Yeah, I know it looks a little weird with the turquoise bits left behind, but I couldn't take it anymore. I'm working on something new -- be patient! I'm determined to get make it happen by myself. It's about time I get a real handle on all this wacky interweb stuff.
An elderly dog in my building passed away recently. I feel bad for a variety of reasons. First, the dog was obese and probably not well taken care of. It was almost as wide as it was long, and its owner pulled it along with annoyance as it wheezed and panted. I'm also sad because, well, it's a well-known dog that's no longer with us. And speaking of dogs, a small terrier was mauled to death last week by a pit bull outside of my building. Thankfully for me, I had drank hot bourbon with honey in an attempt to cure my lingering bronchitis and was sleeping more soundly than I have in ages. That small dog has been on my mind constantly. And, the bronchitis still isn't gone.
Work has been, well, inconsistent. Some days I am just absolutely thrilled there, while I'm ready to do something wildly inappropriate (like throw something, have a tantrum and storm out -- which happens in our office) and never come back.
I received my diploma recently. Kind of exciting, but what do I do with it? At least Syracuse provided it in a nice hard-cover-thing. NSSR provided a flimsy cardboard folder. Bah.
Caught a glimpse of this gorgeous, subtle memorial a few weekends ago, in the northern end of my neighborhood near the Brooklyn Navy Yard:
Simple, moving, lovely. It kind of took my breath away to come across something so unexpected.
I know, I know. It's been ages. I have debated saying "adios" to this format many times in the last several weeks, but I'm not sure what to do with it.
In the meantime, I just got home from a Yankees game. It was a close game. The Yanks came from behind and were very close to tying the game, taking it to the 11th inning. That didn't happen, but it's OK. The running commentary from the middle-aged men behind us was plenty of entertainment.
While trying to get a friggen sausage (don't get me started on the food service and options), I befriended two British men who had just flown into NYC that day for a bachelor party. I then offended them by describing greasy fish and chips wrapped in newspaper as "gross," even though I tried explaining that I meant "good gross." I won them back over by promising to set the cute, single one up with Berna.
Anyhow, I got off of the G train more than an hour later to find an average-looking white man passed out on a bench, his shoes off and cash sticking out of his pocket. A random man and I stopped dead in our tracks, wondering what to do. We were both worried. The guy shook the wasted man several times, telling him he could "get real fucked up" if he kept sleeping where he was. I stood watch for support. At first, the guy refused to even open his eyes. But as we walked away, he sat up, picked up his shoes and boarded the next G train (which amazingly pulled in right after the one we had just got off, which explains why we waited 30 minutes at Metropolitan for an effing G). It was a nice "Good Samaritan" moment. The guy will probably spend the night riding between god-knows-where-Queens and Smith / 9th, but at least he's off the deserted subway station bench.
I had been kind of freaked out by this for the last several months. My obsession with staying "timely" and "trendy" was at an all-time high, as I feared becoming out of touch with the newest of the new.
But then I thought about it, and thought about my 20s, and realized, "Thank god that shit's in the past!" No more months on end of fruitless online dating, no more living on such a tight budget that I can't even afford the pad thai at Republic, no more living in a closet-sized space with no natural light... The list goes on and on.
Thirty wasn't all rosy, though. It kept me on my toes.
W was called out of state for a funeral, which took place on the day I had scheduled my big party. I fretted for a few days before deciding to reschedule and instead have a few close friends over to the apartment on Saturday evening.
It ended up being OK. Abbie flew in from Richmond and made sure I was entertained and properly filled up with beer. She, and my coworkers took me out for a 3pm Happy Hour (after a champagne/ice cream cake party in the office). We ate copious amounts of sushi. I shed obligatory tears over missing my mother on my 30th birthday. I had brunch. And I graciously accepted wonderful presents, including this amazing quilt that Abbie made for me:
Other amazing prezzies included a necklace from Marc's favorite store, a high-heel-shaped cake cutter, a "you'll never be alone" necklace from Berna and a spa retreat from Mira and Christina.
W is on his way home now, and on Friday we depart for a surprise 30th bday vacation. YAY.
At the end of May, I received a parking ticket. It was graduation weekend, and I was with my dad. It's a place I've parked many times before and I didn't see any nearby signage. My dad is pretty observant, and he didn't see anything either.
Regardless, when we walked out of the store I heard a grinding noise. I didn't even realize what was going on until I unlocked the car. I was about to be TOWED! You should have seen the look the miserable traffic cop gave me as she skulked back to the tow truck.
I was still in partial shock when I realized there was also a $60 parking ticket stuck under my windshield wiper. Fucking a!!!
Had it been a less expensive ticket, or even if I hadn't have been about to be towed, I might have just paid it. But it was the combination that killed me. I wasn't blocking a driveway or a hydrant, after all. It was a royal pain when I got towed in May, but I was admittedly too close to a hydrant. But this? A ticket AND trying to tow me when my car wasn't creating a potentially dangerous condition? And, where I DIDN'T SEE ANY SIGNS? Hell no! I determined that this was cruel and unusual punishment.
It took two trips to the municipal building. On both occasions I encountered judges with dickish attitudes. Like seriously aggressive and offensive without provocation. (Though I can see how one can develop a prickly manner working there. On my first trip, I witnessed a man insistent on fighting a five-year-old parking ticket, who stood dumbly and unmoving from the service window despite cutting insults from the head judge.) regardless, I'm just not sure what people get out of being assholes straight away.
On my second visit, color photo evidence in-hand and right-hand-raised testimony, my ticket was dismissed. Was it worth all that time? Absolutely, esp given that I was almost towed. (And if you gave ever been to the Brooklyn tow pound, you know what I mean!)
In another victory against the po-po, I did a post on CHB about how the local cops were permanently parked in the bike lane. The story was picked up by Gothamist AND Streetsblog. And you know what? The cops moved the cars.
My blogging technique as of late has been drafting up these mega-long posts on the iPhone while commuting. Right now I am walking down DeKalb Ave!
What else...
Happily, baby Jeffrey is home with mom and dad, and I was able to visit over the weekend. I was able to hold him, and since he was sleeping, I found it very relaxing. I also saw him pee on his own face during changing. I'll being that story out when he's about 16.
I also went a steamed crab and burger BBQ in Jersey City, where I learned how to get a decent amount of meat out of the steaming Old-Bay-seasoned shells.
I walked home from a work event in Prospect Heights tonight. I knew it was about to storm, but I walked anyway. It started to get windy, and as I approached the area where the Carlton Bridge used to be (it was taken out in anticipation of Atlantic Hellhole Yards), I noticed a scary brown cloud swirling toward me. The street was deserted, and I started to worry that maybe it was a tornado or something. Nope. Just crazy dust and dirt from the site below the bridge. As I walked east towards Vanderbilt, a woman in a cab pulled over to offer me a ride, because bad weather was so obviously coming. I thanked her profusely -- this is what Brooklyn is all about -- but continued on.
Garbage and street dirt swirled around me and clouded my eyes, and I made it almost all the way home before the rain kicked in.
It was a vicious rain. Generally, I enjoy a good walk in the rain. But this rain was cold and hard and made me gasp for breath at the shock. It reminded me of being 18 years old and getting caught in a rainstorm with my first love on our way to the Bursar's office one fall afternoon after class, and even though I was wearing a raincoat with a hood, I pulled the hood down and enjoyed getting soaked. That was not this kind of rain. I had to wring my dress out when I got inside. Still, I'm glad I walked.
My new job isn't turning out to be all I hoped it would be. Every office is riddled with its own problems, but this place is unique.
I desperately need to change the colors on this site. Argh.
Also, I realized, while I was at my work event, that I forgot to move my car. "Fuckity fuck fuck fuck!" I thought. I called Marc, who didn't answer, and then Kath, to ask her to see if I had been towed. She informed me that it was actually some obscure Jewish holiday and that opposite side of the street parking was canceled for today. Que suerte!!! Of course, it was raining too hard when I got home for me to verify that it was still on the street.
One more thing. This is the funniest You Tube video I think I have ever seen. Please watch all the way through for the choreography. And I use that term very loosely.
I'm sure many of you are wondering if I've vanished off of the face of the blogosphere! But no, I'm here. In fact, I have so many thoughts swirling around my head these days that I can hardly decide what to write about. And then, when I have the rare moment when I DO have the time to post, I have no idea what to select out of the rolling narrative in my brain.
OK. There are a few things going on that have prohibited me from posting. The first is my new job. I'd love to blog about it, but I know I've become quite findable on the interwebs and I feel like I'd have to self-edit a lot. But in summary, it's an interesting place with lots of good people, and it was an excellent change.
The second thing is a nagging feeling that I've outgrown this space. I still want to write here, and write very honest things, but I feel like I've made a sharp break from the woman who started this blog five years ago. Not in a bad way! But in a way that my life was once shaped by constant introspection and solo activity, whereas now I've kind of started thinking about my life in terms of a twosome. Yeah, that's a new development and a totally new and foreign and scary mindset for me. But also an exciting one, since I often wondered if it was even possible. Part of me feels guilty about it, because I've always been one to roll my eyes at friends who have fallen madly in love and have left our fun little social life and self-proclaimed singledom in the dust. I don't want to be that person who becomes someone new and unrecognizable to the people I've come to love and rely on. But anyway, I've definitely learned a lot about myself in the last year. It was one year ago on Memorial Day weekend that I first met W, and I had no idea that he'd be sitting on my couch right this second watching an old subtitled French movie while I typed away.
Another thing is this: I'm really kind of freaked out about turning 30. I know everyone says that 30 is the new 21 and blah, blah, blah, but I suddenly feel like I'm about to fall out of touch with everything cool. I've prided myself on being hip to the trends for most of my life, and lately I feel like I've been observing them from afar. Suddenly TimeOut magazine seems awfully ridiculous to me.
And then a funny thing happened at Abercrombie and Fitch a few weeks ago. While in Kentucky, I bought a cute pair of running shorts at good ol' A+F. A few of you may know that I once worked there in college. (Pick your jaw up off the floor right now and stop throwing stones.) Anyway, while I felt like I had outgrown the place as soon as I finished winter break of my senior year of college, I still liked stopping in to relive old memories and smell the cologne.
I digress. I returned home and when I pulled off one of the tags, it ripped a small hole in the shorts. GRRRRR. I felt that was pretty unacceptable and since the other tag was still on and I had the receipt, I decided to exchange them at the A+F at South Street Seaport.
I got to the store after work to find all of the windows covered in wooden blinds, which I found strangely annoying. Are they trying to hide something? Anyhow, the very second I stepped in I developed a migraine. The smell of cologne started to make me sneeze and the music was BLASTING. I located the shorts and brought a new pair downstairs with me to the register. The line was frightfully long and one slow-moving model-thin cashier leisurely removed censors from the purchases of two Eurotrash women. And I know they were European because no one in the USA goes shopping to buy five armloads of A+F merch. Plus, they were way too old to be appropriate clientele. My anger bloomed as I look around to see another employee look at the long line and the lone cashier and begin spraying cologne on the clothing rack nearest me. Later, two employees flirt and chat behind the line before asking the cashier if she is the only one ringing. Probably 15 minutes later, one of those flirty employees finally starts using a second register. I figured I had invested about 30 minutes waiting and should stick it out, until I looked down at the new shorts and noticed the thread on the waistband unraveling in my hands. I did not want to go back upstairs for another pair. So instead, I let out an exaggerated groan, threw the new shorts down angrily on the cologne table and stormed out. At home, I sewed up the hole myself.
And one more thing. I have a lot of grey hair suddenly. WTF.
***
So I went to Portland last week, finally, and it was lovely. I visited a grad school friend (Jeanette) and a friend I met in my support group last year (Rachel). It was especially good to see Rachel, since the anniversaries of our mothers' deaths are just weeks apart, and last year she invited me to garden at her parents' house upstate in memory of our moms. We decided to make our visit a yearly event. I bought a lot of shoes for myself and had some excellent food. I'd definitely visit again, but I'm an east coast girl deep down in my soul. There were just too many people out there wearing hemp for my taste.
Then I dog sat for Krissa and Stuart's dog Nano, a brown, hearing version of Mallow. Even though he was nervous to be here and peed every time I brought out his harness, I kinda fell in love with him and miss him dearly.
***
Also, I am getting ready to paint my apartment. I've lived here for more than four years now, and most walls are scuffed up and/or full of wall holes from rearranged art. One part of me is sad about repainting, because my parents and Mira and Jay all helped me paint the entire apartment after I bought it. Changing it feels like closing the door on something. But it's also strangely exciting. Bought the paint today. Stay tuned for photos.
Last night, I went to see the wonderful Dolly Parton in concert at Radio City Music Hall. She was friggen amazing. She writes much of her own music, is an amazing live performer and plays a ton of musical instruments. She was one of 12 children raised in the Great Smokey Mountains with an illiterate father and a mother who was married in the 8th grade. She's charming and self-aware of her own cheesiness and does a lot of charity work.
The crowd was insanely diverse, with a high concentration of young gay couples. The whole theater was on their feet to sing 9 to 5.
It was a rare and refreshing experience to see a true showperson with real talent. I know that sounds incredibly dorky, but it was one of those evenings where you realize you're in the presence of a true legend.
Had my first day at the New Job yesterday. Until after Memorial Day I'm going to be working 2-3 days a week.
I had been at my previous job for nearly six years. While my first day was good, overall, it is going to be an adjustment. For example, I will be expected to do things like fill out a time sheet. Some benefits are crappy. Let's hope I don't get preggers while I am working at this new place. My computer monitor is reminiscent of 1998, and my desk chair is wobbly and falling apart. Literally, the fabric is coming off. I am back to a cube, and mine is closest to the main entry. Sometimes, I feel like I will never escape the feeling that I'm lowest on the rung, even though I am most definitely not right now.
As soon as I saw the baby benefit, I started beating myself up for not making more money, for not being farther along in my career. And did I mention for not making more money? This approaching 30 is fucking stressful.
My desk is FULL of file folders and I have no idea what they are. I want to just throw everything into the trash and make the space my very own.
But there will also be so many good things. Things like being able to work with cool people around my age. Happy hours on Fridays in the office. A work social life! Cute potted plants already at my desk for me. Decent-ish vacation benefits. The possibility of travel. Being able to make the position my own. A tampon machine in the bathroom (you have no idea what it has been like to work with ONLY MEN for the last 5.5 years).
And another strangely enjoyable benefit: not having any responsibilities for the time being!
Starting at a new office is a huge adjustment! I will be working in a new neighborhood. Where are the best local spots for a bacon, egg and cheese? What is the lunch culture? Do people eat at their desks? Bring or buy lunch? How old are the people who seem to be "around" my age?
*** My first day was long and I came home with a headache. Then, I realized that my car was not where I had left it. It had been towed. I had to both pay the tow fee ($185) in order to bring it home. And there was also a ticket on the window shield for more than $100 for parking too close to a hydrant. Seven months of part-time working is taking a toll on my bank account.
Today is my last day at my current job. I have been working here 5.5 years, almost exactly. It seems perfectly natural to be leaving now, today. But I've been doing a lot of reflecting on the time when I started this job. I:
was 24 years old
had just moved into a 10 x 13 studio apartment in Hell's Kitchen, my first all-my-own apartment
had just taken my first-ever trip to California
only had Cleo for a little more than a year
had long, curly hair
weighed about 10 lbs less than I do now (grrr)
was making less than 30k a year at the job I left
Since then, I:
bought a gorgeous apartment
moved back to Brooklyn
inherited a Green Beetle
grieved the passing of my mother
bought grownup furniture
got several short haircuts
dated lots of men (boys?)
have traveled to both Hawaii and Iceland twice
started graduate school
started a very successful neighborhood blog
Now I:
am almost 30
have a supercool boyfriend
have an awesome network of friends in Brooklyn
am a month away from receiving my MA degree in Sociology
am about to start working for a non-profit
Did I ever think back then that I would be where I am today? Honestly, I don't ever think that far into the future. I have no idea what my future self will be like, but I think my past selves would have enjoyed this glimpse into 2008.
If there's one thing I never, ever thought I'd do, it was work at a non-profit organization. As a 21-year-old graduating college, few things seemed less appealing than working for a "boring" organization in a non-glamorous office working with ordinary people who lived in the outer boroughs. I know it sounds disgustingly bitchy, but I held that opinion based on a lack of knowledge about the world at large, and about myself. Or rather, the self I was to become. Instead, I plunged into working at a major record label. The offices were oh-so-funky, and I occasionally met someone famous (like that time I ran into Bjork in the bathroom, or that time I ran into Michael Stipe coming out of the bathroom). Free CDs and concert tickets were nice bonuses (and helped make up for the slave wages we received), but I began to see things differently once the perks wore off. I was a woman, and I wasn't a schmoozer. Two strikes against me off the bat. I couldn't get ahead. I was merely a flea in the corporate machine.
I was saved from professional despair with a job at a small ad agency, where I have been working for the last 5.5 years. Yes, that's right! More than five years at the same company. I stayed because the yearly raises were reasonable, the people were great and the environment was mostly wonderful. I was able to do corporate work without the corporate red tape. Yet once I moved from writing travel advertorials to media planning, things became less savory. I started dealing with the same desperate people daily, and realized I didn't really like what we were trying to help sell. I wondered if I would have liked it more had I been marketing something I was interested in. But I realized, deep down, that it was about the idea of selling and the lack of writing that wasn't a fit.
I had been browsing job postings for awhile, but it didn't take long once I started sending out resumes. In fact, much like the job I'm about to leave, I felt like I had found The One when I came across the posting. I'll be working at an organization involved with placemaking, urban planning and community building. And, I'll even be using my MA degree.
No job is ever perfect, but boy am I looking forward to leaving the suit's bottom line.
Tuesday's MRI wasn't really so bad, aside from the fact that it took all damn day. AND it was soooo far away (E 99th Street).
The day was largely spent moving from waiting room to waiting room, and listening nervously to the sound of magnets.
MRIs use extremely strong magnets to capture insanely detailed pictures of the inside of the body. The machines are extremely loud, and they sound like something from one of the hatches on LOST. I waited as people were called back, one by one, after changing in small stalls on either side of the waiting room. When the room had completely cleared out, they came for me.
I was moved into a different back area, and told to change into a set of gowns. Just as I was about to enter the changing room, though, they redirected me to a different waiting room for at least another hour.
I was waiting at the desk there to ask WTF was going on when they came for me.
Before we started, I had an IV inserted. I also had this for the CT scan, and it's not really that pleasant. This one was taped to the crook of my arm for the first 30 minutes of the scan. Not a fan.
Many people panic during an MRI. It's the test where you're placed into a very small tube. I admit, I was a little nervous. As the bed was sliding in, I thought, "Am I even going to fit in here?" And you know I'm a small person. The tech placed headphones over my ears to help block out the noise of the machine, and so I could hear his instructions from inside the control room. He also gave me a panic button to squeeze "if I was having a panic attack."
I was lucky, being that the part of the body being scanned has to be in the center of the tube. This meant that my head was pretty close to the opening, and I didn't feel at all anxious. In face, it felt kind of cozy in there. Is that weird?
Each scan made a different pulsating noise. I could feel the magnets whizzing around (I think). Sometimes, it made me feel warm. The worst part was having to hold my breath for 30 seconds or so during each scan. The breath holding has been a constant in all of my scans -- ultrasound, CT scan and MRI -- but I had to hold it for far longer during the MRI.
Next up was attaching the contrast into my IV. There were two...injections? Insertions? Whatever. Two times, a cold fluid snaked its way into my arm. A few more pictures and I was set loose on the UES for two hours.
It was kind of strange being up there. The UES was my first home in NYC (not counting the UWS sublet I lived in for a month when I first arrived), and I realized how little I had actually explored up there. I lived on 95th street in the year 2000, and I don't think I ever once walked north of 96th St ever (and I only went north one block to catch the subway!) or east of Second Avenue. I loved the city, but I was tentative and cautious. With each passing year here, I've become more mentally and physically free in terms of making my way through every nook and cranny of a neighborhood, examining the shops, the signs, the homes, the graffiti.
I stopped in a random bakery and bought a cupcake for myself (well, two actually, since they were two-for-one!) and wondered if it had always been there, or if it had opened since I had left. It was on Madison Ave in the upper 90s, so it's not likely that I would have seen it eight years ago anyway. Who was living up there now? Were the just-out-of-college set moving up past the 96st St line? Did they have cafes and fratty brunch spots up at E 103rd? My shoes were beginning to rip holes in the skin on my heels (uncalloused winter feet + rain + humid weather + rubber flats = bleeding feet), so I didn't venture too far north or east. But I did pass this place, which looked oddly familiar:
I realized that I would pass this place on the bus every Saturday when going to tap class that first year I was in NYC (taking the crosstown bus along 96th St, through Central Park and over to the West Side, where I could pick up the C train downtown to 50th St.). Strange how certain landmarks bring memories rushing back.
About an hour and a half later, I huffed it back up to the low 100s on Madison, passing the hospital on the left and blocks upon blocks of public housing on the right. Getting out of the hospital had been a maze, and I was fortunate enough to remember just how to get back to the room. Though it had not been two hours, I was hustled back into a gown and slipped back into the tube. A few whirs of the magnets and I was set free. The middle-aged technician described the pictures as being "awesome," and "super clear." I am hoping to god that "awesome" will translate to "not something malignant."
Hopefully today's MRI will solve the health mystery.
Meanwhile, I've been keeping busy, redoing my bedroom and hosting Leanne over the weekend.
More to come on the bedroom.
For now, I'm swamped at work. But here's a little something to cheer you -- I haven't seen this in person yet, but the idea is kind of gorgeous (plastic bag street art -- which turns into an animal when trains pass below street grates):
Today I hit the sweet spot -- the rare time when no other people were doing laundry in my building's laundry room. Our complex has a much larger laundry room with many more machines and much longer hours, but it requires going outside. Usually, I just go right to the bigger room, but today -- cold temps and the ground full of snow -- I tried my luck. And, I was lucky!
While I was folding in solace, a woman entered the room and asked me in a sarcastic tone, "Is that all YOURS?" She was referring to a giant cart filled with clothes sitting next to a full dryer, in addition to the stuff I was working on. "No," I said, "Just this!" I thought it was kind of rude, what she asked and how she asked it, in kind of an accusatory manner.
She walked to the other side of the room and touched a pair of socks that were sitting on the floor inside a pair of sneakers. Then, she tried the knob of a locked door and left the room.
I never thought much about the locked door. Our building is large and old, and the basement has many locked doors.
The woman came back a few minutes later with one of the maintenance guys. It's a guy who likes me, since I tip him at Christmas. He opened the door for her, and on his way out told me that if I wanted to, I had his permission to keep things in the room. "What? Really?!" I said. There's a waiting list for the official storage units in the complex, and my mind immediately traveled to the thought of storing my bike and a bunch of Christmas stuff for free in a secret room. He told me the lady said she had permission from management to put her stuff in there, and that there were two unused rooms created when the laundry room was created a few years ago.
I finished folding and the woman had not emerged from the room. I wanted her to, so I could ask her what was up back there. Finally, I knocked on the door.
She opened it, and I asked with devilish glee, "So, what's in there?" I leaned forward to peek in, but she blocked my view.
"It's not my fault I was the victim of a crime!" she snarled. "No, I don't live in here, but I've just keeping some stuff in here. Stuff that keeps disappearing! Like my underwear! You're probably thinking, 'Who would steal someone's underwear?' But yeah, it happens!"
I froze. What the fuck was going on here? So, I snarled back and said, "Look, I was just curious as to what was in that room! You don't need to be so angry!"
She replied, "Hey, that comment about the laundry was a JOKE! God! And I'm not the type of person who would steal, just so you know." I stared at her. "Not to say that you are, but I'm not." Right. I'm sure I'm desperate enough for a few ratty panties owned by a crazy middle aged woman with a mullet that I'd break into her secret room and steal them.
I've learned through my years that the best way to deal with someone who's crazy is to act blase and walk away. Because all they really want is to get a rise out of you.
"Whatever, I was just asking." I turned and left the room as she continued to bitch loudly.
While I was waiting for her to come out, before I knocked, I noticed a huge water bug crawl under the door. So now I hope all of her panties are infested with gross roach-like bugs.
Jim and I decided that we received the BEST Christmas present possible today, when we made the drive between Buffalo and NYC in virtually NO traffic. We learned, to our surprise, that subtracting rest stops, the drive technically takes about FIVE AND A HALF HOURS. You know, versus the 8-9 hours it often takes thanks to traffic getting into and out of NYC.
I'm exhausted, especially after fighting off a tension headache that lasted 24 hours and brought on some post-frozen-waffle vomiting before heading out this morning. But tomorrow, I will write more. I have lots of reflections brewing in my brain, but am too tired to type them out right now.
I am officially a bipolar blogger these days. I just wanted to say:
Don't think I didn't try THREE newsstands and then Duane Reade in search of the Jamie Lynn OK magazine where she admits she's a prego teen slut and at Duane had to ask one of the clerks to open the box of the magazines that were sitting next to the magazine rack but not yet on display. I did all of these things.
Last night, I FINALLY went ice skating in NYC. Living here for 7.5 years now, you'd think I would have gone to one of the more iconic locales to engage in some holiday cheer already. But no.
W and I decided on The Pond at Bryant Park, mostly because it's bigger than the Rock Center rink and also completely FREE (even the skate rental, though I suspect that was subsidized last night by the Simpson's movie, which was doing a major promotion at the rink). It's pretty amazing how scary it is at first to step out onto the ice and feel as though you're about to fall flat on your face, and then how quickly you get the feel for it. Before we knew it, we were gliding around the rink fairly gracefully.
I used to go skating with my mother when I was little. It seems kind of crazy to think about that now, being she was so non-athletic. We never went to a proper rink, but would skate in our yard -- in the lot next to our house where water would pool and freeze -- and in my grandmother's back yard near her crumbling chicken houses. I had a pair of double-runner skates and my mom wore a worn-out pair from her youth, jingle bells still attached to the laces. I thought of her last night, wishing I could remember more about our early ice skating adventures.
After a successful ice adventure, W and I walked uptown to the Russian Vodka Room (after detouring past my Hell's Kitchen apartment so I could point it out to him and fill him on some stories about my life pertaining to those years -- the blackout, the place I used to drop my laundry, and by the way, since when is Hell's Kitchen Little Thailand?! There is at least one trend Thai restaurant on every block of 9th Avenue now.). The bar was filled with drunk Russian mobsters and a gigantic man playing the piano. We tried the horseradish, dill garlic and ginger infused vodkas (the latter came in a heart-shaped carafe), plus a plate of salmon and potato pancakes. We came home late and drunk, attempting to watch an episode of Lost on DVD. I fell asleep about five seconds in.
Today I feel refreshed. Guess I really am Slavic, and can hold my vodka.
That's the sound of my keyboard, speeding through paper-writing. I have an initial draft of my ethnography finished (66 pages!), and just finished page 6 (out of 20) for my class class.
Bought a Christmas tree today, though haven't decorated it yet. It's sitting in its stand in my living room, looking dark and furry, waiting for lights and ornaments.
I just went into the bathroom here at work -- we share a women's bathroom with our entire floor -- and pushed open the door to the middle stall. I was met by the sight of a woman on the crapper, who screeched at being walked in on. I was so surprised that I screeched back, apologized profusely and used a different stall quickly.
Why do I feel bad when it was she who didn't lock her stall?! And the bathroom was recently renovated, so I doubt it's broken.
Reminded me of when I was very little, and I was afraid to lock the stall door for fear I'd never be able to get out.
So, I'm going to keep going with this NaBloPoMo thing, even though I ALREADY FAILED.
It is amazing to see Lukasz delight in so many Americanisms that I take for granted as normal and obvious, things portrayed truthfully in the movies. For example, having breakfast in an American diner and having your white ceramic cup of coffee refilled every five minutes by an old man with greasy hair. Or, ordering Chinese food and having it show up in little white boxes with fortune cookies on the side. We ordered the Chinese last night, but they did not provide chopsticks OR fortune cookies. Thankfully, the rice came in white boxes, which caused Lukasz to coo over their cuteness.
Yesterday, we went to see the Bodies exhibit. Lukasz wanted to go because it was banned in Poland, and I've been meaning to go for the last two years, so it worked out nicely. The perfect time to go is Monday at 10:45 am, as you'll be alone in there except for a few random elderly people and a random school group. The coat check people kindly allowed us to cut ahead of the school kids so we could get on our way ahead of them. In case you haven't heard about it, the exhibit has actual preserved human bodies on display, dissected to reveal their inner workings. I was worried that I might get grossed out, but the stuff almost looks fake because of the way it was preserved. The coolest part was the circulatory system room, which had actual vein/artery systems on display. It's really hard to explain, but it looked like a bunch of beautiful, brightly-colored webs. The other intriguing part, for me, was a display of crazy tumors that form teeth (yes! teeth! teeth growing in the lady cave!). And I hate to say it, but the fetuses were kind of...cute.
The exhibit was down by the Seaport, which is the first place I lived in NYC, the summer I was an intern.
I've never noticed a tree down there at Xmas. Or, maybe I've never been there at Xmas.
Then we went Xmas shopping, and I bought a really nice gift for W. It's so thrilling to find a gift you think someone will really appreciate.
There was a line to get into the Abercrombie store in midtown. Why?
I couldn't get up this morning. I slept deeply, shrouded in strange anxiety dreams. But with Lukasz wide awake and still on Polish time, and my dad wide awake on Jerry time, we set out for Macy's around 7:30 am. The place was already packed! We had an enjoyable (but tiring day) in Herald Square and then had burgers at 67 Burger in Fort Greene. Lukasz headed back into the city to hit up free hours at MoMA, while my dad took a nap and Marc and Tavia came by to watch Project Runway.
Now I'm waiting for him to return so we can go to the Chip Shop and maybe have W, M and their mom over for pie later and/or meet Ana for a drink.
Tomorrow, Lukasz and I will do dim sum in Chinatown with Marina, Marc, Tavia and maybe W, after my dad heads for the airport. It's exciting to see NYC again through virgin eyes. I forget how exciting it is to live in the Capital of the World.
Busy day! Took Mallow to the park with Lukasz, to expose him to the excitement that is off leash hours, then went into Manhattan to see some of the parade (though after not being able to even exit the subway station at Times Square because of the crowds in the street, we had to get back on and go up to 49th St, where we finally found a decent viewing spot, though Lukasz is 6'4" (we converted it from metric because I was curious) so I'm sure he could see more than I could.
Then, we heated up all the FreshDirect food, I made miseria and pie and we dug in around 4. Akiko came by at 4:30, with a huge plate of homemade sushi in hand. After pie (and showing Lukasz and Akiko how to use the ReadiWhip from the can), we watched Christmas Vacation.
Now Lukasz is asleep, Dad is watching crappy TV and I am about to do some homework.
I am feeling slightly weird. Glad to have Lukasz visiting, weirded out about family stuff but mostly OK, general anxiety.
Thanksgiving is nearly upon us, and mine is going to be crazy. Hopefully in a good way.
Tonight, the dinner arrives, courtesy of Fresh Direct. I wanted to cook it all myself, but this semester did now allow me the luxury. Tomorrow, my dad arrives at JFK and I will go pick him up (after having the car washed and cleaned to prevent judgment). Later, I will pick Lukasz up at Newark (on the train - everyone says driving out there would be insanity). Then I will take Lukasz to Rope and hopefully meet up with a gaggle of random friends there.
Thursday - parade, eating.
Friday - shopping. Yes, I'm crazy.
The rest will be played by ear.
So. My dad. He's coming. I had to book his travel for him. He's only been to visit me once before on his own, which was when he was taking Zoloft 3.5 years ago.
Since it's technically Saturday, I'd say this counts as my Saturday post.
UPS will only tell me that the ottoman will be delivered on Monday, and that they "can't guarantee a delivery time." Is it just me, or do we NYers have to put up with the shittiest service on the planet? It's not MY fault you couldn't make it here by MIDNIGHT. So how about you either deliver my package by 9 am Saturday morning, or hire another company to do it for you? Because you fucked up, and now you need to make up for the inconvenience. And this isn't the very first Friday night before Thanksgiving that UPS has delivered packages. Guess what! It's gonna be busy! So be prepared ahead of time, assholes!
What does a person have to do to get some decent ass-kissing around here? Who is responsible for this? Someone needs to take the fall. You over at UPS - talk amongst yourselves and figure it out, and whoever takes the blame should bring me my ottoman in seven hours. Just load that shit in your car and drive it over here and put it right in my living room. Won't happen, but it's nice to just throw that demand out there to the etherworld.
Due to the (very) impending visit of both my father and my Polish friend Lukasz for Thanksgiving*, I began to wonder who would sleep where and how. The couch is pretty damn comfy, as is the shag rug in my bedroom, but neither is really a proper bed.
When I got rid of my sleeper sofa last year, I frantically searched for some sort of replacement bed solution for guests. In the end, I gave up.
But while trolling realsimple.com (to further investigate it's potential mom-ness), I came across an article on the best beds for visiting guests. It reminded me of a sleeper ottoman I found last year on Target.com that had intrigued me. So, being that Target was offering 15% off and free delivery, I ordered it.
It should arrive tomorrow, and no, it's not a flip-n-fuck. It looks like this:
The top flips open and out comes a twin bed! I find it odd that no one had left a review on Target.com about this, but maybe people just don't think to look for a sleeper ottoman.
So, come visit! (starting tomorrow)
*Yes, I know I owe you a post about Thanksgiving. I'll say that I totally copped out and ordered the entire dinner from Fresh Direct. It eased my mind about timing and whatnot. I'm still going to make an extra pie, though, as well as miseria (Polish cucumber dish), so it feels like I am baking and shit.
It's a gray day, though it started off sunny and beautiful. I feel strangely energized knowing winter is coming, even though I hate January - March. I'm looking forward to semester hibernation, where I can sleep in, drink tea, read magazines and finally watch Season One of the Wire (borrowed from him months ago).
While I was visiting Abbie, I paged through (and became somewhat obsessed with) Real Simple magazine. I've picked it up before over the last few years on occasion, and I do like a lot of the articles and projects and such. But I'm hesitant to subscribe. Why? Because I'm kind of scared it's a gateway magazine to momhood, like it might be our generation's Good Housekeeping. Yes, it's beautifully designed! But, deep down, isn't it all about keeping house? I think I'll buy a few more issues from the newsstand before I accept my fate.
Does it count for NaBloPoMo if I only write one long run-on sentence describing my day? I did some shopping with W and helped him pick out a hot new outfit for a party tonight (where we may get to meet Tim Gunn and Tori Spelling, and yes, I know Tori is lame but that what makes it so exciting!), and then I bought a dress for myself, and then I looked for shoes but couldn't find anything good, and then I ran home and drove up to Williamsburg to take some photos of an aspiring pop star (who also tap dances) and then bought a meatloaf sandwich and a necklace and am now trying to finish my homework, clean and finish packing for my two-day trip to Richmond, VA.
The NYC Marathon ran past my apartment yesterday morning. Every year, I remember coming out to Clinton Hill four years ago on marathon day to look at apartments. As I came up out of the G train, I was greeted by cheering neighbors and international athletes and knowing I had found the place I wanted to call "home."
This year, I was able to catch both the leading men and women, who run behind a car with a large LED time clock on the top. It gave me the chills. I can't really explain why, but there is something about seeing some of the best athletes in the world run down the street you walk on every day, working towards a feat you can't even imagine completing. I'm lucky if I can run a mile (seriously). Turns out Katie Holmes also ran the marathon, though I didn't see her.
Thanksgiving is just a few weeks away, and I need to write more than 80 pages before the end of the semester. I have never been so ready for semester break.
My costume: East River Mermaid. The elements: a third arm, a dead pigeon, condoms, trash, a seaweed crown, toxic eyelashes.
I won first prize in the costume contest!! Mira and Dave kindly picked W and I up and drove us to the party, where we proceeded to eat, get drunk and stay at the afterparty for awhile, before trying (and finally succeeding) to find a car service.
It's Day Two of NaBloPoMo, and I'm on fire! It's a Friday, and I am trying my hardest now to reserve Fridays and Mondays exclusively for homework. This means no cleaning, no laundry, no blogging (except on lunch break!). I'm in the middle of a really great book on the upper middle class. This class is really fascinating, but I always feel so worn down at the end of the week trying to get the work done. Meh.
Tonight will be my third and final Halloween celebration. The party I'm going to involves an awesome prize.
Oh, and by the way, Hell has frozen over. My dad is coming to NYC for Thanksgiving.
It's my most favoritest holiday of the year! Happy Halloween! I've always loved costumes. Maybe it's because I loved wearing dance recital costumes as a child. I'm a sucker for sequins and feathers. Then again, I can remember being very picky about my Halloween costumes as a wee child. Like the year my mom dressed me up as a hobo, and I was very displeased because I didn't know wtf a hobo was, and it involved me wearing dirt on my face, and I was so not cool with not wearing something fashionable. My mom made it up to me a few years later, making me a pink crayon costume for kindergarten and a pink Care Bear suit for first grade.
Tonight, I may be performing in a little Halloween show in my nabe, and on Friday, I'm going to a big costume bash with W, Mira and Dave. It's really fun dating someone who's not only into Halloween, but enthusiastically purchases both a pageboy wig and striped tights for his costume. So dreamy.
I met with my elusive ethnography professor last night (who has stood me up on the last two occasions I tried to set up a specific appointment with him). Because it was his regular office hours time, I had to wait in line for an hour to see him. But it was all good, because he signed off on my independent study to continue my project into the spring, and also suggested that I should think about getting a PhD and that he "has the ticket to planning it out." I haven't given this too much thought, mostly because I'm growing tired of the NSSR and also because I can't really afford to get a PhD at the NSSR and I'm not sure if I want to teach. Regardless, it was flattering to have him bring it up and act as though I could actually get a PhD. I'm going to see how my project comes along and figure it out later.
The heat went on in my building yesterday. Normally it starts with a bang, literally, and clangs to life, scaring Cleo and myself. Not Mallow, because she can't hear! But yesterday I began to smell that burnt pipe smell that heralds the Season of Dryness and Sinus Irritation in Which One Cannot Control the Heat in Her Apartment.
I've been feeling mighty anxious this week. It's kind of been reminding me of just about this time senior year of undergrad, when I started realizing that I had no damn clue what would become of me when I finished school. Lately, I've been feeling the same -- becoming disillusioned with the program I'm in, wondering why the eff I decided to study sociology, worried about not finding a better, more interesting job and feeling worthless because of it. Add in other standard anxiety crap and it leaves me with a head ready to explode.
Thankfully, there was a bright spot today. I did my first in-person interview for my ethnography project and it was amazing. Like, I literally felt the project writing itself, felt it falling into place. Now I'm thinking maaayyyybbbeee I could have it published someday.
It's the first of two Halloween weekends, so I am ready to start suiting up. I think I've outdone myself. Photos tomorrow.
It's a cold, gray day and I'd have liked to have stayed in bed. I'd like to free my mind from sociology and having to read an entire book each week and write a 2-3 page paper about it.
Also, I am currently obsessed with the Mark Ronson - Amy Winehouse version of "Valerie."
That's the sound of my student loan money finding its way into my bank account, finally. Well, hopefully in the next few days anyway. A phone call to BoA let me know that TODAY is the magic disbursement day. Really, just in time seeing that I have a credit card bill waiting to be paid (that includes things such as a $190 charge for a regular teeth cleaning since I don't have dental insurance).
Here's the weird thing. Last week, I received my first half-time paycheck. This means I am now making half of my salary. After I recovered from the shock, I had a good laugh. It's STILL more than I made at Elektra working full-time plus overtime. Heh.
Here in NYC most of us think we're poor. There's always something more we could be spending money on -- a bigger apartment, an expensive handbag, a big vacation, Showtime, a cleaning lady. It's hard to save money here, since with every raise the extra money goes towards towards another baby step in "making it" in the big city.
The paycheck made me remember living on my own while making less than this, and how I had to keep an anally accurate budget, and how many times I couldn't even afford to go to Republic for a $7 dinner. I guess I've come a long way since 2000, even though I have to temporarily go back there for a bit.
I feel all congested, and I think it might be allergies. Or, it might be a sinus situation coming on with the impending drastic cooldown scheduled to occur in a few hours. I'm psyched for it to stop being hot - it's been in the high 80s and humid almost all week here - but I suppose that means it will be time for congestion and colds and whatnot. Meh.
I'm tired because I went to the gym before work this morning. While I was there, I saw Tod Oldham having a personal training session. His trainer was making him do these really difficult things, like standing on top of one of those giant ab balls and lifting a weight while doing squats. I thought maybe I was wrong, but I just checked Google images to compare tattoos with the man I saw at the gym, and I do think it was him. I was tempted to tell him how much I loved his segment on House of Style when I was, oh, 14? He totally caught me staring at him, too.
On Thursday after work I fell up the stairs. I was leaving the G train at Classon Ave - not my normal stop - and I was wearing a pair of jeweled slides. It was hard to keep them on my feet, so I was concentrating on tensing up my toes. As a result, I didn't lift my foot up high enough, and jammed it into the step. This caused me to fall down completely on the stairs, landing on my right knee and left elbow. It was one of those slo-mo moments, where I was thinking, "Ohhh, fuuuuuuuuckkkk," as I went down. Thankfully, there was only one person behind me, a kind woman who yelled dramatically, "Are you OK?" She even followed it up with, "I do that ALL the time!" Really? Do you? I couldn't even look her in the eye I was so embarrassed. I took a deep breath, made sure I wasn't seriously injured and scurried away with my head down. I really just wanted to go hide somewhere and cry hysterically for about 30 seconds. This must be what little kids feel like when they fall down.
Thankfully, after a night of dinner with old friends, a very successful bout of karaoke (where I received applause for singing my signature song), I'm sitting in a cool coffee shop in Bed-Stuy having a breakfast sandwich, studying with Martha and enjoying some funny stories from the Onion (specifically this and this - ha!!!). And I'm feeling better now.
Lately, lots of kids in my building have been taking a liking to me. It doesn't hurt that I have a cute small white dog who generally likes (or is tolerant of) well-behaved children, even licking them now and then. One little girl, Chloe, ran away from her mom in the courtyard and over to me to give me a hug. It's nice, but I was starting to worry that maybe my ovaries were somehow communicating with them... fertile, fertile, children, babies...
But then a few days ago, a couple followed me into the elevator with their pouty toddler son. Before he could walk into the elevator, I heard him whimpering, "Why does she have to be in the elevator?" Despite both parents making calm attempts to inform him that "sometimes we have to share the elevator," he continued to pout, which developed quickly into a tantrum involving him throwing his blanket on the ground, and he whined, "I don't want her in here! No! Make her go away!" I stood there looking like I was sucking on a sour lemon, while the parents looked mortified. WTF? Screw off, kid. On one hand, I felt bad for the parents. At that age, can you control what comes out of your kid's mouth? But simultaneously I thought, "Damn, your kid is rude!"
And now, here's a photo of Todd's adorable son hanging out with pumpkins:
So I didn't get the freelance job. I was in the running to be the Brooklyn guide on About.com. (Yes, for all of Brooklyn!) My final review said that they were looking for someone with more experience writing web content. I suppose it's actually a blessing, since I switched to pt in order to have more time to chill. As evidence of this, I have almost all of my homework finished already. The sucky part is that I actually did work really hard on my trial site, and now I won't get paid for any of it.
I've been doing a lot of photography for the Brooklyn paper, which is cool and fun.
So! Philadelphia! It was a short, but great, trip. It was just nice to spend a whole day day away with a cute man and spend the time seeing sites, talking and laughing. I liked Philly a lot. It felt like Brooklyn and Boston mated. How much does it cost to buy a townhouse there?
I've not posted in a few days. Here's what's up. I am applying for a freelance thing that could prove to be amazingly awesome. However, it's not my position yet. For the time being, I am part of a "competition" for the job, which means that every waking second of my week has been spent towards writing and setting sample stuff up. If I get picked, I get a bonus for completing the prep work and then get paid a minimum monthly (maybe more). If I don't get picked, I get zip for the work I did thus far. Bummer. Thankfully, I'm almost finished with the trial thing.
As for working part time, yes, I'm working part time! This means I have Monday and Friday off so that I have more time (in theory) to do schoolwork and concentrate on it and do research. So far, I have spent this time doing things like errands and socializing, so I need to make this time a priority to not be crazed and instead, maybe sit in a coffee shop and read school stuff and not look at the computer or the iPhone. How am I doing this? Stafford Loan. I hated to have to take a new student loan when I've just paid off my undergraduate loans, but I really needed to do it. I wish I could just not work at all, but that would be too scary I think.
Tonight, we have a Poland reunion at school. I hear there will be "regional foods" there, which means pierogies. This is great because I'm starving and also because I am trying to save money and this means free dinner. I wish my Polish friends would be there (the ones actually FROM Poland), but it will still be good to see Ana, Akiko, Katie, Zach, etc.
I spoke with a cousin of mine today -- I think the only first cousin who has made an effort to keep in touch with me (out of the nine I have - they're all much older than I am). I was surprised at how nice it was to talk to her. I found myself asking lots of questions about my other cousins' kids -- the oldest of which are about 18 now. Two of my cousins' wives had daughters a few hours apart back when I was 12 years old. Somewhere, I have a really unflattering photo of me (sporting hairsprayed bangs and a decorative hairclip) holding them. Apparently they just turned 16. Sixteen! I wonder if they know anything about me, or even if I exist, or if they know anything about my mother, their aunt. Something about them, maybe moreso than my first cousins, makes me so curious. I am dying to know who they are.
That's the noise I have in my head right now, as I always do when I'm super busy and anxious. I've been working on a big-ish freelance project that required me to do a lot of web-page setting up and it was kind of confusing. I didn't want to do a half-ass job at it, so I think I might have overworked myself on it. That means all the less work I'll have to do on it next week, I suppose. Or, I could have totally screwed up, which means I'm in the doghouse with these people.
My class on Class will probably be interesting, but I have an insane amount of busy work to do for it. Um, summarize the readings every week in writing? Yes, we are apparently 15 years old. Despite that, I'm actually really psyched about the subject, more so than I ever thought I would be.
As requested, here's more info on my experience with the iPhone thus far:
PROS
Ease of use. I can't tell you how easy it is to set everything up! Everything is touch-activated, and it really works. Voicemail, preferences, sounds, etc.
Screen. Damn, this thing is pretty.
Camera. The camera takes really great photos! It's like a real camera (but without a flash, which is fine since flashes are douchey).
iPod. The phone is 8G, which is nice seeing as my iPod nano was only...4G? Plus, if a call, email or text comes in while you have the headphones on listening to music, the music slowly fades out and gives you an alert tone!
Phone. The phone itself has been great so far. Feels more comfortable to hold it up to my ear than the Blackberry, and the signal is better than T-Mobile.
Weather. There's a weather feature that allows you to check for forecast with one tap of the screen. It's like a widget!
Mail. The mail was easy to set up.
Texting. Text messages appear in a separate area, which I like. On the BB, they appeared with my emails, which means I sometimes missed them.
Looking and feeling cool. I've had wide-eyed kids run up to me screaming, "OMGISTHATANIPHONE?!"
CONS
So-so battery life. I guess it's fine, but I'm not used to having to charge my phone every night. Plus, it takes awhile to charge. Then again, I wasn't using my old phone as an mp3 player and camera either.
No Google Chat (or other chat programs). The SMS feature ends up looking just like iChat, but it's no substitute for a regular chat program -- one that does not charge you per message!
Typing. It's not horrible, but it takes some getting used to. It has a smart feature where it figures out what you might mean if you type nonsense (which happens often). That helps, but sometimes I just screw up.
Mail. You have to access a different screen for each email account you set up. On the BB, all messages came onto one screen, which made it quicker to access them and respond.
Incoming messages. The phone does make a noise when you receive a text or email, but there's no blinking light like on the BB. This means that if you're someplace loud, you have to keep unlocking the phone, which probably means guzzling the battery.
Anything else you'd like to know?
I'm off to Loo's wedding tomorrow. When I return, I start something new: working part-time. And I absolutely cannot wait. Though I hope I can pay my bills.
