Ninja Attack

Today, thanks to Groupon, I got a diamond peel facial and a mani/pedi for a super low price. I was oh so excited to get there but when I left it got me thinking. Why do Asians love to kick my ass during beauty treatments?

When Josephine was taking the diamond wand to my face I don't think she got the memo that I have nerves there. And the plastic wand, when meeting my ocular bones at a force, hurts. I mean it was like a tiny nunchuck was suctioning and beating my face. After the "diamonding" of my face she told me she was going to massage my face. "Okay," I said excited for some relaxation time. Nope Josephine started out all nicey-nicey but then began slapping my jowels and cheeks. I mean it was totally bizarre and it was hard enough to make loud slapping noises that carried down the hall. For me a massage is the slight pressure-rubbing of my muscles not slappin' a ho.

Then she began to massage my neck and shoulders. I couldn't believe how much strength this lil 70 pound chick had. She had straight-up chimpanzee strength. It seriously felt like a chimpanzee high on pixie sticks had been unleashed on me.  I think she may even have used her feet at some point. Then she cradled my head and whipped me into the seated position. Chimpanzee strength.

Then I got my pedicure. Sammy did my pedicure and she was pretty gentle with me until she pushed up my pant leg and began literally punching my calf. Ummm. What does this have to do with a beauty treatment? I started to think they only reserved this treatment for me. I mean wailing on my leg was not exactly the relaxation move I was looking for. I think I could find anyone to kick the crap out of me for free. And here I am the sucker paying people to get out their aggression on me. Yes my face and nails came out very nice but what the hell kind of torture are these people into? And what is the training like? "Yes and now punch her in her face. Real hard. She likes it, I promise.  She pays big money for it." I suffered less physical harm being near a mosh pit last night than I did today at the "spa". Spa my ass. More like fight club. Maybe that's the missing piece. I am supposed to fight back. Hi-ya.

The Song

Guys/boys/men you will not appreciate this story…I warned you.

Music is a really big part of my life.  I am pretty sure I spend more time listening to music than I do anything else, even sleeping.  I believe that is why I envision meeting the man of my dreams while walking down the street listening to my iPod.  Why walking down the street rather than a show?  I haven’t quite figured out why.   Perhaps my brain thinks it’s more romantic to be approached on the street.  

Anyway I imagine this handsome man to walk up to me while I’m looking rather cute.  By cute I mean I have on an outfit that falls in the middle of my wardrobe.  Nothing too fancy as he would’ve seen the best of me and expect that every time.  But I also do not want to be wearing sweatpants.  No one wants the ultimate romantic scene to occur looking like Rosanne Barr.  Okay back to the scene…He would say “Excuse me, what are you listening to?”

I would then answer “Song ‘X’ by band ‘Y’”.  And this is where I am immediately faced with a problem.  I could answer what I am actually listening to.  My fear is that I could be listening to “Roni” by Bobby Brown.  Don’t get me wrong “Roni” is an amazing song but I don’t see it as “The Song” when I meet Mr. Totally Radical.  So then, if I do happen to be listening to “Roni”, do I lie?  If I do, what song do I pretend to be listening to?  It has to be cool without trying.  Dylan?  Drummer?  Yeasayer?  I haven’t decided but it happened to me today.  

Finally a guy asked me what I was listening to.  I froze.  I was really listening “Gone, Gone Gone” off the Crazy Heart Soundtrack by Colin Farrell.  Which is a pretty great soundtrack but it wasn’t “The Song”.  I decided that since he was just a teenage Starbucks’ Barrista making my soy latte that it didn’t really matter what I answered.  So I told the truth, and he said “Cool”. 

Ultimately the guy of my dreams wouldn’t really be approaching me about music anyway.  He just wouldn’t be able to resist me.  When he invites me out to coffee we discover we have tons in common, or not, and we fall madly in love. 

-Deep Thoughts by Yaya

My New Obsession

After traveling to Vegas I decided that I have a new obsession.  The iPad.  Along with everyone else, I laughed about it's ridiculous name and the fact that it should have probably been released before the iPod.  But after packing and traveling across the country I decided I need one immediately, if not sooner. 

I had four flights to plan for with and hour and a half between each flight.  When I was packing I considered that at any point in time I could get bored.   I'm not a good bored person.  So I had to think about when boredom set in what would I need? 

-Reading material: a book (Gods and Generals) and a variety of magazines (People, Scientific American, In Style, and Discover to be exact).
-Writing material: my Moleskine notebook, a few good pens, and my computer (sometimes I like to hand write, sometimes I like to type)
-Viewing material: My Netbook, DVD player, and several DVDs (I never know what I'm in the mood for). 
Listening material:  iPod and noise-canceling headphones.

All of these materials added about 15+ pounds onto my body weight.  The bag took up the majority of my legroom.  And when it came down to it I couldn't find anything in the bag because I had crammed too much into it.  To top it all off, after my first flight, I left Gods and Generals on the plane.  I was a disaster.  When I came home a friend said "do you really need all that stuff?" To which I answered "Ummm yeah of course I do." 

So here's the thing.  If I had an iPad I would have iBook in which several books would be contained.  Magazines I could instantly read online.  If I felt some inspiration I could open up Microsoft Word and type away.  And iTunes would allow me to access to movies and music without having to potentially break a nail thanks to a stupid DVD case. And it weighs next to nothing.

So Santa, if you're listening, I would like the second generation iPad for Xmas.  Oh and that wine key you never gave me.

Thanks,

xoxo

Yaya

When it's Time to Change

I recently reconnected with a very important person from my past and it has got me thinking about how much I have changed in the past 6+ years since I have seen them. While I feel like a completely different person I am often told “same ole Yaya” by people who know me from childhood. Hearing that, makes me instantly cringe and secretly proud.  Cringe because we should change, "grow-up".  Secretly proud because I don’t think I was known as a mean or bad person. And if I was, then my lack of memory has served me well (see ‘Blame it on the Booze’ Aug. 2009). Of course everyone changes due to experiences they have had but I’m not really sure exactly what has changed in me. So times like this make think…hmmm who was the old Yaya and who is the new Yaya?

1) I was a total hormonal freak show. I mean I would cry at the drop of…a fork. “Oh my god my fork fell on the ground! Waaah!” Someone didn’t say exactly what I expected to hear: “Um maybe a different sweater with that?” Waaah. If I didn’t reach my hug quota for the day…Waaaah. Ok maybe I still do this.

2) I was meek and didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted. I would call my technique to get what I wanted “passive aggressive hinting”. For example if we were planning a night out and I wanted to see a movie, instead of saying “I want to see the movie ‘Awesometime’" (why that isn’t a title yet beats me), I would say “Ummm so I’m really craving popcorn.” And then the person would suggest Jiffy Pop and I would cry. “You just don’t get me.”

3) I was convinced that everyone had ESP and when they pretended otherwise I would stomp, pout, slam doors (my fave) and, of course, cry. I’m not proud of this behavior but I was fully convinced that they knew exactly why I was upset and were choosing to withhold what I wanted. Again, if I wanted a hug I would stand there willing a hug upon myself but if I didn't get one I would pout. Why? Because they knew I wanted a hug but chose to walk by me instead. How rude.

4) If I was in a super-sunny-smiley-time mood and the person I was with was in a bad mood it would ruin my day. I would literally morph into whatever doom-and-gloom they were feeling. It sucked. I couldn’t just allow them to own their crankiness and continue on my rainbow-licious day. I would literally turn into Debbie Downer and be mad at them for ruining my day. Not anymore. You can keep your crank to yourself. Unless we’re referring to drugs, then please sir may I have some more? Just kidding mom & dad. Drugs kill.

5) Speaking of morphing I have been: the hippie chick, the preppy chick, the fashionista chick, the ska/reggae-dub chick, the rock n’ roll chick, the extreme athlete (bike, run, & surf or snowboard & snowshoe all-in-one-day) chick, you name it (minus goth) and I was “it” at some point. I was molded by whomever I dated. There was a bit of myself in there but since I’m easily adaptable I changed more colors than a chameleon on a kaleidoscope.  I still love to learn new things but if I’m exhausted from 6 hours of snowboarding, have fun snowshoeing on your own at midnight dude.  I'll be here with a stout in-hand.  Another example is that I would watch Sports Center (or more properly called 'Sports Shouting' by 30 Rock) feigning interest while my ears bled and I was on the verge of a panic attack from all the yelling about stats and who's the best whatever.  I didn't give a shit and now would prefer a monkey throwing its poo at me to listening to Sports Center for one more second of my life.  

6) I’ve become a lot more selfish. Just as I morphed into whatever the other person wanted I would do whatever they wanted. They want BBQ I want Mexican. They win. They want to go boozing while I want to go to the park. They win. They want to go to the strip joint and I want to go to the symphony, they win and I get boobs in my face for their $5. I never put up a fight. Why? This leads to my next one…

7) Little self-confidence and fear of rejection. Everyone has gone through this especially women in their teens/early 20’s. Today I have a love me or leave me attitude. Life is hard enough by yourself never mind a partner that is going to make it harder. I can’t morph into whatever they want without being resentful and bitter. And I can’t expect that my partner is going be exactly what I want either. If I did my partner would be my butler, my housekeeper, my life coach, my chef, my yoga instructor, my laundry-doer, my personal assistant and my piggy bank. Although all of that sounds nice. 

There are the negatives that come along with aging but I’m thankful I’m not the out-of-control hot mess I was in my teens and early 20’s.

When I'm a Rock Star/Comedian

Work is dumb.  So instead I like to daydream about what my gigantic dressing room would be like as a rock star/comedian.  I envision all my outlandish requests and my “so what” attitude as they are fulfilled. 

In no particular order:

-My room would be able to hold 550 people. 

- Lay-Z-Boys, Papsans,  and any other form of comfy seating for 50 people.

-The only bit of lighting I want are Jo Malone grapefruit candles and soft up lighting.

- Decorations to be navy blue and peach.

-A tazer.
-Whiffle bat and ball for home run derby.

-25 handicapped, brightly-colored, scooters to play Bumper Scooters or race.

-Organic:  chicken parm, filet mignon, brie, prosciutto, French bread, Godiva dark chocolate ganache, 5 Star granola dark chocolate.  No paper or plastic ware.

-An in-house bartender with a full bar and plenty of liquid cocaine AKA Red Bull and recycling bins for the cans.

-Veuve Cliquot and LOTS of it.  Strawberries?  Yes please.

-Beer, beer, beer.  Lots of it.  Lots of varities including Guinness and Magic Hat #9.

- Macallen 18 yr. with 2 cubes when I ask for one.

-12 hula hoops.

-A fire blower.

-Capuchin monkeys (the young ones, not the old-man lookin’ ones).

-The game Apples to Apples.

-The dancing/humping Ewoks that were on the Today Show.

-Keyboard Cat and OMG Cat.

-Personal D.J. who will play anything on request.

-A unicorn with a rainbow over its head and an elf jockey.

-Bob Saget.

-A hot, male masseuse I will call by the name Chico.

-25 fire extinguishers, for the “fire extinguishing” after-party.

-Fake props to break.  Like chairs, bottles, guitars.  Stuff that when breaks does not actually hurt anyone.  All real stuff will be removed and replaced with the fake stuff.

-A donkey because they still make me laugh.  I will call it Donkey-Hotey.

-A nerf football.

-A red telephone that I will use to call (or shout at) an assistant to get whatever I need, like tropical skittles.

-An adult bouncy room.

-A fun lil pup for my dog Oscar Gomez to play with.

-3, 50” plasma televisions with all US stations.

Now what would you want?

One of These Things is Not Like the Others...

**Taken outside of the Whitney Museum

Erin Go Hats

Saint Patty's Day.  The parade here in New York was as expected:

**All my own camera phone photos and video (not looking for praise just keepin' it real)

 crowded

smokey

 

and whiskey barrel full of zany accessories like...

HATS!

HATS!

HATS!

HATS!

AND...Hats and Bags (pipes that is)

Hats and bags.

 Hats and Bags!

Hats and Bags!

 

HATS...AND...BAGS!

HATS AND BAAAAAGS!

FRANKS AND BEANS!

uh I mean wigs and bags.

And the whack-a-doo award goes to:

Mr. & Mrs. Gangrene

And then I encountered this on the subway (cut and paste if it won't play)...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xwz3sb4Z8Eo

AHHHhhh  I loves me some holidays.

Typical Saturday Night

-wine, cheese, and dinner @ Otto=$65
-3 hours of beer & karaoke including sibling duet of 'One' by Metallica=$67
-meeting 18 year olds who chant "Katie! Katie! Katie!" while they sing 'Party in the USA'=PRICELESS

That Martha Stewart is a Liar

 

I started cooking last night.  No I don't mean just dinner I mean I am going on a 'Julie and Julia' type quest to find my inner chef.  Except instead it's less 'Julie and Julia' and more 'Yaya and The Swedish Chef' (from the Muppets).  I've never really been into cooking.  The only thing I ever liked to make were from-the-box-brownies and then eating them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  The most ridiculous part of this is that I have top-of-the-line appliances.  See that Kitchen Aid mixer pictured above?  It is sitting in my kitchen windowsill being used as a privacy "curtain" from my neighbors.  When the bowl is in it, I get extra privacy.  I have had it for 4 years and maybe, maaaaybe used it 3 times.  But I've decided, I'm 31, I should learn how to make my own food rather than simply clicking on it and having it delivered 30 minutes later.   Nothing easier than that.  Thank you "series of tubes" but I wanna know what's in my food and not pay so damn much. 

Anyway I started with a recipe deemed "healthy" by Fitness magazine called coconut curry chicken.  As far as I know Corn Flakes, coconut flakes and coconut milk are not healthy but the picture convinced me that this would be one of the best meals I would ever eat.  Yum, yum, yummy.  Well I couldn't find curry paste at D'A-gross-tino's, I mean D'Agostino's, so I decided coconut chicken sans curry would still be delish.  Then I couldn't find unsweetened coconut flakes so got the sweetened ones because I secretly wanted them anyway.  Well this was just a total train wreck.  I literally looked like the Swedish Chef http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TR2WMN1qYJctossing raw chicken, cornflakes, and spatulas around until I finally threw them all together thinking "this is gonna be Nom-a-licious".  I waited 3 times the suggested cooking time for my coconut chicken to get "golden brown" but the chicken literally went from raw to burnt.  I watched it.  I watched it with the anticipation and protection of a mother penguin hovering over her egg in sub-zero weather.  I waited 40 minutes for that damn chicken to get golden brown.  When I pulled it out of the oven and spatula-ed the chicken onto a plate, the bottom layer of Corn Flakes and coconut stuck to the pan.  My ONE pan that now had an inch of burnt Corn Flakes adhered to it like super glue.  I looked from the picture to my chicken and decided that the picture was fake.  It was play-doh made to look like crispy "golden brown" chicken.  But I ate like I was on the show Fear Factor because I made it and couldn't bear throwing it away.  

Then I thought it would be a good idea to make cookies for the troops.  I have a friend in Iraq and had collected money to buy toys to send.  The troops give toys to the little kids who tell them where IEDs are located.  I finally got all the toys in and I decided that the guys would probably love some cookies as well.  Mind you, my kitchen is what my mom calls a "closet kitchen".  But your closet is probably larger than my kitchen.  So after this Corn Flake mess I had to take a chain saw to clean the one pan I have, wash all the dishes, put them away and make cookies.  And who better to get the recipe from?  Yup Martha Stewart.  I almost bit into the magazine page displaying the beautiful cookies.  Well that Martha Stewart is a liar.  Martha, your cookies sucked.  They were hard (I didn't burn these, I swear) and they didn't taste good.  So you know what I did today?  I tossed out those shitty cookies and made the dependable Nestle Toll House cookies from the back of the chip bag and voila.  Delicious chocolate chip cookies.  Curtsy.  I bought some frozen entrees from Trader Joe's today.  I think I'm hanging up my apron for a few days.

Bipolar City

Ahhhh New York.  So I am finally understanding the "if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere" saying.  I've lived in Costa Rica, Cape Cod, Denver, and now in Manhattan.  I can officially say that this is the most difficult, but amazing place I have ever lived.  Costa Rica, Cape Cod, and Denver all have beauty but they also lack what brings and keeps people in New York.  It has a life and energy that makes you want to jump out of bed on an early Sunday morning to explore or stay out of bed until 4AM.  You can't understand how bipolar this place is until you live here.  So to sum it up for those who don't, here are the lists that make New York amazing while also making life...challenging.

1) Pro: There are 3 grocery stores within one block of my apartment. Con: They all suck and charge waaay too much for wilted, soggy lettuce.  Pro: There is a Trader Joe's in Union Square that has $2 beautiful organic lettuce.  Con: The other 8 million New Yorkers shop there too.  While you shop you must weave around a line longer than the-last-Springsteen-show-ticket-campers at Giant's Stadium...and then wait in that line.

2) Pro: There are also 3 laundromats within one block that will take my laundry in the morning, wash it, fold it, and have it ready for 3PM.  One place will even send a sherpa to carry it for me.  Con: My white sheets and towels 8/10 times are blue when I get them back.  "Really? Again?"  I say each time.  "All you have to do is separate the jeans.  That's all, not tough, and I paid $2 for you to wash them separately.  I want my two dollars!"

3) Pro: There are tons of sports teams, social events, museums, landmarks, bands, etc.  Con: You want to do all of them all the time.  It's exhausting.  I was invited to an Oscars' party last night but after this weekend of playing with friends and my free writer's workshop I stayed for about 30 minutes then left.  And I don't even have that many friends that live here.  I would be a mess if I was a socialite (why are you laughing?).

4) Pro: You never have to drive anywhere.  There are the subway trains, buses, and taxis.  Con: You do not control these modes of transportation.  The subways can be so packed that just looking at the platform can put me in a claustrophobia panic attack.  The bus is inconsistent and you can wait upwards of 20 minutes when it would take you 15 minutes to walk.  And taxis?  Holy Jabeeb.  You have no idea what you are getting for a driver.  He could be the road rage maniac, the right-foot-brake/left-foot-gas-guy, the "I have no idea where I'm going guy", or the "I know where I'm going but I'm gonna take you the long way" guy.  It costs $3 just to get into the cab but I have jumped out of cabs because the guy was a having roid rage/made me wanna vomit/gave me whiplash/thought he was going to take me home and hack me into pieces.

5) Pro: There are about 4 million men to date in Manhattan alone, never mind the boroughs.  Con:  There are 4 million women for the men to date in Manhattan alone.  Therefore it is like speed dating on crack cocaine.  It's like taking tickets at a deli counter.  I now understand the genius of Seinfeld's dating hang-ups.  You can have them because there will always be more people to date.  No chemistry?  Next.  Weird left eye?  Next.  One giant hand?  Next.  Makes this joke on first date: "Know what the best part about kids is?...Making them."  Ummm NEXT. 

6) Pro: There are always people around.  Con: There are always people around.  Pro: Neighbors watch out for each other and I know a good number of people on my block.  I feel a lot safer in the city than I thought I would, especially living at street level.  Con: We all live very, very close to one another.  At midnight the guy above me rolls around in his rolly chair, doing god knows what, while Sally-the-slam-pig gets railed to my right.  I could at any point get cornered by upstairs Irene who wants me to help her in her crusade to bring down our building's management.  "Yes Irene I complained and they fixed it. No I don't feel the need to call 311 because like I said, it's fixed.  I'm sorry your hot water is inconsistent. Ok really, I gotta go. Yup. Yup. Yup. Ok. Ok. Ok. Bye."  Sweet god lord in heaven, let a sistah alone. 

7) Pro: This is the most expensive city in the US.  Why pro?  Because more people would live here if it was less expensive.  There are plenty of people here with more moving in all the time.  Con: I am one of the douches paying the high rent.  Granted I got my apartment at the right time and pay $1275/month,  (Taking about rent $$$ in NYC is like talking about the weather) it's still $1275/month.  But would I want to be paying $1275/month, as a single girl in the burbs, for a house?  No.  And I'm not knocking those that do, it's just not for me, right now. 

8) Pro: Central Park is an oasis out of the noise, stink, and filth of the city.  There are always races and events happening.  Looking for solitude?  You can find a quiet little niche in there somewhere.  Con: Nada.  There is no con to the park.  So when #s 1-7 drive me to consider leaving, I simply walk in the park and remember why I am here.

**I decided to stop ripping off photographers on the internet and take my own pics to post.  So from here on out you will only see my own photo skills (or lack there of).