A Sheep and a Cat Walk Into a Bar...

Some studies have shown that continually taking classes throughout one's life can stave off Alzheimer's disease. Well, I certainly think I deserve a free pass to a nimble mind in my elder years, considering the brain power I will expel attending a German class five times a week.

It's not official yet but I have picked up a class schedule already and it is daunting. Three hours a day, five days a week? Yikes! However, the nerd in me is very excited. Although I hated most of my school years (I can safely blame the social forces at hand at the time), I loved college. Not only did I get to redefine myself amongst a new group of peers, I loved the freedom to study as I wished. I adored scheduling classes when I wanted them to be and then rolling out of bed and running to a lecture hall where I would sip coffee and take notes. Or not take them. It was all up to me how I wanted to learn and for the most part, what I wanted to learn.

So now it's even better. No math requirement to fulfill, no minimum credit load to carry, I just get to study a subject I really want to learn. However, rest assured that part of me is still terrified. I've had flashbacks of my intensive Spanish class back in Madrid where the teacher spoke not a lick of English and instead just kept repeating the same phrase to me while I contemplated staging a fainting spell just to get the hell outta there.

But the good thing about having a few foreign language experiences under my belt is that I sort of know how to tune my brain for this kind of information. Unlike last fall when I wasn't invested in Berlin, I am now making a concerted effort to understand the signs on the street, phrases from store clerks, and anything else that comes my way. This afternoon, I strolled into the local bookstore to buy a map and got immersed in children's books. I now know that a sheep is a Schaf and that a Katze (meow, meow) likes milch. Of course, I aspire to ingest reading material suited for someone beyond toddler hood but it's a start.

The local Turkish market was strangely useful today, too. Usually, these people scare the crap out of me. I've been laughed at, I've overpaid, I've come home with eight measly apricots because I don't understand what 100 grams looks like, you get the idea. But today, I found some merit to walking through the crowded stalls as I heard a vendor bellow, "Zwei für eine! Zwei für eine! Zwei für eine! Zwei für eine!" all in a whole 0.5 seconds. His rapid fire was loud and startling and the New Yorker in me initially wanted to tell him to chill the **** out. But a moment later, I was grateful for this nearly hyperventilating dude because his repetition enabled my mind to compute, "Two for one!"

Granted, I hope my German teacher doesn't employ this technique. I'd like to enjoy my coffee during class, not spill it over the table for goodness sake. However, I am glad to remember that there are all sorts of way for me to learn this language. I mean, I really don't want to be that American who comes back to the states only knowing how to say, "Ein Bier, bitte." If anything, I should at least be able to tell you that the sheep and cat want that zwei für ein happy hour special.

The Kindness of Others

I can be quite a pessimist, I hate to admit. What's strange is that I'm entirely optimistic about the lives of just about everyone around me; yet when it comes to my own, I can easily get fixated on the badness rather on what's going right.

Throughout the past couple of years though, I've done quite a bit of reading on the subject of happiness. One thing the researchers seem to say over and over again is that those who are happiest tend to also be the most grateful. Focusing on the positive forces in their lives, these people make a concerted effort to actively appreciate those things on a frequent (oftentimes daily) basis. Seems like a pretty good way to do life if you ask me. Therefore, I've been trying my best to focus on the things for which I am grateful. Sometimes, this proves to be quite a difficult chore. However, in the past couple of weeks, it's been easy peasy. Why? Because I have some truly wonderful people in my life. Here is my list of their random acts of kindness for which I am so very grateful:

Rachael's List of Warm Fuzzies
- The friends who opened their home to accept Baxter the Cat.
- Learning that one of my charges had said to his mom, "I wish Rachael wasn't going to GerNaMy."
- Multiple instances of friends swiping the bill from me.
- Hugs when the stress led to tears.
- Fun CD mixes as well as a used Ipod when I was losing my mind over my lack of music.
- A surprise bonus/goodbye present from one of the families I nanny for.
- A surprise check in the mail from my mom for "things that might come up!"
- Kind words from strangers at LaGuardia International post airport security freak-out with cat.
- The most precious hugs and kisses from my niece.
- The doorman I got to know from taking care of little Ethan, being goofy and singing, "It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday..." when I announced I was leaving for Berlin.
- Tons of advice and encouragement from Berlin friends who knew I could get myself back here with a little help.
- A friend's constant assistance in all of my moving the past couple of months, offering up storage, helping with heavy boxes and suitcases, and dealing with crappy traffic in order to give me a ride all the way to Newark on his Sunday afternoon.
- Sweet cards from good friends along with all sorts of "Good luck!" wishes from people I barely even know.

And now here I am, staring at this magnificent view from my new Berlin pad, jet lagged but ever so grateful that I am here. I don't even care that it's cloudy and drizzling. I'm cozy and content with my cup of tea, ready for more goodness to come.

Bullish Wanderlust

Throughout the past week, I've had to say goodbye to a whole lot of people I really love...my dear family, wonderful friends, and the teeny little ones I've cared for. It hasn't been easy but I've managed to keep it together. Tonight, however, after a final quiet dinner with a few friends at Cafe Steinhof, I started to feel a little lump in my throat as we parted ways. But as I rode the A train by myself the rest of the way home, I dug into my bag, pulled out a local magazine, and came across my horoscope:

How many continents have you been to, Taurus? I've only been to three and I'm starting to get nervous. Because really, this life of ours is but brief waking amid the eternal night of the universe, so if you don't do it now, when are you going to do it? That's why I'm building a rocket ship in my backyard, And that's why I'm going to fly that sucker some day.

Oh, how I love when the universe aligns.

414-less

As I try to decide what to take with me to Berlin for the next several months, I am continually thinking of passages from Eckart Tolle's book, A New Earth. One of the things that this book drilled into my head was the superfluousness of material things. Okay, well, duh, right? Of course, we all know that things are not important but it's easy to get wrapped up in what we think we need. I am not the kind of person who drags my entire wardrobe with me any time I go somewhere (I am the queen of carry-on luggage only for four day weekends away); however, I do get stuck on the other stuff. Framed photos, cool jewelry from my grandmother, sweet letters...these are the things I have a hard time parting with, even if it's only for a few months. Yet, I am constantly thinking of the passage in Tolle's book when he addresses a woman's mourning over the theft of her wedding ring. I mean, at the end of the day, how important is a stone, right?

But I get it. It wouldn't be about the expense of such a piece of jewelry. It would be about the emotions attached to it. This makes sense to me. Yet, I am strangely sentimental about things that most of the population probably doesn't think twice about. I can still remember feeling sad when my parent's sold the first car I had ever known. And I'm having a terrible time not packing up silly things like that random ticket stub that always conjures up a funny memory, bringing a smile to my face.

So I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I also feel an odd sadness to something I've had to part with in the last 24 hours: my phone number. Yesterday, per my request, my phone service was shut off. For good. Unlike last fall, when my account was on hold, there is no going back to the old 414 number I've had for the past eight years. When I moved to New York a few years ago, I thought about changing my number to a NYC based one but then I thought, Why? I also became fiercely proud of my number any time I doled it out to a new friend who would look at me quizzically as I recited the "414." I became almost downright smug as I'd announce, "Yeah, that's right, it's Milwaukee."

But I guess a phone number is just a phone number. Besides, letting it go is sort of a push to ensure that I move ahead with my new endeavor. Of course, I could fall flat in my face and be back in the states three months from now. But at least I can say I tried and that's all I really ask of myself right now.

Shopaholic? Heed This Advice!

If you find that you are chronically shaming yourself due to your mass consumerist ways, here's a little game to play. It's called "What Will I Use for the Next Nine Months and How Can I Possibly Fit it All into Two Big Suitcases and a Carry-on?"

Seriously. Stellar results. And this is why...

On several occasions, you will find yourself walking down the street, passing storefront after storefront of mannequins showcasing cute spring frocks and hot strappy sandals, a punch in the face reminder of how much your current wardrobe sucks. But just as you are heading toward the entrance, a little light bulb goes off over your head and you wonder, Is there any way I can possibly stuff another piece of anything into my suitcases? The answer is obviously, Hell no! since you have already filled one with coats, shoes, and books alone.

But don't fret! Shortly after you pass up that adorable little floral skirt from H&M, you will pat yourself on the back for resisting the temptation and even more importantly, saving some cash. Who knows? Perhaps that money will go toward another plane ticket instead. Maybe for another weekend getaway in Madrid? Or maybe this time, you'll decide to check out Greece when that rainy German autumn kicks you in the pants. And who cares that you'll be running around the streets of Athens in a threadbare T-shirt? I hear the Greeks like to show a little skin anyway.

Hey, Mr. Sun, I've Been Missing You!

A recent email from a friend in Berlin:

Hey, hope everything's going well getting all the bits and bobs sorted out. I don't know what the weather is like over there but over here it's just recently begun to get really nice out since last week. You hardly need a jacket during the day and even during the night it's quite mild, only a slight chill. Everyone is all excited for summer even though we're still a few months off.

I read this as I stare at the drizzle outside. I can't help but smile. How many days left?

(And what the hell are "bobs" anyway?)

FYI - Must Take Fluffy Out!!

Just a little FYI for those of you who might consider flying with your pet. Before booking my recent flight to Wisconsin, I carefully read all the information on the airline's website about what I could and could not do, taking my cat on board. I made sure I had an appropriate carrier. I paid the necessary fees. However, nowhere, NOWHERE did it say that I would be expected to take Bax out of his carrier to go through airport security.

He had been doing so well. There was a bit of howling on the way to the airport but he quickly chilled out. I was feeling pretty good about this whole pet travel thing. Soon enough, I was in the airport security line. I had taken off my shoes, thrown all my crap into the dingy gray bins, and was ready with Bax safely enclosed in the Sherpa carrier to pass through the metal detector. That's when the security woman who appeared to be about 19 years old (why are they all so young?!) said, "Please remove your pet from the carrier."

"WHAT?" Already anxiety ridden, I thought my heart was gonna give out right there.

"Remove your pet please," she repeated. I think she may have been snapping gum, too.

I was in complete shock.

"What?" I asked again.

I will save you from the boring details of our conversation since it went into broken record mode. Suffice it to say that there was a rapid succession of phrases such as:

"HE'S GONNA TAKE OFF IF I LET HIM OUT OF THIS THING!"

"Well, ma'am, you've got to."

My favorite part, though, was when she tried to instruct me in the appropriate manner of cat transport through the hustle and bustle that is airport security.

"You just take him out, hold him like a baby, and walk through."

Clearly, not a cat owner.

But what could I do? So I had one of those, Don't think about it! moments and opened the carrier, grabbed him, held him to my chest while he went a little nuts, yelled at security staff to get my (*@#! carrier through ASAP and then stuffed him back in as a cloud of gray fur settled on the conveyor belt. All in all, he did rather well. I was honestly amazed that he did not take advantage of the moment and execute some sort of escape. By the time I had gotten my shoes back on, he was looking amazingly mellow in his little case. I, on the other hand, was sweating and on the verge of heart palpitations.

I hadn't realized what a scene I had made in line until I got to my gate and random people began approaching me.

"Are you okay?" "How's the kitty?" "Everything went okay, right?" "It's so stressful, isn't it?"

In the end, I'm glad that I didn't know about the airline's policy. I probably wouldn't have gone through it all. However, I'm not exactly a fan of being kept in the dark. Hence, my desire to spread the word. So there you go.

And next time, for my heart's sake, collar and leash!

Stressed, Tired, Sick...Sick, Tired, Stressed...

And such is life these days.

I got back late last night from a long weekend in Wisconsin. Baxter the Cat is adjusting to his new home. The fam is good. My niece continues to be the cutest being on this planet. I, on the other hand, am a mess. I have sinus pressure that conjures up images of baseball bats to the head every time I lean down to commence any organization of my many "TO GO THROUGH BEFORE BERLIN!" piles.

So I am alive, yes, but as my roommate has pointed out, I sure don't seem to be enjoying it. I am racing around like a mad woman which is not really helping me feel healthy. Or sane. Work, pack, travel, contract illness, continue small amounts of sleep leading to more sickness and less energy to do the now even bigger mass of work. Clearly, not the way of life most people aspire to.

Hence, I am turning the work off right now. I will stare at my piles and refuse to do anything about them. I will also make some tea, veg for the next hour or so and then turn the lights out and fall asleep, listening to the rain pounding on the windows. Now that sounds like some healthy living.

Heading "Home"?

Not sure what I consider "home" anymore. The north woods of Wisconsin where I grew up? Milwaukee where I spent nearly twelve years? New York City where I started over? Germany where I truly feel my roots?

Well, tomorrow I'm heading to Home #2. That would be Milwaukee. This is the grand trip to deliver Baxter the Cat to his new foster parents. Like a guilt ridden parent, I have found myself spoiling him like crazy the past few days. Ice cream. New mice toys. Cat nip. I even stuffed his little scratching post into my suitcase.

Now with his tummy full and his playtime over (not certain why but the crazy racket in the other room has just suddenly stopped), I'm trying to deal with my upset tummy and sadness over the conclusion of playtime. Luckily though, I have a few days in Wisconsin to get him settled in his new home. I also get to catch up with a few old friends and see my family, too. Yin yang, right? I've definitely had enough yin, that's for sure. Bring on the yang, please.

Finally, Real Snacks are Back!

I have no plans to fly Air Berlin any time soon but this makes me happy. (I mean, look at the size of that sandwich box!) I wonder if they ever offer a side of tranquilizer, too?

Forget Twelve Angry Men. How About One Angry Woman?

I try to be a law abiding citizen. The only time I've felt like a real rule breaker has been in Germany when I crossed the street against the light as the remaining group of German citizens stood back on the curb, their mouths gaping.

In addition to my law abiding tendencies, I'm a weeeeee bit high strung. So you can imagine my anxiety when last week, two weeks before my departure to Berlin, I received a jury summons. "Failure to respond may result in criminal contempt of court and is punishable by a fine of $1000 or imprisonment not exceeding days, or both," it said to me in bold print. Well, I knew it was illegal to avoid jury duty but a whopping $1000 fine?? Give me imprisonment!

But that's all a bunch of big talk. My heart would surely give out if I were ever in any legal trouble of any kind. Hence, my desire to walk a very straight line. Although I did try to call the multiple phone numbers listed on the summons, every single one led to either a non-functional touch tone system or a person on the other end from a different county. Ahh, bureaucracy at its finest. With all this extra time of mine, I quickly realized that I would have to go to the office in downtown Brooklyn and deal with this head on. Awesome.

I was pleasantly surprised to find only one person ahead of me in line upon my arrival. (Considering the typical queue at the post office around the corner, I had given myself an hour for this ordeal). Although my exchange with the woman at the window did last only about five minutes, it was a completely maddening, blood boiling conversation. I was immediately reminded of a recent discussion with a friend (a fellow non-native New Yorker) about our diminishing small town courteousness and our increasing impatience and aggressiveness after living in a city that seems to push you to the limit almost every moment of the day.

This is how the exchange went:

Me: "Hi, I received this summons to appear next Monday, the 22nd but the thing is, I'm leaving the country just a few days later. For good." (Okay, a teeny tiny lie but I wasn't about to get into the indecisiveness of my life choices and my lack of knowledge of whether this move was indeed permanent or not.)

Grey Haired Lady with thick accent, raised eyebrows, and skeptical gaze: "You just postpone then."

Me: "But I can't postpone for two months," (now pointing at this option on the form) "I'm leaving New York."

GHL: "When do you leave?"

Me: "The end of March."

GHL: "You come in tomorrow then for jury duty."

Hysterical laughter. "Ohhhhh, no! I can't do that!" (Never before did I think my Midwestern self could laugh in the face of a government employee). "I'm headed out of town this week, too."

Clearly, I had confused GHL with my talk of multiple trips. "Give me your form."

She saw the forwarding address due to my recent move to the sublet across town. "But you just moved."

Me, exasperated: "Yes, I did. But now I'm moving again, this time out of the country."

And here's something that drives me absolutely nutso about New Yorkers. They dole out advice...no, excuse me, not advice...instructions to utter strangers about how they should lead their lives at the drop of a hat. "Maybe you just stay put for a while."

Thanks, Mom.

Me, eyes narrowed, as that aggressive New Yorker I'm trying not to be: "Look, I'm just trying to do the right thing. I don't want to get in any trouble. Just tell me what I need to do."

"Postpone."

Sigh.

Me: "Postpone til when? I'm moving out of the country and don't...know...when...I...will...be...back."

GHL: "How do I really know that you're moving? Do you have any pieces of mail to show this?"

My mouth falls open, I'm sure. Why would I have mail for a place I haven't moved to yet?

She goes on: "Postpone for six months."

Maniacal laughter from me ensues. Why is she torturing me so?

Me: "But here's the thing...I'm not gonna be back in six months. So then I get another summons delivered that I can't even respond to? Then what?"

GHL, in typical New York fashion of shrugging the shoulders while raising eyebrows: "If you're not here, you're not here."

Me: "So you're telling me to leave the country and not worry about any future notices that are sure to come my way?"

GHL, again: "If you're not here, what's anyone gonna do?"

Wow.

So I guess I've done my part as a law abiding citizen. Just wish I hadn't left feeling like I needed a blood pressure cuff on a Tuesday afternoon.

Things I've Learned About Pet Travel

I feel like I am writing a book report with such a title. Anyway...

I've done quite a bit of research lately in regards to traveling with one's fuzzy friend so I thought I'd share some of my findings.

1) Putting your pet in cargo is actually more expensive and complicated than keeping him/her in the cabin with you. Who knew? If you decide to put Fluffy in the pet cargo area underneath, you have to follow all sorts of restrictions in regards to the type of carrier you use. You also have to provide special health information from the vet within ten days of your flight. For a summary of these pretty standard regulations, check out Delta's page.

On the other hand, if you choose to bring your pet into the cabin with you (and be wary, not all airlines allow this), there are few restrictions. You basically need to have a smallish pet to fit in a carrier under the seat and you have to pay somewhere around $70-$100 for his/her "ticket." (For travel in cargo, it seems to be around the $150 mark). You also do not need to provide any health documentation. Maybe that's because you are present to see Fluffy potentially foam at the mouth right there in front of you.

2) I also learned that there are travel services that will transport your pet for you. I looked into one and was impressed by the quick response (via email as well as telephone) from a person with a soft spoken voice who I couldn't help but envision wearing Birkenstocks while feeding 17 cats. I was a bit shocked to learn that the quoted price for Baxter's transport was $421. However, this involved door to door service and to be quite frank, when considering lost wages due to my little trip to Wisconsin, it's probably not a bad deal.

3) Pet Airways. Let me say that again. PET AIRWAYS! Check it out! This warmed my heart and had they actually serviced Milwaukee, I would have considered it.

But alas, I am taking Baxter the Cat myself. His happy foster family awaits. And I get to see my family in the process. Not a bad way to wrap up my time in the U.S.

I Guess Stranger Things Have Happened

I had a very surreal moment yesterday as I walked into a Starbucks near Penn Station and spotted two familiar faces, huddled in a corner. After much texting and confusion, these two friends and I had agreed to meet on this particularly gloriously warm day on 35th and 7th Avenue. Doesn't seem too strange, does it? Not under normal circumstances. However, these two are from my Berlin posse (one German, one American) and there I was, sitting across from them, lattes a plenty. What's even stranger is that I will be living with the German in exactly 18 days. As we chatted about the harsh Berlin (and NYC) winter, how to exchange keys, and where in Chinatown we could go for the best dumplings, I couldn't help but think, Shouldn't we be heading out to Cassiopeia or drinking Glühwein right about now? What in the world is going on?!?

It's all so strange. When I had met these two, they both coincidentally had these trips to NYC already planned. And of course, I eagerly offered to meet up with them once they arrived. However, as great as it is that they are here, I feel like I'm in some chronic hallucinatory state. Every time we step on the subway or dip into our pockets for cash, I stop myself from asking things like, Shouldn't we be discussing which strasse we are headed to? Do we need the U-Bahn or the S-Bahn to get there? Where are my euros anyway? And more importantly, where's my kuchen?!?

Aside from feeling slightly mentally ill, seeing them and talking to them about Berlin has done me good. As we've talked about things we used to do and what we will be doing in the coming summer, I've gotten so revved up about Germany again that my feelings have started to balance again. Earlier this week, I could only feel sadness about leaving Baxter the Cat and of course, all of my family and friends, too. But now, I'm galvanized again. There is an adventure ahead and God knows, this girl likes her adventuring.

Eighteen days? Lots to do til then but suddenly it doesn't seem so daunting. I'll be ready, I think. I even have friends over there waiting for me. And that feels pretty good.

I Hereby Adopt a New Mantra

I kind of suck at being able to sit down and read the newspaper. The Sunday editions particularly frighten the bejesus out of me. So many thin pieces, yet so heavy when all pressed together and shoved in a skinny plastic bag!

Nonetheless, I will plunge into that Sunday edition because I so adore the magazine that gets tucked within all those sections of the New York Times. Last night, after putting little Izzie to bed, I tucked myself into their couch alongside the white terrier and dove into the magazine. I immediately got sucked into an article called Cooking with Dexter. It's all about the culinary obsession of 5-year-old Dexter. The author of the piece is Dexter's father and he talks about their joint attempts at new recipes. He goes on to describe his own lack of patience and subsequent tantrums when concoctions turn out less than perfect. His son, he believes, seems to be heading in the same direction...

He has the gene, undoubtedly. He will stop writing a note to a friend and shred it into confetti because a letter E came out backward, and some of his afternoons painting watercolors with our downstairs neighbor have ended in tears, as when the yellow rays of a sunflower were slightly out of proportion to the brown eye in the center. After a similar event in art class last week, he wrote out a note to himself that read: “Step 1: Do your best! Step 2: Try again.”

That last line? Yeah, that's been going through my head all day. It hit me when I ate too much trail mix this morning, when I put off writing that pitch this afternoon, and I'm sure there will be 39 more times it comes to mind in the next day or so. But that's okay. I can always try again.

Baxter in the Sky

After much anxiety and a chronic upset tummy about being a terrible pet owner, I've made the decision to bring Baxter back to Wisconsin. Poor Bax. He rode the sixteen hours to NYC with me in a rented PT Cruiser two and a half years ago and now he is making the journey back. (Sigh). It's not that I didn't have a very sweet offer to leave him here with my roomies. It's just that Roomie #1 has a cat herself that she needs to retrieve and without seeing how the two felines do with one another before I leave...well, quite frankly, it makes me nervous as hell. The two could be at one another's kitty throats and I could go down as the shittiest subletter in history, known for not only leaving her kitchen supplies behind but a live, breathing (and perhaps unhappy) being as well.

So I've decided to take up my friend's offer to take care of him indefinitely back in Milwaukee. She is currently unemployed and therefore, up to the task. She and her husband have a cat as well but considering her free time these days, she feels that she'll be able to follow all the rules about proper kitty introductions.

After making the decision to return him to his hometown, the next issue was figuring out how to get him there. I drove last time, partly due to my crap load of belongings but also because I was terrified of the thought of putting him on a plane. I couldn't fathom the idea of sticking him in cargo and then if I had chosen the cabin, I feared that he'd be like the howling, teething baby. Except that people feel sympathy for a baby, not so much for a cat.

But considering that I only have three weeks left and would rather not spend any of that, farting around with car rentals, not to mention the cost of that, I took a deep breath and booked a flight for myself and Baxter the Cat. As a ridiculously emotional person and a pretty severe lover of the feline species, I can't help but feel super guilty as I type this, watching him sleep silently next to me on his little red blanket. You have no idea what you are in for, Bax, I keep thinking which makes me feel like the cruelest person on earth.

A friend reminded me that a cat's brain is about the size of a walnut so his trauma of being stuck in a kitty carrier for a few hours is not going to affect him for long. Yet, it's not just about the flight. It's then introducing him to a new home, new people, another cat(!), and then...leaving him.

Ugh. Upset tummy is back. For most of you pet lovers, I think you know what I'm talking about. Your pet's a huge part of your family. I'm certainly not looking forward to saying goodbye, especially not knowing when/if I will be back for him. But it certainly helps to know he'll be in the most loving hands. And since they know me well, I'm sure they'll have the tissue ready.

Pizza, Pizza!

Here's the deal: I've got less than a month left in NYC and one thing I really want to do yet is eat the crap out of this city. I've gotta admit, despite not being one who eats out often, I'm a bit anxious about the thought of being slice-less and schmear-wanting for the next three seasons. Therefore, I sent one of my good buddies, Melissa (aka Fork This) a list of places I'd be interested in hitting if she'd be game to accompany me.

Hell yeah, she said (more or less).

We decided to focus on pizza. But then the question remained, what kind? I mean, there's the new wave of NYC's fancy pies and then there are the classic, old school pizzerias. There's Ray's, Grimaldi's, John's of Bleeker, Lombardi's, Patsy's, Di Fara's, Keste, Sal's on Court (one of my fav's), and so on and so on. How does one decide?

Well, I ultimately decided that I really wanted to try Motorino, the pizza place that the whole damn town can't stop yapping about. The food reviewers are falling all over themselves about that crust, that simplicity, that ambiance in that cozy spot in Williamsburg. (Avoid the teeny loud East Village location with the bad acoustics! they say.) Anyway, I'm not one to necessarily believe all the hype (anyone seen the "thriller," Lorna's Silence lately? Sheesh!), but when it comes to pizza and I've only got about 25 days left to gorge myself, I want to do it right.

So off to Motorino we went. We decided to order the very simple Margherita pizza. Of course, most people eat one of these puppies by themselves but my oh-so-witty friend had devised a plan before we even got there. (Wait for it!) Anyway, I'm no food critic so I'm not going to spend the next two paragraphs trying to describe the intricacies of the tomato sauce or what the hell fior di latte is anyway but suffice it to say that it was indeed delicious. As Melissa pointed out, our pie had a nice "blistered" bottom and the right amount of cheese but it also had a strange sogginess in the middle that perplexed us a bit. I'm sure those fancy pants pizza guys would tell us that the sogginess is exactly how some Italian grandma does it in her dirt floor kitchen outside of Naples and that's just fine by me. We happily gobbled our two slices a piece and I left a whopping $6 poorer.

On to the next! Yes, Melissa had come up with the fabulous idea of doing a little pizza taste test. We'd try two different restaurants in one night, ordering one pie at each. Brilliant! So we hopped ourselves onto the L train and headed a few stops away to Roberta's. Now, I wasn't too keen on going to this place considering the rabbit butchering workshop they recently held that I just read about in the New York Times that morning. However, a good friend was in that hood and willing to meet us there so I tried my best to keep the images of slaughter out of my head. (Yes, I know as a non-committing vegetarian type, I am being very hypocritical but emotions are emotions. What can I say?)

We were greeted by ACDC blasting from the sound system as we entered this cozy, tucked away spot in Bushwick. I immediately fell in love with the atmosphere. Heavy wooden benches, tables cramming into one another, the smell of a wood burning oven, quiet, friendly chatter...I felt as though a fellow diner might just whip out some marshmallows alongside a little Kum Bay Ya at any moment. My friends and I decided to order a pizza of kale, taleggio cheese, and sausage which Roberta's calls "The Good Girl." Comfortably satiated by Motorino's Margherita pie, I only had one slice of this one which was delicious as well, despite being a bit heavy on the kale. (Who wants a salad pizza?) And due to my strict, pre-European adventuring budget, I passed on the alcohol and spent a total of $11 on three pieces of pizza in two cozy spots with a couple of fun friends. Not bad.

As for my rating on the pizza? Yum. Best in the city? I don't know...I kinda like my little hole in the wall, Sal's in Carroll Gardens but I'm glad to have gotten in on the fancy pizza, too. Soon enough, I will be back to eating sausage in a very different, link-like form. And that's definitely not fancy.

Wanna hear another perspective of the pies and restaurants? Check out Melissa's account at Fork This. Feel free to drool away.

Mirror, Mirror, on the Dressing Room Wall

I tried on a few bikinis yesterday. Let the misery begin.

I hadn't planned on squeezing my hips into anything on this particular Tuesday afternoon. I had actually been wandering around Target, looking for a keyboard cover since I canNOT seem to make a concerted effort to cease all eating while I work, causing all sorts of cracker crumbs and God knows what else to clog up my already barely functioning machine. This, I believe, is the reason my A key is a bit sticky as of late. Anyway, since I recently took inventory of my entire wardrobe, I realized that the one bathing suit I own is old and doesn't do much for my new, more umm, mature figure. I also realized that the standard bikini cut is not all that flattering on me anymore. Give me a nice, sleek one piece, please. Perhaps a little sarong, too?

Well, the ole' one piece isn't being stocked at my local Brooklyn Target. In fact, there's little available outside the realm of itsy bitsy teeny weeniness. Hence, my surprise and subsequent happiness upon spotting these boy short type things amidst all of the strings and leopard print. I found a pair in black but my size was out. Then I discovered these cute electric blue bottoms, complete with a little ruffle (not quite a skirt per se). Perfect! I then grabbed a few basic halter bikini tops and tromped off to the fitting room. I wondered if today would be one of those lucky shopping days where along with the Biore Cleansing Pore Strips and floss, I'd also walk out with an item I've needed but have been terrified to identify on an actual list.

Well, the two hideously gigantic mirrors in the dressing room quickly informed me that it was very much not my lucky shopping day. At 30 something years of age, one typically knows which cuts look good on her and which do not. Either it has really been some time since I've done any serious shopping or my body has changed in ways I don't understand. The ruffly thing did nothing for me. In fact, I could only be reminded of the toddler girls I take care of. I looked absolutely ridiculous. And the tops? Well, they just reminded me of all those leathery skinned women at the county fair who don't think there is anything wrong with the fact that they running around in completely non-supportive tube tops.

I can accept that further shopping must be done and some toning probably needs to commence but I hate the fact that I wanted to jump away from that mirror as quickly as possible. I mean, am I still a self-conscious 13-year-old? I thought of that this morning as I was playing with 15-month-old, Izzie. As she followed me into the bathroom to fetch a tissue, she caught her reflection in the mirror. A giant smile broke across her face. Whereas I tend to avoid mirrors, she couldn't get enough. Her face, looking back at her made her so darn happy, I couldn't help feel it, too. She pointed. She giggled. It was if she was saying, "Look at this cute girl, wouldja?" And what really got me was that she leaned in and kissed herself. Mwa!

I'm not sure if I will ever get the point of loving the bathroom mirror or wanting to give myself a big smackeroo but maybe not running away from it would be a start. Perhaps I can even move up to a simple smile at myself. Or maybe for now, I'll just creep in alongside Izzie and make silly faces, too. That I can commit to. The rest shall come.

Clubbing Better Not Be Dead!

I just got really excited, thinking about more Sunday morning clubbing adventures.

Four weeks. Eeeee!