Dan gets a new look.

If you know anything about Dan, you know he is a man of glasses. Having worn glasses since the age of five, Dan sees spectacles as part of his face, part of his persona. It's true. When I first met Dan back in Washington, I remember asking him to take off his glasses and it was like I was asking him to take off his underwear--in public. Dan scoffs at the idea of contacts. He would never wear them. He will always be a glass-man.

Therefore, when it's time for him to get a new pair. It's a big freakin' deal. And being the sort of person who cannot make a decision to save his life, it's an excruciating deal when you're Dan's girlfriend who has to meet him at the eye doctor to give her expert opinion.

You can just imagine how it all went:



"These glasses look so good on me."


"Man, I am good-looking. I can't decide."



We dabbled in some sun wear. I liked these Tom Cruise "Risky Business" era ones. Dan wasn't into them.

We narrowed it down to the top three. I gave my opinion on each:


"These make you look like boy-next-door, JCrew catalog." (I like-y! I wanted to kiss him right there but there was that guy in the blue shirt watching us.)


"These make you look New York trendy."


"These make you look like you're from Denmark."
(The glasses were actually made in Denmark.)

Dan tried these three pairs over and over, his face pressed against the mirror because he's so blind and can't see a thing.

He thought the JCrew glasses were a little plain.

About the thick black frames: "Do these make me look like I am trying to be crazy, but not too crazy?"

At that point, after he had tried on the same pairs over and over a billion times, I was like, "dude, YOU ARE crazy."

He went with Denmark--my least favorite. But it's fine, I can live with it. Though Dan will be missing out on all the affection I'd have given him if he were wearing the boy next door look...oh well, his loss (and, I guess, mine).

Is this really happening?

My life seems way too awesome right now. It's like I just built a house of cards and I can't believe that I actually did it and while there isn't a breeze in sight, I am wondering if someone is just fooling me and gonna come out with a giant fan and blow them all away.

I mean seriously.

I've got my family and friends. A great boyfriend. A fabulous apartment. My four-day week working schedule (today is HUMP day for goodness sake). Time for writing and baking and whatever else I feel like doing. A body that is noticeably thinner and firmer and healthier. Cake once a week (really, the most wonderful time of the week). A healthy social calendar. A vacations to Argentina and beach weekends on the horizon.

Even my friend Meagan said to me this weekend, "There's something different about you now. It's like something shifted. You're like..." (and then she took a deep breath and exhaled in a giant sigh, as way of explanation).

Is this happiness?

I mean, one year ago, this is what I imagined for myself and holy crap, I did it. And I am pinching myself and kind of amazed at the power each of us have to shape our destiny. I am not saying my life is perfect or anything. I am still a crank-pot--come on. But I am happy that I can sit here and enjoy this, and I am crossing my fingers and saying JINX because I am afraid that it's all too good to be true.

Emily's birthday cake.

I have been trying to make Emily's birthday cake for a few weeks now.

I have decided that in order to become a better cook/baker, I would need to begin conquering my "food" fears. While I am competent in the kitchen for the most part, there are still many dishes, both simple and complicated, which I have not made yet because they intimidate the heck out of me. This is the reason I have never made an omelet (simple scary) or homemade pasta (medium scary) or lobster (super scary). I am also afraid of certain ingredients (in particular, tofu, most seafood, vegetables like leeks) just because I have never used them before and I am not even sure if I like them. Certain cuisines cripple me. I begged Dan to get me this Japanese cookbook after reading an article in the New York Times that the author is the Martha Stewart of Japan, but have done little more than admire the pictures. So in an effort to challenge myself and get to the next level--something I am aspiring to do in all aspects of my life--I am going to get over it and get my hands dirty.

Emily's birthday cake will be my number one task. Her birthday fell on April 10 and we had tentative plans to see each other the following Sunday, but that those plans fell through and then the plans after that fell through and it took me until today do make this cake. What makes Emily's birthday cake scary? It's a lemon cake (her fave) from Martha's Stewart's Baking Handbook. I have never made anything lemon (reason being, I am not a huge fan of lemon-flavored anything, but being on a diet, that works for me now). Second, it's multi-layered lemon cake with lemon curd filled on the inside. Third, it requires some basic decorating with one of those cake decorating tubes. (Yes, I had to buy some new kitchen gadgets which I had to promptly hide from Dan).

The cake was time-intensive, but wasn't too hard to conquer. The scary parts were naturally the most disasterous. When it was time to cut the two cakes in half to make the layers, one came out perfectly, the second fell apart. Which meant that my four-layer cake suddenly turned into a three layer cake. The icing didn't feel right to me. It was not as thick as I expected, and when it was time to design the cake with lemon curd, I was startled by how runny it was--which meant my designs were based on where ever the curd dripped. It didn't help that Dan was standing right over me going "oof, are you sure you know what you're doing?" and then when I was done, saying that it didn't look right. It didn't, but I didn't need him to tell me that.

Luckily, no one at Emily's seemed to notice (or at least, kindly refrained from saying anything) about the yellow squiggles, and everyone said that it tasted good (which frankly, is the most important thing). I had some, too, of course, but since I don't really like lemon cake, it wasn't anything spectacular for me. But at least I have got tiered cakes and decorating with a tube down pat. Okay, not really, but there's a small notch on my belt.


Decorating the cake requires lots of water.


My random cake design.


Cake transport.

Free Fridays begin

Look who's not working.

So I know that I already announced that I was going down to a four-day work week. But it never happened. My boss kept asking me to stay on the full five days because she needed me.

This week looked like it would be a repeat of previous week. Until yesterday, my boss turned to me and said, "Oh,Yvonne, you're not working tomorrow, are you?"

To which I replied, with faux-confidence, "Uh, yes. that is correct, I am not working on Friday."

While I was hoping that this week would be the week, I was kind of assuming that it would never happen. So when I found out that I actually had the day off, it was the greatest feeling ever. Especially since it was supposed to be like 80 degrees and sunny. Whoo-hoo!

I came home, practically skipping, wanting to celebrate with ice cream (my treat of the week). But Dan didn't want ice cream because he ate badly all week. And suddenly it felt like any other week night (because for Dan, it was) and sitting there doing the usual (making dinner, clean up, reading, watching baseball) kind of brought my spirits down. I was expecting a parade or something. Or maybe I just really wanted ice cream. I dunno. Maybe the whole world is not excited as I am that I am only working four days a week.

No bother. The happiness came back on Friday--my actual day off. I am planning to devote my Fridays off to being creative, but I actually had some errands to run this morning that badly needed to get done and were hanging over my head. And so I went to the gym and the bank and the bridal shoe store and in the midst of all that, had my lunch sitting in the sunny Madison Square Park brimming with Spring flowers. It was fabulous.

Now I am back home, ready to grab my computer and run to a cafe and maybe write for a little while. Ah, this is the life I always imagined I would come back to when I was in Europe--and I did it!



Red flowers.


Pink flowers.


Yellow flowers. All at Madison Square Park.

And they're off!

Today as I peddled on my stationary bike during my 6:15 am spin class, I thought about my dad and my brother Pete, who are flying out to Los Angeles today to begin their cross-country bike ride.

This morning as I rode, I stared at the guy's sweaty butt in front of me.


Dad and Pete will get to see things like this.


And this.

This will be my Dad's third bike voyage across America, and my brother's third attempt. They tried to do it together two or three years(?) ago, starting in Los Angeles, riding up the coast of California and then going across. But then my brother's bike broke and they lost a lot of time and momentum and so they decided to make it a California-only ride. Last year, Pete tried to attack the journey solo and again had to quit again due to bike troubles. He told me that his bike kept breaking and he was approaching the desert where he'd have to face long stretches of no one and nothingness. A little scary if your bike breaks down there. In a smart--yet I am sure at the time--devastating move, he turned back.

I have a feeling that third time will be a charm. With a new and improved bike, I think my brother will have the opportunity to successfully fulfill his dream. And my dad will go along for the ride.

Theirs will be an adventure much more rugged than my Euro-vacation. When I came home, people like my mom exclaimed, "I could never rough it and stay in hostels like you did." Then there was my dad who said, "I don't need that much luxury." Pete and Dad will be biking about 100 miles a day and then sleeping under the stars--whether it's at a camp site, the yard of a friendly person they've encountered or under a shrub. At least that is what they've done in the past. A slice of cake everyday is also out of the question. The food will be simple. Stops at the grocery store, camp-friendly food (beans and spaghetti), Dominoes pizza, and whatever else they come across. To each his own.


This is what I am talking about.

Still, I feel a twinge of envy that they will be out exploring the world while I sit at my cubicle and dream about places to go. And lately, I have been dreaming quite a lot.

If you are interested in following their journey, read my brother's bike blog and sign his guest book. I am sure he will appreciate it.


Be safe and good luck!

Culture Club

Trying an Indian treat.

So at work, I sit next to this girl named Heather, who is our events manager. She just started at the job a month or two ago and she amuses me stories about her life, in particular, the clubs that she's in (who is in any club, let alone multiple clubs?).

She and her marketing friends started a "Culture Club". The idea is that one person will plan a day-long event that will educate the group about one culture. What's so great about living in New York City is that you can actually experience many of these cultures firsthand--usually by going outside of Manhattan. (As far as Heather's other club, apparently, some of her friends were jealous of "Culture Club" and so they decided to start another club called "Girls Day of Fun" which is just about doing fun things like flower arranging.)

Since everyone at work knows that I am trying to write a "Polish-themed" book, Heather thought I would be a perfect candidate for Culture Club and so me and this other work-mate Sarah decided to go along for the ride. This month, the theme was Om Sweet Om, and based on the clever name and cute email that went out, I determined that these girls were complete marketing geeks. (And yes, it takes one to know one).

This morning, the ten of us met at Grand Central--and Kara, the organizer of this event, led us on an Indian adventure. First, we headed to Little India in Queens were we walked along the mainstreet and explored shops selling gold jewelry, Bollywood video rentals, saris and exotic sweets. My favorite was visiting the grocery store where they sold giant bags of rice and wild ingredients that made me want to cook up some Indian food. (I have never cooked Indian food before nor aspired to do so, so that was very exciting for me). We ducked into a random beauty shop where most of us got henna tattoos.

I got one on the inside of my wrist. I wasn't sure what to expect, but basically, this woman grew a pretty design on me, almost like someone would decorate a cake. The henna is black and comes out of a tube. It takes about a half an hour to dry, so on the way back into the Manhattan, we were all sitting and standing with our arms out on the subway like we were holding platters of food. The black stuff turned all crusty and once someone started to pick at theirs, then the rest of us did too and when the black stuff came off, it revealed the orange design. The woman at the beauty shop said that the color deepens based on your body temperature. I think they're supposed to last about a week. I like mine.

In the city, we took a beginner yoga class. Luckily my foot has not been acting up too much today, even with all the walking, and the gentle stretching was probably the best thing that I could do for it and it relaxed me as well. The girls were heading for some Indian dinner afterwards, but Dan and I had alternate plans, so I headed home after that.

I liked the whole idea of "culture club" and of course, by the end of it, the girls were asking me when I am going to plan Polish Day.


Getting my henna tattoo.


A closer inspection.


Drying it out.


Me, grimy after yoga class, and the final tattoo.

The Shins.

I am battling a mild case of shin splints--for all you non-runners out there, it means when the front of your shins feel a little sore from running. It happens to me once in a while and usually goes away with time, some ice and taking it easy, but it never fails to annoy me because I don't want to take time, some ice or take it easy.

After my run on Thursday, my shins felt particularly sore and so I took off Friday and Saturday morning woke up debating whether or not to go out to the park and run. It was 70 degrees warm and sunny and brilliant, and after a few test hops in my apartment, I thought to myself, what the heck?

It didn't go so great. The sun was shining so brightly, that it actually felt too hot for a run and I felt thirsty immediately. The pope is in town and apparently, he was going to be going down Fifth Avenue, so rather than get lost in nature, all I could hear was the roar of helicopters that were hovered over us. And the worst of it was that every so often my shins would hurt me, rattling me a bit. By the time I reached the hardest hill of run, I was nervous I couldn't be able to make it up. Then when I passed this girl, I ended up tripping, my ankle twisted and I landed hard on the side of my foot. Hurt a little but I kept going, and all of a sudden, I was walking. The rest of the run was like that--running and walking. I know that I had the strength to do the run, but I was mentally spent.

Afterwards--to make me feel better--I decided to treat myself to some window shopping and ended up buying an overpriced, but super awesome dress for Jacey and Kunka's wedding that I wish I could wear NOW. Then I got a pedicure to pamper myself. Dan and I met up, and together we went to Ruby Foo's to meet my sister Annette and Kent who were in the city to see a show that evening. We have a great dinner. But then we got up to leave and all of a sudden I could not walk. My left foot was killing me with every step.

"What's with you?" Dan asked as I hobbled around.

"I don't know." I said. But then it hit me. That moment on the hill. I must have sprained something.

We went home and watched The Bridge Over the River Kwai, my foot throbbing with pain the whole time. Every hour, I iced it, but it hurt so much to walk that I was hopping on one foot to and from the freezer.

Dan sighed. "It doesn't hurt that bad. It's all in your head."

I did not like him very much then. Then I asked him to get my computer for me, and he sighed deeply and acted annoyed. I didn't like him at all then.

By the end of the night, and two Advils later, it felt a little better and I am happy to say that this morning it's practically recovered and I can walk without a noticeable limp.

I decided that I would take the day off from working out, and take it easy this week. Maybe my body is trying to tell me something. Take time, some ice, and take it easy. But why do I feel so guilty about it?