Chris surprised me with tickets to see Adele at Madison Square Garden tonight. I honestly never thought I’d be able to see her in concert since it’s so competitive to get tickets for her shows, and she doesn’t tour or make albums that frequently, so this was a crazy surprise.

A few things were shocking to me during the show: they started more or less on time at around 8:10, and Adele had zero costume changes; she wore the same dress the entire evening, which lasted about 2.5 hours. She performed three songs right away back to back without any introduction or talking, and she was clearly singing live — no doubt about that. Her self-deprecating and light bragging humor was so real and funny. She asked the audience if we were hoping to have a good time tonight, and when we all started cheering, she responded, “Well, I don’t know why you’re here, then. You do realize that all I do is sing and whine about men and all my broken relationships, right? You think that’s a good time, eh?” Her humor around having a completely sold out tour was especially funny.

It was such a contrast to what I hear about American performers who are far more diva-like and egotistical. Mariah Carey, in her past shows, would always have on average a costume change per two to three songs (most of which showed way too much skin or ass crack), which also meant long periods (10-15 minutes each) of being off stage. That’s a long time when your show is only 2 hours long. I’ve been told that Beyonce concerts are known to start an hour to an hour and a half late. My cousin attended a Madonna concert in the Bay Area years ago where cameras of any kind were completely banned; in fact, that’s what happened at the Shania Twain concert my cousin, Ed, and I attended at Key Arena in Seattle; we have no photos from that show because cameras were prohibited.

Adele’s authenticity and complete focus on her voice were so memorable. The only thing really done to accommodate her was a man discreetly coming on stage to refill her hot water and honey for her throat. And as always, her live performance of “Someone Like You” was so moving. I could feel myself tearing up hearing her belt out the words to that timeless song that I’m sure people will remember decades from now.

I talked to my mom on the phone today, and of course, she asked about the bomb since she heard about it on the news, and she asked where I was at the time the bomb went off. Funnily enough, I gave my mom the answer she’d always like to hear: I was at home. We actually were. And of course, she sounded relieved. “It’s so dangerous out there! I tell you not to go out too late!” she exclaimed. Before Chris and I were together and I was still living in Elmhurst, she used to admonish me every time I said I wasn’t home on the weekends. If I were out meeting friends for drinks or dinner, or even just going out shopping, she’d sound annoyed, interrogating me about all the details (who, what, where) and when I’d be home. Her absolute favorite response to “where are you?” is when I’d tell her I was at home reading — I guess that’s what good girls do.

Last night, an explosion went off in the Chelsea area of Manhattan, causing mass pandemonium and 29 people injured. Another contraption that appeared to be a bomb was found a couple blocks away, and so the entire area was blocked off until later today. I woke up this morning to a slew of text messages from friends and family, all asking if we were okay. Chris, still on London time, took my phone and marked me as “safe” on Facebook so friends and family would know we were fine.

It’s a bit surreal to me. We’re living in a city that has terrorist threat written all over it, particularly since New York City was the place that saw its twin towers fall and change the city and the entire country forever. But our media skews stories to the point where the basic message is this: our country is safe, but other countries are not; beware. I hear colleagues and friends and friends of friends make inane comments about how dangerous it must be living in or traveling to places like Paris or Nice or Istanbul, all affected by acts of terror in the last 12 months. And you know what — it makes me angry. These are all amazing cities to live in and visit, cities that people love. New York City is also one of these cities. Do I walk around this city every day thinking, oh my god, I live in such a dangerous city because we were affected by the 9-11 terrorist attacks or just had a bomb explode downtown? No, I live my life and do my everyday thing, and I don’t allow the media and all the stupid comments around me to sway how I live my life and travel. But that’s the thing: New Yorkers here want to freak out about Istanbul and Paris and Nice, but they would never blink an eye when it comes to this city, their home. I’ll take the subway and walk these streets and even take New Jersey transit (which we actually did take today to go to a friends barbecue) and embrace this city for what it is. And that’s what everyone else should be doing, but with the rest of the world, and not being so scared of the world outside of the bubble that is the United States, a country that actually isn’t so safe overall given how stupidly easy it is to get a gun without any real training.

Being in New York City, we are completely spoiled when it comes to the sheer variety of food, as well as the food trends that either take off or come here quickly from other far away, beautiful lands. Artisanal flavored ice creams, Thai rolled ice cream, salted caramel everything, bubble tea in many, many forms (Boba Guys is here now!) — it’s all here, and it’s freaking everywhere. One of the latest and greatest to arrive in the city is Taiyaki NYC, a Japanese-inspired dessert spot that opened in Chinatown just yesterday that is pretty much everything I could possibly want in a dessert: a cute, fish-shaped Japanese pastry  made from a pancake/cake batter, filled with your choice of filling (looks like custard and red bean are options), then topped with Asian flavored ice cream (hello, black sesame and matcha!), mochi, fresh fruit, and a wafer stick. As soon as I saw this in my Instagram feed yesterday, I knew I had to drag Chris downtown to try it. The last time I had a taiyaki was from a taiyaki stand in Kyoto last summer, after Chris and I were headed back to our ryokan after the night’s first dessert. He was completely full and didn’t want a taiyaki, but the rich scent of taiyaki in their fish-shaped cast iron molds beckoned me, and I knew I couldn’t leave the area without buying a couple. I had no idea I would be able to get another one a year later right here in New York, as I’d never seen them here.

Well, today was a complete failure: we walked to Baxter Street to find an insanely long line that was almost half a block long. My stomach had a sinking feeling when I realized that it had to be coming from the taiyaki store, and there it was: Taiyaki NYC. Chris refused to wait in the line, so we had to leave Chinatown without my beloved taiyaki and ice cream. At least I got to pick up a moon cake for Mid-Autumn Moon Festival.

I’m not giving up, though. I’m determined to get back there and succeed within the next four weeks.

The VP of our sales team wanted to organize a big revenue team get-together on his rooftop in the Meatpacking district this late afternoon/early evening as an ode to the end of summer for the sales and customer success organizations, so our teams left the office early today to say goodbye to summer with burgers, vegetarian hot dogs, a whole lot of booze and margarita, and shot roulette. I’ll be honest when I say that I didn’t really want to go and just wanted to go home to see Chris since we’ve both been traveling (he’s been away in London, Cologne, and Bonn this week for work), and I hadn’t seen him since Sunday. But I guess my life at my company is a little different now than it used to be: now, I actually have semi-new hires who report to me, so I really need to make sure my team morale is high and make sure they feel like their boss is at these events and wants to mingle and get along with everyone. It’s part of the life of being a manager: it’s not always about what you want, but it’s also about what your direct reports would want at a company that makes them happy and feel like they are loved and nurtured. It’s actually funny that I went because our VP of sales, who knows I rarely go to these events (but has surprisingly seen me at the last two) greeted me with a hug and said, “Hey, Yvonne! I didn’t expect you to come, but I’m happy you made it!” Yep, his expectation was in line, but I am capable of surprising.

I actually stayed over an hour longer than I had intended for two reasons: one, we played shot roulette, a game I’ve never played before but I knew I’d do well in (as an FYI to you in case you have never met me, I’m a 5’3″ slim Asian American with a very high alcohol tolerance who never gets “Asian glow”), so I knew I had to participate. And two, our VP of sales brought his dog to the rooftop named Bentley, aka “the poops,” who was really the sweetest, most trusting little Pekinese I’ve ever seen. I immediately lit up and ran up to him. I picked him up right away and he stayed in my lap, eating bits of my burger and constantly licking my fingers. I don’t think I’ve ever met a dog so trusting who wanted to be touched and picked up by anyone and everyone. Clearly, this dog has lived a perfect, privileged dog life.

This is why people have dogs and cats, I thought as I fed the poops bites of burger and stroked his beautiful, soft hair. They’re so comforting and soothing, and when they are this loving and trusting, all they do is give you extra warmth and love. They take in your attention and presence, and they ask little to nothing else of you (other than the food on your plate). You don’t have to explain yourself or talk to them or tell them when you’re unhappy or happy or mad or disappointed. They’re just there for you and love you; it’s truly unconditional.

This is also why I wish I could just rent a dog for a few hours every week. It would be so comforting for me to have this loving, soft animal to stroke and hold and feed, and would probably alleviate my own annoyances and anxieties about life.

It’s my first real weeknight being back since my trips to San Francisco and Tampa have ended, and so I decided to stop by Whole Foods and Fairway near the apartment after work to see what specials were happening and what groceries to stock up on for the next week or two. As usual, I bought all fresh fruit, vegetables, and three different types of protein based on specials. I couldn’t make up my mind whether I wanted to make chicken, beef, or shrimp this weekend, so I got all three, figuring I could just freeze the other two for future use. Chicken was on sale, the beef tenderloin was, too, and since I’d never used the tenderloin in cooking, I figured now was a good time to test it out.

While standing in the Fairway line, I was discreetly looking at what everyone else in line was buying. One woman mostly had prepared food from the hot bar packaged in her basket. Another woman had tons of processed packaged food in her basket, half of which was frozen. A third woman had a mix of both of the above, along with a bag of apples and carrots. Whenever I see grocery baskets full of processed, frozen, or packaged food, all I can think to myself is… this is what is wrong with the American diet today. These food companies are killing us with all the added colorings, flavorings, fats, sugar, and salt in all these foods we’re purchasing because Americans are deluded into thinking they have no time to cook.

And then I thought: the only time I’m really buying pre-packaged processed foods is when Chris tells me to buy his beloved British Digestive biscuits..

It’s strange to be living in New York City without having lived here or been to this city to know what it was like pre September 11, 2001, right here in this great big metropolis. I’ve never known what this city has looked like with those twin towers that went down that sad day. The first time I visited New York was in August 2004 on a day trip from Boston right before beginning my first year of college at Wellesley. I remember thinking, one day, I’m going to love this city, and one day, I hope to live here, too. But I’m sure the love for this city is even more nuanced and special for those who lived here during the 9-11 period, who have seen this city before and after that awful terrorist attack.

My bitter cousin who lives in Brooklyn texted earlier today to ask when 9-11 tributes and memorials would end every future September 11, which is just so callous. He doesn’t understand why we’re still honoring the victims. Maybe he has no connection to or love for this city, but that’s because he has no perspective or empathy or understanding to know how many people to this day still suffer from the tragedies that that event brought, whether it’s through loved ones lost, injured, or still suffering health ramifications from being in the area of the smoke and rubbish. I can’t even fathom it. I think it terrifies all of us to some degree that we could lose our loved ones at any time, but in events like 9-11 where they are an intentional form of violence — it’s heartbreaking to think of even 15 years later.

I went out to lunch with a group of colleagues today for a going-away celebration. The one who is leaving — she’s my age and in a semi-long-term relationship with a guy that so far, has lasted eight months (I say that because she said she doesn’t know how long this will last, and their upcoming five-day trip to Iceland together may be a maker or breaker of their relationship). An Australian colleague of ours asked if she thinks he may propose during the trip. My colleague responded and said she highly doubted it and would be completely shocked. In addition, she didn’t really care to get married anytime soon.

“The greatest thing about New York City is that you can be 48 and single, and no one cares!” the Aussie exclaimed, who is around 32 or 33. “You don’t need to get married! It’s so great here!”

We talked about friends or friends’ friends of ours who have gotten married much younger, anywhere from 18-25, many of whom are already divorced but with kids. “I just got bored of those people back home (in Brisbane, Australia) and outgrew them,” my Aussie colleague said. “That’s not the life I wanted, and I never want to go back, ever.”

To contrast this, I had dinner with a good friend of mine who is 38, single, and having really terrible luck finding someone just to date regularly. “What is wrong with women?” he said to me over dinner tonight. “They are so hard to read.” This friend really wants to get married…. like, five years ago. I wish had some normal, single girlfriends to set him up with, but unfortunately, my network is too small.

The last girl he saw is now officially history. They had two seemingly strong dates, which ended with her making comments like “I had an amazing time” and “That was the greatest date ever,” which somehow transformed in a few days to “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Sometimes, I would think it would be harder to be single and female given societal norms that men have to initiate everything from the first date to the marriage proposal. But when I see my friend flailing, I feel so sad for him and don’t know what to do. He’s a great guy — ultra successful in his career, progressive and egalitarian, has many hobbies including world travel and film producing, donates and contributes personal time to charities he is passionate about. To add to that, he’s also white and pretty darn tall (as sexist as this sounds, what woman doesn’t want to be with a tall guy?). There’s my Aussie colleague on the one hand, 33, single, and loving the New York City dating scene. Then, there’s my Pittsburgh-raised male friend, 38, single, and about to swear off women forever.

Human relationships are way too complicated. Maybe arranged marriage wasn’t such a bad idea after all.