July 20th, 2010
I've heard that everyone has to have a NYC living experience in a closet sized apartment. I thought I'd count myself out of said experience when I moved into a studio all by my lonesome. But then real life hit me in the form of a crashing economy. My neighborhood went to shit.
My family came to visit me for christmas when i was living WAAAY uptown in my studio two years ago. My mom was never really fond of my neighborhood. I thought it was fine. To set the scene, it went like this: mother and father sitting in my studio, christmas tree lit, warmth from the radiator. and then...
BAM!!!!
Mother runs to window: "Was that a gun?!"
ME: "If it was, the last place you'd want to be is right in front of the window."
Mother pressed up against window now: "You need to move out."
ME: "Get away from the window, mom. I don't need to move out. It could have been a firecracker." (yes i realize that doesn't make much sense, but not much made sense in my neighborhood.)
Mother: "You need to move out."
ME: "Mom, I'm fine."
Fast forward to christmas morning. Set the scene: mother and father and daughter stepping out across the front stoop. Blood ALL OVER front stoop.
Mother freaking out: "IS THAT BLOOOD?!?!?!"
ME: "I think it's just ketchup."
Father: "No, that's blood. I've seen this before. Looks like a stabbing."
ME looking in disbelief at father because somehow, he's seen EVERYTHING: "Oh."
Mother: "You need to move out!"
ME admitting defeat: "Ok."
So, there goes that idea. The ex moved in and we moved out. Moved a little further downtown to the UWS. This is a nice neighborhood. To give the abridged version, we broke up, she moved out, and i got a roommate... in a one bedroom apartment.
AND thus began my NYC lifestyle in a shoebox. I live in the living room with a curtain for a door and no closet. I store my linens behind my couch...
And it's not half bad.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Catching up... THE ROLODEX
April 16th
Since I've been living here, my updates have trailed off. Why? I would like to think it's because I have gotten a real life... either that or i've been too busy to keep everything updated online.
God this city is amazing. I forget to realize the unbelievability of the things I see. Mainly I think this is because you get jaded living here - just looking past the craziness because you see it SO often. Well, I need to remember that every story has something special to offer. And that every situation can be a story... I won't junk up this blog with too many. I try to go through the Rolodex of situations in my head, and here are the ones that stand out.
One night, I was coming home from some art galleries in Chelsea with my ex-girlfriend. We were discussing art styles and types of things we like or don't like. I believe we were having a conversation about poets somewhere in there too cause we'd gone to a really great bookstore. What I am getting at here is that we were just chock-full-o-culture. Don't be jealous, it happens sometimes. haha. So we were sitting on the train and looking around discussing the bright colors of this Pepsi ad campaign. Blah blah, yada yada. Well, the train came to it's next stop. All of a sudden, this woman approaches us (i think there might have been all of three whole people on the train and she chooses to approach us) and she sticks out her tongue. weird. but this isn't the weirdest part. This woman acts as though she does this for a profession. I mean, she had it down pat. She stuck her tongue out further than anything i've ever seen. And it was repulsive!!! HUGE and pink and bumpy. OMG! and she directly looked at camille. i thought for sure she put some sort of tongue spell on us...and then... she got off the train. and that was that. i looked around in disbelief. did anyone else see this??? only one man made eye contact with me and i think he was smiling. of course he was, what ELSE would you do? only in nyc... or a crazy bin.
short story: set the scene. Camille and I walking hand in hand near Central Park. It was the dead of winter and there was still snow on the ground. Slushy snow. We approach a crowd of young men. Maybe early 20s. This actually happens often...imagine that, in NYC there are crowds of 20 something men walking on the street together? It's true, i say. At any rate, usually when this happens I expect some sort of remark. I mean, Camille and I are two lipstick-ish lesbians. So generally we get some sort of cat-call, "can I join? Where's your man at? Can we watch? hey ladies! Can you hold MY hand?" that sort of thing. But this time, it was amazing. I overhear one guy say, in the best british accent i've ever heard, "What's your favorite fantasy?" and then answer himself, "Lesbians." I actually laughed at this one. :)
Speaking of winter. This city is freezing in the winter. i ran in Central park over the winter cause for some reason (or temporary insanity) i decided to sign up for a half marathon in the middle of winter. when i was running one day, i passed howard stern. then i looked at the digital clock and temperature thingie on a building and it read, 9 degrees. what the hell was i thinking? who cares about howard stern when i can't feel my face.
Also in the news. New to me- the nyc socialite cat woman. DEAR GOD! Google her. I would like to thank my co-worker, Michael, for introducing this crazy woman's existence into my life. i would like to think i was a better person for NOT knowing of her.
Since the winter is almost over and it has been cold as hell on a nearly everyday basis, i decided to warm myself with hot yoga. Actually that had nothing to do with joining, but it was a good transition. Hot yoga is the best thing ever if you enjoy feeling like you might pass out and or throw up.
AH! Speaking of warmer weather... TWICE now i have been witness to this. There is a man in my neighborhood that dances in the street. Well, on the sidewalk, rather. He is a dancing FOOL. He has in his headphones, and he just dances. back and forth, back and forth. no cap on the ground for money. i think he really does it for pleasure. it pleases him so much, that his shirt is sweat-stained every time i see him from what I can only imagine to be a dance off. yesterday, he pulled up his shirt to reveal a chain thong. i tell no lie. if anyone is interested, you can see this man between 168 and 157 on broadway around dusk. seriously.
i feel if i update more, it might be overload. Till next time.
Since I've been living here, my updates have trailed off. Why? I would like to think it's because I have gotten a real life... either that or i've been too busy to keep everything updated online.
God this city is amazing. I forget to realize the unbelievability of the things I see. Mainly I think this is because you get jaded living here - just looking past the craziness because you see it SO often. Well, I need to remember that every story has something special to offer. And that every situation can be a story... I won't junk up this blog with too many. I try to go through the Rolodex of situations in my head, and here are the ones that stand out.
One night, I was coming home from some art galleries in Chelsea with my ex-girlfriend. We were discussing art styles and types of things we like or don't like. I believe we were having a conversation about poets somewhere in there too cause we'd gone to a really great bookstore. What I am getting at here is that we were just chock-full-o-culture. Don't be jealous, it happens sometimes. haha. So we were sitting on the train and looking around discussing the bright colors of this Pepsi ad campaign. Blah blah, yada yada. Well, the train came to it's next stop. All of a sudden, this woman approaches us (i think there might have been all of three whole people on the train and she chooses to approach us) and she sticks out her tongue. weird. but this isn't the weirdest part. This woman acts as though she does this for a profession. I mean, she had it down pat. She stuck her tongue out further than anything i've ever seen. And it was repulsive!!! HUGE and pink and bumpy. OMG! and she directly looked at camille. i thought for sure she put some sort of tongue spell on us...and then... she got off the train. and that was that. i looked around in disbelief. did anyone else see this??? only one man made eye contact with me and i think he was smiling. of course he was, what ELSE would you do? only in nyc... or a crazy bin.
short story: set the scene. Camille and I walking hand in hand near Central Park. It was the dead of winter and there was still snow on the ground. Slushy snow. We approach a crowd of young men. Maybe early 20s. This actually happens often...imagine that, in NYC there are crowds of 20 something men walking on the street together? It's true, i say. At any rate, usually when this happens I expect some sort of remark. I mean, Camille and I are two lipstick-ish lesbians. So generally we get some sort of cat-call, "can I join? Where's your man at? Can we watch? hey ladies! Can you hold MY hand?" that sort of thing. But this time, it was amazing. I overhear one guy say, in the best british accent i've ever heard, "What's your favorite fantasy?" and then answer himself, "Lesbians." I actually laughed at this one. :)
Speaking of winter. This city is freezing in the winter. i ran in Central park over the winter cause for some reason (or temporary insanity) i decided to sign up for a half marathon in the middle of winter. when i was running one day, i passed howard stern. then i looked at the digital clock and temperature thingie on a building and it read, 9 degrees. what the hell was i thinking? who cares about howard stern when i can't feel my face.
Also in the news. New to me- the nyc socialite cat woman. DEAR GOD! Google her. I would like to thank my co-worker, Michael, for introducing this crazy woman's existence into my life. i would like to think i was a better person for NOT knowing of her.
Since the winter is almost over and it has been cold as hell on a nearly everyday basis, i decided to warm myself with hot yoga. Actually that had nothing to do with joining, but it was a good transition. Hot yoga is the best thing ever if you enjoy feeling like you might pass out and or throw up.
AH! Speaking of warmer weather... TWICE now i have been witness to this. There is a man in my neighborhood that dances in the street. Well, on the sidewalk, rather. He is a dancing FOOL. He has in his headphones, and he just dances. back and forth, back and forth. no cap on the ground for money. i think he really does it for pleasure. it pleases him so much, that his shirt is sweat-stained every time i see him from what I can only imagine to be a dance off. yesterday, he pulled up his shirt to reveal a chain thong. i tell no lie. if anyone is interested, you can see this man between 168 and 157 on broadway around dusk. seriously.
i feel if i update more, it might be overload. Till next time.
Catching up... THE MOM
July 30th
this is where...
I take a break from work (because if i don't i might go postal), and write a blog. yay for blogging. so, i have been getting requests for more blogs and now is the time for brief updates and small "stories."
as i rack my brain for events that stand out since i last blogged, i remember a few...
so, after purchasing my oh-so-fab computer a la apple, i decided to take a cab. granted, i don't do this often for fear of getting a stinky cab man like before (plus, it is WAY too expensive for my budget. especially after forking out what i did for my oh-so-fab computer). well, there i am, standing on the sidewalk in soho with a box that says, "MUG ME, PLEASE," and dying for a cab-one single cab-to pull over for me. FINALLY, the sea of strangers parts in the road and a yellow cab is headed right for me. all hail. haha. this guy was amazing. i get in the cab and he looks similar to taye diggs from the side back angle (which isn't saying much, i admit. he also had on sunglasses... a minor detail). then he speaks. his accent is something unique. i ask, where is that great accent from? he wants me to guess. I say.... the islands? he says, no. i say, south africa? he says no. ok... this game has gotten old.
he tells me he is from paris. he was raised there and his parents are from africa. amazing little mix. well, then we started discussing politics and religion. i guess that's just how NY is... great conversations anywhere you want. i love it. please discuss with me your views on yada yada.
so, as we talk, my cabbie makes a left-hand turn onto my road. as he makes said left-hand turn, i notice a giant sign that says, NO TURN HERE. i thought that he was avoiding the sign cause he is a badass. ummm... well, as soon as we turn, we get pulled over. my cabbie got a ticket. it was kinda odd and i felt somewhat responsible for engaging this dear sir in such lovely conversation that he got slapped with a hefty ticket and some points on his license. oops.
well, i get home and tip in. largely. my sincerest apologies mr. cab man. also, he took off the sunglasses and then taye disappeared. damn.
story two. this little one is about my mother, whom i love dearly. (i preface with that so that she may not kill me later)
so, since i have moved here, i have decided it is best NOT to tell my mother my whereabouts. she gets nervous when i go to a movie at night, let alone go out. AND THEN GO ON THE SUBWAY ALL BY MYSELF LIKE A BIG GIRL. i get phone calls relentlessly the next day to find out if i am still living. unfortunately, the bulk of these phone calls are before ten am which gives my mother ample time to think that i have passed on and am laying in some gutter somewhere. when, in fact, i am simply resting my weary, hungover eyes.
so, i went to see "wanted" the other night. it was fabulously horrible. i laughed the entire movie. well, that is, when i wasn't drooling over angelina. my god. her ass. my god. ok... i digress... well, the movie was a late movie and it was on a saturday (god forbid, a late saturday night movie ALONE... can you imagine??). however would a girl survive this big bad city in a movie theater with a shit ton of other angelina enthusiasts that are too commonplace to go out and create a life of crime-fighting of their own??
oddly enough, on the train ride to this movie, i witness something that really does break my heart and had the ability to make me weak in the knees and soggy around the eyeball area. and this is not in a good way. damn if there was a wack-job woman who wasn't beating her infant. screaming in his face to shut up as loud as she could. slapping him to make him cry after he had stopped and then screaming in his face once more. picking him up my his little rolly pollie fists and probably pulling his shoulders out of socket. omg, i couldnt handle it. apparently, there was a few of us adults on the train who had issues with this and some spoke up. i was on the other side of the train. when a man spoke up she went nuts, "this is my goddamned kid! who the fuck are you?!" yeah... so that was a moot point. horrible. i can only hope that child services has been called on this woman and her child be taken from her and put into a loving home. unfortunately, i know the system pretty well, and this situation just sucks all the way around.
point being, (aside from DONT EVER BEAT YOUR KIDS OR BE A CRAZY ASS LUNATIC) i called my mother to console my weepy-ness before going into the theater. BAD IDEA! "Where are you?! Are you going to a movie this late?! are you alone?! are you gonna take the train home alone?!" mother!! seriously?!
ok, but this little story i give mom permission to be annoyed. cause i am thoroughly! all of a sudden, the little shits directly across from my apartment windows have discovered my presence. sooo, they enjoy throwing things and screaming obscenities towards my open window. this is very annoying for two reaons: 1. because i can no longer save money by turning off the A/C, and 2. because i DO NOT enjoy hearing little kids screaming whilst i am doing things...
and the final story is just to boost my measly little ego. HA! ok, so i was walking valentino and most of you may know, that i judge my "going out" outfits on the number of "hollas" i get when i step outside my apartment. i may hear any of the following, hey mami, mira mira, psssssssssst, ay sexy, damn, etc. based on the number of said "hollas" is how i decide my level of smokin' hot versus not. anyhooo... this day, i was walking valentino to the grocery store to pick up dog food (that last little part about dog food isnt really pertinent to the story). so, i am crossing the street. mind you, i am donning work out pants and a work out tank with tennis shoes. so NOT hot. as i cross the road at the "its a good time to cross" signal, i almost get run over by a man who thinks it's ok to pass the other responsible driver that has stopped for me. lets just say, allstate and progressive would NOT be providing him with any sort of discount. alas, he sees me and stops. and then...
"hey sexy, i'd stop for you anytime. hey! hey! psssssssssssst!!!! turn around, beautiful. let me see your face."
at the last remark, i decide it is time for him to move on. i turn. everyone behind this dude is LAYING on their horns. i think obscenities could have been screamed. dude wants to pull a u-turn to come and talk to me and gently asks if that would be ok. at this point, i squish up my nose and shake my head, no. thanks. but no. MOVE ON.
at any rate, i think i should wear my work out clothes out one night. this was the largest "holla" that i have gotten in quite some time. what do you think?
this is where...
I take a break from work (because if i don't i might go postal), and write a blog. yay for blogging. so, i have been getting requests for more blogs and now is the time for brief updates and small "stories."
as i rack my brain for events that stand out since i last blogged, i remember a few...
so, after purchasing my oh-so-fab computer a la apple, i decided to take a cab. granted, i don't do this often for fear of getting a stinky cab man like before (plus, it is WAY too expensive for my budget. especially after forking out what i did for my oh-so-fab computer). well, there i am, standing on the sidewalk in soho with a box that says, "MUG ME, PLEASE," and dying for a cab-one single cab-to pull over for me. FINALLY, the sea of strangers parts in the road and a yellow cab is headed right for me. all hail. haha. this guy was amazing. i get in the cab and he looks similar to taye diggs from the side back angle (which isn't saying much, i admit. he also had on sunglasses... a minor detail). then he speaks. his accent is something unique. i ask, where is that great accent from? he wants me to guess. I say.... the islands? he says, no. i say, south africa? he says no. ok... this game has gotten old.
he tells me he is from paris. he was raised there and his parents are from africa. amazing little mix. well, then we started discussing politics and religion. i guess that's just how NY is... great conversations anywhere you want. i love it. please discuss with me your views on yada yada.
so, as we talk, my cabbie makes a left-hand turn onto my road. as he makes said left-hand turn, i notice a giant sign that says, NO TURN HERE. i thought that he was avoiding the sign cause he is a badass. ummm... well, as soon as we turn, we get pulled over. my cabbie got a ticket. it was kinda odd and i felt somewhat responsible for engaging this dear sir in such lovely conversation that he got slapped with a hefty ticket and some points on his license. oops.
well, i get home and tip in. largely. my sincerest apologies mr. cab man. also, he took off the sunglasses and then taye disappeared. damn.
story two. this little one is about my mother, whom i love dearly. (i preface with that so that she may not kill me later)
so, since i have moved here, i have decided it is best NOT to tell my mother my whereabouts. she gets nervous when i go to a movie at night, let alone go out. AND THEN GO ON THE SUBWAY ALL BY MYSELF LIKE A BIG GIRL. i get phone calls relentlessly the next day to find out if i am still living. unfortunately, the bulk of these phone calls are before ten am which gives my mother ample time to think that i have passed on and am laying in some gutter somewhere. when, in fact, i am simply resting my weary, hungover eyes.
so, i went to see "wanted" the other night. it was fabulously horrible. i laughed the entire movie. well, that is, when i wasn't drooling over angelina. my god. her ass. my god. ok... i digress... well, the movie was a late movie and it was on a saturday (god forbid, a late saturday night movie ALONE... can you imagine??). however would a girl survive this big bad city in a movie theater with a shit ton of other angelina enthusiasts that are too commonplace to go out and create a life of crime-fighting of their own??
oddly enough, on the train ride to this movie, i witness something that really does break my heart and had the ability to make me weak in the knees and soggy around the eyeball area. and this is not in a good way. damn if there was a wack-job woman who wasn't beating her infant. screaming in his face to shut up as loud as she could. slapping him to make him cry after he had stopped and then screaming in his face once more. picking him up my his little rolly pollie fists and probably pulling his shoulders out of socket. omg, i couldnt handle it. apparently, there was a few of us adults on the train who had issues with this and some spoke up. i was on the other side of the train. when a man spoke up she went nuts, "this is my goddamned kid! who the fuck are you?!" yeah... so that was a moot point. horrible. i can only hope that child services has been called on this woman and her child be taken from her and put into a loving home. unfortunately, i know the system pretty well, and this situation just sucks all the way around.
point being, (aside from DONT EVER BEAT YOUR KIDS OR BE A CRAZY ASS LUNATIC) i called my mother to console my weepy-ness before going into the theater. BAD IDEA! "Where are you?! Are you going to a movie this late?! are you alone?! are you gonna take the train home alone?!" mother!! seriously?!
ok, but this little story i give mom permission to be annoyed. cause i am thoroughly! all of a sudden, the little shits directly across from my apartment windows have discovered my presence. sooo, they enjoy throwing things and screaming obscenities towards my open window. this is very annoying for two reaons: 1. because i can no longer save money by turning off the A/C, and 2. because i DO NOT enjoy hearing little kids screaming whilst i am doing things...
and the final story is just to boost my measly little ego. HA! ok, so i was walking valentino and most of you may know, that i judge my "going out" outfits on the number of "hollas" i get when i step outside my apartment. i may hear any of the following, hey mami, mira mira, psssssssssst, ay sexy, damn, etc. based on the number of said "hollas" is how i decide my level of smokin' hot versus not. anyhooo... this day, i was walking valentino to the grocery store to pick up dog food (that last little part about dog food isnt really pertinent to the story). so, i am crossing the street. mind you, i am donning work out pants and a work out tank with tennis shoes. so NOT hot. as i cross the road at the "its a good time to cross" signal, i almost get run over by a man who thinks it's ok to pass the other responsible driver that has stopped for me. lets just say, allstate and progressive would NOT be providing him with any sort of discount. alas, he sees me and stops. and then...
"hey sexy, i'd stop for you anytime. hey! hey! psssssssssssst!!!! turn around, beautiful. let me see your face."
at the last remark, i decide it is time for him to move on. i turn. everyone behind this dude is LAYING on their horns. i think obscenities could have been screamed. dude wants to pull a u-turn to come and talk to me and gently asks if that would be ok. at this point, i squish up my nose and shake my head, no. thanks. but no. MOVE ON.
at any rate, i think i should wear my work out clothes out one night. this was the largest "holla" that i have gotten in quite some time. what do you think?
Catching up... THE LAUNDROMAT
June 13th
might as well start out the weekend with some good old fashioned honesty:
1. i have a headache
2. i am home at 10:20pm on a friday night in nyc
3.i am exhausted
4. i thought i would be city savvy (oh how wrong i was)
and 5. i believe that friday the 13th brought not only bad luck my way, but also pms
(DISCLAIMER: this might be slightly offensive or just WAAAY too much information for some people. that being said, read on with caution and please do not take what i am about to say too seriously.)
so today was ok... started out fantastic. good old, walk the dog around the block and up the hill. yes, i am losing weight. this being my only redeeming thing to hold on to as i sweat before work on my uphill journey with dog in tow, or should i say, towing me.
so the commute i have down pat. door to door (if i have the guts to shove myself and my massive purse into the jam-packed subway car) takes me 30 min. not too shabby, if i do say so myself. (and i do.)
friday the 13th brought me slight frustration at pretty much every turn today. starting with senuti. that's itunes backwards and i learned that from my techie boss back in good ole flow-rida. so, the program downloads onto my new work computer and it is supposed to allow me the capability to download the songs off my ipod and onto my new itunes. things are running pretty smoothly, i am listening to all my old songs and then a purchased song comes up and hence an "authorize your computer to play this song" prompt. i type in my information and hit continue. ERROR -9813. what. the. hell. is. that??? i google. i come up with threads telling me what to do to recitfy the situation. nothing works. i contact apple. the little chat person, who's name just so happens to be Phap, tells me to CALL apple. i think phap stand for pretty hot and pretty much in the dark about what the heck is going on with itunes. so i call. the woman in india tells me it's an itunes problem. "well," i say, "Phap told me it was an apple problem."
she transfers me. i delete something with a super helper woman who then tells me i must re-install everything on my computer.
i have messed up my computer now to the point where the local tech guy has to fix my computer. ARGH. at this point, i am frustrated beyond belief. i cannot function without music. i just cannot work. i emog, email, chat, anything... music keeps me focused. without it, i am as productive as a double arm amputee trying to knit.
tech man comes downstairs tells me he needs 20 min. alone with my computer. i let him have it graciously, and i go shopping. retail therapy. i bought a pillow sham. i swear i cannot go one day without buying at least 1 thing. i'm working on this.
the truely amazing part happens when i decide i should do laundry tonight because i figure not too many others would be doing laundry on a friday night. i go down to my basement (cause i have laundry IN MY BUILDING) with a ziplock full of quarters. "odd," i think to myself, "these washers and dryers only takes cards." let it be said that my card was upstairs. sooo, i go upstairs. again. get my card, come downstairs. i follow the directions on the washer. add detergent (liquid) and add clothes. close the lid. and swipe my card. ERR. <--- that is what the machine said when i swiped my card. uh huh. it doesnt take just ANY card, no no. that would be TOOO easy. so, i take my clothes which are now lathered with wet soap out of the washer and put them back into my laundry hamper. i swear, i feel like a moron in this city. everything i am learning the hard way.
on the way upstairs with my laundry hamper (AGAIN) i meet a very nice woman by the name of sarah. she kindly infoms me that i need a special card to do laundry here (i have figured this out the hard way by now, thank you sarah). one that i must first send off for in the mail. thank you, sarah. and thank you asshole broker who forgot to mention ALL the little details.
at this point, i HAVE to do laundry tonight bc the clothes i wanted to wear were soaked. i gather all my clothes into my granny cart. called so because it is slightly too short--probably perfect height for a grandma. being as though i am NOT a grandma quite yet, it makes my butt stick out in the most peculiar way because of the way that i must bend down to steer and to hold onto the super short handle.
and thus began the dominican ballet. once i entered the laundry mat, i was entered into a choreographed dance without even knowing it. the hallways were so narrow that this person had to go that way, and i had to go this just to get through. everyone spoke in spanish to me. so i hear, "spanish spanish spanish, blah blah blah." i might as well have been listening to the wah wah wah wah character from charlie brown. do i LOOK spanish?? ok ok, i know, i AM a little tan. and i do have brown hair and brown eyes. but really?? doesnt the deer in headlights look do the trick? when you speak to me, and i dont answer. AT ALL. that should be a clue. but no. so the dance continues. i go this way, you hit me with your cart. i go that way, i hit you with my cart. it was fantasically aweful. not to mention.. the rush for the dryers. oh lawd. i still need to get that "pushin and shovin" confidence. BUT i got all my laundry done. even the bra off my body. yes, i took it off while i was there. ha!
so i finally take my full boobie bouncing PMS-ing self back to my apartment, granny cart and all, and am now enjoying this crappiest movie robin williams has ever made on a friday night alone in the city. give me time, and these might become more filled with stories of an actual social scene.
might as well start out the weekend with some good old fashioned honesty:
1. i have a headache
2. i am home at 10:20pm on a friday night in nyc
3.i am exhausted
4. i thought i would be city savvy (oh how wrong i was)
and 5. i believe that friday the 13th brought not only bad luck my way, but also pms
(DISCLAIMER: this might be slightly offensive or just WAAAY too much information for some people. that being said, read on with caution and please do not take what i am about to say too seriously.)
so today was ok... started out fantastic. good old, walk the dog around the block and up the hill. yes, i am losing weight. this being my only redeeming thing to hold on to as i sweat before work on my uphill journey with dog in tow, or should i say, towing me.
so the commute i have down pat. door to door (if i have the guts to shove myself and my massive purse into the jam-packed subway car) takes me 30 min. not too shabby, if i do say so myself. (and i do.)
friday the 13th brought me slight frustration at pretty much every turn today. starting with senuti. that's itunes backwards and i learned that from my techie boss back in good ole flow-rida. so, the program downloads onto my new work computer and it is supposed to allow me the capability to download the songs off my ipod and onto my new itunes. things are running pretty smoothly, i am listening to all my old songs and then a purchased song comes up and hence an "authorize your computer to play this song" prompt. i type in my information and hit continue. ERROR -9813. what. the. hell. is. that??? i google. i come up with threads telling me what to do to recitfy the situation. nothing works. i contact apple. the little chat person, who's name just so happens to be Phap, tells me to CALL apple. i think phap stand for pretty hot and pretty much in the dark about what the heck is going on with itunes. so i call. the woman in india tells me it's an itunes problem. "well," i say, "Phap told me it was an apple problem."
she transfers me. i delete something with a super helper woman who then tells me i must re-install everything on my computer.
i have messed up my computer now to the point where the local tech guy has to fix my computer. ARGH. at this point, i am frustrated beyond belief. i cannot function without music. i just cannot work. i emog, email, chat, anything... music keeps me focused. without it, i am as productive as a double arm amputee trying to knit.
tech man comes downstairs tells me he needs 20 min. alone with my computer. i let him have it graciously, and i go shopping. retail therapy. i bought a pillow sham. i swear i cannot go one day without buying at least 1 thing. i'm working on this.
the truely amazing part happens when i decide i should do laundry tonight because i figure not too many others would be doing laundry on a friday night. i go down to my basement (cause i have laundry IN MY BUILDING) with a ziplock full of quarters. "odd," i think to myself, "these washers and dryers only takes cards." let it be said that my card was upstairs. sooo, i go upstairs. again. get my card, come downstairs. i follow the directions on the washer. add detergent (liquid) and add clothes. close the lid. and swipe my card. ERR. <--- that is what the machine said when i swiped my card. uh huh. it doesnt take just ANY card, no no. that would be TOOO easy. so, i take my clothes which are now lathered with wet soap out of the washer and put them back into my laundry hamper. i swear, i feel like a moron in this city. everything i am learning the hard way.
on the way upstairs with my laundry hamper (AGAIN) i meet a very nice woman by the name of sarah. she kindly infoms me that i need a special card to do laundry here (i have figured this out the hard way by now, thank you sarah). one that i must first send off for in the mail. thank you, sarah. and thank you asshole broker who forgot to mention ALL the little details.
at this point, i HAVE to do laundry tonight bc the clothes i wanted to wear were soaked. i gather all my clothes into my granny cart. called so because it is slightly too short--probably perfect height for a grandma. being as though i am NOT a grandma quite yet, it makes my butt stick out in the most peculiar way because of the way that i must bend down to steer and to hold onto the super short handle.
and thus began the dominican ballet. once i entered the laundry mat, i was entered into a choreographed dance without even knowing it. the hallways were so narrow that this person had to go that way, and i had to go this just to get through. everyone spoke in spanish to me. so i hear, "spanish spanish spanish, blah blah blah." i might as well have been listening to the wah wah wah wah character from charlie brown. do i LOOK spanish?? ok ok, i know, i AM a little tan. and i do have brown hair and brown eyes. but really?? doesnt the deer in headlights look do the trick? when you speak to me, and i dont answer. AT ALL. that should be a clue. but no. so the dance continues. i go this way, you hit me with your cart. i go that way, i hit you with my cart. it was fantasically aweful. not to mention.. the rush for the dryers. oh lawd. i still need to get that "pushin and shovin" confidence. BUT i got all my laundry done. even the bra off my body. yes, i took it off while i was there. ha!
so i finally take my full boobie bouncing PMS-ing self back to my apartment, granny cart and all, and am now enjoying this crappiest movie robin williams has ever made on a friday night alone in the city. give me time, and these might become more filled with stories of an actual social scene.
Catching up... THE FARTING CABBIE
June 11th
Ok, so yesterday was interesting. Here at the NY office, people really don't start getting in until 9:30am or 10am. (my kind of people... Haha) So, I sit here EARLY (MUAHAHAHAHA) and I write. So yesterday, thus began my emog and then I started to actually work. I ate lunch at my desk so that I could go get a pedicure around the corner with some of the girls at the office. Fun times. After which, I came back to the office, worked and then decided that I should leave a little early (3:30) to get my AC. A very nice day at the office.
AND THEN...
I stop by home depot on 23rd bc this is one of the only places I can find (remember I am new here, I am sure there are a plethora of other places to venture out to) where I can get a new AC unit. So I get to the store and there are about 400 other people who had the exact same idea I had, apparently. I pick out the dang thing which weighs about 100lbs and some nice gentleman helps me put it into my cart. Which really means, set it on top of the basket and hope that it doesn't slide off the front. So I go to check-out and this little bratty girl is checking me out. I decide to go for same day delivery. This is how it happened:
Me (to a sales associate): Where do I go to sign up for same day delivery?
Him (pointing): Right over there.
Me: Thank you, oh kind sir.
Me: Hi, I'd like to have this delivered today.
Crappy attitude sales girl: Ok, fill out this form (slams form onto the table and walks away)
Me:...ok (I take 2 seconds to fill out form and start to ponder where CASG ((lets use abbreviations here, it's too long to type out every time)) went. I begin overhearing a conversation with another associate to a man who also wants something delivered and wondering why my CASG has disappeared)
CASG (to other sales associate): same day deliveries are over for today, we can only do it tomorrow.
Me (inside my head): what the hell is she talking about? Why did I just fill out this damn form that took 2 seconds and why did she leave for 15 min while I just stood here and is she ever going to even address the fact that she is supposed to be waiting on me?? Patience, Deena. Ok, start counting. Deep breath. What the hell is she doing??? WHY CANT I GET THIS DELIVERED TODAY WHEN SHE JUST SAID I COULD??? This is too heavy. What the hell am I going to do. Don't cry, you pansy. And don't call your mother. Ok, you can do this. I must have this today or I will die of heat stroke. Figure it out. Ok, go to the other check out line after giving CASG a bad, BAD look.
Me (to CASG): so, I guess I don't need this after all (lifting up and crumpling form that I just filled out for delivery)
CASG: (rolls eyes)
Me (inside my head): STUPID WENCH.
Ok, so I get the darn thing paid for in another line that took another 20 min and decide to hail a cab. Don't ask... I thought I could just figure it out as I go. No cabs are stopping bc like I said before, there are about 400 people doing the same thing with AC units. So, I call a car service. He gets there 10 min later. He nicely helps me put the 100lb AC into the car. I get in:
Him (very heavy indian accent): its veddy hot. How you sleep last night?
Me: with ice packs. Haha
Him: where you put the ice?
Me: (a little creeped out, but still not thinking) On my neck.
Him: You married?
Me: (still not catching on) No.
Him: (grossly checks out my legs while I sit in the backseat)
Me: (Dialing anyone as quickly as possible on the phone whilst I notice a stench encompassing the car)
How the heck do you hit on someone, check them out the ENTIRE car ride... WHILE letting Silent but deadly farts?? How does that happen??
Only in NYC.
So, I get home, drag the AC into the apt. Four hours, a few tears, a hurt back and scraped arms, and an intimate familiarity with curse words later...I have AC!!!
I will never take this for granted again. And I did it all by myself. Power to the woman. So. I have decided that my apartment from henceforth will be decorated in the "Seasonal Style." by this I mean, furniture will be arranged based on AC and/or heat. My bed was moved directly in front of the AC unit and I slept harder than I have ever slept before. And I was cold. Wonderfully, deliberately, COLD!
Ok, so yesterday was interesting. Here at the NY office, people really don't start getting in until 9:30am or 10am. (my kind of people... Haha) So, I sit here EARLY (MUAHAHAHAHA) and I write. So yesterday, thus began my emog and then I started to actually work. I ate lunch at my desk so that I could go get a pedicure around the corner with some of the girls at the office. Fun times. After which, I came back to the office, worked and then decided that I should leave a little early (3:30) to get my AC. A very nice day at the office.
AND THEN...
I stop by home depot on 23rd bc this is one of the only places I can find (remember I am new here, I am sure there are a plethora of other places to venture out to) where I can get a new AC unit. So I get to the store and there are about 400 other people who had the exact same idea I had, apparently. I pick out the dang thing which weighs about 100lbs and some nice gentleman helps me put it into my cart. Which really means, set it on top of the basket and hope that it doesn't slide off the front. So I go to check-out and this little bratty girl is checking me out. I decide to go for same day delivery. This is how it happened:
Me (to a sales associate): Where do I go to sign up for same day delivery?
Him (pointing): Right over there.
Me: Thank you, oh kind sir.
Me: Hi, I'd like to have this delivered today.
Crappy attitude sales girl: Ok, fill out this form (slams form onto the table and walks away)
Me:...ok (I take 2 seconds to fill out form and start to ponder where CASG ((lets use abbreviations here, it's too long to type out every time)) went. I begin overhearing a conversation with another associate to a man who also wants something delivered and wondering why my CASG has disappeared)
CASG (to other sales associate): same day deliveries are over for today, we can only do it tomorrow.
Me (inside my head): what the hell is she talking about? Why did I just fill out this damn form that took 2 seconds and why did she leave for 15 min while I just stood here and is she ever going to even address the fact that she is supposed to be waiting on me?? Patience, Deena. Ok, start counting. Deep breath. What the hell is she doing??? WHY CANT I GET THIS DELIVERED TODAY WHEN SHE JUST SAID I COULD??? This is too heavy. What the hell am I going to do. Don't cry, you pansy. And don't call your mother. Ok, you can do this. I must have this today or I will die of heat stroke. Figure it out. Ok, go to the other check out line after giving CASG a bad, BAD look.
Me (to CASG): so, I guess I don't need this after all (lifting up and crumpling form that I just filled out for delivery)
CASG: (rolls eyes)
Me (inside my head): STUPID WENCH.
Ok, so I get the darn thing paid for in another line that took another 20 min and decide to hail a cab. Don't ask... I thought I could just figure it out as I go. No cabs are stopping bc like I said before, there are about 400 people doing the same thing with AC units. So, I call a car service. He gets there 10 min later. He nicely helps me put the 100lb AC into the car. I get in:
Him (very heavy indian accent): its veddy hot. How you sleep last night?
Me: with ice packs. Haha
Him: where you put the ice?
Me: (a little creeped out, but still not thinking) On my neck.
Him: You married?
Me: (still not catching on) No.
Him: (grossly checks out my legs while I sit in the backseat)
Me: (Dialing anyone as quickly as possible on the phone whilst I notice a stench encompassing the car)
How the heck do you hit on someone, check them out the ENTIRE car ride... WHILE letting Silent but deadly farts?? How does that happen??
Only in NYC.
So, I get home, drag the AC into the apt. Four hours, a few tears, a hurt back and scraped arms, and an intimate familiarity with curse words later...I have AC!!!
I will never take this for granted again. And I did it all by myself. Power to the woman. So. I have decided that my apartment from henceforth will be decorated in the "Seasonal Style." by this I mean, furniture will be arranged based on AC and/or heat. My bed was moved directly in front of the AC unit and I slept harder than I have ever slept before. And I was cold. Wonderfully, deliberately, COLD!
Catching up... THE SUPER
Upcoming is the 1 year anniversary of my move to NYC. I went back and read some of my blogs, and as the social networking technology changes, so do I. These are the Days of Our Lives. Sorry, I couldn't help myself. Ok... here's the thing: I miss writing. So I have decided to update notes with my old blogs starting at the beginning of my move and moving forward from now... or slightly before now as I am sure I have many interesting stories since I've written about a year ago.
The story below is after I very first moved to the city:
June 10th
And so it begins...
I should remind everyone that my super speaks Russian, not English. That being said, every time I need something done, I practically have to drag him up to my apartment and point at the problem. SO, after doing that about 3 times already, I figured I didn't want to be a problem child. BUT! There was an exception...
As you all may know (or may not, but don't worry, I'll inform you anyways) IT IS SO HOT UP HERE!!!! Needless to say, I still don't have an AC unit in my apartment, for two reasons. 1. It's heavy and I don't want to carry it back to my place, and 2. I fear I might drop it 5 stories out of my window trying to install the damn thing by myself (because God forbid I ask the Russian super for something else). All that aside, I find myself basking in cold showers and sitting in front of fans. So, on Friday night, I was taking a nice cold shower and once I finished up, I decided to make my way to the main room of my studio and a half (I will not call it a JR. 1 bedroom anymore bc it isnt. It is a studio and a half, dangit). And on my way out of the bathroom, I encounter a SMALL problem.
I was locked in. with no phone.
Yeah, that's right. I figured that the knob, which must be PREwar (civil war, might I add), was just being tricky and that perhaps if I gave it a minute, I might be able to turn it and thus let myself out of the bathroom. Um, nope. I was wrong. I gave it a little while... Tried to turn again. NOTHING. In fact, I started to turn so hard that I unscrewed the dang handle and it came off... I quickly screwed it back on for fear that I would NEVER be able to get out of the bathroom if the whole thing fell off. So then I am standing there, dripping wet contemplating my options. A) open the window and scream for help. And hope that some little spanish child hears my calls and can understand english enough to let someone know that there is an american girl stuck in her bathroom on the 5th floor in apartment 50. B) wait till my friend calls and calls and cannot reach me and freaks out enough to call the cops. And then have the cops see me the next morning in nothing but a bathrobe drenched in, not only water from my cold shower, but also tears. Or option C) which was the one I chose, to break down the damn door. So I sat on my floor and braced myself against my wall (here is where I can thank god that my bathroom is THAT small that I can reach the door and the wall for leverage at the same time) and push as hard as I can. And I broke the door open. THANK GOD.
This is where I marched down to the supers door and, still sopping wet, brought him to my apartment where I busted open the bathroom door. He had the nerve to tell ME, that the manager would be MAD bc I broke the door. UMMM EXCUSE ME??!?!?!??! I just got locked in my bathroom bc your stupid "manager" hasn't changed the door knob since Lincoln was in office, and you're yelling at ME??!!! Uh, no.
Then he added insult to injury by looking me up and down and saying (through laughter and a heavy russian accent) "you struong"
Very funny. Laugh it up russian boy. So not funny.
But now I can laugh at the whole experience.
WELCOME TO NY!!
Ps... If anyone feels like sending a care package, include ice packs that I can throw in the freezer and stuff into pillows while I sleep to keep me cool. Thankyouverymuch. (or you could send a new working door knob for my bathroom)
The story below is after I very first moved to the city:
June 10th
And so it begins...
I should remind everyone that my super speaks Russian, not English. That being said, every time I need something done, I practically have to drag him up to my apartment and point at the problem. SO, after doing that about 3 times already, I figured I didn't want to be a problem child. BUT! There was an exception...
As you all may know (or may not, but don't worry, I'll inform you anyways) IT IS SO HOT UP HERE!!!! Needless to say, I still don't have an AC unit in my apartment, for two reasons. 1. It's heavy and I don't want to carry it back to my place, and 2. I fear I might drop it 5 stories out of my window trying to install the damn thing by myself (because God forbid I ask the Russian super for something else). All that aside, I find myself basking in cold showers and sitting in front of fans. So, on Friday night, I was taking a nice cold shower and once I finished up, I decided to make my way to the main room of my studio and a half (I will not call it a JR. 1 bedroom anymore bc it isnt. It is a studio and a half, dangit). And on my way out of the bathroom, I encounter a SMALL problem.
I was locked in. with no phone.
Yeah, that's right. I figured that the knob, which must be PREwar (civil war, might I add), was just being tricky and that perhaps if I gave it a minute, I might be able to turn it and thus let myself out of the bathroom. Um, nope. I was wrong. I gave it a little while... Tried to turn again. NOTHING. In fact, I started to turn so hard that I unscrewed the dang handle and it came off... I quickly screwed it back on for fear that I would NEVER be able to get out of the bathroom if the whole thing fell off. So then I am standing there, dripping wet contemplating my options. A) open the window and scream for help. And hope that some little spanish child hears my calls and can understand english enough to let someone know that there is an american girl stuck in her bathroom on the 5th floor in apartment 50. B) wait till my friend calls and calls and cannot reach me and freaks out enough to call the cops. And then have the cops see me the next morning in nothing but a bathrobe drenched in, not only water from my cold shower, but also tears. Or option C) which was the one I chose, to break down the damn door. So I sat on my floor and braced myself against my wall (here is where I can thank god that my bathroom is THAT small that I can reach the door and the wall for leverage at the same time) and push as hard as I can. And I broke the door open. THANK GOD.
This is where I marched down to the supers door and, still sopping wet, brought him to my apartment where I busted open the bathroom door. He had the nerve to tell ME, that the manager would be MAD bc I broke the door. UMMM EXCUSE ME??!?!?!??! I just got locked in my bathroom bc your stupid "manager" hasn't changed the door knob since Lincoln was in office, and you're yelling at ME??!!! Uh, no.
Then he added insult to injury by looking me up and down and saying (through laughter and a heavy russian accent) "you struong"
Very funny. Laugh it up russian boy. So not funny.
But now I can laugh at the whole experience.
WELCOME TO NY!!
Ps... If anyone feels like sending a care package, include ice packs that I can throw in the freezer and stuff into pillows while I sleep to keep me cool. Thankyouverymuch. (or you could send a new working door knob for my bathroom)
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)