23 February 2011


Because Blogger has been a royal pain in my ass for far too long, I've moved to Tumblr. Like a true Williamsburg resident, I suppose.

Read it (now more frequently!) and weep:

16 August 2010

Psychos at Starbucks

This morning I read an article about a woman who got kicked out of an Upper West Side Starbucks after getting into an argument with employees over how to "correctly" order a coffee and a bagel.

Little did I know that I would witness another Starbucks altercation only a few hours later. Crazy how a chain that's been slinging delicious beverages for years still inspires such rage and confusion in people.

I oftentimes head to the Starbucks by my office in the Financial District for a little afternoon pick-me-up. There aren't a lot of people there at 3 or 4 p.m., so I can usually place my order, get my drink and get back to the office in about five minutes.

However, that wasn't the case today. I relayed the story of my Starbucks outing to a friend via chat. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Katherine says:
i got there and there were two foreign dudes in line having trouble ordering
and after much debate
they got a tall coffee frap and a grande coffee frap
then i ordered my thing
then this guy came in after me and ordered a tall hot chocolate
then the guys get their fraps and become ENRAGED
Katherine's Friend says:
Katherine says:
like, they go ballistic
Katherine's Friend says:
Katherine says:
and the barista is like "YES THAT'S WHAT THEY ARE THEY'RE RIGHT HERE"
and they get even more mad! they're like "NO! JUST COFFEE! JUST COFFEE! NO FRAPPUCCINO!"
Katherine's Friend says:
Katherine says:
and the barista's like "um, well, you ordered it wrong, or there was a miscommunication; go back up to the register"
and the dudes picked up handfuls of straws and started THROWING them at the barista
Katherine's Friend says:
omg lol
Katherine says:
and then barista's like "WHAT THE HELL DUDES" and suddenly the manager comes outta nowhere and is like "LEAVE. NOW."
meanwhile, no one has been making my drink, obvi
and then tall hot chocolate comes up to the barista and is like "WHERE IS MY DRINK NIGGA"
and the guy was like, "um, first, don't call me that; second, clearly i haven't made it yet; third, i have to make her drink first" and gestures at me
Katherine's Friend says:
Katherine says:
and tall hot chocolate's all "I WUZ HERE BEFORE SHE WAS" whilst pointing at me
and i was like "no you weren't"
and the barista was like "no, no you definitely weren't"
and tall hot chocolate said (and i kid you not) "DON'T PLAY ME LIKE THAT, HOMIE"
which the barista ignores
and he finishes my drink and puts it in a tray with the two coffee fraps and said "here you go. sorry for the wait."
and i was like "sorry you got assaulted! thanks for the extra drinks!" and i came back to work and gave the fraps to people in the lunchroom.
Katherine's Friend says:
poor barista
but that's awesome FREE FRAPS
Katherine says:
i know! i felt way bad for the dude.
were people that psycho when you worked at starbucks?
Katherine's Friend says:
occasionally. psycho comes in many flavors, though.
Katherine says:
so do delicious frappuccinos.

06 August 2010

Confessions of a Gym Virgin: Part II

This past Monday morning I woke up with feelings of grit and determination and resolve and knew that it was The Day I Would Begin Bettering Myself Through Physical Fitness. So I printed out my one-month gym membership Groupon and assembled a gym bag of sorts — old pajama sweatpants from summer camp that I had since modified into capris, a Pizza Lucé T-shirt, my threadbare sports bra and a pair of running shoes that I had bought on sale with good intentions but had never broken in.

I made it through the work day and headed to the gym directly afterward. As I approached the doors, a tiny knot of apprehension blossomed in my stomach. As I got closer, the anxiety spread; my palms were sweating as I grasped the door handle. "Get a grip, Katherine," I whispered to myself, then blinked hard as if waking from a dream and threw the door open.

I approached the front desk. A short, fair-skinned girl beamed at me. "Hi, welcome to Crunch!" I thought briefly about turning on my heel and leaving without a word, but instead awkwardly responded with "OH HI. Hi. Yes. I have never been here, but here ... is where I want to be. Yes."

She gave me a quizzical look. I silently cursed my ineptitude and continued. "I have a Groupon."

"Oh!" She was smiling again. "Let me get a manager."

Soon, a brusque, overly tanned middle-aged woman was entering my information into a computer. She followed up by giving me a membership card and a half-assed tour of the facilities. I was impressed that there were always classes going on in various studios, plus more treadmills and elliptical machines than I could count. The locker room, though ridiculously crowded, was immaculate, and a lot of the bathroom basics — towels, shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion, hair dryers, mouthwash and even Q-tips — were provided free of charge.

I headed back to the front desk to grab a towel and have the cute fair-skinned girl scan my card. I also bought a lock (rather necessary) and a bottle of water (almost more so). The girl pointed out some clipboards on the desk. "These are sign-up sheets for classes. We put them out half an hour before the classes are scheduled to start."

I glanced at one. "What's 'The Ride'?"

"That's our spin class," she responded. "It's probably the most popular class. We offer it at least once every day of the week."

Stationary bikes, I thought to myself. How hard can that be? Well, probably pretty hard. But I used to bike everywhere. I can do this.

I grabbed a pen and wrote down my name and noted that the class started in 20 minutes. I headed back down to the locker room to change. Suddenly, I became hyper-aware of my surroundings. Everyone around me was lean and muscular, towels draped around their necks in some kind of nonchalant athletic manner, SIGG bottles and VitaminWaters tucked under their arms. Oh god. Where was I?! This wasn't the Minneapolis YWCA. These people weren't lazy schmucks looking to negate their grease intake with a couple of sit-ups. These were Serious Fitness People.

And I was very, very afraid.

04 August 2010

Confessions of a Gym Virgin: Part I

The realization hit me like a pillowcase full of batteries: HOLY SHIT. It's August. August already. Do you know what I did last August? I packed up my downtown Los Angeles loft and hit the road — again — with my boyfriend and kitteh.

We didn't end up in our cramped Williamsburg one-bedroom apartment until the first week of September, but still. It was mega-transition time. And almost a year later, what do I have to show for it?

I'm settled, sure — well, to a point — but I obviously still have some Things to Figure Out. Like what I'm going to do with my life, or at least a direction to take it in. I'm feeling empty when it comes to considering long-term careers or anything creative. Why am I not writing? Art-ing? Something? Why am I in the midst of a creativity famine? I can't even be counted on to update this blog regularly. Sorry, people who clearly don't read this.

I do have some things. The apartment, for one. A full-time job. A handful of nice new friends. An addiction to Belgian wafels from a truck that roams the NYC streets. A new favorite restaurant of all time, conveniently located in my neighborhood. An obsession with Southern soul food, particularly from another neighborhood joint...

Food. Food is my constant. Food is what I love. So what I really have is a new home, a new job, new friends and 10 or so new pounds on my body.

My (not terribly significant, but still noticeable) weight gain didn't all happen after I moved here. It started when I was in the last throes of Minneapolis and continued during my year and some months in LA. I have always loved food and always eaten voraciously, especially when it comes to things that aren't good for me. I love salt, I love fat, I love red meat still oozing with blood. I love things that are breaded and things that are buttered. I love anything prefaced with the word "fried" and anything finished with a nice Béarnaise.

I've always eaten like this. But I am no longer a growing girl. I am in my mid-20s. My metabolism — once the most amazing metabolism on the planet, allowing me to eat all of the foods mentioned above without gaining an ounce — is slowly disappearing. "Fuck you, I'm done with this shit" is something I imagine my metabolism saying.

To sum up: Not only am I unmotivated and uninspired, I am also ... unthin.

So I've decided to do something about it. All of it, hopefully. A sort of revamp of my life. Starting with my body, because that's something I can at least sort of control. And maybe if I start a fitness routine, it will encourage me to get everything else in my life on track.

On Monday, I joined a gym. Gym memberships, like absolutely everything else in New York City, are ridiculously, ludicrously expensive. So when Groupon offered a cheap one-month membership to a fancy fitness chain I'd been eyeing, I leapt on that offer like a jungle cat. The thing that hooked me was that not only was the one-month membership heavily discounted, but if you chose to continue being a member after the trial month, the joiner's fee was $30 rather than an insane $150.

However, just because I am committed to this change in my physical well-being doesn't mean it will be easy, especially since I haven't worked out regularly since I was on the varsity swim team in high school. Exercise, for me, is the few city blocks between subway stops and whatever my destination is: home, work, the grocery store, the bar. Physical activity does not come easy to me at all. It means sweat and pain and sideaches and unquenchable thirst, not the invigorating feeling that fitness junkies claim to get.

So here goes nothing. Here goes everything. Here goes...

02 June 2010

Reason No. 1,257 to Love Lady GaGa

She dresses like the people who interview her.

26 May 2010

Subterranean Birthday Blues

O hai. It was my birthday ... about a month ago. Good lord I suck at blogging.

Actually, I don't. I only "restarted" this blog after my second ridiculous move across the country ... and just as I was getting into the habit of posting regularly, I found employment, and one of my major tasks at work is to blog thrice weekly. So I got a little burnt out on blogging. But now I'm a fucking pro at it. I LIKE writing ... especially about myself. Heh.

Anyway, what? Oh yeah. Birthday. I'm old. Here are the highlights, presented without comment:

25 April 2010

More Thoughts on Cupcakes

Awhile ago, I made some observations and comparisons of "cupcakeries" in New York City. I noted that the world-famous Magnolia was a bit sweet and overrated ... then again, I find most cupcakes sweet and overrated. I'm more of a salty-savory-umami girl, so I'm kinda sad that "Sex and the City" didn't make cheese popcorn stands or steak tips vendors all the rage.

Anyway, last week I tried a few more cupcake places, with surprisingly delicious results.


I like Butter Lane's simple formula — offer cupcakes in three flavors (classic vanilla bean, classic chocolate and banana) and choose your frosting (from a list of several delicious French- and American-style buttercreams). They will then frost your cupcakes before your very eyes.

The French vanilla and chocolate buttercreams were great — less sweet, more meringue-y. I like that a lot. And the American buttercreams came in so many flavors! I chose raspberry (with pieces of actual raspberry) and burnt caramel (pictured above, creatively topped with a few kernels of kettle corn).

I picked up a little postcard that listed all the frosting flavors available — there were several listed on the card that the shop didn't have that day, but that I would absolutely love to try: pistachio, salted chocolate, lemon rosemary.


I'm absolutely flabbergasted after eating ChikaLicious cupcakes. I never thought I could really CRAVE a cupcake, you know? But ChikaLicious was perfect. Absolutely amazing. Like ... I want these all the time now. They are to be served at any future event in my life that could call for baked goods: my birthday, my wedding, my cat's birthday, my cat's wedding, Theodore Roosevelt's birthday, promotions, cat showers, what have you.

The cupcakes. Holy shit. Perfectly sized, perfectly moist. The frosting isn't some terribly sweet buttercream, it's smooth and light and airy and perfect. I want to swim in it. The deluxe cupcakes have a good-sized dollop of filling in them. May I recommend the caramel? Caramel inside, whipped-tasting frosting on top. I think I ate the thing in about three bites, then obsessively licked my fingers and the wrapper. My god.

The s'mores cupcake is positively out of this world. I've had a s'mores cupcake at Crumbs before — an oversized mess of mini marshmallows and unwieldy hunks of chocolate and graham crackers. The ChikaLicious s'mores cupcake was a yellow-brown cake with a hint of cinnamon to it, filled with chocolate frosting and topped with burnt marshmallow. Seriously ... it's a flattened marshmallow (perhaps marshmallow fluff) that was then toasted with a crème brûlée torch. (Both the caramel and s'mores cupcakes are pictured above.) 

That's it. Game over. ChikaLicious wins.