Jenna and The City

My Best Friend’s Wedding: Something borrowed / Something blue

2011-05-25T12:33:00.017-04:00

So, you should know, I’ve been in weddings before:

First, it was my cousin Steve’s as a flower girl (where I endured a boat ride from ceremony to reception and learned exactly how bridesmaids are supposed to act and dance semi-inappropriately).
Then I was in my cousin Annie’s wedding, this time as a bridesmaid. At this wedding I learned that even the under-aged bridesmaids can knock back a few at the reception. Score.
Lastly, I was my sister’s Maid of Honor. It was at her reception I learned that one can never be too prepared for their toast, and when your mind draws an inevitable unprepared blank, just cry (people find it endearing).

Anyway, this past weekend was a wedding first for me: My first ‘Friend’ wedding! At this wedding I witnessed, as a bridesmaid Aimee Sprenger, in the blink of an eye, become Aimee Heider. Le sigh.

Friend weddings are a whole different ball game. A friend bridesmaid is expected to bring lots of non-family attributes to the wedding party. A friend bridesmaid must be especially sure to bring the following to the reception’s head table:

Dance moves: When that DJ begins coaxing guests on the dance floor, you lead, others will follow.

Look pretty: Not just for the camera. But for all the little girls that are obviously looking up to the bridesmaids (see Steve’s wedding notes).

Goldilocks of Drunkness: Definitely need that fun buzz in order to charge the dance floor, but no one wants to see your Spanx. Trust.

Compliments, compliments: Tell the bride she looks beautiful but not in the baby talk kinda way. Obviously this was an easy one for me (see below picture).

Groomsmen rule: Get in good with the groomsmen early on. This way, when they make a quick run to the bar, they make sure you’re taken care of. It's just good sense.

Secrets: Don’t tell the bride anything she doesn’t need to know. Especially that her white wedding dress attachable straps got red lip-gloss on them before the ceremony. Lips sealed (like the lip-gloss cap should have been).

Most of all: Enjoy it! It was such an amazing experience to see one of my best friends get married and I had so much fun being a bridesmaid. Congratulations to Aimee & Gavin Heider!
Next up: Styna & Stef (see below) and Beck & Tommy (see the below, below).

Sick in the City.

2011-02-03T16:56:00.007-05:00

Today I find myself sick, real sick. And having lived on my own for the past 5 years I’ve decided, it's still terrible not to have my mom take care of me. She used to fix me that noodle soup, play with my hair, let me watch trashy TV and then would make me a bed wherever I wanted for my frequent (and required) catnaps. I used to say to myself: Hey self, being sick aint so bad.

And it was true. I used to live like a sick queen.

But that all changed the first time I was sick in college where there were no moms in sight, I was forced to take care of myself. The only beacon of hope was the Chico State Student Health Center, god bless it, and all the meds they flippantly prescribed. Fast forward a few years and cut to me, ill in the hills of San Francisco. No mom anywhere to be found. No over prescribing RN from the Student Health Center. It was the pits.

So, one would imagine that being sick 3,000 miles from my mom's TLC would be a real nightmare...Right? Turns out, not entirely.

Enter Tom Faller (boyfriend extraordinaire), every NYC cabbie and anonymous deliverymen numbers 1, 2 and 3. You see, between all of them, they pretty much have all of my sickness needs covered. Breakdown below.

Tom: Tommy provides the adequate amounts of babying, hand sanitizer and love.
NYC cabbies: I love ‘em! They don't make me walk or drive myself ANYWHERE! It's so great. Pharmacy? They'll take me there. Work? They can go there, too! A few blocks away to the store? They go there too (only, they get a little annoyed when you only go a few blocks).
The glorious deliverymen of New York City: They can bring me my easily digestible foods, ice cream desserts and a smile.

It takes a village, right?

A Tale of Two Cities: A Love Story.

2010-12-14T15:27:00.014-05:00

My friend Melissa Levick is a lot of things: bravely blonde, USC Alum, hilarious, unapologetic, an NYU grad student, a traveling volunteer, Beyonce enthusiast, uber stylish, honest, wearer of tutus and advice giver to me. On the surface, it would appear that Ms. Levick (pictured above obviously) and I don’t have much in common (I mean, I much prefer Jay-Z, I continue to enrich my brunette roots and I don’t even know the dance to Single Ladies). But, we do have New York City, San Francisco and New York City (in that order) in common.

You see, Melissa and I both moved from California, to Manhattan, to San Francisco and back to Manhattan respectively, although she’s a few months ahead of me and had a trip to Africa in-between. Our experiences in each city (happiness vs. unhappiness) remain somewhat parallel.

So, naturally, I look to her for advice, a lot.

“Revolution: 360 degrees: all the way around. Return. Circles. Cycles. Seasons. It is the story of winter and of spring, too. For as Zora Neale Hurston insists: There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” - Kelly Diels

Anyway, Melissa had the above Kelly Diels quote on her blog a few weeks ago, seemingly perfectly timed with the second biggest decision of my adult life (thus far, I’m only 26 after all). Should I stay in San Francisco or take a chance and give New York another shot?

In taking a page from my tutu wearing friend’s book, I decided to (re) pack up my life and (re) move to the Big Apple. That’s right. It’s time for me to turn my world upside down until its right side up again.

Only 360 degrees to go and I get to leave the year of questions and San Francisco and jump into a year of answers and New York City.

So Jenna, what will be different about this move to New York City? It’s a good question, and I’m glad you asked. Below are a few points (a thought for each month I lived in San Francisco to be specific) on how I plan to make this cross-country trek worthwhile.

New York Part Deux’s Differences and Details:
1. I’ll have a boyfriend – Leaving (most) Carrie Bradshaw lifestyle references in 2009, where she belongs. Sub point: I’ll have more family on the East Coast this go-round: Barrett’s, Newman’s and Faller’s oh my.
2. New job – This was a tough one for me, but to start over, I had to really START over and it’s exciting. Sub point: Brace yourselves; I’ll be working for Tabasco, my spicy tolerance will be sky-high, and my dad and I have one more thing in common other than our preference in ostentatious eyewear.
3. I’ll be living by myself – Like all grown ups need to do eventually, right? Sub point: This new living situation means visitors will be more welcomed than ever. That’s you.
4. Happy Jetting – I have a JetBlue credit card and TrueBlue membership…Hello impromptu trips to California courtesy of air miles.
5. Make new friends, but keep the old – I have such an amazing group of friends in the city and I can’t wait to paint the town red with them. I’m also hoping to have my hometown friends keep me company; I believe my indoor pool, rooftop deck and doorman building will make all the difference here.
6. Broadway – Oh how I want to love thee. Ash and I made a pact to hold weekly date nights and see a show on a monthly basis. Bam. We just became more super sophisticated.
7. iChatting – I plan on implementing a Skype schedule so I can maintain my ‘best auntie ever’ status with my favorite nieces and nephew.
8. Fit, in the city – And I’m serious this time. Running in sub-zero conditions? Bring it. Sub point: If you can’t find me, I’m likely frozen somewhere on Jackie O’s reservoir, send help and a warm blanket.
9. Homesickness – Who am I kidding, I’ll be just as homesick as before. But I’m going to work on keeping in touch with my Californian counterparts more consistently. My family and friends are the hardest thing to leave behind.

My goodbye West Coast, hello East Coast smile (And those are Sof and Fab's 'we'll miss you so much' smiles).

New York vs. California: Camping Edition

2010-09-27T23:21:00.014-04:00

About 3 years ago five friends started a fabulous tradition: In the wake of a traumatic separation induced by college graduation, we began summering in Tahoe. Yes, yes it is as glamorous as it sounds.

Subsequent moves (jobs, credentials, the Peace Corps, grad schooling, growing up, etc.) made this tradition more and more difficult to execute as time went on: I had moved to New York then San Francisco, Becky to Sacramento, Aimee eventually landed in Washington, Nicole headed to grad school then to Vacaville and our Styna went to Kazakhstan.

Anyway, this year we continued the annual Tahoe-fest (sans a few key members of the fab five) and extended the invite to a few new people from all walks of life and even people that ARE NOT from the great state of California (Styna is rolling over in her Kazakh burlap sack).

One of those wildcard invites was Thomas Faller, my boyfriend and lifetime New Yorker, who had no doubt traveled the farthest to join our prestigious campfire circle. Tom was able to teach us wilderness people a few of his city slicker ways, which were both entertaining and appreciated. Examples below:

When camping with a New Yorker:

Booze is important: Real important. Arguably more important than food. We’re talking beer, champagne, vodka and their respective accoutrements (green olives, orange juice, sprite, shakers, whathaveyou). +1 NY
Tent instructions are optional: When there are more than one college degrees working on something the instructions only slow down the process. -1 NY
Showers are unnecessary: As long as you have a hat. (WVU has never been so represented in Tahoe before.) + 1 WVU

NY v. CA camping priorities can also be seen in our chosen reading materials, packing processes and beverage choices.

NY brought Freakonomics while CA brought US Weekly.+1 NY
NY brings a black Samsonite rolling luggage, CA brings duffels and recycled Trader Joe bags. + 1 CA
While CA prefers hot coca in the morning, NY leans toward hot totties and bloody marys. + 1 CA, + 1 NY

While we missed two members of the original crew, all the newbies managed to make it another lovely weekend with friends on the West Lake (best lake) and I think we can safely admit that all are welcome on our Tahoe trips, now we’re like the UN of camping.

Also, for those of you (me) keeping score:
NY: 2
CA: 2
WVU: 1

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far From the (Trendy) Tree.

2010-09-03T17:49:00.007-04:00

I’ve been back in San Francisco for 6 months now, and, so far the most rewarding aspect of my triumphant return has been facial recognition from my nieces and nephew.

I’m no longer the ‘abstract aunt.’ The aunt recognized only in last year’s family pictures or my senior high school portrait from 2002 (which, was a damn good picture, although I have changed slightly since).

Anyway, now I’m Auntie Bo: A real life tangible person. And more importantly I’m now real enough to be impersonated by my niece Averie (luckily the 9 month old isn’t turning me into a characterture quite yet, give him time).

Now, it’s no secret that I like to accessorize an outfit with a good belt. This is a fashion statement that my dear friend, Ashley Barrett, taught me years ago and it was a lesson in personal style that was encouraged by street fashion in NYC’s East Village. And now, this rule of belt has officially been passed unto my dear niece (future fashionista).

Cinch you in, create a waste, hourglass you up, match your boots, Summer, Winter AND Fall, you name it. Belts can make (or break) an outfit (snap in Z-formation). Averie is fortunate to have learned this valuable lesson in fashion at such a tender age (she also has an affinity for my Marc Jacobs mouse flats, bless her heart).

Here she is, posing with a belt she found in her play box, prancing around the house saying that she looks like Auntie Bo (my cup runneth over).

If imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, I think being an aunt just became fashionable. God help her if she picks up on any of my other fashion traits. I’m not sure the other preschoolers would appreciate her in a 1960’s vintage turquoise necklace, cowboy boots or embracing the overall mismatching of patterns themes I’m known for.

Me and Ashley - The birth of 'the belt.'

That time in your life when all of your friends are getting engaged.

2010-06-14T20:21:00.013-04:00

Everyone says these things come in waves. First Kayla gets married, she has kids and everything. Next thing I know, Ang is months from marriage. Then Austin finally sets a date.

And now: Styna is engaged, my most liberal hippy friend. How did this happen? She’s been serving the Peace Corps for the past two years in Kazakhstan for god sakes. And no, she didn’t get engaged to a local mountain man that wears fur for underwear and eats animals one can only describe as a SNIPE. She got engaged to an American, non-yeti, fabulous, un-fur undies wearing American man.

This is, if you couldn’t tell, my way of congratulating my dear friend, Christina Baldarelli, on her engagement to Steffen Merten!

Stef: you are a lucky, non-yeti man, and I know the two of you will be so happy together. That said, I’ve compiled a few thoughts (ground rules, suggestions, guidelines whatever you want to call them) on your impending union:

Tahoe: We’ll still need a few days every year for a girls Tahoe trip. Please also plan for another separate trip where boys will be allowed, these trips are decidedly boozier, so be sure to budget for lots-o-beer. Sidenote: We’ll be using the family cabin every so often, clearly. (I call the Bed, Bath and Beyond room!)
Baldarelli: Christina must in some way keep her kick-ass last name intact. Whether it be on an old Pi Phi jersey or written on my heart. It’s just too good to die so young.
Eyebrow sessions: We’ve gone TWO long years without your fiance tweezing our eyebrows with her quick-hand and sharp eye. Upon return, please set aside some QT for our brows. The world thanks you in advance.
Personalized Bobbleheads: I’d like them to be woven in to all important events in your life together moving forward (i.e. births, new job celebrations, wedding, etc).

That’s all for now. Although, I would like to warn that when Christina wears white dresses, things can get a little crazy* so the wedding should be fun.

Mazel friends!

*Citing the last time she wore a white dress: My 22nd birthday, Tres margaritas, booze bus, Riley’s dance floor, Irish goodbyes, garage window breaking and entering, bathroom sleeping and all around fun.

Three reasons why Suze Orman is my hero.

2010-05-18T13:24:00.007-04:00

In the months leading up to my move, people asked me why (oh, god, why?) I was moving to San Francisco and leaving New York. I had a few well-thought out, sensible and family-oriented reasons in my back pocket. Reasons that, to me, should have satisfied my biggest critics…I mean, who can argue with:

I was healthier in California and I’d like to get back to my running, more organic (less boozy) self.
My niece and nephew didn’t recognize me outside of being able to point out Jenna-esque gaudy accessories in department stores.
I wasn’t planning on living in New York City forever.

To the naked eye, the above life observations should have been more than enough, right? They weren’t. People were unsatisfied, disappointed and generally not supportive, until I pulled out the last reason. The reason of all reasons; the reason that no twenty-something with champagne taste can possibly argue with:

I’m broke, San Francisco is cheaper and I’m planning on locking it up (financially speaking).

This final reason was met with knowing nods, understanding eyebrow raises and the sympathizing extended blink.

So, it’s time to put my money where my mouth is and start living by the laws of Orman. Because Suze is to shoppers what Donald Trump is to real estate agents: The blueprint of success. Suze is to over-spenders what Perez Hilton is to Lindsey Lohan: The mirror you’ve been avoiding (for good reason LiLo).

That’s why I love you, Suze.

So, as I glance over to my new IKEA chair at my new Marc Jacobs purse carelessly strewn over the back, I’ve decided to get Suze Serious. Make this move good for something and, dare I say, make Suze proud?

Three reasons why S.O. is my hero:
1. She loves jackets and blazers.
2. Oprah is her homeboy.
3. Bitch knows how to budget.

Oh god, am I gonna have to change the header?

2010-04-27T11:38:00.006-04:00

I know what you’re thinking: Jenna, you don’t live in New York City anymore, you signed up for USPS to forward your mail to San Francisco, you bought adult-ish furniture (including that fabulous little Pottery Barn monogrammed velvet throw pillow), you got a 415 cell number, you’re already saying ‘hella’ with the best of ‘em and you have a MUNI pass for god sakes…time to update your blog, you non-New Yorker you.

All valid points (but kinda judgey, shame on you).

So here I am, laying in bed, in my 1902 Victorian flat (with all the San Francisco charm a girl could ask for: hardwood floors, French doors, bay windows, the sassy gay upstairs neighbors and a backyard) thinking to myself: There’s a very real chance that I’m in denial about this whole move thing. Update my Facebook network? Hands down will have to remain NYC (really ups my street cred), and what’s to come of my beloved blog?

I guess I’ll update the name of the site accordingly, when the time is right. Just give me a minute to let the dust settle on my marble fireplace that’s in my oversized bedroom before – I’d hate to do anything rash.

Until then here are some new working titles I’ve been tossing around which I've included below. I've also created a handy dandy poll over there ---> where you can vote.

Title (which stays the same for at least 10 years, I bought the URL people):
Jenna and the City

Possible Subtitles:
…By the bay
Let’s hope I end up better off than Stephanie Tanner
Fog City Shiner
Pacific Heights & Lows
The Perfect Stranger
Life Continues on the West Coast
A Manifesto of my Destiny

Top 5 Most Romantic Dates in the past 18 Months. Hint: They’re all with Ashley.

2010-04-07T13:21:00.005-04:00

Valentine’s Day 2009, Boston: We stayed at the Park Plaza Hotel (room service? Don’t mind if we do), bought matching cubic zirconia earrings, walked on a frozen pond (Ashley fell through, no big deal), brunched at Cheer’s and shared a clam chowder at Anthony’s. Oh and, who could forget that time we were mistaken for a nice lesbian couple celebrating V-Day together.
Saturday nights watching indie movies at the Angelika Theater: These nights were decidedly more classy than that time we snuck champagne into the regular movie theater, less classy because of all the popcorn and those Dibs you can’t eat before they start melting.
The night we dined like kings! Or mermaids, whatever: What will two combined gift certificates to Blue Water Grill in NYC get you? All the seafood, wine and gossip you can stand. Our table was overflowing with oodles of crab legs, lobster claws and mussel shells, also our cups runneth over a little bit.
A perfectly tasteful evening that got real hood, real quick: After a quiet evening watching the Knicks get killed. After not one but TWO foot long hot dogs (yes, with nacho cheese. No, I don’t want to talk about it). After a quick pit-stop at Fat Cat for PBR and ping pong. We hopped in a cab to call it a night, after all, it was only Wednesday. The cabbie tries to pull a fast one on us; he says no credit cards (only Ashley already paid via visa). Anyway, we got into a screaming fight with said cab driver, names were called and since he followed us, we were forced to go to the Blind Pig for refuge. We stayed until 4:30am, you know, until the coast was clear. That cabbie messed with the WRONG girls.
Midnight songwriting sessions: Because when you’re in a committed relationship, as Ashley and I are, it’s not always the big events that are noteworthy. Sometimes just sitting on the floor of our 2nd Avenue apartment (in a room no bigger than our work cubicles) and writing songs is pretty darn romantic too. And if it weren’t for Ash’s rhyming dictionary, we may still not know what rhymes with cement.

*Authors note: Ashley and I were worried that working together, living together, traveling together, eating together, partying together and couching together would get wearing and that, eventually, our honeymoon phase would end. It totally didn’t. Ipso facto, on Saturday we have our ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ date (sigh): Saturday Night Live this weekend. Yeah, we’re also planning on going to a fancy restaurant pre-SNL and then drinks at the Pig after.

Dear New York: It’s not you, it’s me.

2010-03-31T14:58:00.009-04:00

Dearest Manhattan,

After months of fair-weather affections, a few too many situations that could be described as sexual harassment (how many is too many?), humid heat that almost choked me to death that one time, impossible sub-zero mornings, a constant state of cab rides full of motion sickness, forced subway rides and ridiculously overpriced everythings, I’ve decided to fulfill my personal manifest destiny.

That’s right New York, I’m breaking up with you. And despite the aforementioned issues (that, let’s face it, are not getting any better any time soon) I think you should know it’s not you, it’s me.

Over the past 15 months you’ve taken me on many-a-Central Park picnics, glorious afternoon strolls, we’ve built snowmen together and THE SHOPPING, oh god the shopping. I’ve loved almost all the restaurants we’ve been to and you know, I’ll always have a soft-spot in my heart for The Garden (from Britney Spears, to Phish, to Jay-z: from the Rodeo, to the Knicks and Rangers’ games; I loved them all).

Thanks for all the rainy afternoons perusing the MoMA, Whitney, et al. and thanks for not judging me for not really ‘getting’ all modern art and wanting to spend the majority of my time with the most cliché artists. I’ve appreciated you most whilst hosting my family and friends (Mom, Dad, Meg, Matt, Aims, Sofia and Becky) ever the effortless entertainer, you keep things classy, but not too classy, which is amusing.

For all of the delicious drinks we’ve shared; a special toast. It was with you that first fell in love with vodka and martini olives, and for this, I’m forever indebted. I could always count on you for the newest secret bar, the latest in tableside keg technology and the best Bloody Marys in the tri-state area. You always know how to keep the party going, what a double edged sword that was, eh? (And, if I may advise, in your next relationship, don’t rely on booze to make you beautiful, you’re pretty fabulous without the beer goggles too.)

Our last official date will be April 10th, meet me at 30 Rock, we’ll watch a taping of Saturday Night Live together. We’ll laugh, like we always do. It will be a once in a lifetime experience and I couldn’t think of someone I’d rather spend it with.

You’ll do your best to wine and dine me, making it nearly impossible to part ways without tears at the end of the night. I know you hate it when I cry, so don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. San Francisco is no you, and ya know what? It never will be. But I left my heart in San Francisco and I never really got it back. So, all personal feelings aside, wish me luck? I sure could use your support on this one, ‘ole NYC.

I’ll be back with you soon, verily so. Cold turkey has never really been my thing, and you know that, you always have.

Love, Jenna

P.S. Enclosed are some of my favorite pictures of us, ain't no denying, we looked good together NY.

An evening at the Lincoln Theater. Why? I’m glad you asked, because South Pacific isn’t going to watch itself.

2010-02-19T22:39:00.032-05:00

Actual conversation: (Cue the orchestra: Playing the show’s most famous score – Some Enchanted Evening.) Ashley (leans over to whisper): Some Enchanted Evening! Me (misunderstanding what Ashley just whispered): Yeah, it really is some enchanting evening, Ash. Ashley: Wait, what? I was talking about the name of the song…what were YOU talking about?

Now clearly, I can’t afford to out-right attend such upper-class-theatrical events without a bit of cultural sponsorship. Where do I find such edifying progressive investors? I’m glad you asked. Cue my parent’s grand entrée.

So far, endowments have consisted of but are not limited to:

The American Folk Art Museum
Opening night of The Little Mermaid
MoMA
A trip to the Whitney
August in Osage County
Eric Clapton (I'm hoping for a concert cultural reimbursement on this one, I mean, Slowhands IS a living legend after all.)

And the latest installment: South Pacific at Lincoln Center via NY’s Young Patron’s Association. (Sidenote, apparently my patronage of above arts qualified me to become a member of New York’s Young Patrons Association, holla!)

Anyway, due to our newfound patron(ship), post show Ash and I were invited to the cast after-party. Where we were able to hobnob with the show’s stars – Only we didn’t because we were starving and our cocktails weren’t going to drink themselves, am I right?

How Doppler Radar and Social Networks killed the Snow Day: A Californian’s Working Thesis.

2010-02-11T12:01:00.013-05:00

Fun fact: A school year is generally 9 full months, or 270 days.

Funner fact: In my 16ish years of attending school, I recall it being canceled ONCE.

That’s 144 months at 5 days per week; we’re looking at roughly 2,880 days, people. Only ONE day out of thousands of school days canceled. On 9/11, we were in school. When a prisoner escaped from CCD, where was I? I was on a playground playing tetherball with Sofia (or rather beating Sofia) without a care in the world, you know, with a prisoner on the loose. That day Beelard Drive flooded so terrifically that people were boating down the street – this sucker was holding down a desk, learning.

You can imagine my excitement when I move to the East Coast. Snow days have FINALLY become a reality (16 years later). I bought the heinous sleeping bag goose-down J. Crew jacket, a sensible knit beanie (even though I’m really not a hat person) and those regrettable mountain-man socks. (Don’t worry, I didn’t purchase any unfortunate, albeit practical, fingerless gloves. Style: Win.)

Anyway, when this blizzard was announced via Doppler radar, Internet, news, tweets, Facebook stati and eventually water cooler gossip, I was a bit upset that this wasn’t the morning-of cancellation I’d always dreamt of. Although, I’m flexible, I was still ready to seize my overdue snow day. But NO.

All the flurry of information did was warn city officials, overcrowd Trader Joe’s and give a heads-up to businesses. This forewarning lent ‘the man’ plenty of time to get their ducks in a row, shovels handy, salt sprinkled and snowmobiles gassed up. Thanks a lot, modern communication vehicles.

Work was still on. Oh, and all the NY schools were closed. Salt, meet wound.

Whatever, joke’s on those kids because our boss bought us pizza and beer for lunch. (What’d mom serve you? Grilled cheese and milk? Maybe 7Up? Losers.)

Bonus: We totally got to go outside and build an awesome snowman, not to mention the snowball fight. Booya.

Bonus to the bonus: There’s still time for another snow day. All I have to do is install some kind of citywide information firewall and we should be good to go.

Title: New York I love you, please don’t change a thing. Subtitle: I left my heart in San Francisco.

2010-01-28T11:34:00.029-05:00

(What I woke up to this morning, no big deal.)

While on a mini-sabbatical in Northern California for the holidays, I realized that I missed New York dearly. In fact, I missed it so much that I decided to write a blog about it.

Top 7 things I missed:

1. Delivery services – Be it bagels, FroYo, laundry, pizza, sushi or a 6-pack; I missed it all.

2. Business hours – I prefer a city that never sleeps; it seems to work better with my internal clock.

3. A real winter – No offense San Francisco, but there were still leaves on your palm trees.

4. Walking everywhere – Turns out, I no longer budget for fuel expenses, the money that was spent on gas came directly (and regrettably) out of my ‘fun shopping’ budget.

5. Overly aggressive men – Almost four weeks in Cali and I don’t think I was publicly propositioned for sex at all. One guy stopped me to tell me that I was his “dream woman,” but let’s be honest, I could get that in Kansas City.

6. The Brooklyn Brewery. SIX beers for $20 is nothing to scoff at.

7. The MTA – BART just doesn’t cut it. Who’s the genius that thought upholstered seats were a good idea on public transportation? Not a New Yorker, that’s for sure.

(Boston Sam, San Diego Philip, Ashley Lynn and Jenna in the BK-izzle.)

(San Francisco. Sigh.)

As for my extended-stay in California, I still totally love it. And while I love Jay-Z, Empire State of Mind will never be as cool as Hotel California but Biggie always trumps 2Pac, ALWAYS (big ups to Brooklyn). As a matter of fact, I loved being back in the Golden State so much that I decided to write a rebuttal blog about it.

Top 7 reasons why I still heart CA:

1. Moderate temperature – Wearing ballet flats in the middle of December without looking like a complete jackass is literally a dream come true.

2. Work – Actually taking a lunch EVERY day and leaving by 6pm? Yes, please.

3. THREE WORDS: Lady GaGa concert.

4. NYE – Way to offer the three F’s: Fireworks, friends and free drinks. You did me proud San Francisco.

5. Mexican food – I love it very much. Let’s also take a minute to appreciate the fresh produce that makes the salsa and guacamole oh-so-delicious.

6. Location, location, location – Really appreciate you housing all of my favorite people within 100 square miles. This makes visits home both convenient and fuel-savvy. Special shout out for no one living in LA this year, there’s only so much a New Yorker can do in those flatlands.

7. Hella – I love being able to say it and not have a stuffy New Englander raise a hella bushy eyebrow at me.

(Ringing in Twenty 10.)

The Harlem Free-Arters

2009-12-07T17:33:00.012-05:00

This past weekend, my roomie Laurel and I volunteered with Free Arts NYC, which provides under-served children with a unique combination of educational arts and one-on-one mentoring. Our Harlem ‘Winter Wonderland’ Saturday consisted of holiday puppets, wreathe decorating, model magic winter-scapes and gingerbread houses. Another way to describe each art project would be a progression of messiness: a little messy, pretty messy, ridiculously messy and then deliciously messy (thanks to the gingerbread frosting).

Talk about holiday spirit. There were more than 80 twenty-somethings in an elementary school gym at 10 AM on a cold, snowy Saturday in Manhattan. We were each paired with a ‘buddy’ for the day and ages ranged from 6 to 13 – I got a sweet, energetic, creative and a surprisingly fast runner: Jaylen. Laurel got a sweet, energetic and very amusing: Danny.

While gingerbread house making:

Jaylen: Are you an art teacher or something?

Me: Nope, I’m just your art-buddy for the day.

Jaylen: Well, you should be! (My heart melts.) Where’s the boss of this thing? I’m going to tell her to hire you.

Needless to say, my buddy and I bonded over our mutual affinity for glitter, holiday cheer, sassy remarks and Hershey Kisses.

Thanksgiving (which I previously canceled, then un-canceled and have now re-canceled).

2009-11-24T22:15:00.032-05:00

I know...It's hard to follow all the American holiday's I revoke, but please try to keep up.

In the spirit of the season (bah humbug), I thought I’d make a list of the things and people I’m especially thankful for this year. I'd be lying if I said this didn't feel like a Thanksgiving Day version of Stockholm Syndrome. Anyway.

I’m thankful for THE FAM.

My mom, who is so kind, gentle and loving. She teaches me how to be a lady.
My dad, the man with the plan, who is always so supportive and lets me act like a little kid.
Matthew, who despite his decidedly unattractive choice in facial hair is still the most fun, generous, doting big brother in the world.
The prettiest girl in California, my sister Megan, who always surprises me with her grace and charm.

Also, special shout-out for bringing Rob, Mak, Averie and baby Evan into the family. Good work.

My Aunts and Uncles that send me love and cards. Whether it’s through Facebook, e-mail or good ‘ole snail mail – I love it all.
My cousins – Who laugh at my jokes and make me more funny by association.

For Michelle’s blog that makes me smile every day.
For Annie and Chris' baby on the way.

And for the one and only Noni and Papa – Enough said.

I’m thankful to have the best friends a girl could wish for.

Ashley for working day and night to make me the best New Yorker I can be.
Aimee, Becky, Styna, Nicole, Sofia and Ang. You should go in the family section.
The one person that can always calm me down: Tyler.
And for my New York heart & souls: Bryn, Alli, Jax, Laurel, Cat, Brian, Cole, Melissa, Jason and Trevor. Oh, and everyone that was on the Golf Pub Crawl, holla!

I’m thankful for New York City – For keeping me interested, enlightened and excited to live here.

Thanks for housing all the people I’ve met along the way (I like some more than others).
Central Park ponds, Sheep’s Meadow and over-sized balloons tied on kid’s wrists.
My favorite lesser-known landmarks: The Manhattan Bridge and the Chrysler Building.
The Staten Island Ferry and its $3 tall cans of beer.
Thanks for the fireflies that were in Stuyvesant Park that one time.
Mid-intersection benches in the UWS and sunny fall days.
The East River Running Path.
Artichoke Pizza and Mister Softee.
And I’m going to regret this, but thanks for the Subway; its underground catacombs are fast and mostly tolerable.

I’m thankful for my job.

Access NY. How lucky am I to have a job in New York City, during a recession that I actually love? Pretty GD lucky.
Access SF, for leaving the door open for me to come home whenever I want.

I'm thankful for materialistic things too: shall we?

My Marc Jacobs mouse flats. Thanks for the smiles.
My lucky iPod. You're pretty in pink, and I love you for it.
The new grey cashmere sweater that I'm wearing.
The new Nike running shoes from a friend at Self Magazine.
My It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia poster that looks like art.
And my window AC. Hands down: Best purchase of 2009.

Clearly, I’m leaving more than a few people and things off here, but I love you and I’m quite thankful for you too.

Happy Thanksgiving! Smooches - jenna

The Pilgrims and the Indian (Summer)

2009-11-10T02:26:00.013-05:00

In a surprising twist, New York City came back from a particularly chilly October and decided to make November all San-Francisco-Indian-Summer on us. This presented me with a rare opportunity to cross a few items off my Manhattan bucket list, which, against all reason, continues to grow despite my most aggressive efforts. This weekend I put the proverbial check mark next to a few goodies.

First – Open and close a tab (the latter seems to be where I usually get into trouble) at the West Village’s Galway Hooker Pub, for obvious reasons. CHECK.

This was awesome because, unfortunately, I think it is the closest I’ll ever be to any combination of the following scenarios SLASH lifestyle choices:

Heiress to a swarthy pub chain that boasts a flagship location in the heart of, ahem, Murray Hill.
A hooker.
Being the most sensible, sober and (dare I say?) sophisticated Irish girl in the bar.
A hooker that misspelled either her own last name OR the name of her pub.
Owning and/or renting any type of real estate north of Wall Street and south of Hell's Kitchen.

Second – Pack a real grown-up picnic and schlep it up to Central Park via public transportation. CHECK. (Bonus: Make successful subway transfer, don’t get lost and don’t start sweating profusely. CHECK. CHECK. UNCHECK. So close!)

The picnic included seasonally appropriate items such as:

Pears, apples and persimmons.
Champagne and pomegranate juice for-a-mixin.
Brie and a Parisian Baguette (Because this affair wasn’t elitist enough.)
Latest issue of New York Magazine.
And the Pièce de résistance? Dan, Ashley and Sam.

Third: Sit on a mid-crosswalk bench for an extended length of time. Ideally, the bench-sit would include a periodical of sorts and last longer than a rest from the exhaustive walk halfway across the street but shorter than the average hobo’s bench nap. CHECK.

The below conversation took place the following Monday:

Tim: So, how was your weekend?

Me: The usual. Although, on Sunday, Dan and I did finish the New York Daily News' crossword puzzle whilst sitting on one of those mid-intersection benches on the Upper West Side. (Somewhat awkward pause.) Which has been on my New York to-do list for quite some time.

Tim: Really? In that case, congratulations! You’re officially a 75-year-old man. (A noticeably more awkward pause.) Albeit, a hip 75-year-old man.

ln other news, I've decided to cancel Thanksgiving since I can't go home and I'd encourage you to do the same. Solidarity people. Think about it.

Shower the People You Love With Love

2009-10-13T02:19:00.018-04:00

I have this friend, Becky, and she has this way of living, by narrating events in real time or cherishing the moment while still in the moment. And I make a lot of fun of her for it, I mean A LOT. Well Becky visited me a few weeks ago and we did a bunch of mental picture taking, timeouts to make memories and cherishing moments. And I’d smile and play along.

Becky is long gone, and with her went all memory making while making the memory, or so I thought..

The other day, my oh-so-Jerz-Yankee loving-Giants rooting friend Dan and I decided to take an Upper West Side stroll and see what we could get into. A walk along an art fair on Central Park West lead to John Lennon’s Imagine Circle and finally to my favorite pond in The Park.

We were pleasantly surprised to find a barefoot man with a mic, an amp and a guitar serenading a hill of passerby’s and a small crowd that formed in the grass. He was playing Simon & Garfunkel, The Grateful Dead and Eric Clapton or, as I like to call it, the ‘Soundtrack to My Childhood’ playlist on my iPod.

As I channeled my inner acoustic hippy, as only a girl with an Uncle Dave can do, a wedding party walked across the sidewalk that separated the crowd from entertainer. Not even rare for a Saturday in Central Park. But he stopped mid Peter, Paul & Mary to talk to the newlyweds.

Barefoot singer: Congratulations! How long have you two been married?

Bride: About 30 minutes.

Barefoot singer: Wow, so pictures here then reception later?

Groom: Yep, that’s the plan.

Barefoot singer: Well, I sure would love it if you had your first dance as man and wife right here, can I sing you a song?

He then ponders out loud if he should sing an Elvis or a James Taylor song, and some lunatic (me) yells out, “James Taylor!” So he starts to sing ‘Shower the People’ and the now-married couple begins to dance.

Then the wedding party joined in the dance. Then little girls began to dance with their dads. Then couples began spontaneously standing up from their blankets and dancing on the hill. Then the rowboats on the pond rowed nearer.

That’s when I crossed over. I was clearly cherishing the moment while still in the moment. Taking mental pictures. Being thankful that I blurted out ‘James Taylor’ because this wouldn’t be nearly as meaningful to me if it were an Elvis song. Deep breaths. Smiling with my eyes closed. It was magical. As you can see, I also took a real picture.

(Me to Dan: Hey, you're at a better angle, can you take a picture? And try not to get the American bandanna in there.) Clearly a picture FAIL. Way to go Danno.

Sidenote: Try not to get used to ‘sensitive Jenna.’ In fact, I would recommend you really enjoy this now, maybe take a mental picture and remember how warm it feels. Cause this is about as rare as ‘serious Jenna.’ Holla!

NY Mag’s Patented Questionnaire

2009-10-01T11:57:00.011-04:00

On my pseudo-one year anniversary in New York City I thought the best way to pay homage to this day was to answer New York Magazine’s Patented Questionnaire.

What did you say? How very New Yorker of me? I know. Enjoy!

Name: Jenna Marie Michele Galloway
Age: 25
Neighborhood: East Village
Occupation: PR Account Exec

Who's your favorite New Yorker, living or dead, real or fictional? Ashley Lynn Barrett – Real and alive.

What's the best meal you've eaten in New York? The first time I went to Black Iron Burger. The mushroom, bleu cheese and sautéed onion burger was to D-I-E for.

In one sentence, what do you actually do all day in your job? Advertising masked as journalism.

Would you still live here on a $35,000 salary? No.

What's the last thing you saw on Broadway? Britney Spears? Just kidding, The Little Mermaid.

Do you give money to panhandlers? Rarely. If they’re on the street, they have no rent. I need all the money I can get.

What's your drink? Magners on ice, Black & Tan and Vodka soda but I’d give them all up for a ‘lil Patron.

How often do you prepare your own meals? Once a week, on a good week.

What's your favorite medication? Laughter and 800 milligrams of ibuprofen.

What's hanging above your sofa? I much prefer the word couch to sofa, but whatever. African art hung by my South African roommate.

How much is too much to spend on a haircut? $200. But something you look at every day is not something to skimp on.

When's bedtime? Long after most of my West Coast friends are deep in their REM cycle.

Which do you prefer, the old Times Square or the new Times Square? I only know the new. So I prefer the old, because I really hate the new, naturally.

What do you think of Donald Trump? I don’t.

What do you hate most about living in New York? The fresh air or lack thereof and that my family isn’t here.

Who is your mortal enemy? Models.

When's the last time you drove a car? August in California.

How has the Wall Street crash affected you? Lowered NYC rents so I can actually afford to live here without rats and roaches as my roommates.

Times, Post, or Daily News? The Post. Don’t judge. You know you like the weekly Meet Market.

Where do you go to be alone? I answer your question with a question: Who comes to New York to be alone?

What makes someone a New Yorker? Knowing how to get from point A to point B via public transit from anywhere in the city off the top of their head. They’ve participated in some sort of Zog Sport. They’ve dated someone from Jersey and it didn’t work out (long distance relationships never do).

September 11, 2009

2009-09-14T16:24:00.011-04:00

I was lucky enough to go down to Ground Zero on September 11, 2009. It was an unseasonably cold and rainy September night, which seemed fitting for both my mood and mood in the city that day. I've been to the site many times before but could never bring myself to take pictures. However, I brought my camera this trip because I wanted to be able to look back on the 8th anniversary of the attacks and remember how it felt to be here, as a New Yorker, and remember what a tangibly somber day it was.

It was the most surreal experience for the daughter and sister of firemen.

There were lots of firemen dressed in their color guard blues. It was a handsome sea of solemn men, talking to each other, talking to visitors, smiling, nodding, shaking hands and taking quiet moments for themselves in-between. They were all gathered in Fire Company 10’s garage which is located across the street from what was the Twin Towers.

There was a man playing Amazing Grace on the bag pipes about every 15 minutes. I overheard that he was there all day, for the day's many services. He played about 5 times while I was there and I promise you, that song never gets old.

As I walked the long way back to the subway – I passed a fire woman. She was also in her freshly pressed blues. She had a bouquet of flowers that was quite cumbersome but looked small in her hands. Her badge clearly read Engine No. 10 – FDNY, although she was curiously far from the gathering of her peers at the station a block away. She was standing behind the closed up World Trade Center subway stop near Fulton Street and in front St. Paul's 200 year old Graveyard. She was staring into the vast hole of Ground Zero, that’s since only been filled with flood lights, cranes and jackhammers. She was crying, by herself – We had those two things in common at that very moment. I don’t know what she was thinking or how she was feeling, but I sat down near her and smiled. I wanted her to know that I saw her and that I wanted to support her, this was the best way I knew how.

I sat there and thought about September 11, 8 years ago. I can remember my mom waking me up at 7:30 am. The first tower had already been hit and we saw the second tower go down live. I remember sitting in my car, in the parking lot of my high school when I heard about the Pentagon. I wondered what was next. I was worried about the Golden Gate Bridge and thought about the millions of ways a Bay Area attack could easily destroy my family. At school we were all glued to the TV, in disbelief. I was due to go to New York the next month for my senior student government trip. Instead of our trip, we donated the money to the students of New York’s Stuyvesant High School, where many kids my age had lost their parents in the attacks.

I now live 3 blocks from Stuy High and smile every time I walk by and remember how brave my dad and brother (and all firemen) are every day.

Nothing but a Miracle, Rewind

2009-08-25T00:49:00.012-04:00

There have been two events in the past few weeks that have solicited a: “This better get a blog post” from Ash.

First, the first: Last week, feeling ever-the-New-Yorkers, Ash and I went to see a relatively unknown singer, Diane Birch. The venue, Le Poisson Rouge, was unassuming, intimate and hip with a moderately priced bar (Ash learned that when feeding me culture, cocktails are key).

The crowd was the Goldilocks of hipster: Not so hipster that my factory-distressed Gap boyfriend jeans felt uncomfortable, but hipster enough to make my gaudy religiously ambiguous jewelry feel right at home. The hipster vibe was just right, in other news, I heart Greenwich Village.

Diane Birch, was seriously amazing. She’s a clever mix between Carole King, Joni Mitchell and, well Diane Birch. We arrived with no expectations other than to have a few drinks and listen to some sweet music. It was as if Diane knew that we weren’t quite fans yet and did everything in her power to convert us. It was a religious concert-going experience. Let’s just say, I would have gladly donned a Diane Birch necklace half way through the show, adding to my already culturally confused religious garb.

Diane introducing a song: “I wrote this song when I was in L.A., it's about the people of L.A. and I call it Fools.” Brilliant. Bam. Fan for life.

We left the concert, feeling like the luckiest girls in all of Manhattan. Our jubilation was immediately tested by a serious East Coast August rain storm; Ash (predictably) took this moment to reiterate that the rainstorm was in fact a terrific summer surprise, so we’re still feeling pretty lucky at this point.

We paused from my newfound appreciation of New York weather to take a rainy picture of a Banksy-ish heart on the sidewalk. To our surprise, the band’s trumpet player ducked over to discuss the concert and subsequently his approval of sidewalk hearts. Um, yeah, we were pretty much on cloud nine from there on out.
Chatting with the trumpet player segued into a delicious 11 p.m. Bleeker Street dinner. Not bad for a Tuesday night.

It’s arguably one of the finest things about living in New York City. We’ll probably never get to see Diane in such an intimate setting like that again (she was on the Today Show and David Letterman later that week). We were luckier then we even knew at the time, even with the several time-outs to comment on just how lucky we were.

Coincidentally, it was the best 15 bucks that I’ve spent in a LONG time.

My buddy and me.

2009-08-06T21:12:00.009-04:00

When living in a hardened city, such as the concrete jungle that is Manhattan, in order to survive a gal needs to adopt and embrace the ultimate buddy system. Enter: Ashley.

Now when I met Ashley on my first day of work, almost exactly 2 years ago, in San Francisco, it never even occurred to me that she would eventually be my roommate in New York City – and consequently my tour guide, direct connection to friends, events, screenings, travels and pretty much my go-to partner in crime.

Our most recent adventure involved a trip to the ever-glorious Jersey City for All Points West music festival. (Side note: Dear New Jersey, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Once again, your state leaves much to be desired along with gaggles of undesirables. Sincerely, Jenna).

Also, summer in NYC often means rain. And humidity. It’s unpleasant and an unfortunate weather reality for a Northern California girl. The days leading up to APW were no exception. Torrential downpours ensured our concert experience was as Woodstock-ey as humanly possible. But this slowed no one down. Liberty Park was buzzing with some of my favorite bands and most of my favorite New Yorkers: Ashley, Jax, Alli, Mike and Cole.

After letting our hair down, kicking our shoes off (literally) and getting our 21 and up stamps – We were ready for some good tunes and some serious mud. MGMT, The Black Keys, Silversun Pickups, Mogwai, Elbow, Lykke Li AND a little band called Coldplay (don’t know if you’re familiar).

The shows were amazing as was the company, views of the city and ice cold brews, standard on all accounts.

In no particular order...

2009-06-18T20:15:00.000-04:00

I can’t believe that JULY is almost here (that's 6 months in NYC for those of you keeping score at home). Arguably my all-time favorite month or at least in the top 3.

I’ve included some pictures below and, as the title states, they are in no particular order. I’ve been busy exploring the city and enjoying the warm weather. And no, thanks for asking, I am not enjoying the humidity. Fortunately, the humidity has kept to a minimum and like all other New Yorkers: I just embrace it.

Highlights:

Last weekend Sheena and Linzie (Bostonians by way of Vacaville) stayed with me and hilarity ensued.
Ash's (dare I say 'our') friend Chelsea is now THE Little Mermaid in Disney’s Broadway show. NBD.
Ash threw a cupcake and champagne party to celebrate summer.
The broski is coming to NYC next weekend!
I’ll be in Boston (Happy BeeDay America!) for the 4th of July.

AND THEN….wait for it…wait for it: I’m home! Feel free to breathe an over-exaggerated sigh of relief. I haven’t been home since March and am ready to be in California (this is when I breathe my sigh of relief).

I am SO sad that I wont be home for Father’s Day…Happy Father’s Day Dad! I’ll get you something uber New Yorker and bring it home with me!

Fat Baby in the Lower East Side with the girls.

What humidity does to a girl.

Sugar Sweet Sunshine cupcakes and champagne party!

Cupcakes and champagne party at our apartment.

Oh, that? Just the Empire State Building. NBD.

The roomies.

Me, Jase and Nikki in The Little Mermaid's dressing room!

Chelsea's debut as Ariel on Broadway!

Jaxy J and JennaG.

Me and Ash LOVE Sugar Sweet Sunshine!

The BEST bodgea flowers in the East Village.

Linzie and She come to NYC!

She and Me in Central Park.

Bodega flowers on the walk home.

Karaoke with the girls!

Not coming home in June [also, the extension of a virtual hanky]

2009-05-11T17:06:00.000-04:00

Me and Philip Felix. (Ashley's friend from SB)

Just a couple of enthusiastic Staten Island Cops.

My feet at the most fabulous jazz club.

Bryn, me and Jax. Lovely ladies.

MY (beautiful) ROOMATES.

I am sad to report that I’m not able to come home in June (absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?)

Looks like I will be home Wednesday, July 15th – Sunday, July 27th. These 12 days will hopefully be comprised of a trip to Chico, annual college trip to Tahoe, family Olympics in Donner and some QT with some Vacaville peeps.

It will be busy, yes. But I can’t wait.

In preparation for the assumed sleep deprivation that will come along with trying to see everyone during my short time in Cali, I’ve begun a tough regimen of 5 a.m. weekend nights. The training will continue, verily so, and many of you will receive late night phone calls and texts to prove my commitment.

Moreover, Ashley and I have signed up for the New York City Half Marathon. Yes, I vaguely remember saying that I love my toenails too much to sign up for another one also. But, you know, I’m very forgetful. Ash and I have enlisted an army of 20-something New Yorkers to run it with us – which makes me think: There will be many-a-post-run-brunches in my future.

Me + NYC = FOUR Months

2009-04-29T23:53:00.001-04:00

Whelp.

It’s been Four months since I moved to Manhattan’s East Village (or Union Square, depending on who you ask). My lovely friends have taken on the daunting task of assimilating me to The Big Apple - and they’ve done a fabulous job. Proof pudding included below:

I can now navigate the N, Q, R, Q, the L and the 4, 5, 6 Subway lines. I’ve mastered the Bus (only the lines that run on 2^nd Ave and 14^th street) and always have a few bucks on a Metro Card, just in case. I put the Street in front of the Ave when giving directions to cabbies. I brunch from noon to midnight, sometimes a few times a day. I’ve been to a Yankees game and a Knicks game. I had Easter in Brooklyn with a barrage of amazing friends. I ran a 5K through the Lincoln Tunnel (two Boroughs, one day, no big deal).

Below are some pictures from the past four months.

SMOOCHES - Jenna

Showing Sofia and Brandon Times Square.

Ashley and me at the Yankee's Game.

My Skeeball debut.

My Birthday dinner at Oyster Bar!

Jake and Jenna run the Lincoln Tunnel.

Easter Brunch with the finest New Yorkers I know.

Annej and Aifos do NYC.

MSG Knicks Game.

The Lucy & Ethel Effect.

2009-04-07T10:59:00.001-04:00

When you work together, live together, travel together, eat together and drink together - Things are bound to get comical.

New York Comic Con: Where dreams come true (and subcultures are at their best)

2009-03-18T21:26:00.003-04:00

A few weeks ago I had the pleasure of working a booth at New York’s Comic Con which was, among other things, AWESOME.

Let me preface the event with this: My dad once told me that when he’s driving the fire truck and a little kid waves at him, he always returns the wave with the same amount of excitement and enthusiasm as the kid originally waved to him.

I took this policy and applied it to NYCC, raising the steaks considerably. I matched everyone’s intensity as well as I could. If they were stoked out of their mind about the newest installment of Star Trek dolls; then so was I. If they couldn’t stop raving about the green screen ‘be your own spiderman’ display; then neither could I. When they were star-struck by the guy who played the first Chewbacca…well, I couldn’t even feign that one…but I thought about it.

The saying “if you cant beat ‘em join ‘em” comes to mind. Anyway.

Aside from the unspoken no eye contact with the opposite sex rule (that no one told me about) the people of Comic Con are very pleasant to be around. It kind of felt like an old college alumni reunion; only with all nerds.

So here’s the breakdown of NYCC:
1 “Were you the one dressed up like Zelda yesterday?”
17 Free comic/video game t-shirts
1 Marriage proposal (My boss, Thu, politely declined)
38 Business cards
29 Hours spent at the convention (I started going by Jenna Jacob Javits)
0 Eye contact
2 “Will you be here next year?”

My Noni and me.

2009-03-16T17:49:00.000-04:00

Now, I’d like to think that I had several defining, noteworthy moments with my Noni during the 25 years that I’ve known her. Although she only retold one story quietly from the hospital three days before she passed and it seemed to be her favorite:

The family was packing up from yet another one of my brother’s baseball games – I was being the opposite of helpful at the tender age of 5 and trying to catch praying mantises with my Papa – you see, he liked to keep them as pets, naturally. Anyway, it came time to establish who was riding with whom. I quickly and obviously volunteered to ride with my Noni and Papa. There were a few well thought-out reasons behind this decisive decision:

a. When riding with Noni and Papa there was always the chance of an ice-cream stop
b. They had a sweet Buick that usually came with the promise of Hawaiian music
c. Noni at all times smelled divine and her purse held copious mints, gum and treats
d. Leaving with Noni and Papa meant less helping and better chance of an early departure from said ball field
e. I wasn’t about to leave my new praying mantis unsupervised

So I climbed into the Buick, happily listened to the Hawaiian music, tucked the bug safely away and had my way with an entire container of orange tic tacs.

On this particular drive, we discussed the issues of the world (or rather my kindergarten class), Matt’s teammate Chris Cooper (who was soooo cute) and the fact that I seriously hearted orange tic tacs (who doesn’t?).

As we slowly rounded the corner onto Saybrook Ave. I quickly (and, may I say, quite astutely) noticed that my parents somehow beat us home! This is impossible: could my Papa actually be that slow of a driver? Did my dad speed despite his ‘safety first’ façade? With these very questions (I’m sure) racing through my mind I blurted out “HOLY SHIT Noni and Papa! Mom and dad beat us home!”

I can remember my Noni and Papa first turning to each other in disbelief and then turning to me (their sweet and innocent 5 year old granddaughter) with very serious looks on their faces – I was waiting for my mantis privileges to be taken away citing unfit motherdom – but instead of anger they erupted into laughter. Big belly laughs in fact, that seemed to last for minutes, the laughs were only interrupted long enough to blame one another for teaching me such lewd sailor language.

I’ve been using the wonderful phrase ever since. You know – making my Noni proud and shit.

Boston. Valentine’s Day. Tourists touring. Room service. (She said while motioning her arm back toward the Boston Park Plaza Hotel.)

2009-02-18T12:22:00.000-05:00

So these pictures are all mixed up but you get the idea. Ashley and I had a ridiculously entertaining time in Boston.

Here’s the breakdown of Boston 2009:

There was a series of unfortunate events (Ash lost her cell phone in the cab and iPod on the bus). The unfortunate was immediately followed by a series of happy Bostonian surprises: An upgrade at the hotel, breezing into the famous Abe & Louie’s on Valentine’s Day without a reservation (where we offended many), the Italian North End and Lucia's, walking on a frozen pond (Ashley falling through the frozen pond), the Freedom Trail, running into a friend at McGreevy’s (I didn’t even know that I had any friends in Boston!), Quincy Market, Tourist Trolley (and all that implies) and Pier 4 where we stumbled into one of Boston’s most famous restaurants, Anthony’s Seafood.

My Room, my fire escape and my view.

2009-02-06T22:08:00.001-05:00

Because Brunch Makes Everything Better.

2009-02-05T14:50:00.000-05:00

After a particularly rough night, my friend Bari (please see picture above) text me a little after 3 AM with: "We'll do brunch, brunch makes everything better." And do you know what, she was right.

Moreover, Bari’s boyfriend, Trevor, an admitted ‘foodie’ and brunching enthusiast has recently decided to document his brunch highs and lows and share them with the world (i.e. http://iheartbrunch.com/). Inspired by his blogging prowess, I decided to write a review of my most recent brunch.

Bon Appetit.

“The I (thought it was okay and at least there was good conversation) brunch entry”

MJ Armstrong. 19th and 1st Ave (http://www.mjarmstrongs.com/)

I can attest MJ Armstrong’s a great place to play eff the dealer until 3 AM. And it is also, I’ve heard, a great place to do brunch.

I have this group of friends that go there every Sunday: rain or shine, sleet or snow (you get the idea). Now I’ve never been so lucky as to make this tradition a part of my weekend ritual but I can appreciate the concept. Last Sunday, I attended said practice and was excited to see what all the hype was about (I mean, I had heard stories of mimosa’s clanking, Bloody Mary’s arriving in pairs, French toast made of hotdog buns and Nandi: the worlds most patient waitress). My expectations were, to say the least, that I was going to heart this brunch.

Let’s be honest – the joint smelled like a foot. And I know that I need to cut MJs a little slack because it is, after all, a bar. So I will not go into explicit detail describing the hangover scented restaurant. (Sidenote: Carpet may not be the smartest choice for flooring in a bar; I do strongly suggest a tile, hardwood or even a terrazzo of sorts.) (Normal Street Bar, Chico, did we learn no lessons here?)

Anyway. I ordered an egg-white omelet with bacon, cheddar and caramelized onions, which were all cooked to perfection and would have been a delicious addition to my egg white mixture had the eggs been cooked completely. They were not. Under the plentiful layer of melted cheddar was a pool of snot-like egg just begging to keep multiplying bacteria cells. Once I got past the collection of undercooked whites, I found a delicious brunch awaiting my fork. The toast was toasty, the hash browns were hashed and the bacon was crispy (and piled high and deep, which I think every girl would welcome). This place has sides and toppings down. So, the, you know, ‘meat’ of the meal wasn’t cooked all the way, what’s a Sunday brunch without a game of Russian roulette for the threat of food poisoning?

I am glad to say that the mimosa’s were a generous dose of champagne accompanied by a splash of orange juice (which I think was mostly for color). Nandi was delightful. The atmosphere was college-ish and I did appreciate that the TV screen in my direct eye-line was music trivia (I never knew Gloria Estefan had so many number one hits!). Perhaps most importantly, the price was right. It was about 15 buckaroos for this fun filled afternoon and I didn’t even get food poisoning, all that worrying for nothing!

Hearts: 3 out of 5
Price: "Probably the cheapest brunch you'll find in New York City," said Brian Roundy.

Staff: Cheers-tastic
Table stickiness: Moderate
Grease on plate: Pool-ish
Heavy handed bartender: Holla!
Restroom stitch: Yep, it’s a bar

The neighborhood.

2009-01-23T10:01:00.000-05:00

There is this amazing Russian souvenir shop downstairs from my apartment. Ashley and I catch ourselves marveling at the dusty window display on almost a daily basis. The hammer and sickle fur hat, the earrings made of miniature yacht steering wheels and, of course, the authentic Russian apparel.

So I decided to duck in the other day and see what all the hype was about. I was greeted by a Russian man (about 80, give or take) with a thick Russian accent. He wouldn't let me in until I swore that I was of Czechoslovakian decent. Once I did somewhat hesitantly he let me in and I somewhat hesitantly entered. He immediately locked the door behind me with a converted bicycle chain lock that reminded me of something my Czech Papa would have fashioned in the old days.

The Russian AM talk radio was set at an unsettling volume, which he quickly turned down in order to give me, the sole customer, his full attention.

He was very interested in exactly what it was I was looking for. And was not happy that I was there just to browse (and believe you me, browsing in a ‘store’ that has approximately four feet of moving room is no easy task). He then proceeded to try to sell me some old Russian, dare I say, crap, for no-less than $50, but he'll give me a deal since I had such kind Czech eyes.

“This Russian cross, you like it - handmade [the cross clearly wasn't handmade and I could literally see the made in China sticker on the back] it cost me $100, but for you, $65.” “These Russian papier-mâché dolls, I can take no less than $50 and I never do this.”

At this point he took out a full sized carrot and began chomping on it, politely, he offered me a gnaw. I respectfully declined. I mean, I have nothing against carrots, but I do have an issue with European dental care, and the stereotype applied.

Luckily, as he insisted again that I take a bite of his half eaten carrot, we were interrupted by a man who tried to open the door (only to be stopped by the bicycle chain); the man peeked his head in and asked if the store carried any cowboy chaps. An odd request to say the least, especially when the inquiry comes from a 30 something black man and the question is directed at the shop keep of a Russian souvenir shop. Needless to say, they didn’t have the cowboy chaps.

Anyway, I began to explain to the kind man that I couldn’t afford to bring home any of his trinkets, which understandably upset him, as he had invested on the upside of 10 minutes with me and was missing what was sure to be his favorite Russian radio show. He blocked the door in some kind of display of protest. So there we stood, and we stood there for about a minute in silence – when suddenly it seemed that he had come up with a solution to my fiscal excuse: he would give me the Russian cross for free, if I let him kiss me on the cheek.

Now I really liked this Russian cross, and I don’t want you to think that I dismissed the offer flippantly. I cogitated on it for about 30 seconds, and eventually my ethics (and fear of Euro hygiene) got the best of me and I said (with little to no eye contact) no thank you sir.

After his invitation of the trade was declined I took the two steps toward the door, to motion that I was ready to exit the awkward situation. With a defeated look on his face the man leaned over me to unlock the bike chain, and as I turned to say goodbye, would you believe that the old pervert planted one right on my left cheek, a rather slapdash kiss, to be perfectly honest.

So I stood there, on his Russian stoop, stunned by what just happened. And as he began to close the door, he paused: poked his weathered face out from behind the door, and said, “My darling, will you come back next week?” To which, for some reason, I replied, “of course.”

I think, we’re like, dating now. I’m obviously going back next week, perhaps prepared to drop some serious cash on some serious souvenirs and I plan to get my Russian cross for free because I earned it, damnit.

Some more about my neighborhood:
On Gritty Sidewalks, Pampered Feet; Spas and Hucksters Are a Funky Mix on 14th Street

The New York Times: JENNIFER STEINHAUER

“…The future and the past of 14th Street exist together in a curious union of inequality, with newcomers raising the prices for the old, and the old keeping the aesthetic vision of the newcomers gently but firmly arrested.

Sole, the foot spa, rests between Second and Third Avenues, separated from the ancient Russian souvenir shop next door -- its window filled with random earrings and dusty, hand-painted nesting dolls -- by an old wrought-iron gate that stands in stark contrast to Sole's modern orange walls.

Across the street is a check-cashing business and a tarot card reader. One must walk far to the west before chic coffee shops and bistros begin to outnumber Taco Bell and its fast-food siblings….”

New York: Recession Edition

2009-01-07T16:49:00.000-05:00

Skeeball with the boys.

Me and Roundy at the Ace Bar.

Roommate Cat and me on New Years.

Daniella, me, Cat, Ashley, Bryn and Jax on New Years.

One week into living in New York. I’m in the mood to update you through a series of highlights and lowlights (mostly because that’s all I can seem to recall), sparing you the terrible process that is moving cross-country (no-show boxes of clothes, unpacking for days on end, no pillow to rest a weary travelers head upon…you get the idea).

The highlights:
-NYE in Brooklyn: Recession and Great Gatsby themed party: Our pockets may be empty but our hearts are full of love.
-My new roommates! Ashley (the singer), Cat (the about-towner) and Jenna (the original).
-The boys of Stuy Town: Brian, Trevor and Jake. Still fabulous as ever. Still Brewskee Ballers. And, I’m on a trial period of being their beer bitch (which, despite the name, is actually kind of an honor) for game nights (this was a big step for us and the application process was excruciating).
-Finding about a billion little pink and purple hearts of love jammed in my luggage, wallet, purse, coat pockets, books and make up bag.
-Tacking up more than 15 unopened Hallmark cards in my new room and getting to explain this amazing tradition that four roommates in Chico cooked up about five years ago.
-My bedroom window that overlooks the hustle and bustle of 2nd Avenue, with the promise of warmer weather to enjoy the fire escape.
-Spending the most glorious Saturday morning and afternoon wandering the city, sipping hot chocolate and shopping.
-Listening to Ashley strum her guitar as I write this highlight. This apartment, I find, tends to scream New York.

The lowlights:
-Saying goodbye to my wonderful family (although toasting over rosé champagne is the way to do it).
-Bidding adieu to my lovely friends (I will say the tequila and Dirty Shirley’s softened the blow sizably).
-Almost being pick-pocketed on the Subway at 3 AM on New Years (luckily Cat (the about-towner) was there to deter the first criminal of 2009).
-To quote the ever-wise native New Englander Jake Bertanza, “Jenna, Wintry Mix is a term that you should start getting very comfortable with.”
-Still needing to buy ‘security bars’ so I can open my window at night (and learning that with the fire escape comes great responsibility).

Movin' On Up

2008-11-02T22:30:00.000-05:00

To the East Village.

January 2009.

Holler!

(visitors welcome ♥)

Worst. Day. Ever. (Hyperbole? Yes. An over exaggeration: No.)

2008-10-28T10:05:00.000-04:00

Today is my last day in the Big Apple, and as imagined, I'm completely bummed. My fabulous friends took me out on the town last night – beers and burgers at McSorely's (the oldest bar in the city, they offer two beers: light and dark – and when you order one you get two), then we rolled some 40s at Ace Bar (where skeeball is a way of life) and, finally, we ended our evening at a secret bar where you enter through a phone booth and they fry the mayonnaise on their gourmet hotdogs (for those of you that are counting yes, that's two dinners).

Bahhston.

2008-10-21T09:03:00.001-04:00

The Drive from NYC to MA: Was really long - but I got to see the seasons most beautiful shades of green, yellow, orange and red from the turnpikes, tours and freeways.

If you ever visit Boston….

Recommended Listening: I'm Shipping Up to Boston by Dropkick Murphys.
Recommended Eating: Mike's Pastry, Upper Crust Pizza and Boston College bratwursts.
Recommended Driving: Um no. But if you must - do it with Jake and Brian, best road trippers ever.
Recommended Watching: Boondock Saints.
Recommended Drinking: Cleary's in Back Bay.
Recommended Accommodations: With the Burke girls of course - Lines to get into bars, what lines?
Recommended Speaking: In hyperbole only - It's the best way to get your point across, ever.
Recommended Touchdown Hoisting: I think the perfect score to be hoisted up has got to be 14. Because let me tell you - after tailgating on the upside of 5 hours - 21 hoists is a bit much.

BTW: BC beat VT

Unsupervised in the City

2008-10-12T21:30:00.000-04:00

As with all good things, nothing lasts forever - Momma Galloway had to go back home on Saturday, so here I am – all alone in the city. Well, not exactly alone…

Since my sublet doesn’t start until the 15th (4 Days), I’m staying with friends: Trevor, Brian and Jake in their NYC apartment. Hilarity ensues.

I was pleasantly surprised when the plans for the MOST glorious New York day included a free ferry ride to Staten Island (not only for the great views of the Brooklyn Bridge and the Statue of Liberty. But mostly for the ferry’s bar: they serve tall cans of beer for $3. So we actually never went to Staten Island, just rode the Ferry back and forth, until we were good and drunk.)

The boat rides were followed with a sushi dinner (at a restaurant that has buy-one get-one-free drink specials every day, all day. So turns out - they’re not that special, just cheap.)

After the numerous Sapporo’s the boys hosted an ‘America Party’ at their house for their former roommate who’s moving to China (luckily I picked up a foam Statue of Liberty crown after a few beers on the ferry, so I was totally prepared.) At the party we played beer pong (because, what’s more American than that?) and only drank Bud Light.

Although I’m seriously bummed that my mom had to leave, I have a feeling that these boys are going to show me a ‘new’ New York, so I got that going for me. And I’m already learning a lot – like for example, when one says: ‘Don’t go all Brian Dawkins on me,’ that means that you need to check your attitude at the door because you’re acting like some hot-headed football player – I’m also completely caught up on ALL-things football/college and professional, Entourage and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia – which is priceless. I also learned that when hanging out with a whole mess of boys it’s probably not a good idea to drink as much as them – seeing as they’re all well over 6’ tall and have adapted to the NYC fast lane lifestyle.

The new pictures are from Central Park, the Museum of Natural History, Wall Street, The Empire State Building, (none of Ground Zero, although I went and it was surreal, pictures just didn’t feel right), the ferry rides and the bars.

This weekend: BOSTON!
Next weekend: Joel visits!
The next weekend: Halloween and home! And I’m still holding out for my dad to come visit me!

xoxo - Jenna

The Subway and the Subdon’t.

2008-10-07T11:06:00.001-04:00

Unlike most New Yorkers – on my first day of work my mom rode the Subway with me so I wouldn’t get lost. Mildly embarrassed and my NY street cred losing credibility by the minute – I told my mom that I could get home from work all by myself. Which, as it turns out, was half way true.

Cut to me, on my way home on the D Express, feeling really good about myself, having just made a seamless transfer at the 34th Street Station. As the train pulled up to 59th, I thought to myself, self: maybe you should just get off here and walk the 10 blocks – after all, it’s such a lovely night. Then myself talked my self into being the lazy self that I know so well and decided to wait for the 72nd Street stop (UWS, holla!).

As soon as the doors closed and I heard the train operator say that the next stop was Harlem 125th Street, I knew that I was in trouble. After all, I'd never been above 93rd Street before, and that was just for the margaritas.

Luckily, I met two really nice guys: Jarelle and Derrick. You see Derrick’s dad was murdered in the 90’s over a heroin/coke deal gone bad, and do you know that it took the cops 10 days to find his dead father?! Yep, the neighbors had to complain about the smell. Anyway, his dad was sipping on champagne when he was shot – and he had more than 10Gs in his pocket! He went out like a pimp, at least, that’s what Derrick said and I took his word for it.

So Jarelle, both of his parents are still alive, but he says that I look just like his ex-girlfriend, Yvette. Now, Yvette had a temper on her – but she was a hot little Hispanic thing so he didn’t mind too much. Vette worked at the Garden and she looked just like me. Derrick agreed. But they could tell that I didn’t have a temper like Yvette. They said that most girls like me wear iPods on the train, so they don’t have to talk to ‘no one,’ but not me – that’s how they could tell that I didn’t have a temper like Vette. (Note to self: Always bring my GD iPod on the Subway, rookie mistake.)

Turns out – not only did Derrick and Jarelle have ridiculously crazy stories (and a good weed hook-up should I need one) they also give great Subway directions.

I got off at the 125th Street station, hopped onto the B Downtown train and was home in time for a Gray’s Papaya hotdog.

The city that never sleeps, literally.

2008-10-06T05:12:00.000-04:00

After spending two full days traveling across the country, exploring the Upper West Side, running in Central Park, shopping in SoHo, being interviewed by David Letterman's interns and eating my way through it all – you'd think that I'd be able to sleep. Not the case. I'll call it reverse jet-lag.

On the plus side – being up late is really upping my chances for another chat with Styna, so I got that going for me.

Anyway, below are some pics from the first weekend.

Smooches ♥

Our neighborhood...Upper West Side

Packing...

2008-10-01T19:07:00.000-04:00

Actually, not so much packing as 'avoiding packing' by starting a blog. I figured that since MOST of my family members and friends don’t subscribe to the same social networking sites as I do, (which is good because that would be awkward) I figured out a way to keep you all in the loop.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m leaving for Manhattan on Saturday October 4th and will be back on the West Coast (the best coast) on Sunday November 2nd (don’t wait up).

So, on this blog I will upload pictures of my fabulous New Yorker life and various Northeastern weekend adventures. And don’t worry, Momma Galloway will be there to show me the ropes for the first few days…and there may be a surprise appearance from Daddio Galloway…stay tuned.

Now all I have to do is pack for this fabulous life.

Smooches.