A Running Joke

One of my favourite past-times is running in Central Park. I have the same route, because I know exactly how long it's going to take me from point A. to point B. and I like to be consistent with my running. I run for two reasons: to stay skinny and to relax. Yes, running is relaxing for me. Obviously, not the type of sit-on-a-couch-for-5-hours-watching-T.V. relaxation, but it's an "active relaxation." It's both a physical and mental battle, but at the same time, while I'm listening to music as I run, I daydream, and visualize my goals, and affirmate! Once I start up my heart rate, I hate to stop. It's like a high or a rush that's cut short, and it's frustrating and annoying to have to stop mid-run. Which is why the story that I'm about to tell makes for a good laugh.

I was just starting out my run in the park. It was a most gorgeous day. The sun was proudly blessing us with It's rays. my music was giving me a great boost of energy as I inhaled the smell of freshly cut grass, a scent I have adored since my days at summer camp. Man, I felt GOOD. I was set to go for an hour, and nothing, no nothing could stop me now! (I crack myself up.) Not more than five minutes into my run, a Japanese tourist approached me. You know the type. Porcelain skin caked with pale foundation; Louis Vuitton bag in her clutch; head adorned with a huge sun hat; meticulously planned designer outfit. THAT type of Japanese tourist. She asked in her soft broken English, "Excuse me, Metropolitan Museum?" I replied mid-stride, "You're close but you have to go that way out of the park," and pointed her in the right direction as I continued my run. She either did not understand me, or wanted clearer directions on how to get to The Met, because, not satisfied with my response, she actually started to run with me, in order to keep up and ask more questions. "Oh, LORD. Here we go," I thought.

As this woman, who looked liked she had never broken out in a single sweat bead in her life, attempted to keep up with my pace by running beside me in a sort of comic desperation, I really was torn. On one hand, she seemed perfectly pleasant and could have already been wandering about for hours trying to find The Met, and we were so close to it that I could have walked her out of the park and physically steered her in the correct direction. On the other hand, I was mid-run! Our conversation went back and forth like a tennis match as she continued throw phrases at me like, "Out of park?" and "5th Avenue?" and I hit her back with responses like, "yes, you need to go out of the park THAT way," and "Yes, if you exit the park THAT way, you'll be on 5th Avenue, then you can ASK SOMEONE ELSE."

I wished there and then that I'd had a friend with me. Or a candid camera. SOMETHING to witness this moment that could not have been better scripted by the most talented Sitcom writers. After a mere minute of keeping up the pace, my acquaintance was becoming breathless. I thought that, surely now, she would relent, too tired to continue the effort. Not so. Let me tell you -- getting to that museum must have been this woman's childhood ambition -- because Miss Japanese tourist took stride after stride with me. I must admit, watching her valiant efforts while she struggled in her heels gave me a sick delight. I don't know if that makes me a bad person? The scene and the memory of it are too funny for me to really care.

Out of breath and probably perspiring a little in her designer outfit (and holding onto that sun hat to prevent its falling off), she followed me. And followed me. And followed me. I stopped being torn in two ways as to whether to stop and help her or keep on running (in all honesty, the chances of my interrupting my run were almost non-existent) and began to question this woman's sanity. I could not for the life of me figure out why, in a park where she was surrounded by sunbathers and ice-cream vendors, this woman had chosen the ONE non-static person to ask directions from. I have laughed at the thought ever since. I relayed this story to a friend who surmised, "well, maybe she saw you and thought because you're a bit Asian, you'd speak the same language." Ha. Perhaps. Though I seriously doubt it.

Finally, after a good three minutes or so, my breathless acquaintance either decided that her outfit was not worth ruining or that she could perhaps...oh...I don't know...ask someone who wasn't obviously in the middle of an intense workout. I continued on my merry way, and felt only slightly guilty that I hadn't been more helpful.

I do hope she found The Met. The thing is, had we been the only two people in the park, of course I would have stopped and would probably have walked her to 5th Avenue. But it was a busy day, and she certainly wasn't stuck without someone else to help her. I made my directions as clear as I could, so I hope that she was helped at least somewhat by me. Maybe next time, she'll carry a map.

I don't know what all these tourists in NYC are doing strolling along without maps. I've lived here for over a year, and my map follows me wherever I go. Moral number one: Always carry a map when on holiday. Moral number two: When asking for directions, ask someone who is not in a rush. Moral number 3: Start working out to improve your Fight-Or-Flight capabilities so that when you are lost, if you HAVE to approach a runner, you can most definitely keep up the pace!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Man...Or Caveman?

I'm pissed off. This blog is being written mostly because I need to vent. I am EXTREMELY disappointed and offended by the way some men behave on Match.com. As far as I'm concerned, no one owes anyone anything on that website. If a man takes the time to email me, then I guess it's a nice gesture, but he is also emailing dozens of other women, and so he isn't exactly going out of his way by writing to me.

So, the scenario is, I'm a woman on Match and I receive an email from a man. I check the man out if his profile picture and email strikes my interest. If I am disinterested in what I see, I don't respond to the email. Right?? Simple!! I'm hardly going to write back and say "thanks for the email but I find your profile very off-putting so I'm declining your offer of a date." I just stay silent, and assume that the man will take my silence as a sign that I'm not interested and move on. And most do. BUT. A few -- my blood is boiling just thinking about these select "few" -- DO NOT GET THE HINT.

An idiot who calls himself Masterofallmen -- PUKE -- emailed me, I looked at his profile, and wasn't interested. Two and a half weeks later, he emailed with the subject line saying "Having fun yet?" and wrote in the email, "seriously now Celia, has the cat grabbed your tongue?" OH MY LORD I GOT SO ANGRY. How DARE he??? How rude! How patronizing! What, does he think I spend my time purposely not replying to men that I'm interested in because that's my idea of "having fun?" And asking me if the cat had gotten my tongue -- I'm a lady for goodness sake, you don't speak to a lady like that, especially if you're attempting to court her! Or, maybe I'm severely old-fashioned and this is how men are treating women these days. Well, not THIS woman. I was so mad, it took all my willpower not to email him a series of profanities. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a response.

I received an email from an Indian man. Now, my profile clearly states that I am attracted only to Caucasian men. I am not a racist (I'm a Chinese Jew, for goodness sake), but I cannot help who I am attracted to, and I'm afraid though I love people of all color, I only date white men. So, I didn't even look at this guy's profile. His follow-up email to me said, "I am not sure why you haven't responded. If you have never done this before, I can bet you are a bit apprehensive. I mean getting 50 mails a day from 65 year old men asking for a massage can be a bit scary. Or are you playing hard to get already? haha. Cute. :-) I think that works better once you have met in person! Who is teaching you these tricks?" This guy is even more patronizing than the last!!! "NEVER DONE THIS BEFORE???" I am a pro at Match dating! I know what I want! "PLAYING HARD TO GET ALREADY???" So if I appear disinterested, then of course I'm playing hard to get. This imbecile hasn't even considered that I have not responded because I have absolutely no interest in getting to know him. And, I ask you, what is the crime in that? I have found more and more that men's egos are so inflated that if I show even the smallest bit of doubt in my interest towards them, they get their little male knickers all into a twist and try to manipulate me by attempting to make me feel like a horrible, smaller person.

I can only imagine that men like these would be just awful to date. They'd try and make all my decisions for me, they'd disregard my opinion, they'd only listen to themselves and I'd be left with sore ears from their constant narcissistic conversation.

I am not a bad person. My dearest friends would tell you I'm quite the opposite. I am not a high-maintenance woman. My parents would disagree, but most other people would agree. I am a kick-ass girlfriend. My past boyfriends would assure you of that. But, though I try to always be extremely open-minded and give everyone the benefit of the doubt, once I am spoken to or treated with utter disrespect, my claws come out, and man do I want to scratch someone's eyes out right now. Preferably that Indian dude's. My pulse is racing from rage even as I type. The sad thing is, I am completely losing my faith in men, and I really don't want to. But the more I'm on the receiving end of sexual jeers, manipulative words, and selfish actions, the more I roll my eyes when a man so much as looks at me. They all piss me off! And I don't want to end up rolling my eyes at someone whose intentions are good.

Just to digress a little before ending this rant -- I don't think it's in my imagination that men are becoming ruder. I was in the elevator the other day, and a man who was standing in the back pushed his way out before giving the people in the front a chance to get out. The one woman left in the elevator with me looked at me in shock and said "did you see that? Men are getting ruder and ruder these days!" I notice it when a man gets on the subway before letting me on first, and when a man walks through a door and doesn't hold it open for me, and in ridiculous Match.com emails! Please, let this not spark that old debate about how if women want to be treated equally, we can't expect special treatment, etc etc. Yes, women have our share of flaws, too. But, just as I think it's nice when a lady acts with a good female etiquette in public, it's nice when a man is chivalrous. Or at least respectful to other human beings!

I think I've said all I can on the subject. Really, I could talk about this for days (and have). So, I'll put it to rest now and thank my lucky stars that I'm a decent woman who always treats others with respect, and if I encounter people who are not that way inclined, then it's just not my battle to fight. Which is a bit of a shame, cause she's feisty when she's riled!!!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

The Day She Met 5 Scottish Lads

It was just a normal day at Pure Dark, on a quaint corner of Bleecker Street, in the classy part of the West Village. No celebrity shoppers on this particular day, just your average Japanese tourist and dolled up young mother with her baby carriage. Into the store burst 5 burly Scottish lads. How out of place they seemed, with their massive beer bellies, and their gruff Scot accents. They walked straight up to me and demanded, "ARE YE CEEEEEEEELIA?" I couldn't figure out if I was bemused or nervous. "......yes......." I replied. "WE'VE BEEN SENT HERE BY BROOOOOOOKE." Brook! A gorgeous Scottish lass I went to dance college with! Oh! "SHE SAID WE WERE TO COME AND FIND YEEEEEEE. SHE WORKS IN THE POOOOOOB" Oh my. The pooooooob. The pub! Ah, it became clear. Here in my gourmet chocolate shop, looking as if they had just landed from another planet, were 5 Scottish lads, who live in Perth, Scotland (one of them was even wearing a shirt that said PERTH). Every Sunday, they must go to the pub (as all men with massive beer bellies do) and my old friend Brooke serves them pints of lager and cider while they sit there and "get pissed," as the Brits say. Well, fancy that. Talk about worlds colliding.

I offered them some free chocolate. Most people are delighted when that happens. The lads just blinked. "NAH." They said. "Oh, okay. Well, can I get you some water?" I asked. "NAH." "Okay....would you like anything else?" "WHERE IS THE NEAREST PLACE TO GET A PINT???" one of them finally asked in exasperation. I howled with laughter. They looked absolutely desperate. I knew what they were looking for -- a good old English pub that served a nice cold pint of ale. I couldn't think of anything downscale enough for them in the West Village, so I pointed them towards a place called Fiddlesticks, in which they (if they even found it) would probably exclaim profanities at the price of the beer.

The lads had been in the shop for about 7 minutes. We even took a picture of all of us so that they could show Brooke when they got home. I still could not believe that they were in the shop. Looking at them standing there in all their loutish glory among the high-end shop branding made me beam. Before they left, I asked, "what ARE you doing in NYC???" In the States, there are certain Americans who have obviously never been outside of their own state, let alone the country. These lads looked as if they'd never even been to London, so WHAT were they doing here in the middle of Manhattan?? "THE FOOOOOOOOTBALLLL!!!" Oh my goodness, OF COURSE! The fooooooootball! They were in town supporting England in the World Cup. Pints and football -- what ELSE would a bunch of Scottish lads be in NYC for?

When the lads left, one of my colleagues said to me, "they were really scary and I couldn't understand a word they said." We laughed, and I pondered this. While she had looked at them in confusion, I had looked at them and felt like they had brought into the shop a little piece of home with them. They brought in a sensation that I was back in a culture that is familiar to me -- a culture where lads go to the pub to drink pints and watch football, families gather together every Sunday for a Sunday roast, newspapers have page 3 topless models, and every town in the country has a Marks and Spencer, a Nando's, a Primark, and a street called "High Street." I may have Yankee blood and a Yankee accent, but I have not felt more at "home" in NYC than when those lads walked in the door and brought a bit of Scotland with them.

The Yanks and the Brits may all speak the same language, but we are not the same by any means. I thought I was more of an American. But I still feel like a stranger in a foreign land. I still have never seen an episode of "Lost." I still need to look at an NYC subway map when I travel. I still don't quite know how the healthcare system works. I still drink tea instead of Starbucks. I think of Britain, and I can picture the glistening streets of Edinburgh. I can hear the "hardahardahardaharda" accents of the Belfast taxi drivers. I can remember Saturday morning TV with Cat, Ant, and Dec. I still want to say things like, "get your coat love, you've pulled," or "can I have a shandy, please?" or "fancy a cuppa?" I call soccer football and I find it totally bizarre that there are people are not aware that there is a difference between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. Well, I'll be damned...

I spent a decade in London rejecting the fact that I am British. How ironic then, that I feel more of a kinship with a bunch of Scottish lads than a bunch of Long-Islanders. I guess I am a Brit after all. I'll need to have a Guinness and black the next time I go out, to celebrate this self-discovery. But, wait, the Americans don't have blackcurrent cordial, do they? Do they even have cordial?? Eh, perhaps I'll have to stick to liquor on the rocks. When in Rome...

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Matchmaker, Matchmaker: Diary of a Single Woman on Match.com

Finding myself newly single at the beginning of 2010, I did something I never ever thought I would do -- I threw myself into the jaws of internet dating and joined match.com! Since then, I've become so apt at this whole dating thing, I feel like I can actually call myself a professional dater. Of course, it was only a matter of time before I turned my professional dating experience into a blog! Enjoy!

Having been a "match user' for a couple of months, I am pleased to report that this internet dating thing is not the sleezy, creepy world that it is sometimes perceived to be. I think everything is what you make it. Yes, I have been contacted by men who are obviously looking for that proverbial roll in that proverbial hay. But, I can almost tell now who has a decency about them and who has "moron" attached to their foreheads. Regardless of how my match.com experience ultimately pans out, if nothing else, it has been a fascinating study of human nature -- Not only have I learned alot about myself the "dater" (what I like, what I don't like) but I have also learned more about that not-so-mysterious race -- MEN!

People ask me -- "How can you tell a decent guy from a moron?" You know what? You CAN, and it is so so so EASY. Men on match.com fall into 3 categories -- 1. The Quick Fix. 2. -- The Alpha. 3. -- The Desperate Soul. Using emails that I have gotten from various men, I will now detail why and how it is so easy to know what sort of man you are dealing with just from a single email.

1. The Quick Fix.
These men are really just looking for something easy, and probably something fast. This is obvious when an email is so generic, you can tell that the guy has just copied, pasted, and sent the same message to a bunch of different women. For example, here's an email that I received:

"Hi. My name is [blank]. I like your profile. Please look at mine...what is your name? It would be nice to talk and make a plan to meet."

Um, would it, [blank]? Would it be nice? I mean, is it even possible to get more generic? First of all, he says he likes my profile. WHAT specifically does he like? Has he even read it??? Of course not! You know how I know for sure? Because my username on my profile is CeliaMei, and had he actually looked at my profile, he would not have subsequently asked me what my name is! These "quick fix" guys can't be bothered to even read a woman's profile. They must just go from profile to profile with a click, look at the pictures for half a minute, then click "send" with their ready-to-go copied and pasted "one size fits all" message. If it is obvious that a man hasn't taken even 5 minutes to look at my profile, or even 5 minutes to create an email specific to me, WHY would I waste my time contacting them???

2. The Alpha
The Alphas are so obsessed with themselves and what THEY want, they neglect to entertain the idea that maybe they are not actually what THE WOMAN wants. I was contacted by a man who calls himself Salsaseekschips (really), who asked me out for a "glass of vino," and I didn't respond to him. He was far older than my cut-off age (33) and not enticing to me in the slightest. And, I think asking someone out via a first email is tacky. He then sends me a second email:

"Did you get my email? I am usually a good judge of character, so if you're willing to risk a little (it is only a glass of wine after all) please write back."

Risk what, Mr. Salsaseekschips? That I might have to endure the company of an arrogant old man for a couple of hours? I think not.

Another "Alpha" email:

This email was titled "Someone said you were looking for me..." and the message said, "You're really hot. I know all about being hot and most women are intimidated by my looks, so it's hard to talk to them without scaring them off. I hope you'll be brave enough."

BRAVE ENOUGH??? I looked at this guy's profile, and he is absolutely deluded. he is old and unattractive, and the cockiness with which he writes is such a turn-off. I like an Alpha-male, but not one who is a self-obsessed chauvinist.

3. The Desperate Soul
Desperation appears in many forms. On match.com, when a man will say anything to impress a woman, it reeks of desperation. How about:

"What is your first name? really Celia or Mei (Chinese for beautiful)?"

Ahhhhhhhh!! It still makes me cringe. This same man also included a link to his photos on flickr and his email address. Why, after receiving one email from him, would I look through his entire photo album or contact him via his regular email address? What about letting things take their natural course instead of rushing everything?

A man calling himself Firstsmooch (!!!!) wrote this:

"I moved from germany to NYC a year ago and working in research, wanna explore the city and spend good times with my date while I am cooking her a yummy dinner and watching a movie and cuddling with her. On the weekends we go for a walk in Central Park and eat out and dance into the night or go for a movie. Interested?"

Well...I wonder if Firstsmooch would like to know what sort of food his date likes before he offers to cook for her. And doesn't he want to meet her before deciding to cuddle with her? As for dancing into the night, if he means dancing at a club until 3am, that's really not my scene. So, maybe it would have been better for this desperate man to email with a woman, then subsequently meet her, then subsequently date her before deciding that they were ready to eat, cuddle and dance together. He is probably lovely, but just clueless as to how a woman thinks when it comes to good old-fashioned dating. Ah, me.

Which brings me to the actual "dating" part. What I haven't included in this blog are the many really great emails that I have received, and there are certainly alot of really intelligent, witty, interesting men on match.com, some of whose emails to me have led to dates with me. I have had lovely match.com dates and awkward match.com dates, but I am happy to report that my experiences have been more lovely than awkward. In fact, I have been dating a match.com man for over a month now. Is it serious? No. Do we have a good time together? Yes. Am I still "single?" Of course!

So has match.com been a success? I would say that, given that I've met even one awesome guy who I enjoy spending time with, it has absolutely been a success, and I recommend joining match.com without hesitation to all you singles out there. As for my continued "single" status -- as I was saying to a dear friend the other night -- there's no better time to be single than NYC in the springtime! On to the next date!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

Eating's Cheating: 3 Ways to a Flat Tummy

Disclaimer -- Fact: The author weighed 105lbs in June 2009. Fact: The author now weighs 93lbs in January 2010. What follows is NOT advocating weight loss or unhealthy eating habits, it is merely the author's observations about the life circumstances that have made HER tummy flatter and more toned, and should be read with a pinch of salt (even though salt is, in fact, bloating).

I have spent my life in ballet class, jogging outside and on the treadmill, doing regular bikram yoga, dancing 8 shows a week, and eating a balanced diet. You would think that all that would be enough to maintain a flat tummy. In my case, NOT SO. I have unwillingly lost 12lbs since moving to NYC 7 months ago, and, in my observations, this is due to 3 major factors OTHER than diet and exercise. So step aside, Atkins diet. Move your tush, Jenny Craig. CMR is about to spill the beans on 3 ways to getting a flat tummy.


1. MOVE ACROSS AN OCEAN BY YOURSELF
DO IT. It works. TRUST me -- 12lbs! I am poor, nervously anticipating booking my first NYC show ALL THE TIME, walking everywhere, and out of my comfort zone constantly. When you make a huge life-change, you experience FEAR, ANXIETY, HOPE, JOY, DESPAIR, and moving across an ocean by yourself means that the support network you usually have to help you face all of life's challenges is...well...across an ocean! Not right there in times of need. (I cannot let this moment go by without thanking my family and friends in London for indeed "being there" so unconditionally during my time of change). But, you know what I mean -- no one is THERE. To top it off, unless you're moving across an ocean to start a new job, you probably, like me, don't have enough money to eat properly. I'm certainly eating better now, but when my family came to NYC in August, they kept telling me I was too skinny, and I kept telling them it was because I didn't have time or money to eat properly. Setting up a life an ocean away from "home" was very scary, and I cried ALOT in the first couple of months, and was desperately lonely...of course I lost weight! I defy anyone to do it and NOT have a flat tummy as a result. Go on, try it! And let me know how it goes! No quitting after a few weeks, though!!


2. GET YOUR HEART BROKEN
This, unfortunately, is something I'm quite familiar with, and I'm always saying, "if you want to lose weight, just have your heart broken!" See, I'm the opposite of a comfort eater -- when I'm upset, stressed, or nervous, I lose all appetite. This is the reason I assumed why I always lose weight when I am heartbroken. However, a friend of mine told me after my most recent break-up that in such situations, the body effectively reacts with Fight or Flight Syndrome -- your organs shut down to enable more blood to flow to your muscles in order to "fight" or take "flight." FASCINATING! So I googled www.thebodysoulconnection, and here is their description of Fight or Flight Syndrome:

When our fight or flight response is activated, sequences of nerve cell firing occur and chemicals like adrenaline, noradrenaline and cortisol are released into our bloodstream. These patterns of nerve cell firing and chemical release cause our body to undergo a series of very dramatic changes. Our respiratory rate increases. Blood is shunted away from our digestive tract and directed into our muscles and limbs, which require extra energy and fuel for running and fighting. Our pupils dilate. Our awareness intensifies. Our sight sharpens. Our impulses quicken. Our perception of pain diminishes. Our immune system mobilizes with increased activation. We become prepared—physically and psychologically—for fight or flight. We scan and search our environment, "looking for the enemy."

As I read more, it became clear that "The Enemy" used to be the likes of saber-toothed tigers, but today, it can be something like sitting in traffic and being late for an appointment, being reprimanded by your boss, AUDITIONING, relationship issues, and a whole plethora of everyday circumstances that causes stress -- conscious or subconscious. We all know that stress may cause weight loss, but I always thought it was due to lack of eating...now I know that, in stressful situations, the body prepares us for battle to survive! How clever!!!

The question is: to be heartbroken with a fabulous flat tummy, or not to be heartbroken with a fabulous flat tummy?

Just a little aside about coping with heartache -- I picked up a book called "When Everything Changes, Change Everything" by Neale Donald Walsch. It is a WONDERFUL read that reminded me of my (indeed all of ours) amazing, unending capacity to love, ability to choose HOW to respond to change, and therefore be the master of my own peace and happiness, and awakened me even more to my soul and life's pure joy. I remembered WHAT I AM DOING HERE. I HIGHLY recommend it to anyone who may be dealing with, stress, grief, turmoil, or who just enjoys constantly being in touch with the deepest level of their soul. Spread the word of peace and love, my friends!!!!


3. DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES EAT
Controversial, VERY controversial, but true. Now, I have always been very active, always stayed away from too much carbs, always ate alot of fruits, veggies, and fiber. None of this ever made a difference. Yes, it helped me MAINTAIN my figure, but there was a time when I was dancing "Guys and Dolls" 8 times a week and running on the treadmill for 45 minutes 3 times a week, and I STILL stayed the same weight. I did a Bikram Yoga 30-day challenge where I practiced 30 days without stopping and sweated so much, I must have been sweating out pee by the end, and I STILL stayed the same weight. The times in my life that I have noticed my tummy change and get flatter are the moments like points 1. and 2. that I mention above, when I lose appetite due to stress and don't eat for a few days -- THAT'S when I see the difference. Please please please note that I am NOT an advocate of not eating (I took a ballet class recently after not eating properly for a week and was so weak that I started getting dizzy and seeing stars, so I took myself to have a big Chinese meal afterwards!), BUT if, in desperate times, like you're due on the red carpet in a week, or you are going to be a bridesmaid soon, or you have to dance semi-naked or nude onstage, the surest, quick-fire way of achieving a flat tummy is to not eat for a week. Maybe a piece of fruit and some cereal so you don't collapse, and always drink water! We are 80% water! While I was on "West Side Story," the cast developed a motto: "Eating's Cheating!" Just remember those words next time you reach for the cake 3 days before you stand in all your glorious nakedness in front of a packed house!


CONCLUSION
I believe all healthy minded people should choose to be happy and bigger than unhappy and smaller. I certainly would. However, I am admitting right now, that after my heart was broken a week ago, I woke up to a flat tummy 2 days later and was filled with a sick pleasure. I am from a world of ballerinas...we are who we are, and I do not judge myself for wanting a such a tummy. I will now attempt to maintain my 93lbs by healthy eating and healthy exercise. Life is good, life is love, life is richer because of good food and watching the seasons change when you jog, and dance classes and happy tummys!

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin

What's a Nib?

As the reader may or may not be aware, this author works in a chocolate shop called Pure Dark. As is the case in any job within customer service, it requires patience, a good nature, and great social skills. At Pure Dark, an ability to stifle your giggles should also be a pre-requisite; awkward questions/situations arise frequently.

For the enjoyment of the reader, this author will now recount some Pure Dark employee/customer exchanges that occur on a regular basis:

Pure Dark employee: Hello, and welcome to Pure Dark. We are a chocolate shop that specializes purely in dark chocolate.
Customer: Do you sell white chocolate?

Pure Dark employee (pointing to the ingredients board): Please try our mix of the day, which has all the ingredients written on this board.
Customer (staring straight at the ingredients board): What's in the mix of the day?

Customer (after having been told that we are a dark chocolate shop and then sampled some of our chocolate): I hate dark chocolate.

Pure Dark employee: If you'd like to buy our chocolate, we sell it by the ounce for $2.75 per ounce.
Customer: So, how do you sell it? By the pound?

Pure Dark employee: In this case we have our slabs, which are thick bars of chocolate, and barks, which are flat pieces of chocolate with fruit and nut toppings.
Customer: What's the difference between a slab and a bark?

Pure Dark employee: This mix includes nibs, almonds, chocolate covered almonds, and chocolate covered cherries.
Customer (pointing to a chocolate covered almond): What's this chocolate almond shaped thing.?
Pure Dark employee:...a chocolate covered almond...

Lastly, the one that is asked every hour of every day without fail:
Pure Dark employee: Please try a sample of our chocolate that has caramelized and roasted nibs, which are the crushed up cacao beans.
Customer: What's a nib?

Do people just not listen? Do they listen but not understand? It is truly baffling! There are signs all over the shop that explain what we are and what we sell, are people just impatient and not taking the time to look, really look, and listen, really listen? (Fellow actors, please excuse that lame eluding to acting-methods).

This author would like the reader to know that, however baffled she is by some questions and comments, she really does enjoy interacting with all the diverse people that walk through our doors. 99% of customers are so friendly and a pleasure to serve. There is that 1% that this author cannot quite get her head around...to help the reader understand, she will leave the reader to contemplate the following incident which occurred today:

After having tried a chocolate covered dried cherry, a woman, so besotted with it, pulled her friend over (a woman in her late 60s I presume) to taste it. The friend put the cherry in her mouth and then proceeded to make a face like a 9-year old eating brussel sprouts and said with venom, "I don't like eating dead fruits." When this author and her colleague (both dumfounded) asked her to explain what she meant, she told them that as far as she was concerned, dried fruit is dead fruit, which is disgusting. She then proceeded to tell the Pure Dark employees that she doesn't ever mix her fruits, because if God had wanted us to eat mixed fruit, he would have made mixed fruit trees. The reader may be proud to hear that, this author, who is both agnostic and highly opinionated, managed to keep her mouth shut and let the customer walk away in all her ignorant glory. Boy, did the Pure Dark employees have a great topic of conversation for the rest of the day!

Visit us at Pure Dark (W10th and Bleecker) for more hilarious antics, and, of course, delicious PURELY DARK chocolate.

copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin