For some people, working out is an escape.
For me - I try to escape working out.
Others love it to the point of obsession. Hello crazy muscle man who's always hanging out in front of the mirror near the free weights!
I'm obsessed with avoiding the free weights.
Working out for me is like a job, except I don't get paid for it. I would love to see results, i.e. weight loss and a more toned body, but that requires patience and perseverance. Patience is not my strong suit, nor is perseverance because I get bored too easily. Herein lies the problem.
I fell in love with yoga since moving to New York and trying it for the first time. Though it's a great workout, cardio is the key to weight loss and my looking good in my wedding dress in June.
But it's so hard to do cardio when I'm so run down from work and have such a weird work schedule. I go into work anywhere from 4:30 a.m. (yes, there IS a 4:30 A.M. and people go to work at that time, apparently) to 6 p.m. and work anywhere from four to eight hours a day four to seven days a week. Since my work schedule is all over the place, it's hard to plan a workout schedule and even harder to stick with it.
But with my fiance's prodding - he feels "off" when he doesn't work out, and apparently assumes that I should feel the same - I've been sticking to a semi-regular workout schedule. (It helps that I have a mental picture of myself in my wedding dress to motivate me!) Yay me!
Besides, it's much easier to work out if I actually enjoy it. Along with yoga, another workout that I tried for the first time recently and L-O-V-E-D was rebounding. It's a workout done almost entirely on mini trampolines, and bouncing around is a great cardio workout! But I think a big reason why I like it so much is because of the instructor. Blake could not have more energy and the music he plays is bumpin' and is as loud as it would be in a club, so it's easier to keep the energy up for a great, full-body workout.
And since today was Club H Spa Day, my energy was even higher while bounding on my mini-tramp because I knew that afterward, I would be getting a massage or facial! And it was FREE! SCORE!!!
Give me an opportunity like that every time I work out and I'll get my butt to the gym seven days a week!
Though I was jonesin' for a massage, the next person available was the facial lady, so I settled on a nice, 15-minute, yummy-smelling facial.
Then I went home and asked the fiance for a massage.
I know how to work it!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
Soon-to-be the boss
I started training today to be a supervisor at the coffee shop where I work - which is what I was hired for a few weeks ago. Since I was hired, I've been working to master the basics and am now finally ready to work to be the boss.
But it's so much harder than I anticipated.
The first step is spending four hours a day for two weeks reading a binder the size of a standard textbook, answering questions, and completing activities. Not only do I have to do that, but I also have to REMEMBER what I read. It's not like back in school where you read a chapter and are tested on a select few of the more important things that you read. Unfortunately, I have to remember it all. Sigh.
Besides all that, the store where I work is so busy, there is so much to remember, and there's almost too much to pay attention to at one time. It's so much more stressful than I thought it would be when I signed up for what I thought would be a nice, brainless job while I got settled into the city.
Plus, the hardest part is that I was hired a few weeks ago to supervise employees who have been with the company for weeks, months, or even years. They're well aware of how the store operates and most of them know their responsibilities.
I'm still new. How am I supposed to feel comfortable telling people what to do and when to do it in the same breath that I'm asking them what needs to be done and when it should be accomplished?
It's just a little weird. And a little too stressful.
But it's so much harder than I anticipated.
The first step is spending four hours a day for two weeks reading a binder the size of a standard textbook, answering questions, and completing activities. Not only do I have to do that, but I also have to REMEMBER what I read. It's not like back in school where you read a chapter and are tested on a select few of the more important things that you read. Unfortunately, I have to remember it all. Sigh.
Besides all that, the store where I work is so busy, there is so much to remember, and there's almost too much to pay attention to at one time. It's so much more stressful than I thought it would be when I signed up for what I thought would be a nice, brainless job while I got settled into the city.
Plus, the hardest part is that I was hired a few weeks ago to supervise employees who have been with the company for weeks, months, or even years. They're well aware of how the store operates and most of them know their responsibilities.
I'm still new. How am I supposed to feel comfortable telling people what to do and when to do it in the same breath that I'm asking them what needs to be done and when it should be accomplished?
It's just a little weird. And a little too stressful.
Oh baby, baby!
One thing I love most about New York City is that it's a destination city. No one ever says, "Next time I'm in Toledo, I'll give you a call." But people come to New York to visit all of the time.
Ca
se in point - I finally got to hold one of my good friends' new baby the other day because they - Ignazio and Susan - were in town visiting family. And that was not the only "first" of the day. I also met my friend Ignazio's parents, visited Queens for the first time, and bravely ate some 
seafood (unless you count tuna, I don't do seafood).
se in point - I finally got to hold one of my good friends' new baby the other day because they - Ignazio and Susan - were in town visiting family. And that was not the only "first" of the day. I also met my friend Ignazio's parents, visited Queens for the first time, and bravely ate some 
seafood (unless you count tuna, I don't do seafood).Starting with my favorite - the baby, of course - Maria Sophia is a total wiggle worm. Even at 24 days old, all four of her limbs are constantly moving whenever she's got those big, wide eyes open, and her tiny socks can never stay on those tiny feet. Adorable!
Queens, however, is a different story. The further you get into the burrough, the more graffiti you see on the sides of building. And I'm not just talking a bit of paint here and there. I could hardly see the original color of some buildings behind all the graffiti. But since I consider some graffiti an art form, some of it was really beautiful.
After switching trains once in Manhattan, I took another train about 20 minutes into Queens and got off well after it had traveled from underground to above the streets. Other than the trains roaring overhead, the neighborhood in Queens looked like any other small downtown area with an H & R Block, a Dunkin' Donuts, and a Subway sandwich shop, among other stores.
After a few minutes of hanging out in the Dunkin' Donuts, Ignazio and his brother, Paul, pulled up and drove me to their parents' house for a seafood lunch. And when I say seafood, I'm talking S-E-A-F-O-O-D. Ignazio's family prepared a seven-course seafood lunch, which included crab and lobster bisque, an octopus and celery dish, eel, and oysters. I bravely tried the bisque - which I found surprisingly good - and the octopus, which I'm sure was fine, but it was too weird and rubbery for me to eat again. I couldn't bring myself to actually try the eel. One weird food is enough for me for one day!
But overall, it was great to just hang out in good company and enjoy a lazy Sunday afternoon with people I miss from Toledo. (Hint, hint! Other people I miss from Toledo are always welcome to this fab city!)
Saturday, February 23, 2008
May he rest in peace
I'm upset. And when I'm upset - I mean really upset - I make a beeline toward the end of the couch that's nearest the corner with my mini, green journal. After resting it on my thighs, which I've pulled up to eye-level by putting my feet on the couch, words bleed out of whatever pen or marker that I grab onto its pages.
Since it's full of my private, sometimes contradictory and chaotic thoughts, no one reads that journal. It's to help me work out whatever issue or problem I'm having at the moment or just an outlet for me to take out my frustrations.
I found a dead person today.
Under these circumstances, normally I'd be headed for the couch to write. Anyone who knows me well knows that I get as skittish as a young colt around death. I suffer from what I characterize as small panic attacks when I have to be around it, like when I'm at funerals.
You'd think that three years as a reporter - when it was my job to write about death at times - would have given me the tools to be more comfortable around it. Even though I've seen more death as a reporter, and have had to deal with it in my own way, I have never really gotten over that day in March, 2005, when I attended the funeral of a 5-year-old boy who had been hit by a car that failed to stop for a school bus. There was also the story of the 11-year-old who had been hit by a train, the 7-year-old and his father who drowned in Lake Erie, and the twin 4-year-old girls whose drugged-out father drove into the path of a semi. (For some reason, the big stories about death in my coverage area usually involved children.)
I thought I had left that all behind when I moved to New York. But death happens anywhere. Even in the lobby of a coffee shop.
I'm writing about the experience here, and not in my green journal, because this really isn't a private matter. A man died in the middle of the hustle and bustle of people grabbing their morning coffees and heading off to work.
And the worst part? No one noticed. FOR TWO HOURS.
It wasn't until I was sent to clean up the lobby area that I started talking to a customer and she pointed the guy out and asked that I make sure he was OK. In New York, it's not unusual for the homeless to quietly step into coffee shops to warm up and even nod off. They're usually really nice and sometimes, they use some of the coins they were given from passersby for a small cup of coffee. As long as they're not bothering anyone, I won't kick them out for not buying anything.
Today, however, this guy made me really uncomfortable. He was a black man who looked like he might be in his mid-50s. But it was hard to tell because he was sitting on a chair, his feet were on the floor, and his body was bent over so his head rested between his knees like he was feeling faint and needed to take a breather.
Since the assistant manager woke him up earlier in the day to tell him not to sleep in the store, we obviously assumed he again had fallen asleep, even though he recently bought a cup of coffee.
But as I was eyeing him while wiping off the tables, it seemed eerie that he remained so still, even though people were constantly jostling past him to get milk and sugar for their coffees on the side of the store that has just a few seats available for customers.
So I scooted up a bit closer to him to really get a good look at him in his dark blue jeans, over-sized navy blue jacket, and well-worn black backpack and failed to see the tiny movement a body makes as its lungs expand with air.
On the way to talk to the assistant manager, I started feeling unnaturally hot in my black turtleneck. Since the guy ignored the assistant manager's earlier order not to sleep in the store, the assistant manager went out to the lobby intending on waking him up and asking him to leave.
Though he banged his open palm on the table several times while shouting the word "sir," the guy didn't respond. Police were called, then they called EMS before he was pronounced dead. Just like that.
I was seriously feeling queasy by that point, so I asked if I could run an errand or something so I wouldn't have to see them take the body away and was, thankfully, sent to the bank to get some change.
The ambulance was just pulling away when I got back and all that was left was to give my information for a report. Then I was supposed to return to work like nothing ever happened.
The next time I looked over in that area, a beautiful, healthy college student wearing blue jeans and black personality glasses was sitting right where the guy's life left him. She was laughing as she swung her blonde hair from one side to the other as she attempted to help her friend with their economics assignment.
There it was. Life and death right there in front of me in black and white.
She's doing great.
May he rest in peace.
Since it's full of my private, sometimes contradictory and chaotic thoughts, no one reads that journal. It's to help me work out whatever issue or problem I'm having at the moment or just an outlet for me to take out my frustrations.
I found a dead person today.
Under these circumstances, normally I'd be headed for the couch to write. Anyone who knows me well knows that I get as skittish as a young colt around death. I suffer from what I characterize as small panic attacks when I have to be around it, like when I'm at funerals.
You'd think that three years as a reporter - when it was my job to write about death at times - would have given me the tools to be more comfortable around it. Even though I've seen more death as a reporter, and have had to deal with it in my own way, I have never really gotten over that day in March, 2005, when I attended the funeral of a 5-year-old boy who had been hit by a car that failed to stop for a school bus. There was also the story of the 11-year-old who had been hit by a train, the 7-year-old and his father who drowned in Lake Erie, and the twin 4-year-old girls whose drugged-out father drove into the path of a semi. (For some reason, the big stories about death in my coverage area usually involved children.)
I thought I had left that all behind when I moved to New York. But death happens anywhere. Even in the lobby of a coffee shop.
I'm writing about the experience here, and not in my green journal, because this really isn't a private matter. A man died in the middle of the hustle and bustle of people grabbing their morning coffees and heading off to work.
And the worst part? No one noticed. FOR TWO HOURS.
It wasn't until I was sent to clean up the lobby area that I started talking to a customer and she pointed the guy out and asked that I make sure he was OK. In New York, it's not unusual for the homeless to quietly step into coffee shops to warm up and even nod off. They're usually really nice and sometimes, they use some of the coins they were given from passersby for a small cup of coffee. As long as they're not bothering anyone, I won't kick them out for not buying anything.
Today, however, this guy made me really uncomfortable. He was a black man who looked like he might be in his mid-50s. But it was hard to tell because he was sitting on a chair, his feet were on the floor, and his body was bent over so his head rested between his knees like he was feeling faint and needed to take a breather.
Since the assistant manager woke him up earlier in the day to tell him not to sleep in the store, we obviously assumed he again had fallen asleep, even though he recently bought a cup of coffee.
But as I was eyeing him while wiping off the tables, it seemed eerie that he remained so still, even though people were constantly jostling past him to get milk and sugar for their coffees on the side of the store that has just a few seats available for customers.
So I scooted up a bit closer to him to really get a good look at him in his dark blue jeans, over-sized navy blue jacket, and well-worn black backpack and failed to see the tiny movement a body makes as its lungs expand with air.
On the way to talk to the assistant manager, I started feeling unnaturally hot in my black turtleneck. Since the guy ignored the assistant manager's earlier order not to sleep in the store, the assistant manager went out to the lobby intending on waking him up and asking him to leave.
Though he banged his open palm on the table several times while shouting the word "sir," the guy didn't respond. Police were called, then they called EMS before he was pronounced dead. Just like that.
I was seriously feeling queasy by that point, so I asked if I could run an errand or something so I wouldn't have to see them take the body away and was, thankfully, sent to the bank to get some change.
The ambulance was just pulling away when I got back and all that was left was to give my information for a report. Then I was supposed to return to work like nothing ever happened.
The next time I looked over in that area, a beautiful, healthy college student wearing blue jeans and black personality glasses was sitting right where the guy's life left him. She was laughing as she swung her blonde hair from one side to the other as she attempted to help her friend with their economics assignment.
There it was. Life and death right there in front of me in black and white.
She's doing great.
May he rest in peace.
Monday, February 18, 2008
I'm $10 richer, but the coffee shop is way more than $10 poorer
I've only gotten up at 4:15 a.m. to go to work at my coffee shop job a handful of times, but no matter how much I'm getting used to it, it still royally sucks. It's even more horrible now that it's wintertime and all I can think about is how good it would feel to crawl back into my warm bed and snuggle under the covers with my fiance.
But because I'm responsible and because I need money in this super-expensive city, I grudgingly rolled out of bed at 4:15 a.m. to eat breakfast and look halfway decent before heading off to work - two minutes before I'm supposed to clock in. Because my commute is an average of four minutes, I'm usually right around two minutes late every day.
But when I'm heading to work at 4:43 a.m., I'm still halfway asleep because I haven't yet downed a few shots of espresso. That didn't stop my eyes from grabbing something unusual on the sidewalk on this particular morning, though (which is saying something because I've seen all sorts of random garbage blowing along the streets of NYC). It was folded up three times, but I still recognized it - cold hard cash. And no one around but me.
SCORE!!!
At first I thought there were two zeros behind the 1, but that excitement quickly dissipated when I saw Alexander Hamilton on the front of the bill instead of Benjamin Franklin. But still - it was $10!!! And it was mine (Hey - finders keepers, man)!!!
That's when I knew that it was going to be a good day.
The good day continued when I got to work and the water pressure in our store decided to quit - right in the middle of the morning rush. This is good because no water pressure equals no espresso shots (which is in probably about 90 percent of the drinks), no tea, and no coffee that isn't hadn't already been brewed, so it meant that I had to actually do very little.
The only thing I got to do - which was priceless in several situations - was listen to the customers order and either do what I could for them or watch the shock register on their faces when I told them that no, they could not have "their" drink. I actually saw some of them contemplating suicide when they realized they would not be getting their morning coffee.
For example, one woman came in and ordered a drink that required espresso. I told her that we could not make that particular drink, explained why, and watched her face go from gleeful as she was ordering to horrified when I offered her some regular, brewed coffee. Like that was even an option.
"Nooooooo!!! All I really wanted this morning was [said drink]," she whined as if her entire day was going to be thrown off because of me (which it probably was. People are INSANE when it comes to their rituals.)
This became more apparent as the minutes went on. Every time a new batch of customers came through the door, I announced the situation so everyone could hear it and they could either choose to stay in line for what we did have to offer, which does include morning pasteries, or walk out and find another place that sells coffee. Which is on every corner in New York City. But whatever.
Most people were understanding, though a bit miffed. But one lady, who waited in line for about 23 seconds, totally blew up when she asked if she could have a particular drink, and I told her no.
"Well, why didn't you post a sign on the door saying that? I never would have waited if I had known that," she huffed while throwing her money back into her cheap, designer knockoff and storming out.
What would the sign have said? I wondered. "Don't bother coming inside between the minutes of 6:11 a.m. and 6:32 a.m. today because we will not be able to make certain drinks, but you'll never know which ones unless you come in and ask"?
Besides, as one of my colleagues astutely pointed out, people don't read signs, so Ms. Bitchiness' suggestion would have been futile. And the inconvenience lasted about 20 minutes - which was enough time for the coffee that we had brewed that morning disappear as if it were the last vaccine on Earth for a deadly disease. By that point, we were also getting dangerously low on the last warm beverage we had to offer - decaf coffee, which some people accepted when they realized that the only alternative was to not have any coffee at all.
I have always been fascinated by psychology, and because I really had nothing more to do than ruin people's day, I simply observed the morning trainwreck as a psychologist would watch an experiment into the human psyche. And it's f'd up, man. But it's also unbelieveably fascinating.
But because I'm responsible and because I need money in this super-expensive city, I grudgingly rolled out of bed at 4:15 a.m. to eat breakfast and look halfway decent before heading off to work - two minutes before I'm supposed to clock in. Because my commute is an average of four minutes, I'm usually right around two minutes late every day.
But when I'm heading to work at 4:43 a.m., I'm still halfway asleep because I haven't yet downed a few shots of espresso. That didn't stop my eyes from grabbing something unusual on the sidewalk on this particular morning, though (which is saying something because I've seen all sorts of random garbage blowing along the streets of NYC). It was folded up three times, but I still recognized it - cold hard cash. And no one around but me.
SCORE!!!
At first I thought there were two zeros behind the 1, but that excitement quickly dissipated when I saw Alexander Hamilton on the front of the bill instead of Benjamin Franklin. But still - it was $10!!! And it was mine (Hey - finders keepers, man)!!!
That's when I knew that it was going to be a good day.
The good day continued when I got to work and the water pressure in our store decided to quit - right in the middle of the morning rush. This is good because no water pressure equals no espresso shots (which is in probably about 90 percent of the drinks), no tea, and no coffee that isn't hadn't already been brewed, so it meant that I had to actually do very little.
The only thing I got to do - which was priceless in several situations - was listen to the customers order and either do what I could for them or watch the shock register on their faces when I told them that no, they could not have "their" drink. I actually saw some of them contemplating suicide when they realized they would not be getting their morning coffee.
For example, one woman came in and ordered a drink that required espresso. I told her that we could not make that particular drink, explained why, and watched her face go from gleeful as she was ordering to horrified when I offered her some regular, brewed coffee. Like that was even an option.
"Nooooooo!!! All I really wanted this morning was [said drink]," she whined as if her entire day was going to be thrown off because of me (which it probably was. People are INSANE when it comes to their rituals.)
This became more apparent as the minutes went on. Every time a new batch of customers came through the door, I announced the situation so everyone could hear it and they could either choose to stay in line for what we did have to offer, which does include morning pasteries, or walk out and find another place that sells coffee. Which is on every corner in New York City. But whatever.
Most people were understanding, though a bit miffed. But one lady, who waited in line for about 23 seconds, totally blew up when she asked if she could have a particular drink, and I told her no.
"Well, why didn't you post a sign on the door saying that? I never would have waited if I had known that," she huffed while throwing her money back into her cheap, designer knockoff and storming out.
What would the sign have said? I wondered. "Don't bother coming inside between the minutes of 6:11 a.m. and 6:32 a.m. today because we will not be able to make certain drinks, but you'll never know which ones unless you come in and ask"?
Besides, as one of my colleagues astutely pointed out, people don't read signs, so Ms. Bitchiness' suggestion would have been futile. And the inconvenience lasted about 20 minutes - which was enough time for the coffee that we had brewed that morning disappear as if it were the last vaccine on Earth for a deadly disease. By that point, we were also getting dangerously low on the last warm beverage we had to offer - decaf coffee, which some people accepted when they realized that the only alternative was to not have any coffee at all.
I have always been fascinated by psychology, and because I really had nothing more to do than ruin people's day, I simply observed the morning trainwreck as a psychologist would watch an experiment into the human psyche. And it's f'd up, man. But it's also unbelieveably fascinating.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Great minds think alike
When Brent and I went on our very first vacation together - a cruise around the Florida keys - the most romantic moment was when we were on the top level of the cruise ship that was sailing at night in the warm summer breeze eating chocolate-covered strawberries.
Since then, chocolate-covered strawberries have always been a romantic staple in our relationship.
So I decided to make the delicious dessert to surprise Brent when he came home from work on Valentine's Day.
I luckily got the last bunch of strawberries at the supermarket (score!) and went to work melting dark chocolate in the microwave before rolling the berries in the chocolate and placing them on a plate to harden in the fridge.
Unfortunately, I forgot to put down wax paper, so most of the chocolate ended up sticking to the plate... Sigh.
But when Brent came home, I was sure to be at the door eating one of the desserts so he could see what was in store for our Valentine's Day together. He just smiled at me, shook his head, and held out a big gold package that said "Godiva" on the side.
Great minds think alike!
Not surprisingly, inside the package were 12 chocolate-covered strawberries that made my strawberries look just sad. I posted pictures of both - you be the judge!
But I made mine mysef and they tasted just as good as the professionally done ones... almost.
Happy Valentine's Day!!
Since then, chocolate-covered strawberries have always been a romantic staple in our relationship.
So I decided to make the delicious dessert to surprise Brent when he came home from work on Valentine's Day.
I luckily got the last bunch of strawberries at the supermarket (score!) and went to work melting dark chocolate in the microwave before rolling the berries in the chocolate and placing them on a plate to harden in the fridge.
Unfortunately, I forgot to put down wax paper, so most of the chocolate ended up sticking to the plate... Sigh.
But when Brent came home, I was sure to be at the door eating one of the desserts so he could see what was in store for our Valentine's Day together. He just smiled at me, shook his head, and held out a big gold package that said "Godiva" on the side.
Great minds think alike!
Not surprisingly, inside the package were 12 chocolate-covered strawberries that made my strawberries look just sad. I posted pictures of both - you be the judge!
But I made mine mysef and they tasted just as good as the professionally done ones... almost.
Happy Valentine's Day!!
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
I know who is the next American Idol
OK, so
even though I am the (self-proclaimed) Miss American Idol Extraordinare, I don't really know who's going to be the next American Idol, but I can totally make a really good guess.
I am predicting that, even though we have just learned who made it into the top 24, that 20-year-old Syesha Mercado - the one who lost her voice during Hollywood week - will be the next American Idol. She is P-H-E-N-O-M-I-N-A-L and is, in my opinion, the one to beat.
American also narrowly missed another Sanjaya phenominon. Simon said he wholeheartedly wanted to put Kyle Ensley in the top 24 because he had "something different to offer." So did Sanjaya, and look what happened t
here. Kyle seemed like a great guy - funny and down-to-earth, though a bit dorky. However, what Simon meant by "something different" was "something to annoy people and get ratings."
While I agree that Kyle had a pretty good voice, there are other aspects that one has to consider when putting together a group of singers to throw to the dogs (aka "Americans who watch the show").
Unfortunately, in the pop culture industry, there is an image that Kyle, the politician, just doesn't fit into. I seriously can't imagine his being successful in the singing industry.
But he does seem like a sweet and stand-up guy. Here's good wishes for his future in politics!
(Photos are courtesy of Fox.)
even though I am the (self-proclaimed) Miss American Idol Extraordinare, I don't really know who's going to be the next American Idol, but I can totally make a really good guess.I am predicting that, even though we have just learned who made it into the top 24, that 20-year-old Syesha Mercado - the one who lost her voice during Hollywood week - will be the next American Idol. She is P-H-E-N-O-M-I-N-A-L and is, in my opinion, the one to beat.
American also narrowly missed another Sanjaya phenominon. Simon said he wholeheartedly wanted to put Kyle Ensley in the top 24 because he had "something different to offer." So did Sanjaya, and look what happened t
here. Kyle seemed like a great guy - funny and down-to-earth, though a bit dorky. However, what Simon meant by "something different" was "something to annoy people and get ratings."While I agree that Kyle had a pretty good voice, there are other aspects that one has to consider when putting together a group of singers to throw to the dogs (aka "Americans who watch the show").
Unfortunately, in the pop culture industry, there is an image that Kyle, the politician, just doesn't fit into. I seriously can't imagine his being successful in the singing industry.
But he does seem like a sweet and stand-up guy. Here's good wishes for his future in politics!
(Photos are courtesy of Fox.)
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