dear new york: an anniversary letter

Tomorrow marks three years of big, bad city life for this quiet California girl.

I was going to wait and do my anniversary letter then but I have a friend coming into town so we will be out and about in the (hopefully not too bad) weather.

Dear New York:

Another year for us. This was definitely the hardest one yet. We tested and
challenged each other in ways I think neither of us really expected.

I often refer to this year as my "What Color is Your Parachute?" year. You decided to spice it up a bit and, at times, make me wonder if I even had a parachute at all. But I digress with the awful metaphors. You were rough on me. We were rough on each other. I resented you and insulted you and you remained patient and steady, showing me that through each trial there was a purpose but to be honest, I still don't know what your plans are for us.

This year I really started to wonder if I am doing what I want to be doing with my career. I crossed my fingers many times only to find that the competition was stiff and I just didn't make the grade. This year I felt lost and unsure of myself more often than not. But through it all I held on to what I knew to be true: I may have moved here for the job but I stay here for you. We
aren't done yet. I am making the choice to be present in each moment, feel the losses, learn from them and grow stronger in my relationship with myself (and by extension my relationship with you.)

This year we lost a couple of friends but got closer to others, even helping one choose her wedding dress. Not bad for the girl who didn't know a soul when she picked up her little life and moved here three years ago. In a city of millions of people it is so easy to feel lonely and we absolutely felt our share of that. There was many a bad date and several relationships were
tested. Some floundered and failed and some grew stronger. I have a sneaking suspicion you've known all along that this was going to be the challenging year and that you are not done with me. But I have faith that good things will come from us. You need to make sure I can hack it, that I know that a rough year doesn't mean we weren't meant for each other, that any decisions I make for myself are made with a clear head and a calm resolve.

I know we will continue to have our moments but I only hope that the coming year is filled with happiness and luck. I hope that anything that is thrown our way will only strengthen us. I hope that one year from now I will be able to say, as I do today, I still love you New York. Thank you for three life changing years.

"It can destroy a person, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck. No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky." - E.B. White

miscellaneous ten

I know, I know. I haven't posted in forever. I have kind of been all over the place and when I've started posts recently, I get distracted, lose interest and abandon them. So in an attempt to reign in my thoughts, I give you the list:

1. On Saturday night my friend Anne* called asking me to turn on the news and tell her why so many streets were evacuated in Times Square. She and her boyfriend were attending a play with his parents and had parked on 45th. This morning authorities arrested a man and is they believe responsible for the smoking car that could have been a bombing. Scary stuff. I avoid Times Sq. like the plague but my dance studio is over there so I am usually there about once a week.

2. I wasn't there last week though because I tripped over an uneven piece of sidewalk and oh-so-gracefully fell on Columbus Ave. Lovely. So I had to bail on a party on Friday night and ditched my Brooklyn plans on Saturday in favor of my bed, a 20-mins on and 20-mins off icing schedule and watched TV alllll day.

3. I saw The Back-up Plan on Sunday with my roommate. Skip it.

4. In an attempt to distract myself from certain things in life I am going to revamp my bedroom. Tonight I bought a plastic bin for under the bed storage, a picture frame and a shoe organizer for my closet. Woah.

5. I really, really want this quilt I saw at West Elm today. It is so pretty but so expensive. I just might bite the bullet and treat myself to it if I can't find anything else I want because I'm so picky when it comes to everything.

6. I leave next week for my international trip! When I return I will let you know where I went. :)

7. My best friend mailed me brownies last week because I kept telling her I wanted them. I guess that's the key to receiving great surprises from your friends. Bug them until they can't stand it anymore and mail you things just to get you to shut up.

8. I went on a "diet" two weeks ago. I've had two burgers, fries, not been super faithful with a key factor in the diet (quitting soda), and got sick of eating salads sometime over the weekend. But I have cut down on my cheese, discovered a new love for edamame, and am not totally blowing it. Baby steps.

9. TBS's The Office marathon on Tuesdays is amazing.

10. I woke up yesterday morning thinking that something really great is going to happen this week. Keep your fingers crossed for me! Tomorrow the week is half way over.

"I wish I had a river I could skate away on..."

"It's coming on Christmas. They're cutting down trees..." - Joni Mitchell

I left the house today and noticed that the lean-to forests of Christmas trees outside many a Duane Reade and CVS drug stores have sprouted up around this great city once again. Christmas is coming. Wow.

The biggest proof is the fact that I went ice skating today! There are various places to go in New York: Rockefellar Center, of course, but also Wollman Rink in Central Park and Bryant Park...where I went this afternoon. Bryant Park is probably the best because you don't have to pay for admission, just skates. I donned a gorgeous pair in bright blue and hobbled to the rink. I hadn't skated since the time my friends and I went at Alexandra Palace in London during my semester abroad. I did try to learn to skate backwards but it was entirely too crowded and I feared taking a little kid out as I wobbled along the ice. Still Frank Sinatra sang in the background and I took in the cityscape around me.... Pretty cool.

(image credit)

grace

Happy Thanksgiving Eve!

My roommate and I trudged through the crowds tonight to view the Macy's Parade Balloon Inflation. Completely nuts but so much fun! It is #1 in my 10 things I'm thankful for tonight...

1.


I hate Spongebob but this picture makes it look like he's trying to eat the crowd.

Just one image of the amount of people lined up. Yes, we were kind of insane for going...



2. dance classes and rediscovering myself in the studio.

3. my education - The only thing that, now that I have it, cannot be taken away from me.

4. my brother - Even though we don't talk much when I'm not "home" (he isn't much of a phone person - typical guy) he is kind and thoughtful person and the best guy I know.

5. hope for the future - Who knows where I'll be in my career and personal life 5 or 10 years from now but I know what I want and I'm hopeful that I'll get there.

6. my job - I got a great job with a great company right out of the gate. While every job has its downfalls, I work with a fun group of people, many of whom have supported me within my position and who have also become like family.

7. babysitting opportunities - They have afforded me the new clothes, nights out, Happy Hour drinks, yummy dinners, plane tickets, and random things I might not otherwise afford. I get to hang with cute kiddos, get paid to watch HBO On Demand and spend time in some great apartments. But most of all, they have given me something familiar in what was, at first, an unfamiliar city.

8. the ability to travel - past, present, and future. I believe studying abroad in London when I was in college made moving to NY indirectly possible. It also gave me the travel bug and the desire to experience something outside the status quo. Though I've only made it to Washington, D.C. this year, I have big, big dreams for the future and I cross my fingers and toes that they come true!

9. comfortable jeans

10. my comfortable bed!

answers revealed

1. My question what can someone usually find you going on a weekend in the city?
Drinks? Dinner? Park?

Well, I tend to spend a lot of time on the Upper West Side. Sometimes I go to Good Enough to Eat for brunch (my fave restaurant), sometimes I go for walks in Central Park. Sometimes I head up to the Bronx or Harlem to volunteer. I love going out for drinks and dinner but have been doing it less lately. In terms of nightlife, I tend to just go with the flow though am most likely to be found in pubs or fratty-type bars than I am in clubs or in the Meatpacking District. I'm a paranoid person so that's as detailed as I'm going to get.

2. What do you miss most about Cali? People don't count!

I miss the hole-in-the-wall burrito place I've been frequenting since high school. The guy there knows me and knows what I like (bean, cheese and rice burrito - I'm a simple girl) however I do not for the life of me know his name. I have been going there for years and I now feel it is too late to ask. I always go there when I go "home".

I also miss driving down 101 with the windows down and the music up - in December. Well, year round but it is particularly awesome during the winter. I miss the convenience of a car (usually when I'm doing laundry here or grocery shopping) but for the most part I'm glad I don't have to deal with the hassle of owning one right now.

3. What brand of flip flops do you love the most?

OK, I'm going to show my cheap side and mention here that I do not wear $50 flip flops. To me there is just no point. So I do not have a brand. I just get what is cute and fairly inexpensive. For the longest time in college I loved a pair I got from American Eagle (was big into AE for a while). I wore the living daylights out of them. Now I have a cheap-o pair but since I really don't wear them as much I feel it is more necessary to spend money on boots than flip flops. I hate the plastic kind (they have to be cloth between the toes) so it really just depends on what I find.

4. What are your "deal breakers"?

I mentioned deal breakers in this post so I figured I'd lump this in. I'll give you a preview of the serious and the silly...

He must be driven - I am a very driven person. I would not get along with someone who had no goals, was lazy about life, etc. Whatever he's into I'd rather he be passionate about it. Bonus points if he is a transplant and was driven to move to NYC for work or something related to that. But I've talked about that already.

He must be compassionate - I want someone who cares about others and does what he can to help people. His family and friends are important to him. He would give someone the shirt off his back. Maybe he volunteers, or if he doesn't, he is modest and humble and generally sees the world, and the people in it, in a way that is very similar to the way I do.

He must look good in a baseball cap - I have a serious thing for them. 'Nuff said.

He must be fairly masculine - Read here to find out why. I'm pretty sensitive to mannerisms though. It isn't that he has to be a beer guzzling, sports watching, machismo type guy (I'd rather he not be, in fact) but feminine mannerisms really bug me.

Thanks to everyone who commented and inquired. Feel free to shoot any more questions my way.

I'm a woman, w-o-m-a-n

(credit)

Thanks to those of you who commented on my last post. I am feeling a bit better and am regaining focus and perspective. Having a day off, and thus the ability to sleep in, also helps.

Today my friend K and I hoofed it to the IKEA in Red Hook (Brooklyn). I'd been planning on going shopping for sweaters, boots, and a new wool coat, but I decided to embrace the idea of company and girl talk and accompany K on her quest for a bookcase. It is amazing that I resisted buying anything as I love IKEA and haven't been in forever but I just kept reminding myself... Sweaters. Boots. These things don't buy themselves.

I volunteered to help her carry the big, heavy cardboard box back into Manhattan in exchange for her cooking me dinner sometime next week. Sounds like a fair trade for my day's workout. So we took the water taxi in and then hailed a cab on Wall Street. It seems the men in Manhattan have never seen two able-bodied women carrying a large box as we got three, count 'em THREE, comments along the way. As we got off the water taxi we were asked if we were carrying Jimmy Hoffa in there. We smiled and kept walking. Then when we were waiting at the curb to hail a cab another guy said, "Heeeey, nice box!" Is it really that ridiculous that we would be doing this alone? Do we really need boyfriends? We may be the weaker sex but a 50 lb. box isn't exactly impossible... Then there was the cabbie who, as we were lifting the box to put it in his trunk said, "Ooooh you poor girls! You poor ladieeeeeeees. So heavyyyy." Yes, we were doing it alone AND K will put it together by herself using tools! Imagine that!

We were flabbergasted by all the attention we were getting but still it is a bit funny and we got a chuckle out of it. Men? What men?

take a chance on me...

When was the last time you took a chance?

As a kid I was shy - extremely so. I didn't really start coming out of my shell until college and even then I was still a wallflower and fairly socially awkward until a couple of years ago. And since it is inherent in my personality, I still can be. A lot of times if you're shy you come across as snobby. That didn't really help in high school. My first "outside the box" decision came when I decided to study abroad for three months. I was 20 and in college but had been living at home to save money so this was my first time away from home - and I was going far away. Even so it was a bought-and-paid-for, limited-time trip with chapperoned travel and organized courses and accomodations. It was college abroad. Yet it was a great start and I came back with a whetted appetite.

Fast forward a few years to when I decided to take a huge risk and move to New York alone with no job. Everyone had an opinion and a comment. Some thought I wouldn't make it, that I was too shy. Yet in addition to my tendency toward bashfulness I am also incredibly strong-willed and have been since birth. I wanted to do this. And I did. That was nearly two years ago. It was the biggest chance I've taken to this day and it has offered the biggest reward.

I boarded that plane with two suitcases and a lot of hope - I haven't looked back. It has been nearly two years full of chances. I've gone into so many social situations where I didn't know a soul that I've lost count. I moved into three apartments full of strangers - crossing my fingers I wouldn't be on the street a week later because I woke up to someone hovering over me with a knife. I went speed dating, tried online dating, and smiled awkwardly through many a blind date. I dragged a 50 lb. A/C two blocks and up five flights of stairs to avoid paying for delivery, coordinated a very espensive and stressful move with two college kids who let me ride to my new abode in their rented truck, and most recently, joined a social sports league to meet new friends and thoroughly embarass myself in an elementary school gym once a week. It is almost as if I have gotten so used to taking chances that I never would have two or five years ago that it has become commonplace. I've stopped recognizing them for what they are and what it means to the girl who was formerly so shy she would avoid places and people and hide in the bathroom during dance class when it was her turn to dance in front of her more talented classmates. So it is time to start recognizing the bravery and strength. We all need to do that for ourselves.

What have you done lately that's brave? It obviously means different things for different people.

blue jean baby, LA lady

Today I am the age I was when my father married my mother. My mom is three years younger. So three years ago I felt very "adult". Now I just feel established in my adulthood. Like I should buy a house. Contribute more to my 401k. Be picking out china.

Well maybe not that much on the china thing. Birthdays (in line with Valentine's Day, Christmas...uhhh Flag Day) have a funny way of reminding the single girl that she is single. Maybe that's why I wanted so much to go out last night and have a true NY birthday. After all it was my first in this city. But things never work out the way you want them to. My roommate and I met some of her friends and her friends of friends at a rooftop bar. So not "me" but those places are fun until the techno starts swirling around my head and I can't breathe it is so crowded. I much prefer to boogie to a Duran Duran song. What does this say about me? We were hit on by three guys who reminded me of the Boutabi (sp?) brothers. You know, Chris Kattan and Will Ferrell from A Night at the Roxbury. We'd jokingly come up with a signal on Friday. Rubbing your nose means "He's cute." Pulling on your ear means "Abort! Abort!" I was pulling pretty vigorously at my ear. She'd forgotten the signal. We were trying to figure out how to get out of it. Oh the stories. She says they were utilizing various techniques from The Pick Up Artist. I've never seen this show but I venture to say they didn't quite grasp the execution portion. After a trying a couple more spots we ended up at our favorite diner eating cheese fries at 3 am. That's more like it.

Today I'm remembering that I'm a girl who loves flip flops and jeans. Today I'm conceeding to my love of Mexican food and small gatherings with a good friend or two. Today I tell myself I'm a low key bar kind of girl where the guys look like they'd like a girl who loves flip flops and jeans. Today I love New York but I can't keep up with the expectations. I make my own expectations.

screenplays, furniture and Catholics who eat burgers on Fridays - some of my best dating stories

This post from a fellow single twenty-something blogger living in a city setting (Chicago) got me thinking about my dating stories tonight. As I sit here alone (because I turned down a pretty persistent Italian who was hitting on me at the trade show I am currently attending. Flustered, thrown off, distracted and seriously wondering what the point was I declined.) eating expensive "San Francisco" style carmel corn I bought in the gift shop and prepare to get into my jammies and start this book, I'm going over the funny, weird, amazing, and boring in my head and a few gems come to mind.

1) I already blogged about Screenplay Guy. Read the post here.

2) French Renaissance Furniture Guy

This was an online match (hey, I'm not too proud, I'll admit I've dabbled in online dating. It is a rough sea and sometimes a busy fish has to go cyber). He had a dog. He sent me pictures of his dog. He was cute and he was a lawyer. I was sold. We had a really good repore, things in common, but, as I came to find out, completely different tastes in insignificant things like drapery and couches. When I went back to his apartment to meet his dog (minds out of the gutter, people, nothing even PG rated happened) I walked into French Renaissance heaven that Marie Antoinette would have died for. Flowers everywhere. Girly tzotchkes (I had to Google that to learn how to spell it!) everywhere. Monogrammed towels on a platter with soaps and such in the bathroom. Nary a female in sight. This esquire lives alone in a fan-freakin-tastic apartment. Holy shocker Batman, I was speechless. I had previously picked up on a few teensy feminine mannerisms but brushed them off. This was a smack in the face. I was kind and sat on the couch watching NatGeo and then excused myself to the comforts of a cab ride knowing I'd go out with him again. You know it isn't a good thing when the guy you're on a date with proves to be more of a girl in the decorating department than you are.

3) "Oh, so you're not Catholic" guy

I can't remember if I blogged about this one but I doubt it. I met this one for drinks that turned into dinner (much to my chagrin) and within the first 15 mins he had already commented on my clothes, my food choices, and my religion - or lack thereof. It was late Feb/early March so I was wearing a coat. It was a Friday so I was wearing a black sweater and jeans. My office is fairly relaxed dress code wise anyway. So as I took my coat off to sit down, he remarked "Your office must not have a strict dress code." I replied that it did not quickly doing a mental inventory of what I was wearing without looking down. Never have a I had a guy comment on my clothing other than to say "You look nice."

We opened our menus and he politely asked what looked good to me. I remarked that I had had a big lunch. (I'd gone to a cafe with a good friend earlier that day and chowed down on a burger and fries.) When I told him about the burger (sans chowing down comment, of course) he bluntly said, "Oh, so I guess you're not Catholic." My mind was doing multiple things at once... first trying to wrap itself around the fact that he had, in fact, just said that and second that I now had to make some sort of responsory comment on my religious beliefs. Those beliefs are far too complicated and my religious upbringing and current religious status is too much for 15 mins into a first date. Turns out he wants a girl who doesn't eat meat on Fridays. I never heard from him again.

My co-worker says I should write a book. I'm beginning to agree...

citified California

On Friday I'm headed to California - "right back where I started from."

Well, first I have to do the work thing and head up to San Francisco for a few days. It will be room service, hotel soaps, and frequent flyer miles. I really should be more excited. And I am, I just don't know it. It will be nice to get away, get some relaxation time, and see some of my old friends.

Then I'm headed "home" for a few days to visit the folks and fam. Again, I am excited but lately when I leave the city I feel like I'm missing something. K says it is the plight of the Manhattanite. Our lives are so infused with subways, take out, things just around the corner that when we get out of that element we're lost... I spent this past weekend in Long Island and when I found myself wandering in the rain at an outlet mall trying to decide whether to get dinner there or wait, the thought "Well when I get home I can just run to the store next door and get something." popped into my head. Nevermind the fact that there was a kitchen, food, and a friend willing to cook for me where I was staying that night. I now live in a city that delivers McDonald's, a city where you can run out for a bagel at 2 am, a city that has completely "citified" me.

It really has... Not just in the actual luxuries (translation - ways that I am spoiled and becoming more undomesticated as the days go by) but also in the way that I think I'm going to miss out on something spectacular if I leave. I know that the parks, the Happy Hour specials, the impromptu plans to go to the movies, out with friends, etc. will always be here. This city doesn't sleep and will keep churning and buzzing and speeding along with me when I return. The only time table I have is my own. This city knows no such time and will not miss me. But I will miss it. Even as the sandy Southern California beaches simultaneously call my name.

I get by with a little help from my friends

I travel for work.

Last year I had a work related trip during ten out of the twelve months. I went to California twice and Texas three times (four if you include a trip to Austin last summer - for fun). In total, I spent one month of the year in the state of Texas. I think that gives me voting rights. My suitcases never stay tucked away. I've racked up enough JetBlue points for a free flight over a period of nineteen months - and I didn't even fly JetBlue every time.

Traveling is great. I love having a nice clean hotel room all to myself, ordering room service, not even making my own bed, getting to see a different city and getting out from behind a desk. It is also so tiring. Preparing to be gone from work and catching up after I come back is stressful. I don't dislike flying but it wears on me. And I always feel like I'm missing something great here in NY when I am gone. Last December I was really feeling the stress of constant travel after I had been to Philadelphia, San Francisco, Minneapolis, Dallas, Orange County, Boston, El Paso, San Antonio, and San Fran again all within weeks of one another.

I just got back from my latest work adventure - this time to Chicago. I must say I do love the city of Chicago. I'd never been and it was definitely one of my favorites of all those I've been to. Prior to this trip, I'd gone the longest stretch of time ever since I began my job. I spent three whole months in this city without getting on an airplane. During this time I relaxed, I enjoyed the ups and downs of the day to day, and I didn't have a constant feeling like I had to cram life's experiences in between the next take off.

But sitting here right now I wish I was still in Chicago.

I have always been a mess of contradictions. I'm not happy unless things are perfect and since things are never perfect, I'm always reaching for more. Certain stressors associated with this most recent trip have left me feeling down and the constant and consistent feels strained. I have tomorrow off. I haven't had a day off almost two weeks. Maybe a little vitamin D and Central Park R&R will calm me down.

Yesterday I walked out onto Broadway to find that Paul McCartney was serenading the city of New York from atop the Ed Sullivan theater. Hoards of people lined the street and those in the office building across from the concert lined up in rows of office windows with their faces practically pressed to the glass. I caught the end of Sir Paul's set. I could vaguely see him through the trees and neon lights of the Late Show sign as he rocked clad in a pink shirt. After Helter Skelter and Back in the USSR, I walked up Broadway to my sitting job, confident that I'd chosen the coolest city in the world to live in, pissed that my camera battery was dead, and feeling momentarily calm in the decisions I've made - while the crowds passed by.

That helps a bit... If only he could play for me every day.

Me walking through Millenium Park (Chicago)

They'd be there for me... I know they would!

Yesterday I met up with a new-ish friend for lunch and we ended up on the subject of how we both watch Nick at Nite. I confessed that I've recently rediscovered The Nanny and that watching Nick at Nite reruns has the same affect as a baby blanket these days. It is so comforting.

Then we chatted about how since I now live in NYC, I see the show differently -- recognizing all the stereotypes of a Jewish woman from Queens; It's just that much more amusing. It's no surprise that watching movies and TV shows like this one gave me such a glamorized and Hollywood-ized view of this city. Take Friends for example. This has been my 6:00 pm, my Monday night mealtime buddy for years now. They saw me through college, were there for me when I needed to zone out and laugh at jokes and scenes I'd seen a thousand times...



I wish I lived in the Friends New York though. How great would it be to live across the hall from some of my best friends, be able to just hang out with one at the coffee shop downstairs, be able to fight with my roommate and know that she'd forgive me after the half hour was up. If someone was in the shower in my apartment, I could just go take one at Joey and Chandler's. Let's also not forget the built in love interest. Maybe I'd end up getting pregnant by my ex-boyfriend after one night with a bottle of wine... on second thought, that is too complicated for me... I'd rather be the Monica to someone else's Chandler. And don't get me started on that apartment. Two bedrooms, that skylight, that space! All in the West Village! Of course the writers had to specify that Monica was illegally subletting from her grandmother. There's no way a waitress and a chef who wore rollerskates and fake boobs for a living could afford that place.

It is becoming increasingly more apparent that I don't live in this New York. Still, it is nice to go to the Happy Hours, lunches and book club meetings - and I've met some great people along the way. Until I meet my "Friends" I'll have to settle for living vicariously through the TV set.

there's a place for us...

Last night I went to see a Broadway show... on Broadway. I love that I can say that.

Going down to 42nd Street is always a trip. Most days it makes me want to gouge my eyes out. I've definitely become a "look straight ahead, ignore the guys hawking comedy show tickets, and fight off annoyance at the lookey-loo tourists" kind of New Yorker. For the most part I avoid this patch of the city like the plague but every once in a while I make my way over there and remember the New York I knew before it become the forty block radius that is home, work, home again -- lather, rinse, repeat.

I don't know if I've said before how often this city changes for me. Every time I move, every time there is a significant change in my routine, and every time I'm reminded of what my life was (where it was) a year ago I view the city through different eyes. Nothing huge has changed but my perspective is fluid. So cool.

I love musicals. During my first trip to New York in 2002 I saw 42nd Street and Cabaret (with John Stamos, no less!) Then there was the time I saw RENT all doped up on painkillers after having my wisdom teeth out. I saw Movin' Out, Mamma Mia!, and most recently, Wicked at the Pantages in LA. In London there was the Lion King, Chicago, Les Mis, and Thoroughly Modern Millie. Since moving to New York I've seen three shows (a feat, given my bank account. Gotta love the rush lotteries!) Spring Awakening was my favorite, In the Heights was awesome and, last night, I enjoyed the revival of West Side Story. I want to be Maria surrounded by all those hot bad boys and singing I Feel Pretty (in Spanish for this show!) with my girlfriends in my room instead of stuck at a cubicle with invisible walls. One of these days I will be a triple threat making me debut on the Broadway stage.

"Only in New York" - an "angel" for Christmas

I see many things in my day to day adventures in this city that prompt the thought "Only in New York... (Insert your favorite ending here.) Once, somewhere in the vacinity of 42nd and Broadway (also known as Nightmare and My Personal Hell) I walked past a theater with tens of costumed young girls and their mothers waiting to see the live Broadway version of The Little Mermaid only to be in front of a strip joint a few places later. Usually, "Only in New York" ends with a sardonic crack about the hustle, or the grit or the beauty of a flying piece of garbage as seen from the 6th story of my high rise office building. Today it was something much better...

I was rushing (as usual) out of work to make an appointment that only happened to be a few blocks away, thankfully. I stopped in my tracks when I saw something shiny and pretty on the street. I knew immediately what it was...an iPhone. I looked around and picked it up and immediately a moral dilemma ensued. I could have a new phone if I wanted. And not just a new phone, a new phone that pretty much everyone I know wants...The one I had first experienced the wonder of at the downtown Apple Store just a few weeks ago while my roommate was being assisted by a hipster wearing a red shirt that says "Santa has elves. You have me." This was the phone said roommate purchased and has been glued to ever since. The one that could, when I ran into her room shouting, be held up to my TV and magically tell me the name of the song on the commercial I was watching and wondering about for days. Nevermind that I have no idea how to work it, don't need all the features, and can't afford the services, I wanted to pocket it and go along my merry way. Merry Christmas to me!

While standing in the cold and lightly falling snow, calling my best friend (who didn't answer) and then father for advice on what to do (yes, I actually did that) the phone rings. Once I figured out how to answer it, I heard the voice of a man who, according to Magic Phone, was named Arman. I had his phone. Where was I? He'll be there in 7 minutes. Was that OK? By now I was officially late to the appointment that is four inches from my office building. Figures. So I stand and wait for him to come looking for the girl in the grey coat with the curly hair. A black car pulls up and a young woman gets out. I have her phone. She thanks me genuinely which is nice and puts out her hand. I shake it and say, "You're welcome. I was just calling you again because I'm late to an appointment." I've forgotten to mention that I was trying to call and arrange an alternate time to give back the phone as this alternative was better than missing an appointment I'd already jammed into my holiday schedule. This involved figuring out how to make a call on the phone. Anyway, I say "Happy Holidays" she responds in kind and I turn to leave, satisfied that I've done my good samaritan duty.

So I walk away and a guy walking down the street next to me says, "That was the Victoria's Secret model, wasn't it?" Since I am female and to me Vicky's means 7 for $25 underwear and Heidi Klum I have no idea who he means. He responds that the woman whose phone I just saved was Adriana Lima, a really famous model. "Oh, really?" I say. Lesson learned today: If you're ever wondering whether the gorgeous woman you see on a Manhattan street is a supermodel, ask the guy walking down the street next to you not the girl whose idea of make up is lipgloss and nothing else.

Upon arriving home this evening I Google image her and there she is. It definitely was her. Only in New York...right?

Won't you let me go down in my dreams? And rockabye sweet baby James...

When I traded my backpack for business cards and parked myself in a cubicle rather than in those wonderfully comfortable lecture hall seats, I gave up something else, too... the smiling, squishy, sticky face of a baby, the precociousness of a preschooler, and sometimes the demonic tendencies of some that leave me wondering why their heads aren't spinning and they aren't spitting green goo. I gave up having a career or job that involved kids. Those who know me know that I started babysitting at age 13, did my homework on the couches of many a family while their kiddos slept, and kept myself out from behind a service counter of a McD's by selling my patience and nose-wiping abilities to the highest bidder. OK, that last part makes me sound like a pimp but I've led sing-alongs, Simon Says games, and taught two year olds to tap their toes in anticipation of the parental glee that comes from what is often no more than the "organized chaos" of a Tutu Tots class. Now I work among adults (which I love) and books (which I often love more) but at the end of the day, the end of the week, I choose to take off my heels, get on my knees, and sing Twinkle Twinkle.

Yep, at 25 yrs old, I still moonlight as a babysitter. The story of how babysitting and nannying relates to how I came to New York the way I did is long but to make it short: I was moving to New York. I needed a part-time job to tide me over while I searched for others. I also needed a place to live. A contact at a publishing house put me in contact with a friend who has a grassroots sitting service, and she also had a room to sublet for a month. One mom lobbied for me, I packed my bags, got on the plane, and started kid duty all over again in a brand new city. If anyone has ever seen The Nanny Diaries, that was my first two months in New York (minus the awesome live-in digs and the hot guy upstairs). I pushed strollers down the streets of Manhattan, went to Gymboree, perfected the juggling act that is feeding a baby and oneself at the same time, was the only white girl in a sea of sweet African nannies, and pocketed my cash at the end of the week. Now, despite my dream come true, I often surrender my weekends and weeknights to the lure of the sitting job. Afterall, this California girl has to have money for cross-country plane rides, right? The nose and butt wipes pay for the moving expenses, the happy hours, and the ritzy NY lifestyle I lead (yeah, right).

This weekend I had four, count 'em four, babysitting jobs. It just kind of evolved that way and once I had two, I figured if I was going to sacrifice my weekend, I might as well sacrifice the entire thing. The perfect job starts and ends with a sleeping baby. I arrive, kid is already asleep, I read or watch Showtime On Demand, sometimes surf the net and then leave a few Jeffersons wealthier. There is the occassional job that takes me back to my new New York days on those teeny tiny Manhattan playgrounds. Take the case of the two James' today. James #1 (about a year and a half old) and I went out for pizza and then up to a park on the Upper East Side by the East River. We marvelled and screamed over all the dogs, practiced saying the word "boat" and generally had a romping good time. About two hours later and twenty blocks south, James #2 (about the same age, actually) and I enjoyed the wonderful cinematic masterpiece that is Bee Movie (it is actually pretty cute) after which he instructed me on how one is to be properly put to bed at 5:30 pm, monosyllabically grunting at me to turn on the light, turn on the sound machine, sit in the chair, read this book (no not that one!) This. One. Hey, if you want to put yourself to bed, be my guest. Luckily, Mom and Dad came home at about six so I relinquished the prematurely begun bedtime duty and hopped on the crosstown bus.

Do I feel like I lost my weekend? Kind of. But there will be another and instead I will choose to go out with friends or on a date with someone who has all of his permanent teeth. Someday I am going to have to stop sitting but with my salary what it is, that day is a ways off. Until then, some weekends I'll just have to party with the pre (and I mean PRE) school crowd.

"Don't sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me."

Am I a horrible person if I cancel on a volunteering gig?

As of late I've been addicted to volunteering. Of all things to be addicted to, I figure this is a good one. I signed up for an organization that makes it all very easy with short-term commitments and fun projects. I've been doing it for a few months now and for the past few weekends in a row I've spent my Saturday holding little kids' hands, reading to them, or (my favorite) helping them pick apples at a New Jersey farm. See above pic of me in an apple tree.

Not only does volunteering give me something to do, it gives my Saturday purpose, and I get to focus on something other than my trivial problems. These kids live in a transitional shelter. 80% are in single parent homes. Most lost those homes because their family couldn't afford to pay rent anymore. Some are there because of domestic abuse issues. Some are fire victims. Most kids are only supposed to be there for about a year to a year and a half. But because housing is so affordable in NYC and the economy is so great right now, some kids have been there much longer. I have become a "regular" with a particular shelter and my "buddies" now light up when they see me there, something that warms my heart and makes me glad they get to see that there are adults who are interested in spending time with them, reading to them, talking to them about High School Musical and watching their card tricks.

I am supposed to go hiking with my regular group of kids tomorrow but it is most certainly going to rain, in which case we will take the kids bowling. I really don't want to go bowling. I also have started my packing but have quite a bit left to do. My friend is driving from Long Island with her car to help me move clothes, books, and all the other stuff I have so that will only leave the big things for next week. I have to coordinate with my new roommates and I also have a whopping pile of laundry sitting in the corner that isn't going to get done itself. My dream is to live in a building with an elevator, garbage disposal, and a washer and dryer.

So, since it is going to rain and I have so much to do, I'm thinking of not going tomorrow. I feel awful about it but if I call tonight and let him know that's not so bad, right?

a new use for peanut butter

Last night I was watching Grey's Anatomy (Wonderful new episodes of my favorite shows are back on so now my life is complete. How sad that DVR is my boyfriend.) and lo and behold, Stuart Little crawls out from behind the TV and squeezes his little body underneath my closed bedroom door. Needless to say, I flipped out, screeched for my roommate and her boyfriend who promptly came into my room with the Swiffer broom thing and started what turned out to be a fruitless hunt. Since my bedroom is the size of a shoebox with all my stuff crammed in it, he could have been anywhere, but I like to pretend I believe my roommate when she assured me that he probably scurried out as quickly as he scurried in.

My mom says he's more afraid of me than I am of him. I was fine with Mickey when he kept his quarters to the kitchen. Ratatouille could stay in there and act out an entire Disney film as far as I was concerned. We do keep the kitchen and apartment pretty clean, this is just a lovely perk of living almost directly above two restaurants. But out of sight, out of mind. Whatever. We've had a few problems since July and have caught a few in the kitchen but he crossed the line when he shimmied into my inner sanctum. Needless to say, I barely slept all night, am exhausted and hearing phantom squeaking noises.

Thank God I'm moving.

a hunt

I never intended for this blog to be solely about New York things but seeing as how I have no readers right now anyway, I doubt it matters.

Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City said something about how a woman in New York is always looking for one of three things: a job, an apartment, or a boyfriend. In my case, it is an apartment (though if anyone knows a great single guy, please pass him my way.)

I currently live with two roommates around my age. The lease is up at the end of the month. Both roommates have decided to move on (one to Queens and one to move in with her fiancee) so I have to move on as well. Of course, my first instinct was to keep the apartment, find two new eager beavers to move in and keep my furniture and my sanity in place. No such luck. The wonderful management company that owns our little building would charge me one month's rent to stay in an apartment in which I already reside. This is because a new lease would need to be signed and apparently the labor behind that is worth hundreds of dollars. There are also minimum income requirements to be met and since I don't work in finance or have a trust fund, my new roommates would have to make a minimum amount higher than my own salary in order for the three of us to qualify for said lease.

Now, I have never attempted to get an apartment in another state, but when I visited New York last September full of guts and gusto and determined to find my new apartment, I quickly learned about the fabulousness that is the housing market in Manhattan and all the headache inducing worrysome, I mean, warm fuzzy feelings that navigating said market produces. Rule #1, if you don't have a job you can't find a place to live unless you have a guarantor who lives in the Tri-State area. My folks on the Left Coast clearly don't make that cut. They also wanted six months rent up front but that is a horse of a different color.

Back to present day and keeping the tangents as short as possible, I can't afford to pay a fee for absolutely nothing so I am attempting to find a nice new little room in a nice little apartment where I can move myself and my nice little bedroom full o' stuff with as little hassle (read: money!) as possible. But, since this has been on my mind since July (read: I've been stressing about it for that long) I'm getting worn out. I saw a place on Sunday that I loved. Details excluded, this place has pretty much everything I want: nice roommates, close proximity to transporation and all things necessity related, a good price, etc. Now I'm waiting to see if they want me.

So I feel like I am pledging a sorority, keeping my fingers crossed, and really not wanting to do this again a year from now. Oh well, I guess that's the price I pay to be a little worker bee in this bee hive made of skyscrappers and lights. And a little bitter side note, if I hear one more time that a girl is moving out because she's moving in with her boyfriend, I might scream. Just a little.

a mere moment becomes a musing...

I love the way this city charms me.

When I first moved here, I would constantly walk down the street and have sort-of epiphany like moments in which I would again realize where I am now and what I'm doing -- that all my work and determination have come to fruition. I've done it. Such moments would result in sense of disbelief usually triggered by the rush of the taxis, the skyscape, and other typically stereotypical things. Those moments have become fewer and farther between but it is the little things that happen now, the smallest of details that remind me why I am here. They are the best rewards for bad days, times when life is hard. It is during these times that the city itself reminds me that as often as it challenges me, as often as it is my source of loneliness, frustration, and sadness, it also strengthens me and is the product of my strength.

Today has been particularly difficult for no particular reason. I went out earlier to grab a sandwich and while I was walking down the street I saw a man praying. I assume he is of Islamic faith as he was positioned on a prayer mat and was bowing repeatedly, placing his head on the ground while others rushed along the sidewalk beside him. This man and others like him, of African nationality presumably, set up various stands in front of the drug store daily. During the winter they sell scarves and hats -- during the summer, sundresses and tank tops. As I walked by I smiled to myself, for the city who has shown me something I wouldn't otherwise see. On my way back from Subway, the man and another were unloading their van for the day. I couldn't help thinking that regardless of one's religious beliefs or lack thereof, there is something to be said when faith is not daunted by daily monotony, drudgery and difficulty.

This city is organic in the way it becomes an entity all its own -- coming to represent different things for different people. For me, as it changes shape in my eyes with each life experience I have beyond the passage of seasons, I am constantly reminded that it is so much more than the big buildings and the bustling hive of bees moving to and fro... It constantly renews. It endures, so I endure.

a portrait

Ever since I got to NY I've fallen in love with taking random photographs. I always loved photography before but there are only so many beautiful beach shots one can take before they all start to look the same. Here are a few of my favorites to get this going:

A store front by my old apartment (West Village)

-taken May 2008-

The Mall at Central Park
-taken during my apartment hunting trip September 2007-

A conflicting message in the least likely of places:
the restroom at Grey Dog's Cafe in West Village.
-taken May 2008-