Hi, I'm Rachel.

A few years ago I could barely boil water.

True story.

Determined to be a kick ass wife, I developed a love for football and learned to cook in my tiny Jersey City kitchen. I spend my days working in Manhattan, my nights and weekends chasing after a rambunctious toddler, and the hours in between cooking with my husband and feeding my TV habit...oh, and I blog about it all! 

Welcome to my world!

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S/P Survival Guide, Vol. I

You've got your monthly pass and you're ready to go. But after your first ride on the PATH, you realize that you are ill-prepared. You thought you had seen the worst of it on the stinky, crowded subways and therefore how much worse could it get? Well my fellow S/P'ers, the PATH is it's own brand of awful. We'll be bringing you some friendly survival tips.

1) Push people in order to get a seat.
You must be willing to throw your politeness to the wind in hopes of saving yourself. We realize that this may be an unrealistic expectation. After all, the PATH is a place where pregnant women and old people are tossed aside in the Every-Man/Woman/Child-for-themselves practice that is enacted the moment you set foot through that urinated-on doorway. Just be warned that if you do not adopt this practice, you will be stuck crammed into the armpit of (most likely) someone who does not share your concept of personal space or hygiene.

2) Stilettos Not Allowed.
You think of yourself as a New Yorker. You spend more time there than at home. And your white sneakers circa Jerry Seinfeld 1989 are just not acceptable as a form of traveling footwear. Just because like me you may fit between Jersey City and Manhattan, that is no reason to skimp on your glamorous NYC footwear. But be warned that brisk, pushy walk to the underbelly of the PATH station is unkind to high-heeled tootsies. Better break out the Tori Burch ballet flats ladies.
*For summer, check out Tory Burch 'Reva Jelly' Logo Flats!


I swear it happened...

It happened when I was 14 years old. I rode the PATH train from Pavonia-Newport in Jersey City, got off at 9th street, took one walk through Washington Square Park and knew I had fallen in love with New York City. It was just the place for me, minus the pink-haired, hackeysacking, ripped jeans thing. I carried this love with me through high school, through my days at NYU, through scorching summer heat and windy intersections, through smelly subway cars and $14 martinis.

My unwillingness to pay exponential rates to live in an essential dorm room, where bugs double as your neighbor, coupled with my dissatisfaction at suburban living brought me back to a little place just across the river called Pavonia-Newport. Perhaps (more than a few) years out of college, I realized (to my dismay) that I begrudgingly fit somewhere in between Jersey City and Manhattan.

I'm not going to lie to you, my life is not that different from thousands of other 'New Yorkers'. However, my daily commutes have forced me to adapt a lifestyle that is not quite the glamour of Manhattan, yet fools my mind into thinking I'm really a Big Appler, since I'm just a quick PATH ride away. And while these PATH rides can be crowded, smelly, and aggravating, a lot happens between Jersey City and Manhattan..

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