Passion-ate About Cupcakes...

My apologies for keeping you loyal readers on baited breath so late into the evening...

It's just that with big interviews, you need to do major studying. It pays off when you learn all the nitty gritty details about a mag, and I'm glad to say that it did today! To celebrate a successful interview, I grabbed a reliable pal and made my way to Bryant Park.

I've mentioned my sweet tooth on the blog before, and I guess most of you have realized my lack of control when it comes to cupcakes after my post on Sweet Revenge. That's why you shouldn't be surprised about what happened next.

Peeking into the tiny (and packed!) Crumbs location in the Grace building, I spotted something I'd never seen before. It wasn't the raspberry cupcake in the corner--I knew those are special for the summer, but being a regular I'd had them many times around this time of year. No, it was something even more exciting--it was yellow with matching sprinkles around its rim and a dollop of something delicious plopped right in the middle.


The sign read: Passion Fruit Pineapple.

What I haven't revealed on this blog is my love for all things passion fruit. The cupcake had my name written on it just like the job I'd interviewed for did. I ate a raspberry cupcake in the park, but my special yellow friend came home with me. All so that I could share it with you.

Craigslist's Redemption

Yesterday we learned that Craigslist can be sketchy, sketchy, sketchy.

Today, we learn that it can also be a gold mine for anyone willing to take a chance!

As I board my trusty Bolt Bus to head back to the city, a 212 number pops up on my cell phone, which rings to the tune of "Sugar Pie Honey Bunch" and makes everyone look up and laugh.

I answer, expecting someone from my temp agency, or perhaps from my freelance workplace, but hear a man's unfamiliar voice instead. He's calling from a big magazine at Hearst. One that fits really well with my interests. Scratch that--it's not a good fit, it's practically perfect.

But I didn't apply to a job there... or did I? It's so hard to keep track. But I would've remembered that one...

And then I remember that somewhat sketchy ad on Craigslist: "Big Hearst magazine looking for editorial assistant"

I'd wondered if it was legit, and why it wasn't on their careers website. I figured it was a scam--too good to be true.

But I was wrong. Behind all the scams and money laundering ads, there are little golden nuggets that are tucked in the depths of Craigslist--and I've just found one.

blAHHgging from bAHHston

I was afraid that coming to Boston would imply little progress on the job hunt. But with little to no movement on the job boards, I don't feel like I'm missing much. On the contrary, with a few applications sent and the first two sections of my copywriting project done, I'm probably being just as productive here as I'd be in New York.

And there have been updates on the job front! Check this out.

After replying to an ad for an assisting position at an Interior Design firm, I get word that I've been "picked as one of our possible candidate to be our Account Receivable Manager." My eyebrows tilt with confusion, but anyone who's willing to give me a shot gets my attention for the span of an email.

I read on:

"Your First Primary task (Collection of Payments)

1. Receive payment from our Customers or Clients.

2. Cash Payment at your Bank or any cashing facilities near you.

3. Deduct 10 % which will be your percentage/pay on Payment processed

4. Forward balance after deduction of percentage/pay to any of the offices you will be contacted to send payment to, you'll have a lot of free time doing another job, because this job is part time, you'll get good income .But this job is very challenging and you should understand it. We are considering your application because you satisfy our requirements and we are sure you will be an earnest assistant till we start running our branch office in your state.

5. You must respond to email and phone calls when you get the payment for proper instruction"

Ahh, I see. So money laundering I am qualified for! Good to know. Maybe I'll try the mafia next.

PS. I immediately wrote back saying I wasn't interested. The next day I woke up with pink eye. Does anyone smell a conspiracy theory here?

From The Land of Chowder and Lobster

I've always been too caught up in the glory of New York to let myself escape the city and explore the Northeast. My mistake. But now I have an excuse to frequent Boston, and that excuse takes the shape of a 6'3 ex-rower with a big nose and an adorable smile. Let's not forget his even taller father, whose appetite is about three times the size of mine--and that's saying something! Intent on reliving the good ol' days when he lived in Boston, he took us out to the one and only Legal Sea Foods. The original. Not the Long Island knock-off.


We started with oysters and mussels for the table, though I don't eat oysters (they're too squishy and slimy for my taste). Instead, I ordered a bowl of New England Clam Chowder--the one that's been served at the last three presidential inaugurations, to be exact. Tasty as all the starters were, they were no preparation for what was to come...


That's right. A three-pound lobster.
And to make things better...


A platter of fried seafood. Served atop french fries, just in case your arteries need a little more of a push.

But you want to hear the kicker?

My boyfriend doesn't eat seafood. Oh no, he ordered steak. Please, point and laugh.

Poo Poo Paper

I have a rule where if things are going awry, it's okay to be totally bummed out for one day. But that's all you get. One day to sort through everything that's making you feel craptastic, and then it's done.

That was yesterday.

So how have we progressed today? Easy. By continuing to broaden my options and by remembering that when you've got a pile of poo on your desk, someone else can turn it into paper. And paper just asks for writing. And writing is what I'm looking for!

What, you ask? Oh, right. Some clarification.

I hereby introduce you to Poo Poo Paper, where elephant poo goes to become adorable stationery! Ta-da!





Next week, I'll be blogging from Boston, where I'll be helping the boyfriend move into his new apartment and get settled in for med school. Look out for some extra-special food coverage from good old Beantown on Monday!

The weird gray area in between

Last week, I applied for a job fact-checking a big magazine's special Winter issue. Within an hour I got an enthusiastic reply, and the interview was set for Monday.

Monday came and went, and the interview was the most fun I'd had in a pressure situation. We browsed through racks of dresses, talked about boys, and found each other strikingly familiar...

And then the email came. The usual. "You're fantastic!" and "It was so great to meet you!" and then of course, "we hired someone else."

But then, again, "Do you want to freelance and do some reporting for us?"

It's obvious that I'm doing something right--otherwise they wouldn't try to keep my around. But what on earth am I doing wrong that I'm not getting part-time fact-checking jobs?

I think back to my boyfriend's med school hunt, and remember how he got rejected from schools because he was too good for them. Maybe my experience is beyond fact-checking to certain recruiters? Or am I just finding ways to make myself feel better? I don't know. But I'm fairly sure that the reason I haven't heard back from Sur La Table isn't because I'm not qualified to sell kitchen goods.

The conundrum is this: if you're "too good" to work the lower end part-time/retail jobs, and just a few hairs away from being able to score the entry-level jobs, where do you fall? And what do you do to propel yourself forward if you're stuck in the gray in-between?

Ten Bells and Six Glasses

Last night, a good friend took me out for belated birthday wine. She told me to meet her at Ten Bells, a little wine bar tucked somewhere between Chinatown and the Lower East Side.

I walked up and down Broome St. a few times looking for the elusive 247 Broome, and nothing. My third time around, I noticed a small entry into an old, perfect, oh-so-New-York building.



Once inside, I took a seat with my friend--another friend tending to us from behind the bar. The lighting was nothing more than a warm glow, accentuating the rich textures of the tiles on the ceiling and walls.


Even on a Tuesday, it's fairly full, but the noise level is just low enough to sustain conversation. And every staff member greets you with a kiss on each cheek. There's no denying you're in New York, but everyone here is from France. Except Jose.

Let's put aside the comprehensive selection of organic wine--that's definitely an integral component of the wine bar, but it's not the main thing. Let's put aside the fact that you can get a great glass of wine for just $5. And the fact that the tapas and cheese selection is praised by big chefs around the city. These are all huge draws, but I found something here that I've never found at a bar before: a sense of family.

It's that whole knowing-every-customer-by-first-name thing, and a group of regulars has obviously formed because of it. But even the new faces are treated like old friends--it's the friendliest service I've ever seen at a bar. And let's not lie, when it results in a couple of free glasses of Gruner, I'm especially excited about it.

NYMag, please forgive me for not having a camera last night and deferring to your beautiful pics. Thanks!