Big Night Out

Since our engagement party took place in the grand old town of NYC, the main character of this here blog, I will share photos below.  Surprise dinner at the Standard Grill with dancing afterward at the artist formerly known as the Boom Boom Room.  OK now I will stop celebrating myself, enough is enough.  

Engagement Story

The first thing people ask when you get engaged is, how did he do it?!  For some reason, these five words have become a part of the standard bride-to-be lexicon and have given birth to the 'Engagement Story'.  Needless to say, this month my boyfriend not only made me his valentine, he also put a ring on it, so I know about the engagement story all to well - I have been telling it for weeks.  I even contemplated calling in sick to work after hours upon hours of retelling the story just to rest my vocal chords and regain a sense of normalcy.  All cynicism aside, the happy ending to this story is that I was whisked away to a lodge upstate and I said yes.

Sounds lovely doesn't it?  That's why I skipped to the end.  The middle was a little less of a smooth ride, mostly the fault of yours truly.  That's because setting the stage for an engagement today is like pulling off a bank heist in broad daylight.  Like a game of telephone, engagement stories are passed on like folklore - a complicated scavenger hunt in Central Park, a plane writing 'Will you marry me?' in the sky while you toast champagne from a hot air balloon, or a blind fold and a surprise trip to the Caribbean with five minutes to pack your bag.  So while I was buying a 2 dollar Valentine's Day card for my man, he was losing weight from stress, sweating bullets, and tossing and turning over pulling off an elaborate pitch perfect proposal.  I, of course, made it all the more difficult by unwittingly thwarting each of his ideas.  Weekend in the Caribbean?  Too expensive this time of year, lets wait until April.  Last minute get away to the Catskills?  In the middle of winter...that's crazy talk, cancel it.  In fact I am busy, dinner plans Friday, party on Saturday.  Super Mandatory.  This song and dance continued all week until there was no choice left but to kidnap me from Manhattan.  So instead of being gracefully whisked off my feet I was clumsily dragged upstate in the wee hours of the morning during a snow storm.

Since I had insisted on attending each and every plan on the social calendar for no good reason, my kidnapping took place after a three hour dinner at Dos Caminos that I thought I was leaving to go to the sanctuary that is my bed.  Surprise!  I was met with a midnight ride to the Catskills in sleet and ice conditions (apparently this trip was non-refundable, oops).  I was suffering from a Thursday night open bar hang over, in a top five worst outfit from the back of my closet, and my hair was undone.  This was not how I had envisioned my big moment (I never imagine my big life moments with curly hair), but I soldiered on.  We embarked on our journey as I fought the shakes and we navigated precarious unplowed mountain roads.  Thankfully, we did make it to our final destination alive, albeit exhausted, and this story did end in a proposal.  It was too late for the planned room service champagne and we were both shades of our former selves, but it didn't matter.  Even if you plan for a bells and whistles event full of fanfare, real life takes over, which is how it should be.  There were mishaps and bad hair and this cockamamy engagement story was far from perfect but it was us, which ultimately made it perfect. 

Scrambled Eggs with a Side of Over-the-Knee Boots

It seems like only yesterday that I was poking fun at the party brunch scene scattered across hip enclaves of Manhattan.  Apparently I was dipping my toe in the waters of self-fulfilling prophecy because I just emerged today, bleary eyed and disoriented, from the new 'Day & Night' brunch at the Oak Room in the Plaza Hotel.  Here is how I was kidnapped into thinking I was having goat cheese scrambled egg whites at the Plaza, and instead ended up witnessing table dancing and make out sessions over a 2 foot bottle of Champagne:

My Boyfriend:  There is a brunch thing at the Plaza, do you want to go?

Me: Sounds fancy, OK, should we dress up?

My Boyfriend:  Yeah, I guess so (then proceeds to put on a gray t-shirt and jeans)

I take my man's queues and throw on a collared shirt and we are on the way.  I am envisioning high tea and cucumber sandwiches as we walk into the grand entrance.  Wait a tick - there is a long line of silky dresses and Louboutins, and a bouncer is at the door.  Why am I getting carded for eggs and home fries? 

This is one of those times you look at your boyfriend and give him the stink eye because he has led you under false pretenses into a less than ideal situation.  Luckily he was in my good graces (more on this later) so I took the surprise in stride.  The food was so-so, but it was clearly not the main attraction.  Leather pants, over-the-knee boots, and 6 inch platform heels were the norm, and the people watching was some of the best I've seen in a while.  The next best thing from the cast of characters dancing to hip hop tunes over french toast was the enormous bottles of booze that were so large the waitresses were carrying them like a bushel of wheat on their shoulders.  The sparklers on top of the bottles promised a very aggressive 2:00PM, and I fear some patrons may not have left until the dinner crowd was coming through.

Bottom line -  If you are a true scenester this place is for you.  However, move fast before this party evaporates as quickly as the smoke from the sparklers inside.  As I escaped for some normal Saturday activity I overheard an internal squabble about residence noise complaints and disapproval over poor public behavior around the hotel.  I assume the folks at the Plaza had no idea what they were getting themselves into.  Sounds familiar.

Maialino

I have been trying to get a reservation at Maialino since it was 95 degrees and sunny in New York and finally squeezed myself in for a 6:15 opening on a recent Sunday.  Maialino is the latest of Danny Meyer's ventures, joining an elite and long lasting mix of restaurants in New York City - Union Square Cafe, Grammercy Tavern, and Eleven Madison Park to name a few.  Based on the company you keep methodology, Maialino was sure to be a hit.  The setting itself is comfortable and relaxed, in stride with a number of Meyer's restaurants that serve high-end food in an unassuming space.  As my dad aptly noted, 'it feels clubby' (he means country club here not night club, hails from Connecticut).  The service was impeccable, it felt like the waiter to table ratio was 4 to 1, and the food was to. die. for.  I ordered the radicchio salad with aged balsamic and the bucatini amatriciana, which sounds like something you could order anywhere but was the best i have ever had.  My parents opted for the Salt Baked Sea Bass for two, and for dessert we all had the scrumptious almond and apple crumb cake with caramel gelato.  The ingredients were so fresh and the food was so well prepared that even the simplest dishes were mouth watering.  We did not even try the house speciality, which is pig, so we have something to look forward to for next time.  I am already strategizing for my next reservation, 5:30PM on a Tuesday anyone?

AS2YP at Avenue

I am on the Autism Speaks to Young Professionals committee, a group of twenty somethings in New York City that host events to raise money and awareness for Autism.  Our past two summer events were at the New York Stock Exchange, article here, and our second annual winter event was this past Thursday at Avenue.  The event was a huge success, we sold out, and raised $32K!  Thanks to our dear friend who plans events for this non profit, lets call her Poppy, the evening was mishap free.  My only regret was only having a chic grilled cheese sandwich the size of a postage stamp for dinner.  We all know how that story ends.

Subway Diaries

I have never felt 100% comfortable on the Subway, a cool casual New Yorker who can go body to body with the throngs of society like its NBD.  Then again my Subway experiences haven't exactly been a bed of English roses.  The homeless man that spends his days at the 52nd Street stop of the E Train tells me every time I walk by that women belong in the kitchen not in the workplace (he also has strong feelings against tall people, lesbians, and red heads).  Additionally, I was on a train last year in which a man told me that sometimes you must kill people to make peace.  At which point all other passengers looked on as if he had asked me the weather and I had to hop off at the wrong stop and run out of Grand Central as if my pants were on fire.  Clearly when it comes to fight or flight - I'm a flight.  Today, I grabbed the M train and was lucky enough to find myself a seat during rush hour.  Shortly after, a rather intimidating fellow sat down next to me with no hint of a smile and three perfectly tattooed tear drops underneath his right eye.  How sweet.  The perfectly painted drops were a stark contrast to his hard jawline and beady eyes so I moved a few inches to the left and decided to concentrate on my US Weekly instead of his disarming but cute tattoo.  It wasn't until later that I verified the unsettled feeling in my stomach with the following Google research:

'The teardrop tattoo or tear tattoo is a symbolic tattoo that is placed underneath the eye....The meaning was that the wearer had killed someone...It is also often used in prison to warn other convicts that the wearer has killed.'

Consider me warned.  Most Wiki answers state that open tear drops could mean that the gang member is just mourning a loss of a brother or dear friend, my subway neighbor's tears were generously colored in.  Great, one tear drop for each crime.  They should really consider changing it up so the symbols are a little more of a red flag for the rest of the unassuming community.  How about tattooing 'I am a Hardened Criminal', this way we have no mixed messages - OK?

Pop Art, you Pop Tarts

I had big plans for Sunday this weekend.  My parents were coming into town and I was going to show them the wonderful world of art that I know very little about on a trip to gallery row in Chelsea.  When we arrived at said destination we found that no galleries are open on Sundays, which showed my true colors of not being tapped into the intriguing art world of New York.  However, we made the best of it and took our sweet precious time in the one gallery that was open and showcasing a pop art exhibit.  See below for a choice piece:

Is it so bad that I would rather be Mark Zuckerberg than Kublai Khan?  Hats off to the Mongols but the sight of blood makes me nauseous, and I have never been very fond of horse back riding. 

Snow Day!

January is usually the month that flies by as you get adjusted to life resuming normalcy after the holidays.  Its a blip on the winter radar - a month less appreciated and less celebrated albeit the occasional birthday.  Clearly, January is getting pissed off about being second best to February (Valentines Day!), March (Spring!) and all of the other noteworthy months in the calendar year.  So, January has decided to show us whose boss by setting the record this year as the snowiest month in New York history, beating out the apparently very snowy year of 1925.  Since the Ford Model T most likely did not have snow tires, I'm sure it was an entirely different type of struggle, but these three and a half weeks have been like the Lord of the Flies of public transportation.  While the children of the Tri-State area have been whooping it up on snow days, we have been fighting subway delays, barely escaping hand to hand combat over lone cabs, and trudging through the slush in our ten pound galoshes that could throw your back out with one leg cross.  And while the first flake may have been cute, I am just about ready to slap the next snowflake I see in the face. 

In an effort to ease apparent tensions and escape house arrest, my girlfriends and I decided to treat ourselves to a spa day.  This is the adult version of a snow day and we quickly rationalized that we very much deserved it.  It might not be as exhilarating as watching the news and seeing your schools name flash across the screen as cancelled, but its the next best thing!

(P.S. - at the Setai Club & Spa downtown for the price of a massage you can stay all afternoon and steam, sauna, hot tub, and enjoy tea and unlimited champagne in the lounge.  Steal of a deal!)

RDV

The elusive lounge in New York is a safe haven from the gelled hair often seen at clubs, and the drink spillage and shoe wreckage that occurs at the neighborhood bars.   Saturday night we went to lounge RDV, which stands for Rendez-Vous (because every cool place needs an indecipherable acronym in this city).  The bar is beneath the notorious Bagatelle, known for its wild brunches that in broad day light showcase dancing on banquettes, cutout mini dresses at 11AM, and Europeans smoking cigs outside.  If you happen to pass by on a Saturday with your hair in a ponytail in your UGG boots, its awkward.  Neither here nor there, a much simpler and more inviting scene awaits down below - if you can find it.  The door is unmarked and impossibly confusing to find, but once inside you will find yourself in a space laden with plush couches and long stemmed candles.  Similar to the Back Room and Jane Hotel, there is a 1920s speakeasy feel and an ambiance that is perfect for taking refuge on a Saturday night in the middle of winter.  We chatted, danced, and had a great night, and at 1AM as it was just picking up...we left.  Sometimes its just as fun to go home early, crawl into bed for the end of Saturday Night Live, and call it a night.

LOL, TTYL, LYLAS, etc.

Technology is a beautiful thing but sometimes I feel like Ive missed the bus and I'm running up the street in midtown desperately trying to keep up.  I recently bought the iPhone 4, which I'm pretty sure is a smart phone but not a droid.  We have a flat screen TV which we never turn to HD because we didn't know we had it until two weeks ago even though the TV is one year old (Do I really need to watch Beverly Hills Housewives surgically enhanced lips in HD, probably not).   I was feeling pressure from Amazon to give in and get a Kindle but now there is a Nook and I don't know which way to turn.  When Netflix first came out I remember thinking, good luck random company Netflix, what a horrible idea.  Clearly no one should be looking to me for stock picks in this arena.  Goodbye dog-eared pages of my books, sandy from trips to the beach.  Goodbye trips to Blockbuster.  This is like a twisted version of Goodnight moon.  Goodbye to communication skills and human contact?  I sincerely hope not. 

I can only imagine how Mrs Johnson, my beloved sixth grade teacher, is faring through all of this.  She was a known stickler for grammar and  a notorious hunter of dangling modifiers.  I have a feeling she has not opted to go with the digital flow and is somewhere in Florida sticking her nose up at all of us.  R U OK Mrs. Johnson?!   I am very appreciative of the intensely anticipated grammar tests you gave us and I sincerely apologize on behalf of all of your students that there is no room for proper pronouns and prepositions in text speak.  I'm not sure what will take the place of these experiences, but I will gamely race to get my Kindle/Nook and I will read up on Google TV.  If you don't keep up with the highly technical Joneses you may be left behind.