Tuesday, November 30, 2010

week #48

I'm giving up Facebook for the foreseeable future. If you know me, you know that I'm not really a huge fan of social media. Aside from the annoyance of knowing every boring detail of a person's life, ("I don't want to go to work today." "I have softball after work." "I hate Mondays." "Yay, my significant other is coming over." etc. etc.) my knowledge of grammar and spelling make it nearly impossible for me to enjoy status updates. (I swear if I see one more "your so cute" instead of "you're" I might throw my computer at something.) Those are just small pet peeves. Really, I think I mainly want to give up Facebook because it's not fun anymore, in fact, sometimes it just makes me unhappy.

I think it's the same reason why I really don't care for blogs. What ever happened to talking to people? Ya know, calling someone up, meeting out for a meal or a drink, having an actual face-to-face conversation? If you have a funny story that you want to blog about, why don't you just tell me about it. Then I'll be able to hear the inflection of your voice, see your arms wildly moving about, and see your facial expressions. And at the same time, you'll be able to see my reaction to your story right there in real time!

I'm not naive enough to say I'll never go back on Facebook. And I'm not canceling my account or anything. I'm just going to give it up for a while.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

week #47

Why hello Saturday evening in front of the computer. I feel like hell. I had to get groceries today, and it was all I could do to pick up a random mishmash of things that can be eaten. (Definitely not a meal -- sweet potatoes, cheese, pasta noodles, cereal, chocolate.) I find shopping in New York to be daunting. The aisles are so skinny and the shelves go all the way to the ceiling. It's never not crowded so I always feel like I'm in someone's way and I never get to really survey the shelves for the best product or price. It's definitely NOT like Giant Eagle. Now I'm back home feeling like I might be in bed by 8 p.m. tonight.

This week is Thanksgiving, (I'm running a turkey trot that morning -- gobble gobble!), and it's almost December, only a few weeks left in my year of new things. Let's reflect for a moment...
...
thinking
...
remember that time?
...
contemplating
...
sighing
...

It's been a long year, and I don't feel like my year of new things actually was that impressive. Not that it was meant to be. I guess I just thought this year would end with one of those Eat, Pray, Love kind of "ah-ha" moments where everything becomes clear and I am this new person. I feel like the same ol' me. I guess I do have some interesting experiences. One of the big things I'm thinking about now that 2011 is coming up, is do I continue this blog? Is anyone reading it anyway? I could continue to chronicle my adjustments to New York life, but am I really conceited enough to think this is interesting? Decisions. Decisions.

Monday, November 15, 2010

i like parties

So, the other night, I was offered drugs at a bar... at least I think so. I was sitting there, drinking a Sam Adams, when the 50-ish man to my left started chatting to me. We exchanged pleasantries -- name, job, etc. A few minutes in to our superficial conversation, he asks me, "Do you like to party?"

-- pause --

I am from a small town. I have no clue how to navigate the drug scene. I've never been offered drugs before, except some pot in college. I'm really "street" smart in a lot of ways, but no matter how many times I watch Blow, I'm never going to be a hip to the whole culture. I'll probably never be hip either, especially if I keep using the word "hip."

-- continue --

So he asks me if I like to "party." Not for a second thinking it was anything but asking if I like to go out, I say, "Oh yah, sure. Mainly just on the weekends -- gotta get up early for work, ya know." He replies, "Well, it is the weekend, do you want to party?" And then it dawns on me. Ooooooh, PARTY. I'm an idiot. I whisper to my friend who I was out with, "He means like coke, right?" She nods. I mumble some answer to Mr. Partier that I've been out since that afternoon and have to get up early, but thanks so much anyway.

HAH. What a night. I can't wait to tell this story to my friend James, because I'm sure his response is going to be, "Why didn't you take him up on his offer?!?" Either way, I count it as a right of passage.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

rockettes and russian prostitutes

Damn you Rockettes and your infectious holiday cheer! Here it is 60 degrees out in mid-November and I have got the Christmas spirit. Where's my snow? Where are the twinkly lights? The red Macy's bags and window displays?

The Rockette's were awesome. I think if I had been a child in New York, my dream would be to become a Rockette when I grew up. The precision dancing was fantastic. The high kicks. The synchronization. Amazing! And it was all so spectacularly New York. I think I sat through the whole show grinning like a 5-year-old. Although that could have been the spiked hot chocolate I was drinking... who knows.

After the show, I took my friend who was in from out of town out to the Russian Samovar for drinks. It's right across from the Russian Vodka Room, which we walked into, but it was packed and we couldn't get a drink, so we walked across the street to the Russian Samovar thinking it would be pretty much the same thing. Well, it wasn't. Let's just say the RVR is more for tourists, and the RS is for Russians. We walked in and sat down at the bar, and people all around us were actually speaking Russian. Now, let me take a minute to say that I could never pass for a Russian. I have super pale skin and red hair. I look Irish, and nothing but Irish. My friend though, has dark, dark hair and could probably pass for an expat from any number of countries, but since we were walking into a Russian bar, the guy next to her almost immediately started talking to her in Russian.

We had a laugh about the language thing, and he spoke fine English with an accent. We were all introduced, food was passed around as were drinks. (Lots and lots of vodka shots.) There was an older man (probably 60) named Boris drinking with his younger friend (probably mid-thirties) named Misha on one side of us, and an American named Chris with his Russian friend named Phil on the other side of us (both probably in their mid-twenties). We were laughing, having a good time, and shots were being passed around, and then things started to get weird.

First, let me just say, that Boris did not speak much english and was often whispering to his friend Misha, who kept assuring us, that all he was saying was how lovely were were. Lovely. Enchanting. I also asked Misha what he did for a living, to which he responded, "oh, odd jobs, this and that. I would say I'm an audience of life." Interesting answer Mike. They couldn't have all been more nice. Hugs all around. Cheers. But I started to think that maaaaaaybe we were going to be sold into Russian prostitution. Well, at least, maybe my friend was. Or perhaps, they already thought she was a Russian prostitute, which was why they were being so nice. Maybe this bar was a Russian mob hang out, and Misha's odd jobs were "fixing things" and we were about to become an episode of Law and Order: SVU.

Then, my thoughts were semi-confirmed when we took a shot with Phil (the Russian student studying in America) and he proceeded to take the shot and then accost my friend. Well... accost is a strong word. He tried to make out with her. She was trying to have none of it. We laughed awkwardly. Phil went outside for a minute and came back and gave my friend a $20 bill... for what, I don't know, but at that point we slapped it on the bar to pay for our share of drinks and "do svidaniya!"

Thursday, November 11, 2010

week #46

Home stretch. Let's talk about next week. Rockettes. Christmas Spectacular. Suck it world. This is going to be awesome. It's something I've always wanted to see. I couldn't be more excited. I also think I'm going to follow it up with a trip to the Russian Vodka Room. Happy holidays!

So many things happen to me every day that I want to tell you about, but I often forget. Like today. Something funny happened. I was all set to talk about it. Alas, I can't remember. Here's something else I've thought about recently though. I've decided the way to tell when I become a true New Yorker -- when I stop looking both ways before crossing the street. Almost all of the streets around my office are one way, and not particularly busy. Every time I saunter up to a crosswalk and look left-right-left, I just want to hit my forehead and say "doh." I wonder if parents in New York warn their kids from an early age to "look both ways before you cross the street." I have to think not.

I have a friend coming into town tomorrow. I can't find the pump for my air mattress, so I am blowing up a twin-sized aero bed the old fashioned way... by passing out. If I don't blog about how awesome the Rockettes were in the next few days, call for help, I'm probably halfway dead, and halfway done blowing this thing up.

Sunday, November 7, 2010

peter pan bakery makes me swoon

I'm ashamed to say how many doughnuts I ate while watching marathoners this morning. But man, they were sooooooo tasty. Light and fluffy and melt in your mouth delicious. The cream with chocolate sprinkles is amazing! I wish I would have taken a picture. They also have these delightful yeasty doughnuts topped with crumbled cake doughnuts. It's so wrong it's right. Just saying, if you're ever in Greenpoint, go to Peter Pan Bakery.

OH, and I left out the best part. The doughnuts are $0.95. LESS THAN A DOLLAR! So again, not saying how many I ate, just saying I took a ten spot with me and got plenty of change.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

week #45

Today I wandered through Central Park enjoying the sunny, brisk fall day. I'm no Ansel Adams, but I took some photos. It was a gorgeous day.




The other day I was on the subway heading to work. I was lucky enough to find a seat, but as we went along, the train was getting more crowded. A man and his two young kids got on -- a 9-ish year old boy, and a 5-ish year old girl. The woman next to me got up to let them sit, and the young girl climbed into her seat, and I started to get up to give up my seat as well, but both the boy and his dad said, "no, no, sit down." I asked if they were sure, and they insisted I keep my seat. The little girl next to me though, wasn't happy with that and said to me, "can you pleeeeaaaase let my dad sit down?" So I went to stand up again, but the man told me to sit back down, and said something to his daughter in Spanish. This happened a few more times. The girl trying to get me to get up, and the man telling me to stay put. I felt like a total jerk. So, the next time the little girl asks for her dad to sit, I said, "Your dad won't let me give up my seat." This seemed to resign her to the fact that we were sitting next to each other, so she figured she should get to know me.

"What's your name?" she asked.
"Carly."
"My name is Maria."
"Hi, Maria."
"What's your phone number?"
- pause -
"I can't give you my phone number."
"Why?"
"Because then you'll be calling me all the time."
"No I won't."
"Sorry."
"What's your name?"
"Carly."
"What's your phone number?"
- giggle -
"I'm not going to tell you."
"Why?"
"Because then you'll call me all the time."
"I like your hair."
"Thanks"
"I like your face."
"Um. Thanks."
"What's your name?"
"I already told you."
"I forget."
"Carly."

Continue this for at least 5 stops. Continually being asked for my name and phone number. Other people on the train were snickering, and Maria's father kept talking to her in Spanish. I assume telling her to be quiet. They eventually got off. Mr. Mom apologized profusely, but I told him it was fine. In fact, it really made my day.

Tomorrow is the New York City marathon. I am going to support the runners by going to Peter Pan Bakery in Greenpoint to nosh on a few doughnuts while I cheer on people exercising.

Hey, I like your face.