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RUMS OF PUERTO RICO

RUMS OF PUERTO RICO

week #49

Unless 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.

This is all theoretical of course.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!"