Train Talk.

My love for public transit is strong and everlasting. Despite the requisite transition to Ventra (which was so lame), the overcrowded red line and the vanishing Damen bus, I love it until the day I die.

However, I am never, ever interested in engaging in conversation with strangers on public transit. The train is for sitting quietly. The bus is also for sitting quietly. Its for books and music in headphones and playing on your phone.  If you happen to be on the train with people you know, then some idle chatter is fine. If you run into someone you know, then a catch up session is fine too (if only because it makes excellent eavesdropping fodder for those of us around you). 

I do not ever want to talk with you on the train. I do not care if the train stops, or is crowded, or if it is raining. The exceptions to this rule are if there is something so insane, so crazyballs that it needs to be addressed to ensure that neither party is dreaming it up. 

"Oh my god, is that a freaking BIRD on the train?" (this is my favorite worst story still)

Beyond that, no talking. When you talk to me, I assume you are trying to steal my stuff, hit on me, or are perhaps an unhinged lunatic. 

This, of course, says more about me than it does about you. It says that I spent my prime commuting years in a city full of unhinged lunatics hitting on me and trying to steal my stuff on the train. It says that I am not trying to make friends. My transplant status means I continue to lack the folksy midwest standards you all were born with. 

Of course, I am completely #sorryIamnotsorry because seriously, if I wanted to make friends, I would hang out at Mad River until girls sat me down and told me they had talked it over and told me they wanted to be my friend. Or, I would go to Girl Scout sleep away camp. Either way, on the train I just want to get from place to place and perhaps do a little reading or facebook stalking and that is totally normal.

Think of the train as just a giant car that we are all in separately. Feel good about yourself for not destroying the planet, but don't feel the need to tell me all about it.

Three Books. One Shame.

As I mentioned on Monday, I managed to coast through three books in the past couple weeks.  Two of which I flew through, the other one that took me ages and ages, partly because I kept reading other things because I didn't want it to end.

(turns out kindles make for bad blog photos, that kindle screen says How We Do Harm: A Doctor Breaks Rank About Being Sick in America).

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay takes some patience at the beginning. You have to want it. Keep reading and you will be eternally grateful for the opportunity to go on this journey and you will be sad.

How We Do Harm confirms the fact that everything in America is the worst particularly in terms of Healthcare. Not only are we being scammed by health insurance companies and pharmaceutical companies, but also apparently doctors. So that's a new thing to be worried about.

A Long Way Gone has been on our bookshelf for years and I finally opened it and then read it in about three days. If you're looking a direct punch to the gut and some real rude perspective, give this guy a whirl. Yikes. You will be #firstworldprobz-all over the place.

So after three brutally emotional sadbadnot-glad books in a row I needed a palate cleanser and luckily there was one on the shelf.

Guys, first things first - this book is terrible.

You know how you have that friend who name drops like, as much as humanly possible (note: I might be that friend sometimes. I am working on it)? This book is just "how many Nantucket-y things can I mention on one page?" I love it but I hate that I love it.

Also, its got that Dan Brown device where you feel like a genius because you solve everything fifteen pages before the characters do. How does someone write people that stupid?

And it is Salacious. What you may not know about me is that I a giant blushing prude. All kissing makes me uncomfortable anything more scandalous and I am sure that everyone on the train knows that people are totally naked in this book. I just want to die.

It's gotten away from the "Reginald's quivering member" themes and now is just absurdest mystery. But, I can't stop. I will read this whole book and then if someone wants to get boozey with me and talk about the overarching themes and Elin Hilderbrand's place in the cannon of post-modern feminist literature, I am in.

Sometimes after a flavorful, huge, delicious meal you just want some month-old Easter candy.

TYOE: New York

The whole time we were in New York over the weekend, there was a little voice inside my head just repeating, "this isn't your city. This isn't your city," the voice hurt my heart as I had to accept that it is telling the truth.

New York was my city. It was mine. mine. mine. for the last year of high school as I planned to make it my home, and the four years I lived inside its harsh and overwhelming boundaries, and even after I moved away for the longest time - it was the city of my soul. 

And now? It's not. It's a city I love and will always cherish as a part of my story but it is not my city anymore.

That realization was a cloud over the gorgeous sunny weekend. It was like spending the weekend with an incredible attractive ex. I spent so much time and energy picking it apart so I wouldn't feel so bad about it not being mine anymore.

That being said: we had a super fun weekend. It was a weekend of firsts for me which is always a nice surprise from somewhere you have know for so long. 

What We Ate:

'wichcraft. I am a huge fan of Tom Colicchio from his lovable but tough turn as the Tim Gunn of Top Chef. But I had never eaten any food he created (designed? managed? idk). And the results were a little disappointing. Maybe we should have gone to Colicchio and Sons and gotten the real deal - but seriously?! It's a sandwich, it should be fool proof. And it was just kind of bland. It lacked (as they say in the biz) a strong flavor profile. Would I eat it again? Sure - but only if there was some sort of apocalypse and I had no access to any other sandwich option on the island of Manhattan.

L'arte Del Gelato. Gelato on high line park. I gotta hope this is what heaven is like.

Yankee Stadium Brother Jimmy's. gimme all your fried pickles. And I will eat them. And I will be mostly content.

Nathan's. Did you know the coney dog has nothing to do with Coney Island? It's cool - you'll still be happy with your chili cheese dog. 

El Salvadorian Truck Food. The Red Hook food truck party means business. It is for the real hipster food truck snobs and it is amazing. We got a sample platter with all the sides, plantains, paposas and a tamale and it was a delight. 

Old School. Brunch is the best worst thing that ever has happened to me. Easily my favorite meal but the one that requires the most logistical planning. My hatred of waiting for food makes it such a challenge to have an enjoyable brunch experience - luckily this place had no line and no wait and that gave it enough points to make up for the fact that they didn't understand Anniebelle when she requested "toast." Seriously?! Hipsters.

Milk. The cereal milk milkshake was so strange, but I do not regret it. Two days later I still don't know how I feel except, ok.

What We Did:

High Line Park. Oh. Like when your ex gets an amazing hair cut that changes their whole face and makes them indescribably sexier. The High Line Park is the stuff of my dreams. Everything about it makes me love it a little bit more.

 

Yankees Game. My first Yankees game! It was a baseball game. Over priced everything. Hilarious people watching and some out of tune singing. And they won! Which is always a good bonus. Plus on the ride home, we were idolized by some sweet lady from back-water Texas. She was so impressed we could live in a place where we traveled underground all the time..

The Mermaid Parade. So fun. I love a good meaningless excuse for adults to dress up. 

The NDI final show. When I think about what I really, really want todo when I grow up - being a part of this organization is near the top of the list. The show was the perfect way to spend a very hungover Sunday afternoon.

I love New York so much, and I am so happy that we got to spend a great weekend. I am so thankful to sweet Anniebelle for being an amazing hostess. I cannot wait to repay the favor and show her around my new mainsqueeze - Chi-town.

From the Unpublished Archives: Do it yo' self

Sometimes I start blogs and then get distracted by something shiny and abandon them. Often times, I pick up and finish them eventually but other times I cannot figure out where I was going with those thoughts. But I want to publish them anyway. This is one of those times...

I miss New York City subconsciously pretty much every single day of my life. I miss the street food, the pace, the feeling of confidence I used to have just walking down the street.  But what I really, really miss is access to all the good shit.  New York has all the good shit.  Good cupcakes, good delivery food, really good theater.

That's all I had written when I first started this blog.  Clearly I was going to make a comparison between Chicago and New York because I spend far too many waking hours making comparisons between these two cities.  I do not know what in particular where I was going with this.

New York does seem to have the best shit. And perhaps it is because, in New York I felt as though I was always in the center of everything. No matter what neighborhood I was in, I felt as though I had access to all the best parts of the city at my fingertips. In Chicago, I do not always feel this way. Even though it is all there, something about this city just feels sleepy when compared to New York.

Maybe its because I cannot manage to get street food in the neighborhood where I work (come on, food trucks, show Uptown some love) and maybe its because I had to get 15 people to come see Book of Mormon with me, because the run is going to be so short in Chicago, that it would probably sell out before I could get individual tickets or maybe its because it just is. sleepy. It will never be New York and after 5 years, clearly I have decided that that is okay for now. But I don't know if it will be okay for forever.

in my idiocy

There are many things I am terrible at - but one of the ones that fills me with the most self-doubt is the fact that I do not know how to dress myself.

I don't know how I missed this particular boat, but I did and so here I am - precariously close the age of 30 without the knowledge of how to make clothes work. 

I will say that I am trying.  In the past few years I have made a concerted effort to try more than I ever have.  I try more now than I did in New York.  New York was over my head and not in my budget.  My poor feeble-minded mind could barely wrap itself around RCN bills - and I once spent $30 on a tank top.  A. Tank top.  Granted, I still own and love it.  But $30 then was a whole week's worth of lunch and dinner.

I have this vivid memory of visiting New York when I was still living in Maryland and seeing a tee-shirt for $29 in Dylan's Candy Store.  My mother and I were aghast.  $29 for a tee-shirt?!  Who would ever pay such a price?  Me (it turns out).

Anyway - I am finally at a point in my life where I not only have some expendable income to put towards my wardrobe, I also have developed a sense of giving a sh*t.  Its weird and I'm trying to embrace it, but man it is a struggle.

Back in the day, my fashion of choice was always a funny tee-shirt and jeans.  Always.  I don't know why I never thought to try any harder than this.  But I was happy in my tee-shirts that were essentially wearable comedy bits.

PS - I still own most of my favorite tee-shirts. I cannot bring myself to get rid of them despite the fact that I am trying extra hard to move onto bigger and better things.  Some day I might become a hobo again and I at least want to be a funny hobo.

Now that I am making a conscious effort to see beyond the tee-shirts, I am running into some problems.  First of all,  I immediately hate everything that doesn't look like it like it came directly out of Grace Kelly's closet.  My "style" can only be described as classic meets impractical meets out of your price range.

And so I am left just trying on everything, which then becomes trying on nothing because when you go into a Forever 21 or Urban Outfitters, everything can be super overwhelming.  Also, primarily atrocious.  Which is why when things like skinny jeans and leggings started being propagated at these stores - I resisted.  Hard.  These were the people who tried to also get me into bubble skirts and vests.  They were not to be trusted.

Turns out skinny jeans and leggings are both excellent wardrobe staples that should be accepted and appreciated for their value of making your legs look longer and making it so you can still go on the monkey bars in skirts.  If they were right about this, what else were they right about?

I've started trying to find out and its hard.  Example - I need a wide brown leather belt to wear with a few  different dresses I already own.  I've made it past the first step - I know I need the belt, now I have to figure out where the eff to buy it and what it is supposed to look like.

I've developed this idea in my brain of "wide brown leather belt" that may not actually exist in the known universe - and if it does, I'm not sure I'll know it when I see it.

This example can also be used for just about everything - including but not limited to black knee-high boots, button-down shirts, and skirts that fit a bill more varied then "its too hot for pants."

So, I've decided that I either need to start living with girls who will tell me what to wear again, or hire a personal shopper.  Or maybe just go back to the tee-shirts.

fancy ketchup

There is very little in the world that feels as satisfying as being all caught up on New Yorkers.

I am assuming this sensation of accomplishment is akin to conquering a small land-locked country or perhaps winning a People's Choice Award.

The past year and a half it has been a struggle to keep on top of this monster.  Back in the day when I was on public transportation a solid 3 - 4 hours of my day, I could finish one in about a day and a half - but once my commute became on foot - I was lucky if I made it through one in a week.  This meant that I no longer read many books because if I was reading a book, I was abandoning my New Yorker responsibility and they start to pile up and you start coming home late and your wife smells like someone else's cologne...its a slippery slope.

Anyway, with my new commute (Still think its okay!) I knew it was a matter of time before I conquered this particular monster.  And I will be real with you, I did not read all the articles.  And I did not read most of the fiction (I am very picky about my New Yorker fiction - for absolutely no reason at all - in case you were wondering).

The problem with stuffing this much knowledge down my retinas is now I have no idea what I am talking about - but I totally think that I do.  In one week I read articles about....a whole bunch of things that I cannot remember right now and I won't be able to remember them until I start talking and getting all confused.  And then there is judgement.

Anyway, I am feeling quite accomplished and like there is nothing I can't do...except maybe get my ass into a gym.

In Review

I had this dream that I would write 100 blogs this year.  Once every 3 or 4 days seemed like an obtainable goal.  But no dice.  I did write more this year than any year before - which feels like progress.

I want to write more.  That's a good thing to think of for 2011.

I have been thinking a lot about 2010 this morning (in the 20 minutes since I woke up) and I have come to the realization that this may have been the hardest year yet.  While all years have had their obstacles, it seems like 2010 was the first that really put me through the ringer.  But here's the thing - I don't want to dwell on the hard and the crappy and the sad - I want to focus on the wonderful and amazing:

I got to go to Hawaii.

And Italy.

And Paris.

And Nantucket.

 

AND New York.

My baby siblings both got it done - graduation wise.  My lovely T-bone got engaged. My dad got married. I re-met wonderful, local family.  It goes on and on.

And now I will clean my house in preparation for a few lovely people to come celebrate.

In 2011 I would like to:
-revisit the whole gym 5 times a week thing (I am hoping I can join a gym closer to where I live to make this much easier)
-write more  - a blog post every 3 days should be easy...
-read more - a book every two weeks.  With reviews on this blog!  Huzzah!

Happy New Year.

so nice

I recently had a very nice boy purchase a ticket for each of us to fly to New York City next month to celebrate the fact that I'm a year older. Even though it doesn't really matter because the next few years are kind of a hazy blur of attempting to get your crap together before you turn the big three-oh.

I am over the moon to be spending a significant amount of time in my favorite place. Last Christmas, C-Sea and I spent exactly 24 hours with Annie-Belle, walking around, shopping, and being cold. We also saw some of my most favorite people, ate some food and just enjoyed being in New York, which - I could do for hours. I could just enjoy New York for days. And so I plan to.

Here is a list of a few of the things I really want to do.

Please note - some of them may seem super touristy and there is a very good reason for that. Boyfriend has Never been to New York (he says he has, I say that everyone knows a layover in the airport doesn't count). So there are some things that you just can't skip (despite the fact that I will probably kind of want to).

New High Line Park on 8th Ave
Delicious BBQ from Brother Jimmy's
A huge, amazing Jackson Hole burger
Fat, Black Pussycat for a mind eraser and some cartoon network
Juniors Cheesecake (from Actual Juniors)
Central Park mostly the statue of the characters from Alice in Wonderland
The new playground at the South Street Seaport
Hot and Crusty for breakfast, or a solid midday snack
The Statue of Liberty, preferably the cheapest way possible (Staten Island Ferry)
A walk across the Brooklyn Bridge
Times Square for the very briefest of seconds.
A visit to my first apartment (and college)
some playtime in AnnieBelle's hood (its adorable despite its lack of proximity to anything)
Belgian Bar for some pomme frites and a classy beer
A bacon egg and cheese sammich from a street vendor
Dylan's Candy Bar (mmm. clodhoppers)
A 4 AM slice of New York pizza
Chelsea Market (mostly for a fatwich brownie)
And possibly, if we're feeling super classy - an Opera

Its slightly embarrassing that a vast majority of this list is food-related. But at least there is some activity in there to burn off the calories. And naturally I want to see some of the tens of people who still live in New York who remind me of when I was nineteen and dumb and full of confusion and promise. And I cannot wait to introduce Boyfriend to the place that shaped me and helped me grow and start on that journey to figure myself out - which I think is a lovely thing to revisit the week before my birthday.

What else should I do??

right here

So...my friend Anniebelle put the question out there. Where were you?

Luckily - I already covered this in a post - long, long ago (and yes, that is my very first blog...when you really have nothing to do some day you can read my spazoid, self-involved ramblings from freshman and sophomore year of college, its pretty humiliating for me, and for you for caring that much).

But as I read Annie's post I realized that this day, while always a day of remembrance, and of thanks for the people who devote themselves to making my life safe and blissfully naive, it is also a day of reflection.

Sometimes I think of September 11, 2010 as a mile marker in my life. Every year I take a moment (or two) to think about how I live my life and where I am going.

Naturally, I am a person who cannot conceive of a moment beyond next Thursday (despite what my planner, and flight schedule will tell you) so its somewhat impossible for me to make choices about what my life is going to look like next year (with the exception of I would like to be skinnier next year, that's about all I can come up with) but I can make sure, once a year to look at my life and see that I'm still doing good, trying hard and continuing to help make other peoples lives better.

This post is a little small orbit for today - but I think what I mean to say is - perhaps we should all take this day to think about how we live our lives, and if we're truly trying to make the world a better place for others, or even one person...and then try harder for the next year.

Can we all do that together?

A Good Sense about Things

So today - I let a stranger cut my hair. Which, for me, is fairly standard as I am not one of those girls to have a "lady/guy who cuts my hair." In fact, since I started paying for my own haircuts, the only place I've been to more than once is Jo Michelle in Middletown, because she does a decent job and is crazy affordable (although the internet says she might not be licensed, which I realized I don't care about--as long as they don't ruin my head).

The kicker today was, I got my hair cut in this girl's parents' basement. Surrounded by old soccer trophies, framed photos and kitchy suburban wall art she cut my hair and we talked about life. It was a great experience. She did a good job (I mean, I still have some hair, and it seems to be even enough) and she let me pay her tip in fruit.

Before I went to her house though, while getting ready this morning, Boyfriend asked if I was nervous about going to some strange person's house to let her cut my hair.

"No."
"How'd you hear about her?"
"CIN." (that's the Chicago Improv Network)
"Do you know anyone else who has gotten their [sic] hair cut by this girl."
"Uh, there were some names I recognized in her post on CIN."
"So you're going to some girl's house after talking to her on the phone once, based on something you read on the internet?"
"Sure."
"Not worried you're about to get murdered?"
"No."

This was apparently surprising, which reminded me of a similar (sort of) experience in my freshman year of college where I saw a craigslist ad for a guy doing free headshots out in Flushing, Queens. ANY sensible person would have ignored it, but I really needed headshots and had no money, so I figured out how to get to this guy apartment, which required about 45 minutes on the 7 train and a 20 minute tour of lovely Flushing. Which was quite the experience.

Right as I got to the guys house I called my mom.
"Hey Mom, so uh, I e-mailed this guy off craigslist for free headshots and now I'm at his house in Queens and this is the address. If I don't call you back in like an hour, can you call the cops."
"WHAT?"
"No, I'm sure its fine, but if isn't, uh, yeah, please call the cops."

So I am sure my mother spent that hour watching the second hand on the clock. I spent that hour with a totally weird dude, who took some pictures (fully clothed, from the neck up, pervs) and then that was it.

My mom had some choice words for me when I called her back, namely - don't ever pull that kind of stunt again.

But I do. I am totally a go into a situation, back out if it gets sketchy kind of girl. Now, of course, this has not gone wrong - yet. But if it did, it would probably go really, really wrong. But I'm an optimist (in this one very small part of my life).

And normally I can tell just by an e-mail or phone call if something is a good idea or a very, very bad idea. And I follow that intuition, most of the time. The times I don't - I normally get to a place (a few pyramid scheme job interviews come to mind) I just get up and leave, sometimes I don't even bother telling people why. It's a you waste my time, I'll waste your time kind of thing.

Of course, this whole process falls apart when there is free food involved. Because I am a sucker for a free piece of shitty pizza and an ice-less dixie cup of RC cola.

But the thing is - a lot of these ridiculous things I try end up going really well. I've made good friends, gotten free movie tickets and now have a super sweet hair cut. She did an adorable job and the fact that it cost less than like, an adult movie ticket, made it even more worth it. And so now I have a lady who cuts my hair in the City. All because of the internet.

Thanks internet.

I Hate Moving, part 34573458

I am *giant exhale of relief* done packing for the 4th time since late May. I am still in my pjs, I stink, and I've been mainlining coke zero and caramel hershey kisses for the past 48 hours but it doesn't really matter because tomorrow I embark on yet another journey into the unknown.

This journey is a little different...first of all, I'm moving to a new time zone! I will be all alone in this new world of everything-one-hour-earlier. Everyone I love sits comfortably in Eastern while I'll be out there in Mountain or Central or one of those middle ones. Plus, I have NO safety net. This will be the first move where I have no job, or school, or given purpose for being there. For the first time in my whole (very short) life I'll have to find my own purpose.

Thats kind of fucking terrifying.

But I'll be fine. I had a wonderful last week in the Eastern standard thanks to Courtney, Daniel Vosovic, Jon, the casts of Carmen (the opera) and The Last King of Scotland (the movie), various delivery men in Queens, Uggs, the crepe guys, the fine people at Gap, Tierra, Lizzie, Niki, the bartender at Fado, Annie, Taryn, Moira and the folks over at the Monocacy Goodwill.

And Courtney gets one more shout out for not passing judgement on the Uggs, the fact I wear kids clothes, the fact that I flipped my shit over Daniel Vosovic, the fact that I have to change clothes like 6 times and many more things I'm sure.

its coming.

"I want you to be our baby-sitter forever!"

As A and I went to go pick up her sister, J, at her school we were talking about the keychain on my keys for their house. A told me to put my name on the keys. I told her that I'm gonna have to return them to her Mom at some point.

"Why?"
"Well, I'm not gonna be your babysitter for very much longer."

She looked at me confused for a minute. As if she hadn't been paying attention at the dinner table as her mother and I discussed how things were winding up for me (and let's be honest, she's 6, she probably wasn't listening. She asked where I was going and I told her I was going to Nantucket for the summer but didn't tell her that I wans't going to come back.

This keeps happening! It keeps being the first good bye, the last dinner, flurries of cell phone calls with promises that we're gonna see each other, "soon. Really Soon." I'm working as hard as I can to keep these lazy promises, knowing that I just will not be able to fit everyone and everything in. Between trying to sublet my stupid room (which, every time I talk to Mel about, one of us ends up choked up. How do you fall in perfect friendship with a roommate you haven't even had for a year?) and trying to write my impossible thesis and do all the rest of my homework, attempting to answer every single random question my parents can come up with about graduation, Nantucket, Chicago and whatever else they feel like grilling me about, working three jobs, and going back and forth between Maryland every other week I just can't figure out how I'm gonna sqeeze in last drinks with everyone (especially because I'm not really drinking this month).

How is it possible that I only have 30 days left?

Well, my hair is doing this delicious wavy thing, its fabulous-D's bithday fiesta which should be full of people who made these 4 years so awesome, and A gave me her left over Oreos, which are still in my bag.

silver linings

The transit strike still completely blows, in case you thought otherwise. I had to pretty much run 20 blocks yesterday so I could take a final while snot dripped oh-so-sexily out of my nose like a leaky faucet. You would think that we would do this transit strike thing in the spring. Early May would be nice for a strike. It's also very possible that this strike could go until early May...so I probably shouldn't jinx it. And just like with all incredibly sucktastic things, the transit strike too has its good qualities.

They held off until Monday night giving me a chance to find a floor to sleep on in Manhattan so only had to walk 2.37 miles instead of 8.28.

Today I walked that 2.37 miles and will walk another 1.83 miles with a 20 lb. duffle bag on my shoulders which pretty much means I'm done with exercise until mid-February.

Making it onto my train will constitute a small Christmas miracle and if that isn't cause for celebration with club-car booze, I don't know what one is.

Bonding effect. I've noticed this in New York. People don't ever talk to strangers (because why would you?) except when bad shit is going down then everyone is your best friend. While I'm not a stranger in this office (I've been working here on and off for about 3 months) I don't really know anyone but since yesterday I've just been chatting up a storm with all the people who normally just walk right past me.

And after today, the transit strike won't affect me. Horray! I've pretty much decided that I probably won't be back in the city until after it's over.

new rule

Okay. I don't know if perhaps you live under some sort of large rock or something but if you have the internet access you should know that Christmas was effing canceled in NYC at like 3 this morning.

So, if you know this, you can safely assume that if you are attempting to communicate with someone who is based in New York City they probably had some sort of wrench thrown in their morning commute that probably forced them to wake up an extra hour or two early so they could hike like a friggin' nomad to the office that doesn't care about them anyway.

And in knowing this and being a sentinent human being you should probably get the fact that they may be a little crabby as its approximatly four degrees outside and business casual attire on a whole is not really made for Arctic treking.

So, for the love of all that is good and holy, do not yell at these people! Do not talk to them like they came to school on the short bus! Do not mutter under your breath or sigh like you have the worst life ever! It will really make them just want to hang up on you because they're cold and tired and may have just walked the equivelent of a marathon to talk to your car-riding, subway-taking ass.

So we're clear on this right?