M&M (&M&M&M&M&M)

I knew this week was going to be tough, with my birthday on Aug 3rd and my fake wedding day on Aug 7th (even though we never set an official date, we were getting married on the 7th according to our wedding gift registries).

But I’m TIRED of feeling awful. You know what makes me feel better?

Chocolate. And potato chips. And aerosol cheese eaten directly from the can. Kidding about that last one. I put it on a cracker first.

Anyway, I’ve been wanting to try pretzel M&Ms. I mean, I like salty-sweet just as much as the next guy! But I felt I needed to try this new combo in the context of some tried and true flavors. So I gathered 7 packages of M&Ms, and 2 of my favorite people, to put the candies that melt in your mouth (not in your hands) to the test.

In the tradition of my hard-hitting culinary investigative journalism on the subject of Giant Cheetos, I submit to you…

The Great M&M Taste-Off of 2010.

To follow along with the row of M&Ms in the picture, begin with the stinker on the right and work your way left. Oh, and the big brown blob below the row of M&Ms is a Junior Mint (we needed a palette cleanser).

#7: Coconut (white)
Nobody expected to like this one. And… no one did. While it “came in fun colors,” unfortunately, “it’s just not good.” The flavor is pretty “mild,” and it doesn’t have the texture you’d expect from something coconutty, so it feels a “bit like paste” in your mouth. It’s the only bag that went directly into the trash, with a definitive “there’s not a chance I would eat that.”

#6: Almond (orange)
This one was a disappointment (much like the over-hyped mega-M&M that came in sophisticated colors like beige -- like the world is clamoring for more BEIGE candies). Its “nutless taste” was surprising, given the size of the nut inside. Maybe it “needed salt?” Any way you bite it, it was “boring” and “not worth the extra fat.”

#5: Plain (red)
This was the most surprising. The one that started it all was “sweeter than I remember” and the “crunch was more satisfying than the taste.” The milk chocolate “isn’t rich, which is why you can eat a whole bag,” but the sweetness was “gross after a while.”

#4: Dark Chocolate (brown)
With this one, it’s important to note that nobody in the room thought they liked dark chocolate. And I’m guessing in the authentic flavor department, these are to actual dark chocolate, what Taco Bell is to Mexican food. But nevertheless, “once the taste got going, it’s not bad.” And everybody agreed, “I’d eat it before coconut.”

#3: Pretzel (red)
The reason for the taste test did not disappoint… most of us. Cries of “oooh” and “I’ll have another!” were tempered by its dismissal as a “novelty.” The perfectly round shape makes them "fun to shoot across the table." All of us were curious, “what does it look like inside?” and I wondered, “why no yellow?”

#2: Peanut Butter (blue)
A crowd-pleaser, this “cousin to Reese’s Pieces” had a “strong peanut butter taste” and was “very creamy.” We felt that while you “don’t really taste the chocolate, it’s ok.”

#1: Peanut (green)
What can you say about this guy that hasn’t already been said? You can’t deny this “lumpy classic” is “satisfying.” Its “filling, peanutty taste” is what kept us going back for "more, please!"


And there you have it. The Peanut M&M reigns supreme. For now.

After all, you never know what the folks at Mars will come up with in an attempt to keep a 70-year-old brand relevant. Remember the limited-edition Strawberried Peanut Butter M&Ms they introduced with the Transformers movie last summer? I never understood the connection (did Optimus Prime have a sweet tooth?), and I couldn’t really figure out if I liked them. Even after eating the whole bag.

Somebody had to.

While we’re on the topic of eating a whole bag, PLEASE BRING THE CRISPY M&M BACK. They were delicious. Maybe I should start a Facebook group to rally people around a Crispy comeback. It worked for Betty White.

So, did we get it right? Weigh in below:

poll by twiigs.com

tags: food, polls, pop culture

Birthday Wishes

Today is my birthday.

I love my birthday. While I absolutely hate aging, the presents and the cake help me forget that fact. I guess that’s the point.

I moved into NYC on my birthday weekend in 2008, exactly 2 years ago. I was turning 35, which sounded SO old at the time. Mid-30s. Ick.

I’d been living in Pine Brook, having spent the better part of the previous 3 years taking care of my mom. My parents just retired to Florida back in 2005, when she came down with a severe case of rheumatoid arthritis. It’s a crippling auto-immune disease, which attacks the joints and makes even the most simple tasks -- tying your shoes, buttoning your shirt, cutting your food, walking -- incredibly painful, and sometimes downright impossible.

Her illness came on like a freight train, and I did the only thing I knew to do. I brought them back home.

Those 3 years were tough, no question, but it was worth it, because with the help of chemotherapy, my mom is now doing much better managing this illness, and my parents are now back in Florida full-time. So my birthday weekend in 2008 was a time of celebration -- a fresh start for all of us. We were all getting our lives back and starting on a new adventure -- me in New York and my parents in Florida. It was exciting!

And it WAS a great year -- my mom’s health improved, my beautiful niece was born, and I’d met someone.

Last year, when I turned 36, my birthday fell on a Monday. August 3, 2009. I’d just come off a weekend of celebrating with my family and friends in Fairfield, CT, and was taking a train back to the city on Sunday afternoon. My ex-fiance (my boyfriend at the time), met me on the train as we passed through Stamford. I couldn’t WAIT to see him.

Just a few days earlier, he’d told me he loved me for the first time. We were on the phone, actually saying goodnight, when he blurted it out. I was totally taken off-guard. I even think it surprised him. At the time, I wasn’t ready to say it back -- over the phone just didn’t feel right. But sitting on that train next to him, I knew I too was in love and I couldn’t wait to get back to my apartment to tell him.

My birthday came at an early stage in our relationship -- I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. He poured his heart out in a card, where he promised to be mine. Always. He gave me two CDs he made for me -- the beginning of our Infinite Playlist. And he gave me a gorgeous silver cuff bracelet. Those things meant so much to me, but the ultimate birthday present was him. Finally having someone to share my life with. Someone to love. Someone who loved me back.

That was the most precious gift of all.

I’ve been lucky enough to have some amazing birthdays. I’ve gotten cars for my birthday. Twice! I’ve had surprise parties thrown for me. I’ve been sailing on a boat in Newport on my birthday. I’ve gotten iPods and TVs and handbags and presents in little blue boxes. I’ve eaten more cheesecake than any person should (always plain, always New York style, occasionally with strawberries or cherries -- on the side), and each year, my wish was the same: I wished I would find someone to grow old with. And I did! I thought my birthday couldn’t get any better than this.

It was #1 with a bullet.

So here I am. It’s 2010, I turned 37 today and NO part of me feels like celebrating. The card I got last year is packed away in a storage unit in Norwalk, CT, the box is labeled “Don’t Open This.” When I left his condo, I placed the bracelet and a stack of CDs -- each one professing his love for me -- on the dresser, along with a few other reminders I couldn't keep. This was all supposed to be SO different. I was supposed to be days away from getting married to a man I thought was the love of my life. It turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

And now, on Day 1 of a new year, I’m completely overwhelmed by the thought of restarting my life.

Again.

Especially since I just DID that 2 years ago. And there were tears that day, too, but they were happy tears.  I just can’t muster up the enthusiasm for a celebration this year.  I will make 3 wishes, though. And I know you aren’t SUPPOSED to share your wishes, or else they won’t come true. But keeping my birthday wishes to myself didn’t exactly make them come true either. Obviously. So, here goes:

I wish I could not cry once for an entire week. Hell, I’d even take an entire day.
I wish I can find the strength to look forward and trust my own instincts again.
I wish I will find the courage to date someone new and believe what he says.

Maybe by the time I turn 38, these wishes will become reality. Time will tell…

 
tags: breakup, holidays

Grab Your Things, I’ve Come To Take You Home

My apartment search hit a major snag this week.

After combing the city for a new place to call home, I’d finally settled on a brand new neighborhood. The Upper West Side. It would be a fresh start with no memories of tables for two at the local Italian restaurant, or walking down the street hand in hand on the way home, or stopping for a quick smooch at a red light.

A clean slate.

And in that new neighborhood, I found the holy grail of New York City real estate (aside from a rent controlled apartment, which I actually DID find, but it was a 6th floor walkup with no sink in the bathroom -- someone would have to pay ME $1100/mo to live there, not the other way around). I found a brand new building. Ahhhhhh.

New floors that nobody put their stinky feet on. New toilet that nobody put their sweaty ass on. New refrigerator that nobody put their sloppy leftovers in. All. Mine.

Sure, there were some concessions I would have to make. For starters, it was smaller than my last apartment, so I would continue to pay for a storage unit because all my stuff wouldn’t fit. Oh, and I’d need to downsize my bed from a queen to a full because the sleeping alcove was smaller than my last apartment. Plus, I’d need to factor in a commute because it wasn’t within walking distance to work, like my last apartment was. And it was $200/mo more expensive than my last apartment after I’d negotiated that sweet $500/mo decrease. Ok. But it was NEW. I’m a sucker for anything new.

New neighborhood. New apartment. New life.

Did it feel like home? No. But no place I visited did. So I applied for apt 6D. And one day ticked by. Then two. Then four. Then, I got concerned. So my broker contacted the office and found out that they needed to investigate my application.

Hmmm. Well, I did have FOUR different addresses on the application and the support materials: I had a NJ driver’s license with my Pine Brook (#1) address -- that expires in August, and I’d held off on updating it, not for my love of Jersey, but because I thought I’d be getting married next month and would have a new name in addition to my change of address (turns out, um, not so much). On the application, I’d listed my current address as Fairfield, CT (#2), which is true, but because I’ve only been here for 2 months, I had to list my previous address too.  Since that was Stamford, and I was only THERE for 2 months, I skipped back in time and listed my New York City (#3) address instead. But my bank statement had my Stamford, CT (#4) address, the most recent statement available was for June and the bank hadn’t updated their records yet -- we only officially broke up on June 2nd. Turns out my credit report listed Stamford too.

So… it looked shady.

So shady, in fact, that they thought I’d been evicted from my NYC apartment. EVICTED! How f’ed up is THAT???

This breakup just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it? So, they had to validate my banking information. Fine, my bank confirmed I have an account with enough money to cover the security deposit and 1st month’s rent (and not a penny more). And, then my job confirmed that I am employed and my salary is exactly what I said it is. But when they went to confirm my rental history with my old apartment building, nobody would call them back.

That didn’t exactly help my case.

Finally, a full week after submitting the application, I’d had enough. I asked my broker to push it -- to just find out what it would it take to move this forward TODAY. So she did. The girl in the office went to her manager, who went to the building’s owner, in the hopes that he would override the need to verify my rental history. After all, I’m 36 years old, I have a good job and I pay my bills on time. That should be enough, right?

Wrong.

He looked at the application, and decided he felt uncomfortable with it. It looked out of the ordinary with all the addresses in such a short time. Who moves that often? Plus he didn't like my debt (nevermind that a good chunk of it is as a result of all these RIDICULOUS moves).  If I didn’t get evicted, then maybe I skipped out on the rent. What if I did the same to him?

Now, it didn’t matter if my old building returned their calls to confirm I was a good tenant. Now, I needed a co-signer because I was deemed unreliable.

Say WHAT?

I was devastated after hearing this. Ok, fine, so maybe I wouldn’t get THIS apartment. I could live with that. But under these circumstances, what if I couldn’t get ANY apartment, because who’s to say that I wouldn’t encounter the same questions no matter where I applied? I felt sick to my stomach. A person can only take so much, and I’d reached my absolute limit. I came home from work on Thursday night, went straight to bed, and sobbed myself to sleep.

On Friday morning, I went to work in a fog. I texted with a dear friend of mine, who generously offered to co-sign for me. I called my mom, who told me to tell the new building to stick it, and then go back and clear up any trace of that Stamford address -- on my bank statement, credit report, whatever -- then get a Fairfield license so everything would match, and start again. And I had lunch with my aunt, who offered to go to the building with me and explain the moving expenses and why I’d had so many addresses, surely they would understand.

All these options felt awful.

It got me to thinking. Why do I need to restart my life? He didn’t. There’s one less person in the bed next to him. He orders 1 medium pizza for dinner instead of 2. But really, his life has gone on largely uninterrupted. Mine, on the other hand, was shredded... And that's not me being dramatic. It's just a fact.

But what was WRONG with my old life? I got along perfectly fine on my own. Maybe instead of a restart, what I really needed was to pick up where I left off -- before we ever met.

So around 3pm, I googled my old apartment building. At least THEY knew I wasn’t shady and I paid my rent on time. I originally wanted to live ANYWHERE but there, so it was the first time I’d looked it up. But lo and behold, out of the 279 apartments in my old building, there were just 2 alcove studios showing as available -- and 1 of them was my ACTUAL APARTMENT. Like it was sitting there, waiting for me.

I immediately went over to the building. It turns out someone moved into my old apartment shortly after I left. They lived there almost 3 months and moved out only a few days ago. The new rent on my old place was now $325 more per month than I was paying, PLUS I’d already paid a $2500 lease-break penalty to move out back in March, but I didn’t care. So I filled out a new application. And got APPROVED on the spot. 

Co-signer my ass…

I won't be moving in for a few weeks, while they paint and clean the apartment.  So he gave me the option to come back later to sign the lease. “No thanks,” I said, “I’ll sign it now.” He said I could come back next week to drop off the 1st month’s rent. “No thanks,” I said, “I’ll write you a check now.” I even booked the elevator time. I don’t trust ANYTHING anymore. I was leaving nothing to chance.

I’m the kind of girl who looks for signs. If it wasn’t enough that my actual apartment was available, or that I'd originally moved into this place 2 years ago almost to the day, or that the check I wrote was #2873 (28 is my apt number and I was born in 73), or that the doorman greeted me with a giant, “welcome home!” when I entered the lobby, then all I need to do is look at the name of the building’s leasing agent to know this is the right move. He is the same guy I renegotiated my rent with last August. The same guy I gave my notice to last February. And the same guy I signed my new lease with on Friday.

His name? Paul.

You know, I lost a lot in this breakup. Too much to mention here. But the biggest loss was my home. Intentional or not, he took that from me.

I’m taking it back.


tags: breakup, city life

I Love Singing Fish

So I was watching The Bachelorette the other night. (Don't judge, its been a rough summer.)

I'm enjoying the fact that sweaty, awkward, insecure Frank took himself out of the competition (good luck with THAT guy, Nicole). I'm realizing I have almost no opinion on Roberto at all, except that he's not repulsive like at least one guy in the Final Two invariably is.

And I'm really hoping Ali DOESN'T choose Chris in the end because he is adorable and I don't want to watch them break up as Jake & Vienna have. And Jillian & Ed. And Jason & Melissa. And DeAnna & Jesse. Matt & Shayne... Brad & Nobody... Andrew & Tessa... Lorenzo & Jennifer... Travis & Sarah... Jen & Nobody... Charlie & Sarah... Byron & Mary... Meredith & Ian... Jesse & Jessica... Bob & Estrella... Andrew & Jen... Aaron & Brooke... and the Bachelor Failed Couple who started it all, Alex Michel & Amanda (remember that creepy bastard? YIKES.)

Anyway, about 15 minutes before Roberto & Chris were put out of their misery by a rose which signifies they will live to date the same girl another day, a Lipton Iced Tea commercial came on. Now, I really can't recall any noteworthy Lipton commercials since David "This Aint No Sippin' Tea" Carradine went all 3 Stooges on some street thugs.

But this is one for the books.

Clearly borrowing their inspiration from McDonalds ode to the Filet-O-Fish, Lipton ups the ante. "Yeah, Golden Artery Cloggers? I'll SEE your catchy jingle and singing bigmouth bass, and I'll RAISE you a chorus of crustaceons and a smiling fish with a lemon wedged in his mouth. Stick THAT in your Big Mac!"

I know commercials make some folks crabby. But I love 'em. And I could watch this one all day. I'm particularly amused by the fact that this parched woman is largely unfazed by the singing fish with the human mouth that's emerged from her purse. What's better, I actually remember what product he's promoting. AND it makes me think I want a cool, refreshing iced tea. With my... chicken.

Reel me in, Lipton. I'm hooked.

I think Madison Ave is finally catching on to what the folks at As Seen On TV have known for years. There's really nothing funnier than a singing fish.

See what I mean below:


Now tell me you didn't love that?!

The Perfect Storm

This morning I received an automated email reminding me about a concert I'm going to tonight. Cool. Except one thing...

I'm not going to a concert tonight.

In February, my then fiance told me how much he wanted to see Dave Matthews again this summer. I knew he couldn't afford the tickets at the time, so I bought 4 -- 2 for us, and 2 for his sister and brother-in-law, as a thank you for some tickets they'd given us.

This was the second set of tix I bought that month. The first was to Peter Gabriel, who played with a 54-piece orchestra. We saw him together at Radio City back in May. It was an incredible show (save an excruciating appearance by Lou Reed, who butchered Solsbury Hill beyond recognition). I only wish we were getting along that night, or it would be a good memory. In hindsight, it was the beginning of the end.

At the time, I would have rather put all that concert money -- about $600 total -- towards something for our wedding. A dress. Our rings. Save-the-dates.  Only we didn't HAVE a date, not officially, anyway.  And I wanted to make him happy. Besides, Dave Matthews and summertime go together like chocolate and peanut butter, and this was a Saturday night concert at Citi Field. He didn't exactly have to twist my arm -- it sounded like fun.

It also would have been an anniversary of sorts: last July, we saw DMB together for the 1st time.

I still remember sitting at my desk a year ago when the text came in, "Are U free on July 21?" He booked this date with me a few weeks in advance of the show. I don't even think it was July 4th yet. I took that as a good sign that we would still be together by month's end. (Remember, we'd only started emailing last May, and didn't meet until June -- who knows what can happen in the early stages of a relationship.)

My butterflies and I had a quick conference and agreed I should say YES. So I did.

On July 21, 2009, I rented a car after work and drove out to Jones Beach. "I'm in red shorts," he said. "You can't miss me." When I arrived, I called him from the parking lot and he found me over by a fence, totally lost. He looked adorable and hopped in the car. We made our way over to where his sister and brother-in-law were. He'd already saved a parking spot for me.

I remember being SO nervous to meet his family, praying they would like me. But there was really nothing to be concerned about -- they were just lovely. There was an easiness to our relationship which started that night and lasted through many double dates to come.

He poured me a Bud Light in a red plastic cup, and we chatted away.  We had chemistry to spare. It began to rain while we were in the parking lot, and he handed me a navy blue windbreaker so I wouldn't get wet. I was charmed by how thoughtful he was.

On the walk over to the stadium, through parked cars, over sandy hills and winding roads, he reached for my hand. I remember thinking it was the first time we'd ever really held hands. He and I were slowly becoming "we."

It felt right.

Once inside, our date reached a new level. In a packed stadium, we were in our own little world.  It seemed as though the rain showers were set in time with the music. A deluge during Don't Drink the Water was epic. While #41 played, it was a soft, romantic drizzle. We were soggy, but smitten.

It was the perfect storm in the best possible way.

Later that night, I was in the car driving back to the city when I received a text. "BEST DATE EVER!!! Can't stop smiling :)" it said.

He had tickets at Jones Beach the next night too, that time with his youngest brother. During the show, while I was sitting at home on my couch watching TV, in came another text -- with a picture of a stage glowing with red lights. "U should be here with me," it said...


When I left last month, after gathering my belongings from a home we were supposed to share, the new tickets flashed through my mind. But I'd handed them to him when they arrived, and wasn't about to ransack his room now looking for 4 tickets. Besides, what would I do with them? I can't even bear to listen to DMB's music anymore, let alone go see them live. Too many memories. Too much sadness.

I don't know for certain, but I imagine he will be at the show tonight. And whether the seat next to him is empty or not, I hope each song brings back a flood of memories -- and regret -- if not regret for the breakup itself, then for how he handled it.

We deserved better. I deserved better.

Where’s a Psychic Octopus When You Need One?

I've traipsed all over this city in the sweltering heat looking for a new place to live. I've found some dumps. I've found some snoozers. And I've found some gorgeous apartments.

But so far, I havent found a home.

If I'm being honest, I suppose there's some part of me that is resistent to moving on -- in part because this will be my 3rd move in 5 months (and yes, it is as mentally, physically, and financially exhausting as you might imagine).  But also because I don't even know what I'm moving on FROM, anymore!  I still can't understand what happened, and now, some eye-opening revelations about him from my own family and friends only underscore the fact that the man I thought I would marry never actually existed. 

But I know the only way I'll ever feel like me again is to move on.  And that begins with new digs.

So I ask you, how am I supposed to cram all this new baggage into your standard NYC shoebox apartment? I already had 100 boxes to begin with (no joke).

I've gotten my choices whittled down to a handful. And since my judgement is total crap these days, I've gotten plenty of opinions, too. But what I'm really after is some advice from someone who has built a reputation on picking winners. So here is my open plea to the animal kindgom:

Paul, you eight-legged oracle, will YOU help me choose an apartment?

(and pipe down Mani, the fortunetelling parakeet -- YOU are a cheap knockoff)

In lieu of a country's flag, I respectfully submit colorful subway artwork to help you identify each choice. You probably already know this, given your abilities, but these are ranked in price order from low to high -- not in preference order (don't even get me started on what you get for the money -- if I stayed in CT I could lease a 3BR 2BA apartment AND a car for what I'll pay for an NYC studio).  Oh, and I don't know how you roll in Germany, but you should also know that the following buildings have the basic necessities: a doorman, elevator, air conditioning, laundry and a dishwasher. 

If I could live without those things, I'd go camping.

And now, I place in your plexiglass box the following 6 apartments in a town I sorta love:

Midtown West/Chelsea
Apartment: 32D alcove studio, 540 sqft
Pros: modern building, great amenities, awesome view
Cons: shady-ish neighborhood, closets in a dumb spot, cheap kitchen

Midtown East/Murray Hill
Apartment: 6M studio, 650 sqft
Pros: I know the owner, easy commute, 5 closets
Cons: pre-war, no renovations, mini kitchen used for heating up takeout & not much else

Midtown West/Hell's Kitchen
Apartment: 7B alcove studio, 575 sqft
Pros: corner unit, stainless/granite kitchen, easiest commute
Cons: tourist central, crap view, creepy Peeping Tom window in shower

Upper West Side/Lincoln Center
Apartment: 6D alcove studio, 500 sqft
Pros: new luxury building, I would be the first tenant, cool amenities, great neighborhood
Cons: soooo small

Upper East Side/Yorkville
Apartment: 30F one bedroom, 675 sqft
Pros: bedroom actually has a door, terrace, awesome view
Cons: pain in the ass commute, neighborhood kinda deadsville

Midtown East/Sutton Place
Apartment: 14C one bedroom, 700 sqft
Pros: bedroom has a door AND can fit a dresser, ample closet space, nice amenities
Cons: soooo expensive


So there you have it.  Paul, what say you? Sprechen sie Englisch? Any tingles in your tentacles?

Send me a psychic mesage. If you help me, I promise never to eat calamari again.

Facelift

So Blogger tells me that this is my 100th post. 

Huh. 

Feels like there should be more, right?  I've been at this for almost 2 years.  So that's like once a week, tops.  I guess I blog just about as much as I floss.  (Which apparently isn't often enough because my dentist told me at my last cleaning that I have a cavity.  Somebody's asleep on the job and I don't think his name is Oral B.) 

Anyhoo... I'm really enjoying blogging again, but I've grown tired of this design, so I'm officially retiring the old look in favor of something new.  Seems to be a theme in my life lately.

So, what do you think?

poll by twiigs.com

Oh, and a disclaimer: I didn't like the templates Blogger had already built in, so I grabbed some code off the internet, and then hacked around on the parts I wanted to change.  For instance, this template used to be fire-engine red.  If it's wonky at all, I apologize. I also code HTML about as well as I floss.

Major League Eating

I’m bored with the World Cup and the stupid vuvuzela. I’m not impressed that George Steinbrenner turned 80 today. And frankly, I don’t care where LeBron James plays.

Yawn.

The ONLY sports story that caught my attention today is Nathan’s 95th annual Fourth of July Hot Dog Eating Contest at Coney Island. And yes, I do mean sports story -- it was broadcast on ESPN.

Nevermind that I can’t even eat ONE hot dog (a mouthful of mystery meat makes me gag -- I can only stomach the mini kind, and then only with mustard, NEVER ketchup).

I’m in awe of champ Joey “Jaws” Chesnut who gobbled his way to victory by consuming 54 hot dogs PLUS buns in 10 minutes -- that’s about a dog every 10 seconds. After his 4th straight win, he was seen holding the coveted mustard yellow belt in one hand and a bottle of Pepto in the other. And that’s NOTHING compared to his showing last year, where he downed 68 of Nathan's famous franks!

But there was drama in Hotdogville.

His main rival, Japan's Takeru “The Tsunami” Kobayashi got himself arrested for rushing the stage, probably overcome with grief because he couldn’t compete in the event he’d won 6 times. The guy even has a special visa to be in the country because of his skills as a competitive eater.  And as well he should -- The Tsunami holds the record for eating the most cow brains (57 in a mere 15 minutes). 

Yum.

He now sits, hungry, in a Brooklyn jail. Apparently, he was in a contract dispute with Major League Eating so he could not participate in this year's gluttony. The fact that such a regulatory body exists is fascinating. It’s like the junk food NFL. Its website even warns amateurs should not try "speed eating" at home. 

Joey Jaws had his rookie year in 2005, and is now the world’s #1 competitive eater, but I learned there are also 2 women in the top 50 rankings:

Sonya "The Black Widow" Thomas comes in at #5.  She is a 41 year old from Alexandria, VA, and is a slender 105 lbs. She’s eaten 552 oysters in 10 minutes, 65 hard boiled eggs in 6 minutes, and 80 chicken nuggets in 5 minutes. She believes the keys to her success are stomach capacity, jaw strength, and hand speed, but admits she needs to work on her "speed of swallow."  She went nearly unbeaten in 2004, if it weren’t for a controversial baked bean eating contest -- hers were too hot. Amazingly she is single.

And "Lovely" Juliet Lee, in at #11, is a 44 year old from Germantown , MD, who mysteriously also weighs 105 lbs. Hmmm.  Somehow this mom of 2 plowed through 7 chicken wings, 1 lb of nachos, 3 hot dogs, 2 personal pizzas and 3 Italian ices in about 7 minutes. She's never vomited, though had a close call after ingesting a world-record-setting 13.2 lbs of cranberry sauce.  As a child in China, she apparently only ate what she could catch on the beach. Especially if it was covered in nacho cheese sauce.

Looks like Sonya and Juliet still need their day jobs, but Joey Jaws earns an estimated $150K per year just from eating contests. I am a big eater too, but all I get is fat.

How many hot dogs did YOU eat today?

Presto-Change-O

I'm in a funk. You know it. I know it. We ALL know it.

I need a change.

About 2 weeks ago, I started the painful process of cancelling our wedding gift registries (more on that below). Nobody wanted their actual gifts back (bad mojo, no doubt), so I kept those. I left some new things behind at his condo -- a BBQ grill, margarita maker, bucket of cookie cutters, everyday dishes. They were all things I'd purchased off our registry myself. For us. And I didn't want to keep the items when I couldn't keep the family I bought them for.

I mean, who wants to sit at home alone and hunker down to a flame-broiled breakup burger on breakup dishes, washed down with a breakup-flavored margarita, followed by a couple of fresh-baked breakup cookies for dessert? No thanks.

The one thing I did return was our china. I adored the pattern. LOVED it. Something totally different, mix and match. Cheerful. Classic. Unique. He swore we would never use it, but I pictured us having holiday dinners and celebrations on these plates for years to come. I had two full place settings (down to the bread and butter plates), and a coffee/tea set from my parents. I hated to do it, but since I will never complete the service for 12, I brought them back to the store and turned my beautiful china into a $400 Coach bag.

Like magic.

That got me to thinking... there are other things I'd like to change over the next few weeks.

Here's my hit list:

1) New cell phone

Mine might as well have his face on it. Every time it rang, buzzed, or dinged, it was generally him. And every time I hear it go off now, it makes me sad because it's anybody BUT him. So I think it's finally time to make the switch. Goodbye Verizon. Hello iPhone.

2) New hair

I used to highlight my hair, but I left it darker lately because I liked the way it looked with his hair. We matched. Ridiculous, I know. So I'm booking a trip to the salon for some summery locks.

3) New ring

One of my best friends bought me a new ring the day I moved my furniture out of his condo. It was to replace the one I "lost," she said, and to remind me to keep my heart open. It was such a touching gesture. For Christmas, I'd given him a man's ring that I used to wear and I'd engraved it with our initials -- I think I'll replace that one too. Possibly with something sparkly.

4) New color palette

My whole house was beiges/browns with bright pops of red. And while all of my stuff sits in storage right now, when I DO eventually unpack, I know I'll need something more soothing than red. Something fresh. Serene. Thinking pale blues and greens.

5) New curtains

These were a HUGE point of contention in the weeks leading into our breakup. Don't ask. I need to set them on fire and start again. Anybody got a match?

6) And obviously, the biggest thing I need is a new address

As comforting as it is to have family willing to take me in, I can't really start to feel like myself again until I'm back in my own home.

Now if only someone would perform a magic trick on my bank account, I could actually BUY all of these things right now.

I didn't invent this concept. A colleague at work said when she broke up with her boyfriend, she went right out and bought a pair of 3-inch heels, after wearing flats for years because he was short. Another friend's sister sold her never-worn wedding dress on eBay and took a vacation.

I think we all need a little magic in times like these. Something new to distract us from what (or who) is no longer there.

It's all an illusion anyway.

And on a side note, if you are ever in the unfortunate position of having to cancel a wedding gift registry, I can say Macy's was incredibly good to deal with, Crate & Barrel was ok, and Bed Bath & Beyond was beyond horrible -- after the in-store people couldn't help me, the customer service agent on the phone had the nerve to ask if I was sure I wanted to cancel, just incase we got back together. Ummm... GFY BBB.

And since Wedding Channel posts your information all over the internet without respect to your privacy and then goes out of its way to make it difficult to contact them when you want to take it down, here's their phone number as well: 877-335-5252.

Thanks, Google. You're pretty magical too.

Spent

Well, it's over. The Love Truck rolled through town and we collected 226 video love stories over the course of 3 days.

That's a whole lotta love.

While the event itself was a success professionally... personally, it was an awful lot like Chinese water torture. Hour after hour. Person after person. Couple after couple. Day after day. 226 stories with one thing in common: Love.

drip. drip. drip. drip. driiiip... drip.

When things were busy (which luckily, was most of the time), I was able to just focus on doing my JOB and not think about what people were actually SAYING: "It was love at first sight." "I never thought it would happen to me." "I met the love of my life." "My soul mate." "It was simply meant to be."

One guy even told me how he'd met his now fiancee at Grand Central -- right by the clock. "How romantic is that?" he gushed while waiting for his turn inside the truck. "I saw her standing there, and I just knew."

Somehow, I was able to just nod and smile (even though Grand Central was exactly where WE met for the first time, where we "just knew," and where I thought we would marry in August). I think I was able to ignore this dagger sticking out of my chest because there was a line of people waiting to share their own stories.

There was work to do.

But when things were slow, or when I was alone in the taxi ride back to the hotel each night, it was another story. I could say I didn't let it get to me. That I shook it off. That it's been 3+ weeks since my relationship officially ended, when my life imploded, and I'm doing fine. I could say I didn't cry once. Not in the taxi. Not in the shower. Not outside Dean & Deluca in front of a man eating what appeared to be a gyro.

I could say all those things. But they would be lies.

I'm searching for the jokes here, but there are none. And to top it all off, Day 2 of Love Truck was the anniversary of our 2nd date. Did I know the actual DATE off the top of my head? No. But I do know Michael Jackson died about 20 minutes before we went to dinner. So the wall-to-wall coverage of the 1st anniversary of his death on Friday brought back a FLOOD of memories for me, too. They had nothing to do with MJ. They were all about that 2nd date.

I remember where we went. I remember what we wore. I remember what we ordered. I remember every detail of our conversation that night. I remember our walk back to Grand Central like it was yesterday. And I remember being filled with hope. With possibility.

With love.

What a difference a year makes. Like I said... I'm spent.