowing this man I just met to come near me with a scalpel.

"Do you want to be awake or sedated?" he asks me.

This is right about at the point where I begin to wonder if complications from going under anesthesia outweigh the fact that if I decide to stay awake, I will be able to hear everything that's going on while the doctor will be using tools inside my body.

So I ask him what he recommends, and he said it pretty much depends on a person's personality. Some people choose to be awake so they can go home quicker and some don't even want to know what's going out, so they choose a deep sedation so they're asleep the entire time.

I like the idea of staying awake so I will be aware of everything in case there's any problems, but don't think I'd be able to handle it if any complications arose. I'm absolutely terrified, but like being as in control of any given situation as the situation allows.

But because he needs to know whether to schedule an anesthesiologist for my surgery, I told him to do so because I can always change my mind and tell said anesthesiologist not to sedate me.

"Are you crazy?" asked my husband when I told him that I was thinking of asking the doctor to stay awake during the procedure. "You are going under. There's no way you should stay awake and worry more than you're already going to worry. Just get there, go to sleep, and when you wake up, it will all be over."

It will all be over. Can't wait for that day. Sounds like a plan to me.

Not so much a badass New Yorker

"So you've lived in the New York City area your entire life?" I asked Carl, the dealer who was teaching my boss and I how to play Texas Hold 'Em at a press event promoting Atlantic City.

"Yup," he said. "Grew up in New Jersey, live there now, but went to school in Manhattan. Where are you originally from?"

"What do you mean 'originally from,'?" I asked, jokingly. "Are you insinuating that I'm not from here?"

"I know you're not from here," laughed the salt-and-pepper-haired man whose 48th birthday was today. "I'd guess that you're from the Midwest."

"Toledo, Ohio," I responded. "But how did you know?"

"You have a Midwest face," he said, peering at me. "You've got this innocence in your face. It's just obvious."

Is it that obvious? Do us Midwesterners have an innocence look? Hmmmm.

If only it could be like this every day.

The weather outside is my perfect weather.

It is completely overcast, but not at all rainy, and warm enough to wear a T-shirt outside.

I'm lying on my bed with the windows open just listening to the heart of Manhattan and feeling the warm breeze floating past my dancing blue window shades.

Yes, I hear the more-than-occasional taxi horn blast or wails coming from police cars and firetrucks, but there's also the whizzing of cars as they speed down 9th Avenue, the laughter coming from a gaggle of 20-somethings on their way to the club, and buzz from the smokers who've stepped outside the newly reopened Lincoln Park Bar & Grill downstairs.

As I watch my husband brush his teeth and get ready for bed near Chloe lying contentedly in her dog bed, I can't help but just be peaceful and, well... happy. I'm happy with my life, my job, my social life, and against everything I would have thought a few years ago, I'm happy in Manhattan. Life is good.

To cut or not to cut... that's the question

"Erika? Hi, nice to meet you. Now let me see your breasts."

OK, so he didn't actually use those words, but I was still rather uncomfortable with the thought that the breast surgeon who was going to walk through the door - whom I had never met before - was going to want to see me topless.

I know, I know: He does these kinds of things on a daily basis, but before moving to New York, I had never, ever had a male primary doctor or gynecologist. I just feel more comfortable with women because I think they can better relate to what I'm going through - especially with female matters.

Lucky for me, the doctor who walked through the door was a lanky, balding man with friendly blue eyes and a nice smile. He spoke softly, but confidently and looked me right in the eye as he answered all of my questions - even the ones I didn't think to ask - and even drew pictures to illustrate what he was explaining when I didn't fully understand.

For this, I was grateful, because after he patiently sat and answered all my questions, he left the decision in my hands. What I have to do now is decide whether to have surgery to remove the tumor in my breast.

Long story short, I found a lump in my breast in May, 2009, and went through a biopsy that confirmed it was benign. But because it has recently been causing some brief bouts of pain, my gynecologist suggested I see a specialist. So here I am trying to figure out whether I should go through with surgery.

If I don't, the tumor could get bigger, but the doctor said it's not cancerous and it isn't causing any harm except potentially the discomfort I've been experiencing. He said he'd support my decision to not go through with surgery, as it's smaller than the tumors that he normally recommends be removed.

On the other hand, do I really want to have surgery when it's not completely necessary? Do I want to be sedated and have something removed from my body that, while it's not supposed to be there, is not really hurting anything making camp near the bottom of my armpit? Do I want to have yet another scar from stitches to join the ones in my thumb and the ones in my eyebrow from getting hit in the head with a croquet mallet when I was 5 years old? The answer to all of these questions: Not really.

My doctor was helpful in the fact that he said he would support my decision either way, but not so helpful in that he didn't give me a clear-cut direction on which way to go. My mom was the same way, but my husband was absolutely adamant that it's something I should do. His feeling is you should be proactive and take care of things like this before they change or get worse.

Though it makes me nervous, I think I agree.