tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54739816569611937322024-03-13T08:13:28.001-07:00one new thingUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-86234164538122015822011-09-29T08:20:00.001-07:002011-09-29T08:20:23.942-07:00test test test<embed allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" flashvars="&controlbar=over&playlist=bottom&plugins=viral-2h&viral.description=This%20is%20the%20video%20description&viral.functions=share%2Cembed&viral.pluginmode=FLASH&viral.title=This%20is%20the%20video%20title" height="400" src="http://content.prnewswire.com/designvideo/PRNWPlayer_Flex.swf" width="320"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-91324125425879816502011-04-28T11:36:00.000-07:002011-04-28T11:36:05.865-07:00RUMS OF PUERTO RICO<a href="http://photos.qa.prnewswire.com/medias/appnb/getNews.do?#loadStoryInfo/20110428160932ENPRN20110428-DC91664">RUMS OF PUERTO RICO</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-41017435990561238082010-12-05T16:02:00.000-08:002010-12-05T16:10:09.100-08:00week #49Unless you're with a group of more than 4 people, I always suggest sitting at the bar when you go out. Not only do you usually not have to wait for a table, but you get the same drinks and meal that you could have gotten sitting down, but you're not at that pretentious table that makes other people not want to join your conversation. You will also most likely -- if you are a personable person such as myself -- miss out on free drinks. Yes, I know you end up "paying" for them in the end, but somehow tipping a bartender 35% doesn't seem much like paying for free shots, laughs, a show, and making you feel welcome in an establishment.<div><br /></div><div>This is all theoretical of course. </div><div><br /></div><div>Jingle Jogs. Lucky Chengs. Holiday shops. Chris Rock. Christmas. New Year's. All new things past and future, but I don't feel like talking about them anymore. Rest assured, I'm finishing out the year with newness, and I'll probably even blog the last three times of the year, but I think come January 1, 2011, I'm out blog. Good night.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-45707428520837155562010-11-30T16:43:00.000-08:002010-11-30T17:14:27.070-08:00week #48I'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.<div><br /></div><div>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!</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-38209900373240969332010-11-20T16:24:00.000-08:002010-11-20T16:56:30.138-08:00week #47Why 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.<div><br /></div><div>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... </div><div>...</div><div>thinking</div><div>... </div><div>remember that time?</div><div>... </div><div>contemplating</div><div>... </div><div>sighing</div><div>...</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>Eat, Pray, Love</i> 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. </div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-68943773374685232712010-11-15T18:56:00.000-08:002010-11-15T19:10:54.747-08:00i like partiesSo, 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?" <div><br /></div><div>-- pause --</div><div><br /></div><div>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 <i>Blow</i>, 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."</div><div><br /></div><div>-- continue --</div><div><br /></div><div>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, <b><i>PARTY</i></b>. 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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-26657383145027747102010-11-13T06:28:00.000-08:002010-11-13T06:56:22.675-08:00rockettes and russian prostitutesDamn 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?<div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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!"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 15px; "> </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-25054704462271673492010-11-11T18:34:00.000-08:002010-11-11T18:49:42.095-08:00week #46Home stretch. Let's talk about next week. <a href="http://www.radiocitychristmas.com/">Rockettes. Christmas Spectacular.</a> 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 <a href="http://www.russianvodkaroom.com/">Russian Vodka Room</a>. Happy holidays!<div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-72464011634315236932010-11-07T12:54:00.000-08:002010-11-07T13:00:12.383-08:00peter pan bakery makes me swoonI'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.<div><br /></div><div>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.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-47489007908608430672010-11-06T14:29:00.000-07:002010-11-06T14:54:56.603-07:00week #45<div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg83jcP1RgqdLV_zsP0xFZZMzOYqrwnD0FNSK5TNxjakqqP2GYuRH-BUx8UX8w5sgLkY7L-X0gZ67T2l6UMlxpY0vWyVCbgM0P8MpnJ2GIafJqD29aq6U7KTeWuwetxHMw5qw82dLFtSIV_/s1600/DSCF0271.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg83jcP1RgqdLV_zsP0xFZZMzOYqrwnD0FNSK5TNxjakqqP2GYuRH-BUx8UX8w5sgLkY7L-X0gZ67T2l6UMlxpY0vWyVCbgM0P8MpnJ2GIafJqD29aq6U7KTeWuwetxHMw5qw82dLFtSIV_/s320/DSCF0271.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536554251795854850" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>"What's your name?" she asked.</div><div>"Carly."</div><div>"My name is Maria."</div><div>"Hi, Maria."</div><div>"What's your phone number?"</div><div>- pause -</div><div>"I can't give you my phone number."</div><div>"Why?"</div><div>"Because then you'll be calling me all the time."</div><div>"No I won't."</div><div>"Sorry."</div><div>"What's your name?"</div><div>"Carly."</div><div>"What's your phone number?"</div><div>- giggle -</div><div>"I'm not going to tell you."</div><div>"Why?"</div><div>"Because then you'll call me all the time."</div><div>"I like your hair."</div><div>"Thanks"</div><div>"I like your face."</div><div>"Um. Thanks."</div><div>"What's your name?"</div><div>"I already told you."</div><div>"I forget."</div><div>"Carly."</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>Hey, I like your face.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-22497496525936048722010-10-31T05:23:00.000-07:002010-10-31T05:45:33.172-07:00happy halloween week #44Last night... hmmm... was, I hate to say it, sort of lame. I hesitate to say that only because a group of people put a lot of time and effort into the Halloween at Woodlawn Cemetery tour, and it's not like it was terrible, I just think it was mis-advertised and a bit poorly executed. First, it wasn't scary at all. Not even spooky. Not creepy. Not even a little bit. You'd think, "Hey, I'm going to a cemetery at night, this is going to be freaky." But alas, that was not the case. The stories that were told at some of the grave sites were more along the lines of, "Here lies Bailey, of Barnum and Bailey. He died of a heart attack. He had $6 million dollars. Moving on." None of the stories were really that scary. Don't get me wrong. The cemetery is still really beautiful and interesting, but I feel like it might have been better held during the afternoon on any given day, than billed as a Halloween Cemetery tour led by flashlights.<div><br /></div><div>Which brings me to my second point -- poor execution. I didn't have to sign a waiver or anything, so I guess that meant if I were to trip and fall over a headstone and hurt myself, they'd be liable. If that's not the case, I don't know why I was told every two minutes to "be careful" and "walk slowly." I am not exaggerating. Every. Two. Minutes. Maybe more often. I get it buddy, I get it. We were also a group of probably 100 or so people of all ages, so maybe that's why he kept repeating himself. I'm not sure, but it got annoying fast. Also, the size of the group was ridiculous. I had to reserve a spot for this, so I'm not sure why they didn't try to keep the numbers down, or send us out in two groups. Half of the time you couldn't hear the story that was being told, or see the grave that was being pointed out, because there was a herd of humans all trying to gather around. There were stragglers at every turn making the tour last longer than anticipated and made for a lot of waiting around. </div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, I'd say it was a waste of my night. Again, I have to say, Woodlawn Cemetery is a beautiful place. It would be great to go during the daytime with just a small group and look at all of the extraordinary grave markers and learn a little history about past titans of New York. Just don't do the Halloween tour. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, if you are looking for something fun to do in New York on Halloween, may I suggest riding the subway. People were hysterical. Costumes and debauchery galore. So happy Halloween everyone! I leave you with this.<br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><object style="background-image:url(http://i1.ytimg.com/vi/0BKVGlt94jU/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0BKVGlt94jU?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0BKVGlt94jU?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-27794775753814688042010-10-27T16:55:00.000-07:002010-10-27T17:23:20.116-07:00week #44<div>I keep forgetting what I've written about and what I've been doing. I don't think I told you that last week (currently this week, I mean, next week doesn't start until Friday) I joined a book club I found on craigslist. Craigslist can be totally sketch, so I was slightly nervous about this. But, I was pretty sure that a book club posting is not the best way for a murderer to find potential victims. Come on, that's what the sex ads are for. Anyway, I joined a book club. All of the gals I met were super nice and welcoming, and I'm going back next month. Yay for reading. (Well, in all honesty, yay for drinking wine and eating cheese too. Both of which were things that were equally, if not more, important than book discussion.) </div><div><br /></div><div>I just made my reservation for next week's new thing, so I'll tell you about it now. I didn't really have any Halloween plans, and I'm honestly not huge on dressing up, so I was planning on just staying in and watching a movie. But, plans change. I'm going on a creepy tour of <a href="http://thewoodlawncemetery.org/film.html">Woodlawn Cemetery</a>. OOooooOOOooo. I have to bring a flashlight because it's a spooky moonlit guided tour with tales of the horrors of the graves! (Insert evil Vincent Price laugh here.) I'm scared already. If I don't post next week, just assume I've been dragged to hell by the Bronx undead.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, that's that. Wanna hear a story?</div><div><br /></div><div>As I was walking to my apartment tonight after work, I passed a probably 50ish-year-old man. He was lugging a suitcase behind him. He was entirely unremarkable, so I can't really describe him now except to say his approximate age and that he was wearing a light denim jacket. When we passed each on the sidewalk, he got in my face and said to me in a southern drawl, "I'm leaving New York."</div><div><br /></div><div>And I leave you with that. Good night!</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-14294268173323461182010-10-22T19:18:00.000-07:002010-10-31T05:48:53.016-07:00week #43<div>Tomorrow I am going to play Frisbee with a friend from work and her friends. So hopefully I will make friends and influence people. Odds are though, anyone who knows my Frisbility is concerned at this prospect. Yes, I can stand on the beach and toss a Frisbee back and forth in a person's general direction, but under pressure, my throws become chaotic and... let's say unpredictable. I am slightly worried that my capabilities, or lack thereof, at Frisbee might hinder any friend-making, but I'm going to give it a go anyway. Wish me luck.</div><div><br /></div><div>Completely random, I know, but I went to the chiropractor today. My spine is all twisted up like a <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://blog.cleveland.com/business/maverick1.jpg&imgrefurl=http://blog.cleveland.com/business/2007/05/new_cedar_point_ride_delayed_h.html&h=3504&w=2336&sz=4539&tbnid=C1l7YEv1KasTZM:&tbnh=275&tbnw=183&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dcedar%2Bpoint%2Broller%2Bcoaster&zoom=1&q=cedar+point+roller+coaster&hl=en&usg=__QF88mqweOz1iTgpkXipvrSmvlxA=&sa=X&ei=bk7CTJvNL4X6lwfW1JUJ&ved=0CBQQ9QEwAQ">Cedar Point roller coaster</a>, so I'm a regular at this type of doctor. But it was my first trip to the NYC chiro though, so I was pleasantly surprised with this doctor. I really liked him. He does a bunch of work with Broadway stars and dancers -- he's got signed posters all over the office. Obviously, he knows his stuff if the entire cast of Mamma Mia can vouch for him. Dr. Klein has a great bedside manner and is very personable, and I approve of his back fixing methods, but he did just about send me to the therapist when he had me stand with my back to him so he could check out my spine. As he inspected my back, he kept mumbling things like, "oh no, I don't like that at all," or "no, this doesn't make me happy." Basically, I'm a freak show. Somebody get me a bell tower, Quasimodo here needs to go into hiding. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've got a couple more appointments with him next week so he can straighten me out. He also informed me that this lifestyle jolt of moving from Cleveland (where I didn't walk much of anywhere) to New York (where I walk pretty much everywhere) probably isn't helping any. He then proceeded to perform a party trick by telling me which arm I carry my bag on (my left, his right, correct!) This guy's a real character. Then I left, the whole way back alternating arms to carry my purse in an effort to even my self out.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-71100374602256375982010-10-17T17:15:00.001-07:002010-10-17T17:46:12.421-07:00midweek blah blah blahWell, the original intent of this blog is degenerating. A weekly update of new things is turning into... gulp... an actual blooooooooooooooog. Thoughts. Feelings. Midweek unnecessary postings that have little to do with reporting on the actual newness of a thing. EGADS MAN! (Eek. Using exclamation points.)<div><br /></div><div>I was so anti blogging (check out post numero uno), but now I'm doing it all willy nilly. Although, I haven't tagged any of my posts, so it's not really searchable, and it's still pretty secret, but I'm writing more than I thought I would, and about more stuff than originally intended. Not that that's a terrible thing. I'm just freaking out.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I went to the 10th Annual International Pickle Day this afternoon. Pretty stellar day. I didn't realize that there were so many places in NYC to get hand made pickles, or pickled products. I had been to one place, but this event had at least 20 pickled product vendors. I ate 6 whole pickles, plus a number of other pickled items like beets, turnips, green beans, and more. I even had some kimchi, which I didn't think I would like, but put that spicy junk on a hot dog or taco, and it's quite tasty. I had a whiskey brined pickle that was probably my favorite. I also had a bloody mary with pickling juice in it that was delicious. OH, and I had a PB&P finger sandwich. What's that you ask? Oh, just peanut butter and pickles, as normal as ever. Not gonna lie though, my stomach was a little bit pickled itself by the time I was done. So I called it a day and came home for a nap. </div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow after work I am supposed to meet up with a group of fellow displaced Pittsburghers to watch the Penguins game at a bar. It'll be my first time meeting up with this group. Hopefully they'll like me and we'll all be best friends by the end of the game. I feel like it's the first day of school all over again. What to wear... what to wear?</div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-27051444705061022242010-10-14T17:33:00.000-07:002010-10-14T18:09:07.465-07:00week #42New things galore. <div><br /></div><div>Want a wrap up of Open House New York? I went to the Grand Lodge of Masons. It was interesting. They have 12 different lodge rooms and they all have different themes - like Egyptian, Colonial, Corinthian, etc. They're actually pretty gaudy some of them. The Egyptian room reminded me of the Cheesecake Factory. Either way, the architecture was pretty cool, but they did not give away any mason secrets, so that was sort of a bummer. I wanted secret ritual details, and Jack the Ripper stories, not stories of Shriners helping children. Barf. I also went to the Ukrainian American Center, which was really just an old building on Central Park West. 1920s swanky.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also this week, just as an added bonus, a friend of mine happened to have an extra ticket to a taping of the <a href="http://www.slate.com/id/2269618/">Slate Political Gabfest</a> podcast. Slate is one of the best web sites, and this live taping was fun and thought-provoking. If you listen to the podcast, you'll be able to hear me clapping in the crowd. Booyah. I'm going to be famous.</div><div><br /></div><div>For next week, I'm going to the International Pickle Day on Sunday. Evidently there is a history of shops that pickle their own cucumbers and other veggies in New York. I've been to the <a href="https://www.pickleguys.com/">Pickle Guys</a> before, and their pickles were fantastic, so I'm excited to, as the brochure says, see pickle demonstrations and educational displays, as well as, let's face it, eat pickles. That should be fun and delicious. Plus, I always heard pickles were a great cure for a hangover.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm distracted with this post. Sorry, I'm catching up on the last however-many seasons of 30 Rock. Streaming Netflix. I wanted to save money and screw over Time Warner a little, so I don't have cable. Besides, I used to work in the evenings, so I never had a chance to enjoy this show when it originally aired. I'm on a 30 Rock bender right now. My mind grapes are turning to mush.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-92114481911986692712010-10-08T19:38:00.000-07:002010-10-08T19:54:09.372-07:00week #41Boom. Back on track. With a REAL thing too. I know, I've been totally lame since half way through July. (Go ahead, make the obvious joke. I softballed it up there for you...)<div><br /></div><div>Anyway, this week's thing is <a href="http://www.ohny.org/">OHNY</a>. Open House New York -- touring old buildings, and secret caverns, and hidden gems, and places cordoned off to the public. I'm super excited about it. Stop number 1: <a href="http://www.nymasons.org/">Grand Lodge of Masons</a>. I find secret societies <i>soooooooo</i> intriguing. I've seen the movie National Treasure, and heard all that Jack the Ripper stuff. Their web site is so innocuous, but I know better. So mysterious those Masons. </div><div><br /></div><div>There are tons of other places to check out around the city too. Not sure what all I'll make it to depending on lines and such, but the MTA substations, the old churches, abandoned subway tunnels (although I can't go to that one because I don't own a flashlight), they all are so different and interesting. So I'll be spending the weekend exploring. What fun.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-8201389443000794722010-10-07T18:12:00.000-07:002010-10-07T18:44:07.825-07:00week #40Are my weeks off? I know this is sort of for last week, and I'll have a post for next week probably tomorrow. So I think I'm still on track, but correct me if I'm wrong.<div><br /></div><div>So I did something this past week, but I forgot what it was. It obviously wasn't too spectacular, but I have a fun one for next week. I was all screwed up and behind because I didn't have internet at home for the past month. Ever since I've been in New York, I've been stealing internet, which didn't work out so hotly when I moved into my own place a few weeks ago. Everyone around here kept their internet under lock and key. No worries though, I'm all hooked up to my very own password protected wireless service, so I'm set for the foreseeable future.</div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of trying to remember what lame thing I did this week, I'm going to bitch for a minute. New York made me super angry last night and this morning. "How?" you ask? Well, seems that the NY State DOT decided that my quiet, little, residential street needed to be resurfaced or something, so last night, starting at 10 p.m. sharp, jackhammering, bulldozing, shoveling, etc. commenced outside my window. This lovely symphony continued on through the night until 4 a.m. It was a regular effing construction site and I was pissed. At one point, I threw a 3-year-old temper tantrum, kicking and flailing and yelling to no one that I JUST WANNA SLEEP!</div><div><br /></div><div>What is with the total lack of regard for the people living on my street? I get it. There's a ton of traffic during the day, and it disrupts the flow of cars less if they do roadwork in the dead of night. But come on, it's not like I live on a bustling thoroughfare -- divert the damn traffic to any one of the streets one block over! It doesn't look like the construction is complete either, so I am dreading tonight, or any night in the near future. I bought ear plugs today at the drug store (NYDOT you owe me $3.99) but I'm not sure anything could muffle the sound of a backhoe 30 feet away from my sleeping head.</div><div><br /></div><div>So that's my complaint this week. Other than that, things have been just peachy. My apartment is coming together nicely. I've got some good, fun outings coming up that I'll tell you about. But for tonight, I'm trying to get to bed early, just in case those jackholes come back with their heavy equipment again tonight.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-61646473398223219162010-09-25T12:44:00.000-07:002010-09-25T12:51:51.500-07:00week #39I feel like I've sort of been copping out of the new thing of late. I come up with my new thing of the week after something new happens. Like this week. It was my first real weekend in the city, and my friend from Boston was in town, so went out Friday night for real. Did it up New York style. We spent too much money for drinks, and ended the night with a slice of pizza. It was great. Then today we went to the Brooklyn Flea, and on the subway ride back, I had my very first celebrity sighting -- <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.paulstuart.com/images3/events/ps_PClaunch20.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.paulstuart.com/events1.cfm&usg=__TaLckIFfmndrzbOfBu79JJNNSk0=&h=400&w=500&sz=55&hl=en&start=20&sig2=Hm8BpGQEKHcWNG76rIJxsQ&zoom=1&tbnid=SfT05IDvVGRomM:&tbnh=143&tbnw=179&ei=HlKeTIrUFcX7lwfRsMGvCg&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dmo%2Brocca%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DX%26biw%3D1239%26bih%3D617%26tbs%3Disch:10%2C498&um=1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=132&vpy=264&dur=49&hovh=201&hovw=251&tx=99&ty=76&oei=71GeTO-9BML6lwf-mfXKCQ&esq=5&page=2&ndsp=19&ved=1t:429,r:6,s:20&biw=1239&bih=617">Mo Rocca</a>! He was right there next to me on the train. Well, sort of ahead and a little to the right, but we were mere feet apart. <div><br /></div><div>So those are all my new things for this week. I'm sorry about my lame new things of late. I'll think long and hard and come up with something really swell for next week. Promise.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-56923490389011771032010-09-22T17:32:00.001-07:002010-09-22T18:00:44.559-07:00dear people of new yorkOne of my favorite things to do since I've moved to New York is people watch. I've always enjoyed this pastime and nowhere is there better sport than in NYC. On my first weekend in the city, I took a book (just as a pretense) to Central Park and got some solid gawking in. The most entertaining thing was a girl about 50 feet away from me. She was sitting in the grass, screaming into her cell phone. Evidently, she had a particularly bad day that past week and called her boyfriend, who didn't pick up. He did not call her back in an acceptable amount of time and so received one of the worst verbal assaults I've ever heard. She was screaming expletives into the phone. And saying that it was excessive, coming from me, a person who has a mouth like a sailor, means she had to be saying a LOT. The whole thing made me giggle. <div><br /></div><div>It also made me think about New Yorkers. Here's what I like about the people of this city right off. People act however they want, say whatever and wear whatever they want, and they do it with confidence. I love looking at what people are wearing when person staring. I'm no Carrie Bradshaw, but I like fashion. However, there are things I just wouldn't wear. While walking to the subway this past week, I saw a 20-something woman in high-waisted, pleated, acid-wash jeans. The kind of things I -- though I hate to admit it -- probably owned in the 3rd grade. She paired these with a cropped tank, and high heels. It was very Saved by the Bell with a modern twist. I don't know. Even though it's something I wouldn't wear, she owned it, and made it look fashionable. And I see people like her every day. So you go woman in the canary yellow cat suit, and man with the suit jacket and shorts. You go New York. Rock on with your bad self.</div><div><br /></div><div>-- but wait ---</div><div><br /></div><div>Lest you think this post is just a big love fest, I do have one serious pet peeve already. What's with the people jockeying for position at a cross walk? Here's an example. I'm walking to work. I'm on the sidewalk. The traffic signal says "no, not a good time to walk" and cars are buzzing past. So I, rule follower that I am, stop on the sidewalk and wait patiently for the light to change. As I'm standing there waiting, Mr. I'm-in-a-super-hurry walks up and also sees the "crossing now would be a really stupid idea" sign. Instead of standing next to me on the sidewalk, Mr. IIASH, steps out into the street as far as he can possibly go without getting hit by a passing vehicle to wait for the light to change. No, he can't wait on the sidewalk like a normal person, he needs to be mere inches from the cabs whizzing by. That way, he can get a whole 3 feet head start on me when the light actually does change. What's up with that? It happens to me all the time, and while I understand it on side streets and less busy thoroughfares, I don't get why people need to get as far into the street as possible on a street that clearly has 4 lanes of traffic all moving at a steady clip. WTF.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-4500935829132401842010-09-21T17:59:00.000-07:002010-09-21T18:12:32.124-07:00week #38Finally! I finally found, viewed, applied for, got, and paid for an apartment in New York City. Wow. Done. Finally. I'll be living a bit north of the Columbia University area, so while maybe not the sexiest address in NYC, it's a place. Of my own. Yep, that's right. It's my own little over-priced studio. Take that all you roommate-seeking jerks who didn't think I was hipster cool enough to share your flat. I can have all the weird sleepovers I want now. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Booyah</span>.<div><br /></div><div>So now that the apartment is taken care of, I can finally start doing fun new New York things. I still need to actually move all my junk in, but a weight has been lifted, and it's amazing all the free time I feel like I have now. Instead of seeing 3 places every night after work, and then surfing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">craigslist</span> during any down time, my time is all mine. What to do... what to do...</div><div><br /></div><div>I wanted to learn how to curl, but I couldn't find any New York City curling leagues. Perhaps I'm not searching hard enough for that. But man, there are so many things I could do. So many different ways to use my spare time. Volunteering at an animal shelter? Homeless shelter? Join a soccer league? Softball league? Running group? Participate in a language exchange? Take night classes? Knitting lessons? Any suggestions?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-90799334223355982302010-09-12T17:09:00.000-07:002010-09-12T17:27:52.076-07:00random thoughts during this week #37Happy first official weekend of football season. Did your team win? Mine did. So, this morning, I had to be over in Brooklyn to look at an apartment, but afterwards, I headed over to a bar called the Public House. It was billed online as THE OFFICIAL Steelers bar in New York. I think the internet was telling the truth. I walked in right at one, and there was one seat left at the bar, and I was probably the only one there not in some sort of Steelers' gear. To my credit though, I'm living out of a suitcase, and when I was packing, I thought I might need more business clothes instead of my Polamalu jersey. (Just kidding. It's a Hines Ward jersey.) So that was a nice way to spend the afternoon. Plus I made friends with my displaced Pittsburgh brethren. It was really a nice afternoon. <div><br /></div><div>Now, I just have a random musing that I want to put out there in the world. So, my current subway stop is Columbus Circle. It's right on the edge of Central Park, and when I'm walking there in the morning, I often look up at the buildings along the edge of the park. (I know, this is blasphemous to true New Yorkers. I was told to never look up, or I'd give myself away as a tourist. Whatever. I don't care.) The reason for my looking up, aside from admiring the architecture, is that I always wonder, "which of these buildings was used as Dana's apartment building in the movie Ghost Busters?" I swear, when I'm looking up at them, with the trees of Central Park in the view, it looks exactly like a scene from the movie. I've been trying to look it up online, but haven't found the right search string yet. </div><div><br /></div><div>All right kids, I'm out.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-4334169503858414182010-09-09T19:12:00.001-07:002010-09-09T19:26:53.118-07:00week #37I just posted this morning, and here I am again. My new week starts tonight at midnight, and I haven't thought of anything yet, except for maybe this: No more bitching about my move. <div><br /></div><div>I was talking to one of my old coworkers in Cleveland today, and I think she put it best when she said, "Well, a bad day in New York is still better than any day in Cleveland." That really got me thinking. Yah, my apartment search is totally sucking, but so what, I'm in New York. No sense putting off the fun until I find a place. Carpe Diem as they say. </div><div><br /></div><div>Don't get me wrong, I probably will still bemoan some things (my feet HURT), but I'm going to try not to. I don't want your pity.* I'm in New York. I am having fun. Seeing new things. Meeting new people. Eating tons of delicious food. Exploring - OH! the exploring.</div><div><br /></div><div>So fret not dear followers (Hi Kate and Rems), negative Nancy is gone. And, so, I leave you with these words of wisdom...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><object style="background-image:url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/WlBiLNN1NhQ/hqdefault.jpg)" width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WlBiLNN1NhQ?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WlBiLNN1NhQ?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="425" height="344" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>* except you mom. I want your pity. And your financial donation to help cheer me up.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-37912438929543379522010-09-09T05:05:00.000-07:002010-09-09T05:09:39.911-07:00week #36Well, this past Tuesday was my first day of my new job in NYC. Everyone asks, "how's it going?" "are you excited?" "are you nervous?" "are you living it up in the city?" The answer to all of these questions is, I AM STRESSED. I still don't have a place to live. I have a temporary situation worked out, which is fantastic, but isn't permanent. What happens if I don't find a place in a week or two? <div><br /></div><div>So really, work has been fine. New York has been fine -- although I did get verbally accosted on the subway my first day here, but I didn't take it personally. I think the guy was just nuts. If I could just find an apartment I would start regaling you with stories of my big apple adventures, but alas, I am stressed.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-37881962629409771552010-08-28T21:50:00.001-07:002010-08-28T22:10:56.072-07:00week #35Alas, dear readers, I am currently writing from the JFK airport in New York. Last week's rambling, optimistic post was a sham. Let me tell you...<div><br /></div><div>So, I was going to be rooming with two girls out in Hoboken, N.J. (or the 'Boke as I had been calling it). Right? So, last me and this girl leave off, she texts me Friday saying "hey roomie, I'll email you the papers to sign on monday." Roomie! She called me roomie -- that's legally binding! Anyway, Monday comes and goes, and no email. So Tuesday morning I send her an email, and get no reply. Wednesday, I call and leave a message. Thursday rolls around and I'm getting nervous. I haven't heard from her, and I'm supposed to be moving in on Saturday. So Thursday, I bring out the big guns. Three calls, one text, one more email. Nothing. Friday, I try one last call, and when it goes unanswered again, I realized I have to quickly devise a plan B. Well, actually, I panic, get depressed, curse the NYC and all its evils, and then devise. </div><div><br /></div><div>The plan I come up with is to hop on a flight from PIT to JFK early Saturday morning, and come back Saturday night. A total of about 10 hours to find a place. So I figure it's time to call in the professionals, and I call a broker. I look at some places and put in an application and deposit down on an over-priced, tiny studio on the UES, that's actually pretty cute and I will hopefully be able to move in this coming Wednesday. I am cautiously optimistic about this. I'm sure something else will go wrong (perhaps the building will burn down?) but I have to hope that cruel fate is done toying with me -- testing my will to move to New York.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh wait, and here's the new thing for the week (no, it wasn't using the realty broker, although that was a first, nor was it being dumped by a roommate): I am sleeping in the airport. My red eye was canceled. HA! So, I'm flying out Sunday morning. At least there's WiFi at the airport though, so I can blog and check my email, and see that potential roommate who will henceforth be known as that stupid *!$*@ emailed me saying that her other roommate doesn't actually want a third roommate, so sorry.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so, I am begging New York, the fates, any higher being out there, and Suze Orman who's on the TV currently, to please stop messing with me, to help a sister out, to please, please, please, make something in this whole move go right, because I'm not sure how much more I can take. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5473981656961193732.post-73809527858654356612010-08-20T20:54:00.000-07:002010-08-22T06:46:53.268-07:00week #34<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Why, hello blog. Sorry I've taken such a hiatus. Many apologies for my lack of new things of late. But I was just in NYC yesterday and today searching for an apartment (umm, new thing), so I have many new things to tell of. In fact, this post may get too wordy and philosophical. I just re-read </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Eat, Pray, Love</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, so I'm pretty sure that's the cause of anything that gets too deep.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Anyway, yesterday, I woke up at 4 a.m. -- an ungodly hour for anyone for sure, but especially for someone who works the night shift and didn't hit the hay until well after midnight. So I arrive in New York mid morning, with a list of apartments to see and a second tier list of people to call to set up appointments for later if the #1s don't pan out. How much detail do you want here? I'll go into my depressing day… but if you want the gist, just skip down 4 paragraphs.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The first two places were in Morningside/Harlem. This is not an area I'm too familiar with, but according to the ad, it's just steps away from Columbia University. Columbia was gorgeous. I walked around the campus for a while, and man, I could picture myself living there for sure. When I finally got to the business of heading over to the apartments, my heart slowly sank. "Steps from Columbia" actually meant about 10 blocks and 4 streets in the wrong direction. The apartment wasn't a total dump, but I just couldn't stomach spending $1200 a month, to live in a shack in a sketchy neighborhood. I wasn't too worried though, because, this was only my first stop, I had others lined up.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Well, #3 was a closet. I know, I know, it's New York City, ALL apartments are a closet. But, no, this place literally was a closet. I don't think I could have fit my queen size bed and had room for anything else, including clothes. Three strike outs off the bat and I was starting to get nervous. Then when I got to #4, it seemed to have already been rented "just that morning." </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It was now time to start calling my B-list. After that though, I got a number of "Apartment's gone" -- clicks, and also left a few voice mails for people. I set up two more appointments out in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, which can be dodgy I know, but was hoping these places would be in good areas, but no such luck. I actually skipped the appointments I had set up with the owners, because there was no way I was living in that area. So I headed back to my hotel room to regroup, recheck craigslist, and break down and finally call a broker or two. I found that the favorite tactic of the broker is to post an apartment for $1250, but upon calling, tell you "sorry, that apartment is gone, but I have one for $1400 in that neighborhood."</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I was thoroughly defeated at this point. I mean, really, really questioning whether New York wanted me. I knew this was going to be hard, but I didn't think it would be as soul crushing as this. A friend of mine from Cleveland was helping me search the web for places to try, and sent me a link to an ad for a roommate. A call, text, and visit later that night, and TADA -- I have a place to live in Hoboken, N.J. for at least the next 4 months. What a sense of relief. (Roommate also equals new thing (discounting college of course.))</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So I got a place to live. Hoboken is pretty cool. The roommate seems pretty great (she texted me this morning and called me "roomie"). And my mojo was coming back. I </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">AM</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> going to kick this city's ass, thank you very much. So, since I was officially going to become a resident, I thought I'd use my last chance as a tourist to take one of those double decker bus tours (also new). It was fun, interesting, relaxing, and a great way to see the city and get a tan -- or in my case, a sunburn. I went to Times Square. I did some shopping at Century 21 (new). I had some really </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">fantastic</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> sushi near Wall Street. I visited ground zero for the first time ever, which was pretty awe inspiring. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">*moment of silence*</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Then, when my feet were aching and I couldn't stand acting like a tourist anymore, I hopped a subway train and a bus (I am so proud of my bus-taking abilities) back to LGA. And now, I'm writing this on the plane back to Cleveland. I'm just drafting this up, to be posted when I get back to my apartment, because typing on your computer on the plane makes you look big and important. I'm doing work here people, not reading some smut novel like the rest of you schmucks. Oh, time to power down, we're coming in for a landing. Hopefully I'll be back to regular blogging from here on out. I actually think I might end up doing </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">more</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> than regular blogging, because there is so much to do in New York. I can't wait to get there. I can't wait to do anything and everything!</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0