hot choc-o-late a lot

Hot Chocoltae

It’s been a pretty cold winter, especially for someone who has spent the past 4 out of 5 winters in kind of (Vegas) and really (Delray Beach, FL) warm places. And since my usual Iced Green Tea from Starbucks isn’t cutting it during these freezing nights and snowstorms, I’ve had to switch things up for the cold months.

But I despise everything about coffee – but mostly the debilitating anxiety attack that comes on about 15 minutes after sipping a cup – I have been really getting into Hot Chocolate this year. Which is weird because I really hate sweets and don’t like to eat anything with that much sugar. But I’m cold and in survival mode! And whatever.

It’s only been for the past few weeks, but I keep craving the creamy, rich taste and it doesn’t hurt that holding a piping hot beverage doubles as a hand warmer. The temperatures have been in the teens; I need all the help I can get.

So I’ve been on the hunt for my most favorite Hot Chocolate, and have come up with a few:

  • Magnolia Bakery – Duh, it’s Magnolia. They rule at anything sweet.
  • Le Pain Quotidien – This one if for when I’m feeling like I don’t want to be too “bad” by pounding a huge cup of chocolate because, you know, it’s organic and fair-trade, or whatever.
  • Sweet Corner Bake Shop – This adorable little neighborhood spot is on my corner, and is the biggest culprit in aiding in my newfound obesssion. It’s the right amount of sweet and creamy, and the temperature if always just-right – for finishing it in basically one sip, that is.
  • City Bakery – This place is a gem, and it’s 2 blocks from my office so…But for real, they serve up a Hot Chocolate so rich, I sometimes feel like I can’t finish it. I do, though. Waste not, want not.

I’m sure there are a thousand more perfect Hot Cocoas just waiting for my approval. No fear – I will be on the hunt.

 

 

#nycwannabe

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery”

NY wannabe

 

I constantly see places named in honor of NYC in every city I’ve lived in or visited. I get it, of course. Manhattan is dope. But still, it makes me laugh…and take a photo. Not quite sure that my hometown is known for its cabinetry but whatever.

saying goodbye

Tattoo3tattoo2

I got my first tattoo over 11 years ago – and I’ve been dying to get it removed for about 10 1/2.

It happened when I was 23. Justin, my boyfriend at the time, was covered in ink – sleeves, chest, the works. I was so completely attracted to it.

So one day, after a couple of glasses of red wine at Patsy’s, we headed to Rising Dragon tattoo parlour then located at the Chelsea Hotel. It felt right. Being a lifelong New Yorker, getting a tattoo at the Chelsea Hotel seemed like the best idea ever. My artist Carlos Alfonso (AKA CFUS) was super sweet and talented.

While Justin had super artistic work that had a lot of thought put into it, I had no clue what to get. However, like many girls my age at that time, I knew exactly where I was putting this new brand – my lower back, of course. Yes, a tramp stamp.

Even though this was something that was going to be on my body forever, I chose a tribal pattern out of a book in about 30 seconds. Considering Justin’s knowledge and experience with this, I still sometimes wonder why he allowed it. But I was beyond excited with my choice.

I sat through the pain and was thrilled at how it came out. But soon after, I started to regret it. I would catch a glimpse in the mirror and a feeling of horror would come over me: this was permanent. It was years before I even seriously considered going through tattoo removal but it crossed my mind soon after that session.

Then I got a second one, on my wrist. It was symbolic and meant something very meaningful at the time, once again having to do with a boy. It was not a drunken, hasty decision. Plus, a tiny black star on teh wrist isn’t really bothering anyone.

The third piece of body art came in 2009, immediately following my wedding. My ex and I wanted to get our wedding rings inscribed but I opted for an all-diamond band, making that impossible. So we got ourselves inscribed with matching art instead. Even as we were going through our split, I never had any intention of removing it. It was a part of me, a symbol of my past.

tattooThings have changed. The marriage is long over and I am entering my mid-30’s. Since the tribal tramp stamp was on my lower back, I rarely ever saw it. But for the past few years, I have found myself growing increasingly insecure about it and looking into the process. At the beach, I tried wearing bikini bottoms that were perfectly placed to hide it. At one point, I thought my ex mother-in-law was going to have a heart attack over it. And guys I dated were constantly making comments – some liked it (ironically) while others offered to pay for its removal.

I should have taken them up on it, because after years of wanting to do it I am now shelling out triple of what it cost to get the tattoos to remove them. Yes, the tribal stamp and the marriage ink are finally saying goodbye. It will take a while – about 6 to 8 sessions – but I’ve set the wheels in motions and there is no turning back now. I really only wanted to remove the lower back ink but when the tattoo remover at Serenity Tattoo Removal offered to do them both for the same price, I couldn’t resist. It’s time to finally let go.

It is the most painful thing I have ever felt. It hurts way more than getting the work done. I couldn’t touch the burnt skin for days and it felt like it was melting off. But I feel like I am finally cleaning the slate and letting go of things that no longer serve me, and for that the pain is worth it.

Why I Miss NYC: Reason #3

snow

I have spent the last 3 1/2 out of 5 years living away from NYC. And every single time it has snowed in the city during my time away, I’ve been heartbroken about missing it.

Growing up in New York, winters were filled with snowy days. I remember one year, when I was 5 or so, the snow was about six feet high (or at least, that’s how I recall it). My dad shoveled for hours to make a walkable path and it still towered above me. I was in awe.

It happened again when I was a senior in high school – it snowed so much that I was trapped inside with no car and eventually got so painfully bored that I walked almost 3 miles to my then-boyfriend Dan’s house. I had cabin fever. Not much has changed.

There was nothing quite like waking up to a flurry of flakes, and hearing the amazing news that there was a three-hour delay. Snow days? Forget it. I was in pure bliss. It meant a day outside with friends, sledding at Webb Field and a hot chocolate waiting when I got home.

Being a skier since I could walk, I also looked forward to powdery weekends on the slopes – of course, until I got old enough to want to spend weekends drinking in suburban parking lots with my friends instead…

When I got older and moved to Manhattan, the snow was just as exciting. No car meant no stress. Snow was inconvenient in some ways, but it was always someone else’s problems to clear it away and well, that’s what Hunter boots are for. And there is nothing – NOTHING – quite like walking down the middle of a deserted Houston Street with no cars or people around to ruin the moment.

But then I spent 3 years in South Florida which meant absolutely no hope of inclement weather, hurricanes excluded.

After three years away, I finally spent all of last year back in New York City. And winter came. And it got cold. But we never had a real storm. I longed for a storm, so I could stroll in Central Park or have a cozy brunch at The Standard. The guy I was dating and I would make plans for what we would do when the storm finally hit and we could spend a day cuddled in bed, watching movies and eating take-out from Sea.

It never happened.

Now I’m in Las Vegas and the outlook for flurries is just as unlikely. The difference is that, unlike South Florida, it gets COLD here. Like, really cold. And the wind is way worse than anything I’ve ever experienced in NYC. I can see the snow-capped peaks of Mount Charleston from the balcony of my apartment but I’m pretty certain it will never reach the Strip.

Now another winter is here – and once again, I’m gone. Last week was especially tough. There was one of those stay-at-home-for-days kind of storms and I watched as my Manhattan-based friends posted Instagram and Facebook photos of the enviable whiteout. The tree-lined streets of the West Village were picture perfect, with no one outside to disrupt the beauty of it. I wished I was sitting at the Spotted Pig or Bell, Book and Candle sipping too many glasses of red wine with my most adventurous friends. It made me miss home.

walking in vegas

When I lived in NYC, I legit lost 8 pounds just walking everywhere. I had a membership to Equinox but I really only used it for rare 15-minute sessions on the stairclimber and to weigh myself on the scale in the locker room. What? Using the same scale every time is very important to me. Plus, I got a workout just walking there and back. Win-win.

But the real test was the 30-minute walks across town in 5-inch heels. Every single night. It started in the fall when the weather was (briefly) perfect but then I became obsessed with reaching all of my destinations on foot. I knew that in order to meet friends for drinks at The Spotted Pig at 9pm, I had to give myself exactly 13 minutes. Brunch on the Upper East Side? I laced up my sneakers for the 60 block trek. Cabs were reserved for those nights when I was just too exhausted – or drunk – to make it home by foot.

So when I moved to Las Vegas, I was terrified about losing my routine. First of all, everyone drives. Sometimes from one hotel to the one next door. Second, The Strip isn’t exactly the most ideal place to take a stroll – I mean, the slowest walking tourists EVER! – and the scenery (or lack thereof) doesn’t quite compare to the tree-lined streets of the West Village. Adult entertainment stores and desolate back alleys don’t exactly give me that fuzzy feeling.

But I was on a mission to maintain some semblance of one of the things that made me happiest in NYC. So I figured out a way to walk from my apartment to the hotels (over a very shady and possibly dangerous bridge) and vowed to use the lesser-known back entrances and pathways to hop between properties. Sure, it’s not the same – walking through a smokey casino isn’t ideal. But, just like in NYC, cabs have been used only for special occasions and I think I’ve finally figured out how to tackle this city on foot.

Why I Miss NYC: Reason #1

The un-fucking-believable people.

As I said before, being away from NYC during Sandy made me really homesick. Like, bad. And while I’m loving Vegas, nothing compares to the love I have for Manhattan. And after seeing everyone come together to help in whatever way they can – from friends’ Facebook posts offering up their teeny-tiny apartments to displaced marathoners trekking to Rockaway and similarly devastated area to help out – I have never been so proud to be a New Yorker…