I've Been Away--Obsessing

I was sick, then hungover, then just tired, but this is my new obsession. Just wanted you all (all 4 of you) to know

Morning Becomes Spastic

I was just awoken by what sounded like a squeaky wheel. It took me several moments to actually wake up and realize it was a bird outside my window. Presumably the chicken of discontent or the wren of clumsiness.

A squeaky wheel bird. Insane. Thanks, nature, but no thanks.

R.I.P. Samsung t219

The most spectacular of phone deaths occurred last night.

Whilst walking to meet a friend in the driving rain
my phone slipped from my gloved hand
hit the sidewalk
split in two
one half landed in a puddle
where it was immediately run over by a delivery truck
(important to note is that this also created a fabulous arc of dirty puddle water which made it's way to my jacket, tights, skirt...I just can't clean up nice, it seems.)

Luckily, a shiny new T-Mobile store just moved in around the corner from my home. I went in today, got an upgrade and they found it in their hearts to give me a new phone at my 100% discount as my plan was coming to an end in July. When gazing lovingly at my new phone, I exclaimed, "It's so fancy!" to which the youth behind the counter said "Ummm...not really."

Earlier he described to me his busy lifestyle in a laconic monotone reserved for those under 30 years old.

His attitude made me giddier than usual, and I think by the end of our transaction I had acquired a bit of a southern lilt to my voice and I started looking at all the techy things with wide eyed wonderment. "Goodbye now, y'all hear!"

T.G.I.Amex

Last night after a boozy Easter bruncheon in Brooklyn Heights, I thought it best to check my American Express account online as I hadn't done so in about 4 days. These are the things that go through my head when wine is involved.

I was shocked to see the high balance, so I turned the volume on my new fancy speakers I just bought a few weeks ago and took a closer look at my recent card activity. Smack dab in the middle of the usual charges was evidence of some foul play.

Target Store: $971.58
T.G.I.F.: $55.43
UA Sheepshead Bay: $23.00
UA Sheepshead Bay: $9.50

Amazing date with baby momma: Priceless (Lit'rally, cuz it was on MY credit card, bitches!)

What to Say When You are Not Expecting*

Friday I woke up with two certainties: I needed to sort out the pain in my right shoulder and I needed new clothes. Tackling the shoulder pain was easy, I just made my way to my favorite Tui Na place in midtown. The latter was another issue as a) I hate shopping sometimes and b) I am on a bit of a budget. On a whim I stopped in at Kenneth Cole at Grand Central and spying a young sales woman whose outfit I admired, I asked that she throw some things together for me and start a dressing room. She sized me up then started right away, picking and choosing items without consulting me on color or design, but going by what she thought would be the best fit-in all arenas. I was thrilled. I tried on about 12 things and chose 4. While in the changing room I got an invite to a preview of 9 to 5: The Musical including a Q & A with Dolly Parton (yeeeehaw!). This change of events required and justified my walking out of KC in one of my new splash outfits.

My personal shopper assured me that I could just cut the tags off at the register and walk out as such. While waiting at the register, another salesperson (male) walked by and told me that my new tunic looked smashing and he gave me a thumbs up. The new ensemble was like anything I have ever worn, but I loved it. This is why people like shopping, I mused, and handed my lil' green credit card to the man behind the register. As he handed it back to me, he looked at me and said "How far along are you?" I froze. I had just been thinking about which lipstick color to go for and how I planned on wearing jeans more often and this question snapped me out of my revery like a rubberband on the eyelid. I paused, glanced to the clerk who had raved about my new look, but he was crimson and looking through an invisible pile of things, then I glanced back at the man who'd just done damage to my credit card, looked him in the eye and quite soberly said "I am not pregnant". At this he looked down, exhaled an apology, and hurried along with printing the receipt. I chuckled half heartedly and said "Are you mortified? Because I am." He didn't reply, but just said, "How about a do-over" which made little sense to me so I collected my packages and walked away.

Strangely, I didn't want to change back into my old outfit. I liked what I was wearing, and quite frankly, I thought it was flattering and I felt comfortable and good. But what I did regret was that I didn't react in a more extravagant fashion. Following are a few options I fantacized about on my way to 9 to 5:

At "How far along are you?" I wish I had:

A) Looked at the guy dismayed, then said "FUCK, I am pregnant?! NOT AGAIN!!!"
B) Punched my stomach repeatedly and yelled, "Get it out of me!"
C) Shrugged my shoulders and replied "10 months, it just won't come out. Can you believe that?"
D) Picked up the scissors next to me and started cutting off all my clothes and then just walked out.

It's a tricky thing, mentioning a strangers delicate condition, which is why I don't do it. I recommend the same for people in clothing sales.

*Thanks to L.A.B. for the working title.

Baby Jesus Made Me Do It

As I exited my building yesterday, I opened the door and knocked someone off the top step of the entrance into her colleague, thus causing a sort of domino effect of old ladies. Luckily, nobody actually tipped over onto the ground, but there was a lot of physical comedy to prevent a full-on face plant. I felt horrible, but I had to stifle a laugh. The two women who looked to be in their 60's were dressed in their Sunday best, hats and all. One was wearing varying shades of navy blue, a ladies skirt suit circa 1970 with a blouse, a blue velvety hat and her dark stockinged feet were packed into prim navy shoes. The other woman who I had knocked over with the door was wearing a light brown color, not unlike that of a teddy bear, and almost of the same material. She was also wearing a skirt/jacket/blouse combo, and her hat matched perfectly, but it was not as structured as the one her navy friend was wearing.

Following is the dialogue that took place:

Me: I am so sorry! Are you o.k.?
This was said in a rather high pitched voice, as I was really afraid I almost killed a stranger. It was accompanied by my reaching out for the woman's hand and steadying her. This hand she held onto with her soft, warm, pillowy hand during the entire exchange.
Lady in Brown: Why yeees, I am fine. But you startled me so. "Are you o.k.?", she asked the her friend.
To my relief, everyone was fine.
Me: I just didn't see you through the door window, I am so very sorry.
Lady in Brown: Are you saying I am short?
Me: No, I am just saying that when you stand-
Lady in Brown: You are! You are saying we are short! Well, how do you like that? (chuckle chuckle)
Me: Yes, o.k. You are short. It's true.
Lady in Brown: WHAT?! You've got nerve. Come on, girl, you wanna go?
Me: Yes, I do wanna go. I hate it when short people stand around my building.
Lady in Brown: Come on then, let's take this outside.
Me: We are outside!
Lady in Brown: O.K. then, which apartment are you?
Me: H4
Lady in Brown: I just rang that apartment!
Me: I know, I came down to tell you short people to get away from my building!

Me, Lady in Brown, Lady in Navy: LAUGHTER, oh, we laughed and laughed.

Again, throughout this entire exchange my left hand (yes, the one less a fraction of a finger) was safe and warm in her left hand, while she patted my arm with her right. It was all very familiar and nice, but steeped in jocularity reserved for neighbors who have known each other for decades.

Finally, she released my hand, bade me a bless day, and handed me an invitation to the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses. If our five minute exchange represents what happens down at the Kingdom Hall, I just might have to go.

Forced Intermission

Whilst chopping cilantro destined to be added to a batch of guacamole for today's Campfire Women picnic, I inadvertently sliced off about a 1/8 of an inch of my left index finger, nail and all. Luckily, my hands were really cold and I could staunch the blood flow for a bit. I called a friend for an adrenalin talk down, then fashioned a band aid out of a cotton square and packing tape. When I had it re-dressed by another friend later that morning, she laughed at the hobo-esque quality of my bandage, but was gracious enough to wrap it up in gauze and surgical tape. She is a real adult with an actual First Aid kit. I am in awe.

It hurts to type.

All the Pretty Horse Whisperers

Today I was reminded ONCE AGAIN of my inadequacies when it comes to the realm of cool.

I was emailing back and forth with my lovely James Hetfield lovin', Greek goddess friend who is based in London (weep!), and we started discussing how I really needed to somehow acquaint myself with James Franco. We mused, as we often do in tangential form, about how I would just happen to position myself on NYU campus, and what I would just happen to be wearing (a t-shirt with a shark eating a kitten, maybe, but like, really tight), but then the tricky part of starting a conversation came up. What makes me a rather terrible New Yorker in many ways is that I am somewhat shy when it comes to initiating dialogue. That said, I am a great New Yorker in that I can ignore anyone. However, I shall not be ignoring James.

I dislike the notion of striking up a conversation with a celebrity by starting with their "work". The thought alone makes me cringe with embarrassment. I think there is a Dutch term for embarrassment felt for someone else in a cringe-worthy situation. (Pipe in any Dutch readers out there.) So, Greek Goddess and I were running through IMDB with all the possible film references I could make to James, and then exhausted and overwhelmed I suggested "I thought you were great in Batman."

And then I didn't hear from my friend for a spell. Dead silence. Crickets.

Finally, she broke with silence with "Apologies for the condescending geek that I am but it's Spider-Man if you're referring to Franco. Oh I hang my head in shame at correcting you. Besides there is only one James that earns the right to giant, bold font and that is The Mighty Het."

Bless.

Magical Inwood

I left the house at 7:00 a.m. today armed with a messenger bag, snacks, and a wad of cash and headed to Inwood to check out a new bicyclette. After an hour spent with strangers whose sour breath matched their dispositions, I alighted at 181st street station and it took no time to realize that I was in another world. People were, how do I put this, friendly. I headed to the address of the woman who was selling the bike, and realized that I was going the wrong way. When someone who was sweeping outside the building saw me looking at a piece of paper with the address, he approached me and asked if I needed help. He advised me to climb up a long flight of concrete stairs (that's what the elevator in the station was all about!!!) and I would find the building there.

After trudging up about 100 steps, I was amazed at what stood before me. Just regular old buildings, I guess, built around the turn of the 20th century, but they were very different from my part of town. It took me a minute to realize that the difference was that they were clean. Things were tidy and clean! Order! AND, best of all--a view of the Hudson.

Still a bit in awe of what I was seeing, I met up with the seller of said bike, and she immediately offered a cup of tea. Then we sat and chatted for about three quarters of an hour and it was fantastic. I just couldn't help thinking that if she were not leaving, she would be someone I would like to know. We discussed the seedier side to non-profits and how somehow people often just self aggrandize when they work for them, thus becoming worse than the corporate machine. We finally looked at the bike, discussed why she had never ridden it (fear of mean streets), its travels with her (D.C. to Sydney to Inwood) and how she was going to spend the cash (Botox).

An hour later I left her building with bike in tow (I lurves it, I do!!!) and because I hadn't made any adjustments to the seat or anything, I chose to not ride it. This did not go unnoticed. The people of Inwood are fastidious and astute. One minute into my journey, a woman exiting her building called out to me, "Now, that's a good idea! A bike ride." She caught me up and we discussed the forecast. She then bid me a glorious day and turned down a nicely groomed street. I headed to the park near the subway station (Bike Seller gave me detailed directions on the ideal route back) where I was met by an older gentleman pushing a toddler in a stroller. The toddler wouldn't stop smiling. It was the happiest baby I have ever seen. Showing off it's two little Tic Tac teeth, it grinned and his courier said "That's a nice idea, taking the bike for a stroll are we?" I laughed (even my laugh sounds different in Inwood. It sounded lighthearted and gay, like that of a 50's starlet) and pointed out the need to set it up accordingly. Without missing a beat he retorted "Too right, you don't want to hurt your tush." TUSH. THEY SAY TUSH IN INWOOD!!!

The chatter didn't stop there. I got to the train and was heckled by a pack of MTA employees about taking the train. "Girl, you can't ride that?" "Look who's taking the bike for a ride...on the train." "That's gonna cost you extra!" It was all gentle ribbing and good fun. People were smiling. We laughed. Oh, how we laughed... It was bizarrely Utopian in feel, without the dullness and space age clothing. Birds were louder and more melodious. Colors were brighter. People on the train apologized to me for being in the way.

However, all good things must come to a screeching halt. As soon as I got to the Franklin Avenue shuttle station, the sky turned gray and overcast. No more smiles. Despite the fear of overwhelming dead hobo smell that seems to permeate every elevator on the MTA, I tried to take it to the top platform. Alas, I waited for several minutes, but nothing happened. So I hauled new bike up the stairs (thankfully, it's DX, which means "lite" in bikeese). Two people commented on the fact that I should just use the elevator, but their advice was cut short by a gruff man in an orange vest saying it was out of order. My easy morning was quickly morphing into a difficult afternoon. But things started to look up again when I pedaled up to my courtyard (that sounds so much nicer than it actually is. It's a slab of stone painted gray, littered with donut wrappers and fliers.) I have a new bike, and it rides like a dream.

Thanks, Inwood!