Chris had his first home-cooked meal for days at home today — my “chicken” garlic scape pesto quinoa rotelli. He already wasn’t that happy when he found out the rotelli was made out quinoa instead of wheat, but then he came across another surprise: the fact that the “chicken” in the pasta was actually not chicken, but Beyond Meat soy and plant-based protein cut into cubes.

“This pesto is very good…. The pasta is good,” he said as he chewed. “But why does this taste so healthy…? This is chicken…? Is this meat….?! Babe…..” He eyed me suspiciously as my face broke into a big smile.

So much for trying to incorporate more vegetarian meals into my husband’s life. I was going to tell him afterwards if he couldn’t tell himself…

Our lease is ending, and this year, Chris thinks that we should seriously look for a new place — at least, to see what is out there and if it’s worth moving. We still have some time to let our landlord know if we’d like to stay for another year, and knowing me and my laziness, the chances are high that we will stay. But this year, we’re actually going to really invest time in researching to see what we could get for different price points. We’re very lucky as New Yorkers, since while most everyone else we know complains about rent and says they pay way too much for what they have, we actually pay far, far less than what people assume we pay, and we’re saving at a very attractive rate. The cheap side of me wants to continue saving, but the side of me that is getting older is silently saying, I want more space. I want a bigger kitchen. It would be so great to have better natural light.

So this evening, we started looking at some places online and calling to make appointments. Then, I remembered what I hate the most about looking for an apartment: dealing with real estate agents, even if they are no-fee (on the renter’s side). I’m sure they are busy, but they always have this air of “you need to accommodate my schedule.” Um, no. You will accommodate our schedule because guess what? We don’t need to move, and therefore we don’t need you as much as you need us and your commission.

Well, the fun is about to begin.

After my dentist appointment today, I took the train downtown to Union Square to hit up the Greenmarket before dinner, and I picked up some garlic scapes and beets. I was so excited; I had been reading about garlic scapes in the last week in a food blog I follow, and I had no idea that the tops of garlic, garlic scapes, were edible and good for cooking. I purchased just shy of a pound of them and went on my way home.

On my ride uptown, I thought about all these vegetables and fruit that you never get exposed to shopping at regular grocery stores and super markets, things like garlic scapes, rhubarb, golden beets, jerusalem artichokes, kohlrabi, dandelion greens, the literally hundreds of varieties of apples, potatoes, squash, eggplant, and yams. If all we did was shop at grocery stores, we’d be ignorant to all the amazing variety of produce out there. It’s no wonder people get bored of grocery shopping and cooking. If you don’t have variety that keeps changing, then what’s fun about it, and what’s there to look forward to?

I went to dinner with my friend tonight, and we were discussing all the times he’s had to fire people on his team for being poor performers. I told him that the thought of firing someone in today’s gun climate made me feel somewhat paranoid… because you never have any idea how that person will react to you and if s/he will try to come after you. When devastating events happen in one’s life, like a job loss, people are kind of capable of anything.

He said he didn’t blame me, that it’s hard to not have the thought in my head, especially given the very recent Orlando mass shooting. “Just make sure you have ample security when it needs to get done,” he advised.

It’s been a grim last few days. In light of Christina Grimmie’s murder, the mass shooting at Pulse night club in Orlando that left 50 people dead and about 53 seriously wounded, all my social media feeds are flooded with debates regarding who is to blame: guns or ISIS? Democrats or Republicans? It’s been miserable to read the news and see the back and forth that has been happening.

When I was younger and I’d hear about people dying from shootings or murders, it was always terrible news, but I didn’t feel it as much as I do now. It felt sad, but it also felt distant. I feel it a lot now. Sometimes I read the news, and I catch myself getting choked up by all these deaths and the victims’ loved ones reacting to the tragedies. Maybe it’s because I lost my brother to suicide three years ago, and I’ll never fully get over his death. Maybe it’s because I realize that these scary events could very likely happen to people I know and love in the places that we actually frequent. These shootings aren’t all happening in far away places in far away lands to far away people; they are happening right here, under our noses. Maybe it’s because I think.. even though we are strangers across states, across the world, on the train, walking on the same sidewalks and streets, we’re all united in that we’re all just trying to live and do something with our lives. We may be strangers, but we don’t want bad things happening to each other. In our minds, we don’t think that the guy sitting next to us on the subway train will get shot and killed the next day. We think that he will go to work, eat out, have fun. He will go about his day as we will ours. Or, so we think. We never know what will happen next.

It is a sick and sad week in the world. I don’t want to read the news anymore.

I got a deal for five classes via ClassPass for only $19 in New York (this is really, really cheap here), so I am using it for the rest of the month, especially on Sundays when Chris will be traveling. Today, I did a barre core fusion class at a swanky spa/workout studio a few blocks from my apartment, and I remembered yet again why small classes are so important. Our class had about twelve students to one instructor, and our instructor was extremely attentive. She learned (and remembered) every woman’s name, and she came around very regularly to check and correct form. And when she corrected form, you could feel the correction.

The class focuses on building strength and working on form, so there isn’t a lot of cardio involved. But I know just from how I felt after the end of the hour that I will be extremely sore tomorrow morning.

The instructor did make me wonder why Crunch personal trainers, who are supposed to be very focused and do 1-on-1 time with you, don’t help with correcting form. They will tell you how to correct it, but they won’t show you or touch you to do it. Maybe they are just anti-touch and are scared of getting slapped with some harassment case

I’ve been really slacking off this week and haven’t gone to the gym even once. I’m aiming to go tomorrow so that I don’t feel like a complete bum, but I thought about how my Fitbit is essentially tracking all my lazy days. If my Fitbit doesn’t have at least 16,000 steps at the end of a work day, it means that I didn’t go to the gym and was being lazy that day.

I can easily get to 10,000 as long as I take a walk during lunch that lasts about 20-30 minutes once I add in my walk to the subway in the morning, then my walk from work to Grand Central, and then from the subway stop to home. But I have to walk even if I didn’t want to since I take public transit. That made me think about how hard it must be for people who live in areas that are not walkable where people primarily rely on cars. How would they get to the recommended 10,000 steps a day without doing some intense exercise?

No wonder the obesity rates are increasing steadily in this country.

Chris and I got separated on our connecting flight to Salt Lake City this evening, as he got the last seat in First Class. So I sat next to a woman who is the president of the American Paint Horse Association, born and raised in a suburb outside of Tennessee. She and her husband live on a farm, breed horses, and are obsessed with corgi dogs. She showed me her endless photos of her friend breeding corgi dogs and told me a thing or two about American paint horses, which I knew nada about. She asked me if Chris and I were a couple, and I said we just got married this past March.

“Can I ask you something since you’re a Northerner?” she asked me in her strong Southern accent. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a great question, but I answered affirmatively. “Down here in the South, we have strong family values. So when we say ‘I do,’ we mean it forever, until the end. Up in the North, is that what you believe, or do you just think, ‘I do until something bad happens and I can’t take it anymore?'”

I explained to her that everyone was different, that we couldn’t categorize people in the North thinking “until the next bad thing happens” vs. “until death do us part,” but for the two of us, we were in it for the long haul (at least, I think we are).

“Well, that is lovely!” she exclaimed, smiling warmly. I really don’t think she meant any offense by it. She probably hasn’t spent much time interacting with us folk “in the North.” She proceeded to ask me how old I was. I told her I was 30, and she responded, “Wow, so you would have been working for eight years until getting married!”

I paused for a second. “Well, I’m actually still going to continue working. I haven’t quit my job… and I don’t plan to just because I’m married,” I said to her, looking her firmly in the eye.

“You will still continue working?” she said in amazement. “Wow, times have really changed since I got married!”

Yes, they certainly have… at least, for some of us.