Lunch with Danny Meyer and Snooki

Being the "professional" business woman that I am, I recently took clients to a business lunch at a business lunch fav in New York City, Union Square Cafe. I love Danny Meyer and find that he does fancy food in an approachable way, and by approachable I mean that there is more than a bite of food on the plate and it doesn't cost $40 for an entree.

I have dined there many times before, most of the time with a glass of pinot grigio in hand, but this time the clients order iced teas so I appropriately, but begrudgingly, followed suit. After taking down the bread basket and breaking the ice off of the old, "where are you from", "where do you live now" conversations, we dived into my favorite subject matter, the popular television show, The Jersey Shore.

I am not quite sure how it came up, probably after the usual client to Lauren question, "how are you so unseasonably tan?" or I was reminded of the Snookster from the orangey bronzer smudges on my perfectly ironed white napkin. Either way, by the time we started to split the frito misto of cod and perfectly molded meatball in a bath of white bean puree, we were all fist pumping and acting out scenes from the most recent episode.

As we were re-hashing the Sammi "Sweetheart" mean punch to Ron Ron's face when he became "GTL" allies with Jwoww behind her back, our sweet, demure, girl-next-door-looking waitress stopped by for a re-fill on our iced teas. When she overheard the Jersey Shore convo, she nearly dropped her pitcher. I had just finished saying, "can you believe that Sammi hit Ronnnie?" to the group I was dining with, to which our waitress yelled "NO, I totally couldn't believe it!!! OMG!! I love the Jersey Shore!!!!" She had transformed before our eyes. She went from a soft tone, to speaking loudly with a NJ accent (real?), and her posture slumped over a bit, she was talking with her hands A LOT and went from quiet to quite possibly the biggest Jersey Shore fan I have ever met.

She told us her name (will not provide her name so as to protect her privacy and her job), and that she was obsessed with the show. She then went on to tell us that she started dating her boyfriend because he was "DTF" (if you don't know what that stands for, look it up on Urban Dictionary and don't tell anyone I told you). She also said that this was the "best day of her life at work" because we too loved "The Shore" as she did.

Each time she came over to the table, serving us fennel-spiced tuna and Atlantic cod, the posh, low-volume, high-end restaurant that Danny Meyer worked so hard to make just that way became a Jersey Shore-athon. While we sipped on jasmine tea and split the biscotti and cookie platter for dessert, we discussed with our waitress how only Snooki can get away with wearing pink fuzzy slippers everywhere, including to the bar and to work, and that her recent face plant into the sand while intoxicated (and later arrested), was the highlight of season 3 thus far.

I couldn't help but sit in astonishment at the dichotomy that was unfolding. Before today, Danny Meyer and Snooki had nothing in common. But on this day, in Seinfeld's words, worlds collided, and I had lunch at one of the top restaurants in NYC while discussing the tanning and drinking habits of 23 year olds living on a boardwalk.

We asked for our check from our now friend and waitress, who enthusiastically brought it out. Upon looking at our check, which should have been pricey, we realized that she had taken off all 3 of our appetizers, all of our iced-teas, and our desserts and tea. She winked and told us to come back anytime and that she will always hook up her fellow Jersey Shore fans and thanked us for the entertainment. We slipped her a tip to show our appreciation and paid our discounted check, and walked to the door.

Standing alongside of the dark wood bar of Danny Meyer's pride and joy restaurant and NYC iconic culinary gem, I hugged my clients goodbye instead of shaking their hands as I did when we met 2 hours earlier. We had become so much more over our decadent feast at Union Square Cafe, it just seemed like the right way to part. And if I do get the business, I know I have someone else to thank for that aside from my clients. I would thank the waitress that did what only she could do, and probably no one else could ever or will ever accomplish again: She brought Danny Meyer to The Jersey Shore. Thank you.

Stop, Drop and Chug a Glass of Wine...

Fire safety tips from a new wife from experience:

1. When lighting a candle in a room, do not leave it lit when you leave that room. Especially when it is directly underneath a wood cabinet.

2. When you smell smoke, don't ignore it and blame the burning scent on the pothead neighbor. Think about what could be on fire...and do not get distracted by Kendra talking to Hank about getting traded to yet another NFL team. Actually seek out the smell...

3. When you see smoke billowing out from the medicine cabinet, don't just stand there frozen in the hallway with your mouth open saying "OMG, OMG, OMG." Move quickly towards the candle and the flame you see burning a whole into the bottom shelf of the cabinet and BLOW OUT THE CANDLE.

4. Once candle is blown out, feel the cabinet first to see if it is hot. This could mean there are flames inside and you don't want to feed it oxygen. Once you have that thought and realize "I don't give a sh*t how it feels, I am opening the damn thing to see what kind of damage I have done to the apartment," open it but step back. Black smoke in the eye? Not such a good feeling.

5. After gray mass of smoke exits the cabinet, throw an entire bucket of water at the wall/mirror/shelves and soak the entire bathroom excessively for no reason to be sure that the flames are out.

6. Open all windows and the door to the apartment so that New York City's Finest don't get called and find new wife in cozy, pink striped Old Navy Socks and an over sized high school basketball t-shirt.

7. Call husband. Cry to husband. Tell him what happened and that you almost burned down the apartment. Listen to him say "don't worry, I am not mad" instead of asking if you are okay. Get pissed off. Stop crying. Hang up.

8. Throw away all bottles of medicine that have melted in the small blaze, making sure not to tell husband how much you actually threw out since he is quite the saver and would have totaled the price tags on each to see how much this idiot mistake cost us.

9. Walk to the fridge. Open a bottle of prosecco. Pour it. Chug it. Drink it while standing in front of the blackened and charred cabinet and shelf. Think about trying to clean it, but leave it for husband to deal with.

10. Light another vanilla scented candle in the bathroom to cover up the smell of fire.

Good thinking.

The Hobbyless Newlyweds

While in Hawaii on our honeymoon, a local told us of his passion for surfing. We listened and loved hearing the tales of kite surfing from island to island, and fist fights on surf boards in the middle of the ocean for a good wave. It made us realize, aside from a good bottle of wine and an overpriced meal, what are we passionate about? What are our hobbies?

I do enjoy writing, and sometimes the occasional Chelsea Handler book, but I wouldn't describe myself as literary. I like TV, but who doesn't, and lets face it, telling someone you like The Real Housewives of whatever city happens to be on, doesn't really make for a substantial conversation starter.

We thought about our lives and what we do day to day, and it made us realize, we are the hobbyless couple. Maybe that is a common theme in New York City, since there really isn't anything to do here except work, drink, eat and sleep, specially from October through April when it is freezing or raining. But are those hobbies? Does finding the best martini bar in Manhattan qualify as a passion?

What defines a hobby anyway? According to Wikipedia: A hobby is an activity or interest that is undertaken for pleasure or relaxation, typically done during one's leisure time. If that is the case, then here are some of my hobbies:

1. Hot sauce

2. My cat

3. Man v. Food/Adam Richman

4. Jalapenos

5. Bob

6. Target

7. Jeggings

8. Trying to be funny

9. Soy cheese

10. Us Weekly

That is a good start, and I would like to add more (small and ridiculous) passions, but I would love to hear what your passions/hobbies are. Please feel free to give recommendations for things that you love that we should consider taking up, as long as it does not involve mushrooms and/or spiders.

Thank you.

The Good Wife, Me.

It has been just over 2 months since my husband and I got hitched. Most people say nothing changes once you get married, especially if you have been living together pre-marriage. Well I say after the I do, that is not true.

Since my transformation from fried Weiss to au natural Stever, I have stepped up my romantic game. Don't get me wrong, I have always been a fan of the institution of marriage and the idea of eternal commitment. But I became a die-hard fanatic of indefinite love the day I became a "wife."

According to Wikipedia, "A wife is a female partner in a marriage. The rights and obligations of the wife regarding her spouse(s) and others, and her status in the community and in law, varies between cultures and has varied over time." In our culture, and by culture, I mean what goes down at 630 1st Avenue, this means I am responsible for a few things:

1. When I buy new clothes, hide it for as long as possible and then introduce it as "this old thing" when husband asks so as to protect husband's anxiety about my spending problem (or as I like to think of it, my patriotic contribution in getting this economy back on track).

2. If husband says that I drink too much, use a red wine glass instead of a champagne flute for my prosecco so that I make less trips to the fridge for refills, thus making it seem like "less." Further, add a little splash of OJ to the bubbly goodness, after all who can argue the nutritional value of a daily dose of Vitamin C.

3. When husband is waiting for me to finish getting dressed and ready to go out, place small snacks out in front of the TV, i.e. pretzels, chips, any junk we ate as kids and a juice box if available, so that husband is quiet and content with no rushing comments until the whole maintenance process is complete. The more variety of snacks the better, so as to overwhelm the senses with colors and textures, and endless possibilities of flavor combinations.

4. Make husband's coffee in the morning. After brewing the Chock Full o' Nuts that was on sale that week, make it taste sweet and delicious by adding artificial sweetener and vanilla flavored Coffeemate with a sprinkle of cinnamon. NOTE: Make sure that it is truly cinnamon you are using out of the spice cabinet and NOT cayenne pepper. Husband drank two cups with cayenne pepper, complained, sipped again, complained, got sick, threw out the coffee thinking it had gone bad and left for work. I soon thereafter figured out my mistake. He will find out about that on this blog. Great.

5. Let husband vacuum the cat.

We will leave it to those 5 obligations for now, and as I continue my adventures in the wonderful world of wedded bliss, I promise to document all of my moments, good or bad, cinnamon or cayenne, so that I can learn from my own enlightening blog and be a better "good" wife, and so that I can continue to entertain all of my 5 followers. I will not disappoint.

Top Ten Things that Snooki and I Have in Common

1. We both like big boys named Bobby

2. Pickles "is" our thing

3. We both have some of our own hair, and some of somebody else's

4. Before I fist fight, I always take my hoop earrings out

5. I say "wahhhh" whenever I don't get my way

6. SoCo makes us "go crazy"

7. The duck phone is confusing to the both of us

8. "I am not trashy, unless I drink too much."

9. When I get upset, I eat sausage

10. When asked about our race, we use the word "tan"

A New Name, A Little Less Tan

Thanks to my favorite little Italian meatball Snooki, being orange and a little overcooked from the tanner is back in style. The Jersey Shore series has helped sell tanning packages all over the nation, and despite a recent increase in tax on tanning, young adults are getting their bronze on and people are loving it. The irony in this recent pop culture sensation and newly invigorated fake n' bake trend, is that I am no longer Fried Weiss.

I mean this in a profound way that goes beyond the maiden name being dropped. I am no longer too tan, and every single day I struggle with the impulse to use my once unlimited gold package to Hollywood Tan. On Thursdays, when I watch the fist pumping cast of Jersey Shore, I feel pangs of jealousy when they GTL. I only GL now, well G since I use a wash n' fold. But I see the way America looks up to those fried Italianos, and I miss it.

I promised a lot of people, including my boss (who was sick of getting proposals to approve with orange finger prints on them), that I would stop visiting tanning beds when the recent health reports came out. I also promised my husband who became concerned that tanning encouraged my 5-bronzer make-up routine in the morning, which was also becoming a problem for my cat, who started to turn a dusty orange hue from the bedroom carpet. I promised my friends, my co-workers, even my clients, that the Fried Weiss they once knew, was gone and would never return.

LeaveItToStever, the blog, will still have the same old crap on it. Stories about my fat cat, conversations overheard in my office, and a lot of blabbing about nothing that only my friends and/or people who are bored at work would care to read. I may have a new last name, a new blog title, and a new skin tone, but nothing has changed. I am still a little awkward, sometimes funny, but now, with a whole lotta Snooki-envy.

Falling Home

The tenderness of a fall breeze, the way it brushes past my cheek, running its soothing waves of waning life against my body.
The way the air takes my own away in consensual breaths of exhilaration and anticipation.
Oranges burn reds into ambers of light between branches and wrap the afternoon warmth in circles around its bark.
Falling, passing leaves, to the uneven earth in green frenzied fashion, knowing not where to go but what to do.

Aching with life to live and hours mocking to do so, lunging into time without fear, without poise, clumsily cautious but clamoring for something else.
Summer's arms are lowered and the shadow of the sun has cast a new season, when all begins to die, and nature mourns a visceral loss.

I found you amongst stifled buds and tortured late blooming flowers, when the moon seemed to almost catch the sun on its way to sleep.
Through slow moving clouds wishing for precision in their direction, but floating nonetheless as perfectly as they arrive, they leave.
I first saw you amid an evening as brisk as its soul old and wise, and there was a stillness in the way it all stopped, and you moved.

Somewhere between a crescent black sky and the quiet of the gray sidewalk lining my way home with ease and pleasure, the season knew to fall.
And as I turned and felt the breeze once again embrace my resolving being, I knew that because of you, I was home.