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9/18/2011

Three Candles

If my blog could speak right now, it might channel the immortal Samantha Baker and say, "They effing forgot my birthday."

Uhhh... oops?

Work's been crazy.  It's a full moon.  Mercury is in retrograde.  The dog ate my homework.  And I plain forgot that I wrote my very first post on Sept 14, 2008. 

Bad Jenny.

So, just as I did after the first year, and the second year, it's time to take stock. And, more importantly, to send a heartfelt thanks to everyone who reads my silly ol' blog -- especially YOU.

Now, let's jog on down memory lane...

Total Posts I've Written (including this one):
166

Average Number of Posts I Write Per Month:
4.3 (down from 4.7 last year)

Average Number of Unique Visitors Per Month:
81 (up from 62 last year)

Average Pageviews Per Month:
697 (up from 338 last year)

Average Time Spent Per Visit:
3 minutes 18 seconds (down from 4 minutes 47 seconds last year)

Most Read Blog Post (6-way tie):
Time
Memorial Day
Thinking Out Loud
Trick or Treat
Pepe Le Pew
Royal Wedding Mania Is Running Wild

Post Nobody Gave a Crap About (3-way tie):
Fly the Friendly Skies
12 Angry Men
Cable Guy

Most Comments:
Time

Most Popular Poll:
Federal Un-Reserved

Most Frequently-Used Tag for the Posts I Write:
Pop Culture

Most Popular Search by Visitors (2-way tie):
Dating
Breakup


So, there you have it.  I'm not sure if it's age-appropriate to spill my guts once a week on topics both trivial and personal, but I don't care.  Truth is, I really do love blogging. 

But I wrestle with how often I should do it.  That's where you come in...

Vote below, Hot Stuff!


tags: holidays, polls, writing

9/11/2011

Angels

To say I have unresolved feelings about 9/11 is the understatement of the decade.

I thought about not writing this post because I don’t want to read it. I have spent the last 10 years burying every emotion, ignoring every image, and suppressing every memory because I just can not deal.

Even now.

It was a time of bottomless sorrow.  No question about that.  Although I must say, of all the unimaginable things to come out of that sunny September day (and the weeks, months, and years that followed) came one important realization: I now believe in guardian angels.

Call it fate, faith, whatever you will, I am thankful for several interventions that changed the course of events that day. Here's how the universe said, it’s not your time... 


SCHEDULE
Several days prior to the attacks, an executive at my company was scheduled to attend a conference.  He was to be a guest speaker at a breakfast being held on Sept 11th at Windows on the World, a restaurant on the 106 & 107th floors of the World Trade Center, Tower 1.

I had a good relationship with the publication sponsoring the breakfast, and I had been in contact with the event organizer via phone and email several times to coordinate the details. My boss, another colleague, and I were determining which of us would attend the event with this executive, when a scheduling conflict arose.  He decided last-minute to cancel his appearance, making it unnecessary for any of us to go.

I can't even remember what the excuse was, but everyone who did attend, including the woman I was emailing with, lost their lives that day.



SCHOOLTEACHER
I was living in Pine Brook at the time, and left for work that Tuesday like I did every morning. I would drive to Hoboken, park my car in a lot, and take the PATH train across the river to my office in lower Manhattan -- about 8 blocks from the WTC.

I was about to turn on to Changebride Road, the main street that ran through my town, when a woman flagged me down. Never in my 20+ years of living there had someone stopped me, but there she was, needing help. She said she was a teacher at one of the elementary schools in town. Her car had broken down (though there was no car in sight), and she wondered if I could give her a lift to school. Taking her clear across town would have made me very late for work, so I offered her my cell phone instead to contact her principal, or AAA, or her husband for help. She made a quick call and we parted ways.

The whole exchange took less than 10 minutes, but I know the time I spent with this stranger on a street corner in the middle of nowhere saved both my life and my dad’s. Here’s why…



DISCONNECTED
I was running late after stopping for the schoolteacher, eventually pulling into the lot in Hoboken around 8:45am. I should have already been on the train, so I quickly paid the parking attendant. My back was to the city, as I simultaneously heard an explosive sound and saw an expression cross her face that made me afraid to turn around.

Past the train station, I had a clear view of lower Manhattan.  One of the Twin Towers was billowing with grey smoke. My dad worked in Tower 1, on the 25th floor. I panicked and immediately called him. He told me they felt a pretty good jolt but they were alright. He said they’d been instructed to “stay put” and then the phone cut out.

I tried re-dialing but it was no use. The lines were all jammed, and would remain that way for hours. I saw a crowd gathering by the entrance to the trains, and I made my way over to a policeman so I could hear his radio. It was then that I watched the second plane fly directly into the left side of the second building, disappearing into a puff of fiery smoke. It was about 9am.  I remember someone in the crowd grabbed my hand and cried, “Oh no, not again.”

Completely frantic and realizing no one was getting in or out of the city, I ultimately left to be with my mom. I was in a fog, driving past the Meadowlands on Route 3 about an hour later when Peter Jennings’ voice on the radio told me the first tower had come down. I nearly ran my car into the barricade in the median.  I was home with my mother and my brother, glued to the TV, when we saw the second tower fall at 10:30am. No one had heard from my father since he told me he planned to stay put. We all feared the worst. My brother collapsed into a ball on the living room floor. I ran to the kitchen to vomit in the sink.

Sometime after 12:30pm, the phone rang. It was my dad, from a pay phone.  I can remember screaming to the operator that yes, we would accept the charges of his collect call.  He sounded disoriented, and had no idea the towers had fallen. Apparently, he had been assisting the first responders to pass out wet rags for people to cover their faces and was in the lobby helping to direct people away from seeing the carnage left by people who jumped 100 stories out of sheer desperation. Then, he suddenly left and headed south towards the Staten Island Ferry. He knew I worked on Water Street, but he wasn’t sure in which building, so he went door to door looking for me.

Our call earlier had been disconnected before I could tell him I never made it across the river that morning. He just assumed I had. His need to find me is what drove him away from that scene in the nick of time and undoubtedly saved his life.


ELEVATOR
Several hours after we heard my dad was ok, he arrived at my aunt’s apartment at 65th and Madison. With no way to get in or out of the city, and all streets shut down, he walked the 5 miles, covered in ashes. A dear friend of mine worked in Tower 2 of the WTC at the time. Her company occupied some of the highest floors in the building, putting her above the point of impact and seemingly sealing her fate.

I can remember being too afraid to know the truth, but I gathered up my courage to give her a call. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I had a sick pit in my stomach. Around 5pm that evening, my phone rang again. It was my friend. She would later learn that her colleagues made a life-changing decision to leave when they did. The group that went down in the elevator with her -- in the 15 minutes between the first and second hit -- were saved. The others were among her nearly 200 co-workers who never made it out.


FACE IN A CROWD
Thousands of stories surfaced over the next few days.  It took a full week for the city to open up again. The following Tuesday, I boarded a ferry, bound for lower Manhattan because the PATH trains were nonexistent. The boat was jam-packed, but totally silent, as we rode across the Hudson, utterly shell-shocked.

The smoke and soot still hung in the air, coating every surface.  A burnt smell stung my nose. Tears were streaming down my face as we pulled into the dock. Along the shoreline, I could see dozens of armed guards, dressed in camo and carrying assault weapons. A tank was there to greet us. It would stay like that every day, for months.  It was more than I could handle. This wasn't New York. It was a warzone.

As I stepped off the boat, a familiar face appeared. It was my boss. No, he was more than that -- he was a wonderful friend who came down to the ferry to escort me to the office. It turned out my mother had called him to let him know how upset I was. Ordinarily, I would have been humiliated by that, but these weren’t ordinary times. I was a petrified 28 year old girl. I will never forget his kindness that day, especially when I later learned that his partner had been sick, but he dropped everything to help me. He is an angel on earth, and still has a special place in my heart.




Divine intervention changed the course of our lives, and countless others, that day. I personally knew 10 people who were not as fortunate.

Every year, I go out of my way to avoid the retrospectives. I'm just not that strong.  Besides, I don't need to watch a recap of that unthinkable day -- all I need to do is close my eyes and see it unfold. This year, I decided to avoid the city altogether and set up camp with my brother, sister-in-law, and the munchkins up in CT.

We'll spend the day at the zoo, celebrate life, and count our many blessings.  Here's hoping you can too.


tags: city life, family, jersey, politics

8/27/2011

Creepy Peeper

I’m stuck at home (as I’m sure many of you are), thanks to a total jerk of a gal named Irene. If you want to read about HER, hop on Facebook or Twitter.

Here, I’ve decided to discuss the creepy Peeping Tom who lives across the way. My windows are like his personal giant movie screen.

I first noticed him a few months ago. It was hard not to, really, since his apt is directly across the street, on the same floor as mine. He used to hang out over his terrace (occasionally eating a banana or what appeared to be a bowl of soup) to watch me.  For hours. Like a 200lb paperweight.

And he wasn’t shy about staring. I felt like a brisket.

At first I thought, this guy can’t possibly be looking into my tiny 550 sqft studio. There must be a naked pilates session happening in the apartment directly above mine. And then he waved.

At me.

Since I didn’t reciprocate his friendly gesture, he retreated to his living room, where I could see him perched on the arm of his couch like a large bird. There he sat, night after night, with all the lights on and the terrace door open.  He doesn't appear to have much in the way of furniture. 

Recently, I’ve noticed his apartment goes completely dark around 8:30ish. I don’t know what he’s doing in there, but I can only imagine it involves a telescope that rivals the Hubble in both size and intensity.

But what a blockbuster movie he’s watching!

I mean, who can resist when I get home at night, tie my hair up in a ponytail and change (behind a closed bathroom door) into sweatpants? Who wouldn’t want to be a fly on the wall as I bask in the soft glow of a laptop while paying bills, or catching up on work, or blogging? And really, how could you NOT be riveted as I devour microwave dinners at my coffee table and burn through marathons of bad reality TV on my DVR?

Needless to say, this is the most boring pervert ever.

So, before the inevitable happens and he fashions a 3-piece skin suit from my flesh, I would like to publicly establish my wish that Tiffani (hold the Amber) Thiessen play me in the made-for-TV movie. I’d like it to follow in the grand cinematic tradition set by Mother, May I Sleep with Danger, Baby Monitor: Sound of Fear, and Do You Know the Muffin Man?

Please also cast Tracy Gold as his nosy neighbor who reports a foul odor and Kelly Lynch as the detective who shoots from the hip and goes with her gut. And Tori Spelling should make a guest-starring appearance as the jealous co-worker who openly wishes I would just disappear.

Every thriller needs a red herring.

As for the Creepy Peeper, they should find someone stubby like Jason Alexander. But my story might be too pedestrian for him.  So lock Joey Lawrence in a closet full of Whoppers for a month.  He'll pop out all pale and bloated and will be perfect for the part.

Whoa. 

So before this hurricane knocks out the electricity... tell me, who'd play you in the Lifetime movie of YOUR life?


tags: city life, entertainment

8/17/2011

5 Reasons I Love The Great Food Truck Race

It’s NO secret I love TV.

I’ve been equally open regarding my love of food. So, whenever the worlds of TV and food collide, you can bet I’m buckled in for the ride.

There are tons of culinary competition shows out there (and I watch most of them), but one of my new favorites is The Great Food Truck Race. If Top Chef and Cannonball Run had a baby, it would be this show.

It’s an 8 week road trip from Malibu to Miami and the second season just started on Food Network.  After watching the first episode, I’m happy to report it’s still a tasty little morsel.

Here’s 5 reasons why:
  1. Tyler Florence. Tyler Florence. Tyler Florence. Yum. 
  2. The prize is for real. $100K in cash. Not a fake title as executive chef at a restaurant they may never work in. Not a restaurant makeover of a business that may not succeed. Cash. And while that may not go super far to support a restaurant with 4 walls, I’m guessing it’s a jackpot for one with 4 wheels.
  3. The challenges in each city all come down to who makes the most money. Earn enough and you move on to the next. Earn the least and drive home, broke and humiliated in your giant yellow truck shaped like a banana. Ouch. That stings.
  4. The cities they visit are like a character in the show. Teams start each leg from scratch without supplies, permits, parking spaces, or customers. And each place they visit throws its personality into the mix, for better or worse.
  5. Food trucks are just plain awesome.

Forget restaurants.  Some of the best food in the city is coming from trucks.  We’re NOT talking street meat here. This is not fast food -- it's food served fast, with good, local ingredients. Plus each truck usually has a gimmick, which I kinda love. And they’re easy to find... like right now! 

A quick check of my handy Eat Street app (iPhone, I heart you so much I could EAT you), shows Korilla BBQ, who just happens to be in the race (go NYC!!), Cupcake Stop, and Feed Your Hole trucks all within a few blocks of my apt. 

Good thing I’m afraid of the dark, or else I’d be chowing on a Porkinator right now like it was my job.

Sold yet?

Whet your appetite with the meals on wheels that I've eaten recently (glamorous desk not included):


Wafels & Dinges
Motto: Good Things Belgian
Order: The BBQ pulled pork on a Brussels wafel, with a side of slaw and a coolickle (kinda like a red pickle)
Tip: Try their Spekuloos Spread – it looks like peanut butter and tastes like gingerbread cookie goodness.



Red Hook Lobster Pound
Motto: Serving the best crustacean in the nation
Order: Lobster roll, Maine style, on a buttery toasted bun split down the middle
Tip: Bring a $20 -- the roll is $16 alone, pricey but loaded with big chunks of tasty lobstah.



Mexicue
Motto: The sweet, sweet love child of red-hot Mexican cuisine and down-home barbeque
Order: A smoked short rib taco, BBQ beef brisket slider, and pulled pork slider.  I like to call that the Carnivore's Trifecta.
Tip: Budget about 30 minutes for this one, the line is long, but worth the wait. 


Eddie’s Pizza Truck
Motto: Home of the Bar Pie
Order: No clue.  The first time I tried to eat here, they closed the main window in my face.  The second time, they gave me attitude about needing to order through the passenger seat door instead of the giant, gaping hole on the side of the truck.  Needless to say, I left.
Tip: I hear the wait is 20 minutes.  Hopefully they're as good at making pizza as they are at being rude.



So, do YOU have any favorite food trucks?  List them below! 

And remember, this is best left to professionals: Don’t cook and drive.


tags: city life, entertainment, food

8/10/2011

You Just Got Pringled!

What’s that? You say it’s about time for a new taste test?  I couldn’t agree more!

Rather than go for sweets like this time, or this time, I dug deep into the salty category. Think crunchy. Think crispy. Think potato(ish) chips.

I’m speaking, of course, of Pringles.

Now, I can already see you turning your nose up at the crisp that isn’t legally allowed to call itself a chip because it’s only 42% potato. Oh, what a misunderstood snack!

I think there’s something beautifully precise about their uniform shape and the way they line up in a stack. I like the irony of organized junk food.

Plus, Pringles don’t fraternize with your average low-rent bag of chips, all hap-hazard and broken with that weird stubby green one that you're never sure whether to eat or whether to write a letter to the company's CEO and report a tainted bag (or is that just me?).

NO!  Pringles are too good for that. Which is why they stand tall on the shelf in the high-priced nuts neighborhood.  Fancy.

Here’s my top 3 reasons to give them a pop:
  • You have to love Mr. Julius Pringle in all his olden-timey barbershop mustache glory.
  • The guy who invented the Pringle asked to be buried in a can, and he got his wish in 2008.
  • The brand recently sold for $2.35B – that’s a lot of chips (or crisps, as it were)!
So, as I was saying, we tried a TON of Pringles. And by a ton, I mean 18 canisters. Didn’t know there were that many flavors? Neither did we. So, obviously, a blind test was in order to see who’s taste buds could tell the difference between BBQ, Sweet BBQ, and Cheddar BBQ.

Not as easy as it sounds.

My sister-in-law had the good sense to stay out of this one, but my brother and I went head-to-head, armed with nothing but our wits and a gallon of water...

Here’s how the 18 flavors tasted (we could have had 20 -- if not for the elusive Bacon Ranch and Mozzarella Stick!):
  1. Original: 2 correct guesses (if we didn’t get this layup, we would have quit)
  2. Sour Cream & Onion: 2 correct
  3. Cheddar Cheese: 2 correct (helps that these are bright orange)
  4. BBQ: 1 correct, 1 mistaken for Pizza
  5. Jalapeno: 1 correct, 1 mistaken for Mexican Layered Dip
  6. Pizza: 1 mistaken for Buffalo Wing, 1 mistaken for Cajun
  7. Ranch: 2 correct
  8. Loaded Baked Potato: 1 correct, 1 mistaken for Cheddar BBQ
  9. Salt & Vinegar: 2 correct
  10. Honey Mustard: 2 correct (and can I just say, yum?)
  11. Buffalo Wing: 1 correct, 1 mistaken for Cajun
  12. Dill Pickle: 2 correct (and tastes like your sneaker would after a long run)
  13. Cajun: 1 mistaken for Sweet BBQ, 1 mistaken for Onion Blossom
  14. Sweet BBQ: 1 mistaken for Pizza, 1 mistaken for Mexican Layered Dip
  15. White Cheddar Popcorn: 1 correct, 1 mistaken for Loaded Baked Potato
  16. Mexican Layered Dip: 1 mistaken for Jalapeno, 1 mistaken for Sweet BBQ
  17. Onion Blossom: 1 correct, 1 mistaken for White Cheddar Popcorn
  18. Cheddar BBQ: 1 correct, 1 mistaken for plain BBQ

By the end, we had a thirst that a thousand gallons of waters could not quench, and we had Pringles Claw from stuffing our hands in the tube. And I’m not sure who they think they’re fooling with that cap.

Let’s be honest: 1 can = 1 serving.

So who’s palate was the most particular? I'm only semi-ashamed it admit it was mine -- with 13 correct guesses. My brother got 8.  I think he was congested.  But the real winner here is Julius Pringle. I spent like $45 bucks on chips that are only 42% potato!

While we discovered a few new favorites (I'm talking to YOU Honey Mustard and White Cheddar Popcorn), I’m rather thankful we didn’t have access to the international flavors. The Prawn Cocktail and meaty Roast Turkey flavors popular in the UK, or Seaweed with its “natural ocean flavor” and Old American Circus (aka Funky Mustard) eaten in Asia just sound plain gross.

But if old Julius feels like taking a dip in a pot of chocolate, I’d be all over that!  Just sayin.


 
tags: food, polls

8/03/2011

Happy Birthday to Me

Oh, what a difference a year makes!

On my last birthday, I turned 37 (ahem), and I was totally down in the dumps. Devastated. Depressed. Drowning.

Ugh. That blew.

That's not me!  I love my birthday!  It's the best day of the year!  If I had my wish, it would be declared a national holiday. And it would last 3 weeks. Seriously.

Last year aside, I have tons of amazing birthday memories.

Some of my favorites are from when I was little.  Like the time I turned 4 and my entire family -- grandparents, aunts, uncles, everybody -- went to Disney to celebrate and I met Goofy (see, I loved tall guys even back then). Or the time I turned 6 and my mom had a pizza party for me on the front lawn and invited every kid in a 5 block radius because we were new to the neighborhood.  Or the time I turned 10 and had my first sleepover party where we giggled about boys, ET, and Cabbage Patch Kids well into the night.

This picture you see here is from 1982, the year I turned 9 (if you count the candles on my cheesecake, you'll see 10, that extra one is to grow on).  I love this shot because I'm surrounded by the people who mean the most to me and I look really happy.  Hopeful.  Carefree.

Like a little girl should.

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know I have 3 birthday rules.  So, with those in mind, here's 10 to-dos for today, one for each candle on that cake:


I will remember what it's like to be a kid, when everything seems possible.




I will not work.




I will eat cheesecake for breakfast.




I will read my horoscope and believe the good stuff.




I will wear my hair in a ponytail all day.




I will spend gobs of money on silly things.




I will ignore what I lack, and focus on all that I have.




I will paint my fingers and toes a happy color.



I will look forward to seeing and hearing from all the people I love.

I will chill out on my roofdeck and enjoy the day.





So, here's to turning 38!  At least I'm not 40. That means I still have 2 more years to get my shit together before I hit my "scary age."  And here's to each of YOU -- and to my trusty Amex card -- for helping me celebrate!

Now I think I'll close my eyes and make a really, really, really good wish...


tags: holidays

7/23/2011

Hot Mess

I’m not saying it was hot today or anything, but I think a pigeon spontaneously combusted outside my window.

I saw a ton of pics on Facebook with the temperature on people's phones and in their cars.  It was 103, after all.  So you may wonder why you’re looking at a medicine cabinet? Well, for starters, it’s MY medicine cabinet.

You may also wonder why it’s jam-packed with 10 deodorants? That’s because I think I might smell. I don’t believe I stink or reek (yet). But I’m pretty certain I smell. I mean, who can possibly stay fresh in this heat?

I have become a Crazy Deodorant Lady.

I'm obsessed. The human underarm is like a Petri dish. It’s loaded with bacteria. Sure, I’ve tried your typical girlie deodorants. Secret, Dove, Ban, Degree, Lady Speed Stick.

Child’s play.

So I upgraded to clinical strength – the kind you practically need a prescription to buy.

Sniff, sniiiiiff.  Nope. Still smelly.

How could this BE? I shave and shower! Daily! Since when is that not enough?

(Side note: While I'm oversharing, I should also mention I have sensitive pits. I once tried Tom’s all-natural deodorant, which had an apricot flair and was supposed to be gentle. And it was. So gentle, in fact, that I would have had similar success rubbing an actual apricot under my arms. Turns out aluminum is a pretty important ingredient. Won't make THAT mistake again.)

So, back to the medicine cabinet. 

You might also be wondering why I have Degree man deodorant in there? It's because I believe I have found the solution to my problem. See the cap? That’s Bear Grylls’ mug on there – he's the Man vs Wild guy on the Discovery Channel. That dude’s climbed Everest, eaten snakes, wrestled alligators, drank urine, given himself a guano enema AND used the corpse of a dead sheep for a sleeping bag.

If it’s good enough for THAT guy, it should be able to handle my 20 minute walk to work.

Let’s pray it does the trick. If not, I will have no other choice but to resort to this… (and you know how I love infomercials -- no, really, I do -- I'm helpless to resist):





I'm particularly horrified by "Lanny F." and his "odors in special places."

So, is this TMI about BO? Do YOU have any secrets for smelling sweet in this heat?  Don't make me sweat it out.

Share below...


tags: commercials, gross, health

7/14/2011

Saving Big in the Big Apple

So I’m kinda obsessed with watching the Extreme Couponing show on TLC. Now, I know what you’re thinking: That’s 14 cats and a couch doily away from a very scary Saturday night.

But before you judge me too harshly, have you SEEN this show??

They make it look SO EASY to walk out of a store paying 10 cents for $1000 worth of groceries. (Nevermind why these savings wizards would expose all their secrets on national television so grocery stores can get wise and shut down the fun.)

These people actually get paid to take stuff home. Some may say it’s borderline stealing, but who among us couldn’t use 93 bags of croutons, or 105 deodorants, or 217 jars of mayonnaise?

I wanted in!

But is it an impossible dream here in NYC where a single bag of groceries can equal a car payment? Maybe. No doubt this savings quest would take unwavering dedication and a level of preparedness that I haven’t employed since I took the SATs.

Oh yes. Challenge accepted.

First I watched, re-watched, and re-re-watched an entire season of Extreme Couponing. Next, I became a student of the limits – many stores only allow you to purchase a couple of the same items at one time, a register can only handle around 250 coupons per transaction, each receipt can only print around 1000 lines. Then, I boiled down HOURS of footage to a 21-step extreme savings blueprint…

     1) Fall on hard times
     2) Have an epiphany that coupons pave the road to riches
     3) Start to pronounce it “Q-pon” (this is critical to success)
     4) Know that you or a member of your immediate family must be morbidly obese
     5) Spend thousands on newspaper subscriptions, or steal inserts from the neighbors and dumpster dive
     6) Gather a mix of weekly sales, store loyalty cards, and manufacturers rebates to ensure maximum savings
     7) Arm your family members, no matter how young, old, or feeble, with scissors and let the clipping begin
     8) Organize your new Q-pons in a 3-ring binder, accordion folder or shoebox
     9) Make a spreadsheet of items, quantities, and costs for each trip, arranged by aisle
     10) Spend 30-60 hrs/wk on Q-pon maintenance, between prep, dealfinding, shopping trips, and binder cleanout
     11) Pre-order large quantities so the store can't run out of sale items
     12) Pile into your minivan to visit a non-brand name supermarket in the sticks
     13) Strictly purchase what’s on sale, nothing else
     14) Expect to fill multiple carts, so bring along a helper (who you may or may not choose to berate along the way)
     15) Prepare to sweat it out at the register
     16) Ignore nasty looks from the people in line behind you
     17) Watch the cashier like a hawk
     18) Keep your cool when the register inevitably jams from all this Q-poning activity
     19) Take a bow as the manager grits his teeth over the Q-pon robbery that just occurred in his store
     20) Enlist an army to unload the van
     21) Stockpile all loot in every basement, garage, closet and crevice as though you are preparing for the apocalypse

Ok.  Sounds easy enough.  Sort of.

The final step was to put this plan into action. Armed with a binder, a stack of newspaper inserts, an excel spreadsheet, and a dream, I organized, clipped, counted, and hit the stores. I probably spent about 10 hours a week over the last 2 months in pursuit of savings on food, health & beauty, and cleaning products.

And you know what I learned?

It’s impossible to save 98% off your grocery bill.

I’m sorry, it just is. Over 9 weeks, I spent $432.78 on $1,248.03 worth of stuff. That’s 65% off. I know this because it’s all calculated in a spreadsheet. I saved on every bill using a combination of in-store specials, manufacturers coupons, and gift cards I got from cashing in points on my credit cards. Without the gift cards, the savings would have been more in the neighborhood of 38%.  Good, but not great.

I also learned that I don’t have the patience or complete lack of self-consciousness to haggle over tampon coupons with the same checkout lady who thinks it’s ok to put my toilet bowl cleaner in the same bag as my English muffins.

But I do take away these 7 Lessons in Saving from my adventures in frugality…
  • Get a loyalty card for every single store you shop in. And use it.
  • The NY Post generally has more/better coupons than the Daily News.
  • Coupons are really only worthwhile when they can be used in conjunction with in-store specials. 
  • Don’t bother using a coupon just because it’s about to expire. The only exception there is the buy one, get one free coupons. Those have the most savings of all, assuming you actually WANT the item.
  • Buy only what’s on special, and don’t worry that you can’t actually make a meal out of pita chips, pasta sauce and marshmallow fluff. Eventually, they’ll put guacamole, macaroni, and ice cream on sale and then you’ve got a tasty 3-course meal!
  • D’Agostinos and CVS have MUCH better deals and loyalty programs than Food Emporium, dirty Gristedes (they put the gross in grocery store) and Duane Reade.
  • Get creative to find deals.  The Harmon Face Values section in most Bed Bath & Beyonds is good for health & beauty items, and Jack’s World/99 Cent Stores are worth a trip for random cheap food -- and it’s not even expired!
I’m sure my savings experience can apply to any big city. But if you live in the burbs, you can probably shave another 1/3 off the total. Plus then you get to drive to and from the store so you’re not forced to strap all your groceries to your back like some kind of urban donkey.

So what does $1200 worth of stuff look like?  Check out my linen closet, fridge, and fully-stocked pantry:



All I have to say is, wow, I'm anal.  My fridge door looks like Noah's Ark, with 2 of everything.  I should get a side job stocking shelves.  I'd have Gristedes in line in no time. 

Are YOU a coupon clipper?  Tell me why (or why not) below...


tags: city life, food

7/09/2011

I'm Just Not That Into YOU

The title of this blog post, coupled with my colorful online dating history, might lead you to believe I’ve been dumped. Again. Actually, I kind of think I have been… 

Can you get dumped by someone you’ve never met? I dunno.

It all started a few weeks ago. I got another communication request from an eHarmony guy. That sounds so clinical, doesn’t it? Communication request. Ick. Sounds like something your boss would send you right before you get canned. No wonder online dating blows.

Anyway… he was 43 year old lawyer, went to Brown undergrad and Penn Law, owned an apt in Chelsea (?), Jewish, loved hiking, divorced, no kids, had a pet turtle.

Let’s call him Kermit.

(I’m referring to the guy, of course, not the turtle. A turtle named Kermit would be ridiculous.)

At a self-reported 5’10” he was 2 inches below my (shallow) minimum height requirement. Oh and he had red hair. Yep, he was a Ginger. And he had a bowling ball head. Oy. But from our emails, he was a nice enough guy. Responsible. Articulate. Punctual. He seemed like he could properly fold a map.

We had as much chemistry as... something with zero chemistry. 

Eventually, it came time to move beyond the email exchanges and hit the phones. Kermie said he wanted to talk and hopefully meet in person. So he called me.

I was on my way to dinner with some old friends from high school so I didn't answer. He left a message. I felt bad, so the next day I sent him a text, apologizing for missing his call. A few days later, he called me again. That time, I was on my way home from work and not particularly interested in walking and talking so I let it go to voicemail. He left another message. The next day I sent him another text, and made up a lie about why I missed his call.

Bad Jenny.

Then about a week passed -- no calls. I hoped he would just fade away and I would go back to being more selective about the emails I answer.

I was sitting at my desk on Wednesday when my cell rang. It was a 212 number that I didn’t recognize, but I picked up expecting it to be a good friend who I used to work with.  I was supposed to be meeting her for dinner that night.

Well, it wasn’t my friend. It was Kermit.

Imagine having that first get-to-know-you phone call with a guy you really like while you’re at work. That would be kind of awkward, right? Now, imagine that same call with a guy you’re not really into. Yeah.  Not good.

He opened with your standard chit chat. I was talking on my cell phone, but staring a hole into my office phone willing it to ring with the sheer power of my mind. I am sad to report that not only can I NOT bend spoons with my mind, I also cannot force the phone to magically ring. Where's Yoda when you need him?

The conversation quickly turned to the environment. Naturally.

On a good day, with a guy I’m SUPER attracted to, I’ve got about 3 minutes MAX of eco-convo in me. And even then, I don’t really buy it. I mean, can people who can’t accurately tell me if it’s going to rain on Saturday predict with ANY authority that the polar ice caps will melt away to nothing in 10 years if I don't immediately start driving a Prius?

I think not.

My inconvenient truth is that talking about the earth makes me sleepy. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

So when he started giving me the dirt on composting, you can be sure I wanted to hop over my desk and jump out my 15th floor window. True to form, Kermit’s into vermiculture. Not familiar? Me neither. I was told it’s when you use worms to eat your garbage so they can poop it out. You need about a pound of worms for every pound of food scraps. And all that chowing down on apple cores and coffee grounds makes the worms feel pretty amorous – each one pinches out a new baby worm every few months.

Wish you never knew that? Me too.  My big contribution to that conversation went a little something like this:

ME: So, how much does a worm cost?
K: Pennies a piece.
ME: That’s probably more than I would want to spend.
K: Why?
ME: I’m saving up to adopt a highway.

This was going NOwhere. Was my office phone even working? How could it ring 50x a day, and not ONCE in the past 10 minutes? I decided to turn the talk towards something I could relate to, so I could be 158,329% positive this was going nowhere.

ME: Seen anything interesting lately?
K: I don’t own a TV.
ME (Silence. Does not compute.)
K: Are you still there?
ME: No TV? What do you do at night?
K: Well, between work, caring for my turtle…
ME: Oh, go hug a dolphin!
K: Uh… what?
ME: Ever tried golfin?
K: At night?
ME: Nevermind.

FINALLY the phone rang. Ahhh. An excuse to hang up! I say goodbye and dance a jig of happiness.

That evening, I received the following text:

Jen. [Kermit]. Knw u wntd 2 date, bt am hvng 2nd thghs. We ddnt clck. Not intrstd in F2F mtg. Bst of lk. GTG!! :/

Please allow me to translate:

Hi Jen, it’s Kermit. I know that you wanted to date, but I am having second thoughts (or thighs?). We just didn’t click, so I’m no longer interested in having a face to face meeting (otherwise known as a DATE). But I wish you the best of luck. Got to go!! Weird smiley frown face.

Did he actually just dump me with a text message? He did, right?!? Before we ever even met?

Hey, Nicholas Sparks! Nobody said anything about dating here. I mean, it’s not like I wanted to have your orange clown wig babies or anything. Besides, it's just as well that you don’t want to meet ME because I have never wanted to meet YOU.

Frankly, I’d rather sit in soaking wet clothes while watching a Transformers marathon than watch worms take a dump.

Ugh, will it EVER end?  Lie to me below...


tags: dating

6/29/2011

Cable Guy

I hate Time Warner Cable.

I’m sitting on my couch typing this blog post on Day 4 of living without a home internet connection. I have to wait until the morning to upload this at work.

My laptop has become a glorified doorstop.

I went to bed on Friday night at 2am -- I suppose that’s actually Saturday morning, but whatevs. I know for a FACT that my internet connection was working then, because I was online doing extremely important business (managing my Netflix queue).

When I woke up, around 9:30am, I immediately noticed an orange light flashing on my modem, inexplicably. That’s never a good sign.  So I went through all the typical troubleshooting steps – I rebooted the modem, and the cable box, and my computer. Blah blah blah.

No dice.

So I called the number on the original installation paperwork (I keep it handy in the TV cabinet for situations such as this). Miracle of miracles, I got a guy who picked up immediately! And then he put me on hold...

FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF.

After about 30 minutes, it became a game – guessing which pre-recorded message was next. It was a battle of the wills. I had too much invested, I couldn’t possibly hang up now. Then delirium set in, and I actually started to BELIEVE my call was important to them (silly me). Then came the anger. I would never get these 93 minutes back. Realizing I could literally die on hold, I hung up the phone and drank in the silence. Ahhhhhh…

I let my ear cool off for a minute, then phoned the number on the back of my bill. I spoke to an automated voice who’s cheerfulness just fueled my pissy attitude. Eventually, a technician came on the line and she quickly put me on hold to check my signal. In doing so, THE MOTHER EFFER DISCONNECTED ME.

Oh sweet Jesus! At this point, I was livid.

I called – AGAIN – and shouted at the robot. When I finally got another technician on the horn, I explained how incompetent the last one was and said I hoped she could actually DO her job. I can see now that probably set us off on the wrong foot.

She needed to test the line, at which point I BEGGED her not to put me on hold. She obliged, but couldn’t find a signal.

No shit, Sherlock.

She couldn’t tell me why it wasn’t working, or if someone else on my floor got cable installed and accidentally knocked mine out. She stated very matter-of-factly that a technician would need to come to my apt to investigate the root cause. Her calmness was aggravating.

The earliest I could get an appointment was on Wednesday from 11am-2pm. FIVE days later!?! I clenched my jaw and explained that in order to pay my bill in a timely fashion, I have to be gainfully employed and therefore could not take time off in the MIDDLE OF A WORKDAY to wait for the cable guy.

Equally unhelpful was her suggestion that I have someone over the age of 18 wait on my behalf. I explained I live alone (and thanks for rubbing salt in THAT particular wound).

Can I please just take a moment to say how much I DESPISE that we are all at their mercy? The cable company, the phone company, the electric company, the plumber. Utilities have the power, and they know it.

I took a deep breath and asked for an evening appointment. She didn’t have one. I asked for a weekend appointment. She DID have one of those. In two weeks. Unacceptable. I begrudgingly settled on an appointment for this Friday -- in the 8am-11am window – which just happens to be my day off. Excellent.

At this point, I couldn’t WAIT to get off the phone and slam my head in the freezer. I don’t care that it’s not her fault. I now hate this woman AND the company she works for. But apparently, she was not as sick of me as I was of her.

She proceeds to try and sell me whole house DVR services. Huh. First off, I live in a 550 sqft studio. I already HAVE whole house DVR on my ONE television. Secondly, ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME?

Now I’m a lunatic. I let out a crazy squeal of a laugh I don’t think I’ve ever heard before and ask, “Are you seriously trying to SELL me something right now?! You know you want to get off this phone as much as I do. Let’s end this nonsense.” She informs me that telling customers about the variety of services available is part of her job, and then says that if I receive an automated call asking me to take a survey on our conversation today, I should rate her service a 5, with 5 being the best.

Maybe she was a robot too.

I could take no more.  I hung up on her mid-sentence, wishing I had a corded phone so I could slam the receiver down on the cradle. (Pushing the off button really hard on a cordless phone just doesn’t have the same dramatic effect.)

The whole thing makes me want to scream! Life without an internet connection is like life without a nose. Sure, you can breathe out of your mouth, but who wants to??

Thank God for my beloved iPhone so I have at least some connection with civilization. While I wait impatiently for the cable guy, you’ll be happy to know I’m making the most of my analog lifestyle:

• I’ve labeled all the spices in my magnetic spice rack
• I read 7 months of back issues of Food & Wine and Bon Appetit
• I alphabetized my cookbooks (since my DVDs were already in order, naturally)
• I made homemade pesto
• I shampooed my throw rugs
• I shredded my 2010 credit card statements
• I cleaned my hairbrushes and unclogged my shower drain

I suppose this time offline has been productive. But the NANOSECOND that I get my internet service back, the FIRST THING I’m googling is whether or not Verizon Fios is available in my area.

So… have YOU ever had a temper tantrum over your cable company, or am I the only infant here?


tags: city life