A Bold Statement

May, June, July.

I was organizing binders for the new editor in chief of the magazine. After photocopying 1500 sheets of paper, 200 needed to be individually separated into sheet protectors. The top of every page read a corresponding month, and they needed to follow the pattern, “May… June… July.”

May… June… July

Soon enough I was on autopilot. My hands nimbly moved the pages, sticking them into sheet protectors, but my mind had long vacated any menial task and drifted wistfully into a land of its own.

The smallest part of my attention span was fixated on making sure the pages were in order.

May… June… July.

How many times had I said my mantra? “Hum… well let’s see,” I thought with the distracted portion of my brain. “There are 1500 pages, and three months, so that means… I’ll repeat this phrase 500 times in my head.”

Oh.

Then my mind really tumbled into Never Land, Wonderland, Whatever You Want To Call It. I didn’t want to do this! Not forever at least. Sure, sure everyone needs to have the crappy jobs and be the intern and photocopy thousands of pages. It’s good for you… and it’s humbling.

But if I knew this wasn’t a permanent setup, then what exactly did I want to do next? Literary agencies are cutthroat and under a lot of pressure to succeed with a failing book market. Publishers are struggling to adjust to the new e-technology and have long since given up as the romanticized 1960s novel-hunters we know and love. Business has beat out creativity and marketing can be more important than the actual book itself.

And then it struck me. Now, maybe you already know what I’m going to say or maybe you’ve already guessed where I’d end up. Maybe you don’t care, but you accidently read this post and now you kind of want to know that…

I want to write.

Zing! That realization hit me like a ton of 1500-page binders.

Yes, I want to write. I want to dive into worlds, true or imaginary, that you can picture and taste and breathe in like a real ocean’s breeze or warm city night. I want to take you through the streets of Newark and show you what it looks like to be addicted to crack. I want to grab you by the hand and drag you though the subways and supermarkets of New York. I want to document personalities and human character. I want to give you the world, my world, and analyze its every fiber to present you with the truest sense of an experience – to present you with an adventure.

And I want you right there with me.

May, June, July.

No, this realization doesn’t make things any easier! Maybe it makes things more difficult. But I know this: I don’t want to edit the books; I want to write them. I don’t want to find the authors; I want to be them. I don’t want to research the stories; I want to live them. And that is a bold statement my friends.

May, July, June.

Ha. How ironic.

The last three pages were out of order.

**********

Meanwhile, in a completely unrelated topic, it was Spring Break, St. Patrick's Day, and Sam's birthday this week! Here are some pictures from around town:

Crazy St. Patricks day. Notice the guy's shirt in front. Ah, one of the many dumb shirts for the day.

All of the avenues were crawling with people in green.

Had to have one of these.

A "plastic paddy!"

We spent most the night in Queens pubs because 1) there were real Irish people and 2) Manhattan was getting ridiculous

Sam's birthday!

She hosted her party at Brooklyn Bowl...

...which happens to have amazing food. We were all grossly full by the end of the night.

A Bold Statement

Thursday's Things New Yorkers Say - The Laundromat

“So… do I like, sign up, or something?”

Flashback. Yep the idiot we are observing is me and I’m sweating in New York’s summer heat. My hair is pulled back is some frizzy ponytail, and I’m wearing my favorite tie-dye with a stupid grin on my face. It’s my first laundry day in the city.

An older, Italian gentleman comes from behind the counter. “You have been here before, no?’

I snake my head. Guess we don’t have to sign up.

“Come with me,” he shuffles toward an open washer.

“So you have quarters, yes? Okay good. They go one… two… three…” he says pushing $1.75 into the slot, counting out loud the entire time. Thank goodness the place is deserted – how embarrassing. “Six… Seven… Now. The detergent goes in here, see? Yes. Good.”

He smiles at me probably thinking I have the mental capacity of a four-year-old. Never the less, I am grateful for his demonstration and now understand that you, in fact, do not have to “sign up” for anything at the Laundromat.

Coin jar that Kelley gave me for laundry money.

Flash-forward. It’s been seven months (and you really don’t want to know the few amounts of times I’ve been in this place – why else has it taken me so long to write about it?!). I’m patiently waiting for my wash to finish when I see him coming. “Code Blue!” I think to myself… but it’s too late. Eye contact was made. He’s talking! I can’t avoid him… Now I must unwillingly converse with a dude who thinks I might be his soul mate!

I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me explain:

New Yorkers have always had an infatuation with serendipitous encounters. Meeting your husband in line at the grocery store, running into your next best friend on the train, striking up conversation with your soul mate…yes, you guessed it… at the Laundromat.

Thus, I have labeled the Laundromat Talkers. Here are 3 scenarios you can expect to see… because I’ve seen them.

1) The Gossip:

“So he was taking the kids… and I was like no, you know dinner is about to be ready! And the kids are all we wanna do this… we wanna do that… you know?”

“Oh I SO know. That isn’t fair. You have any kids?” The woman randomly turns and asks me like she knew I was listening. I say no.

“Just wait!” Her northern accent still rings in my ears.

I sure as HECK better not me doing me AND my children’s laundry here. Kill… me… slowly…

2) The Guy You Really Don’t Want To Talk To (aka Code Blue):

I catch someone looking at me. “Are you using that washer again?” He has another load to do, with Blue Boxers sitting on the top of his pile. There’s an open washer two machines down, but apparently he wants mine.

No. Do you see any other clothes? Still, I guess it’s polite to ask.

I just shake my head and give a half-smile. A moment or so passes.

“So… do you come here often?” Blue Boxers asks with a silly grin.

Probably not as often as I should. But what kind of question is that anyways? Yes I come here on the occasion. Do you really want to talk right now? I look gross and you can currently see my unmentionables in the spin cycle.

“Yeah, uh…when I need to, you know.

He laughs too hard at my stupid comment. “Yeah, yeah... Is it always this crowded on Sunday?”

In and out Blue Boxers. That’s all I’m trying to do. Get in. Then get out.

“I’m not sure… I don’t usually come on Sundays…” (Never let 'em know your schedule!). Beep. My clothes are finished and I plan my escape, as he talks about detergent.

“Well hey, bet I’ll see you around, you know. At the Laundromat!”

“Sure, yeah” I smile and leave. Blue Boxers, maybe if you could have talked about anything else besides laundry, it would have been different. But alas, your last words to me were “at the Laundromat” better known as “my definition of hell.” Therefore your Blue Boxers created the term Code Blue.

And finally…

3) The Guy You Wish You’d Talked To

I’m reading.

Suddenly, a tall blonde with hair Justin Bieber would have been jealous of walks in. On an off chance, I look up from my novel and see this extremely good-looking guy, doing his own laundry (love that).

He finds his quarters. I’m staring. He puts in the soap. I’m still staring. He adds in his clothes. I’m totally still staring, though I know I should look away soon but – bam! He caught me, oh oh… I’m so caught. Eyes in book, EYES IN BOOK idiot! Okay, okay were safe.

No wait. We’re not. Because he smiled at me.

He smiled at me!! Oh my gosh – best day ever! Except, where is he going? Hot boy, wait - where are you going? No… no! He’s gone.

But it’s probably better we never spoke. He would have say something about dryer sheets and I would have said something snarky and then the whole moment would have been ruined. Now, he'll always get to be the guy I wish I'd talked to...

And sometimes that's better ;)

My Laundromat courtesy of Yelp.

Thursday's Things New Yorkers Say - The Laundromat

The Laundromat

For me, there is no great joy in doing laundry.

I’ve always hated it. At home, in college, in New York – doesn’t really matter where; I just despise the entire process.

But, man was I spoiled when there was a washer and dryer in my house! Add the annoying commute to the Laundromat and the “pay per cycle” system that cities live by, and you’ve got an even less appealing activity. Of course you are speaking to the girl who would rather just buy new clothes than wash her old ones… nevertheless I assure you it’s hardly a fun chore.

“Three… four… five…”

I count out my quarters. It cost between 11-12 of these valuable coins to rinse and dry one pile of my neglected clothing. For all you math-deficient readers out there who are at my level of arithmetic, that’s about $3. The cost of a bagel and coffee! I’m just saying…

So the journey begins. Pick up clothes from floor. Select clothes that look the dirtiest. Ignore jeans that have only been worn twice. Smash as much as possible into hamper. Find detergent. Grab key, quarters, and phone. Walk down two flights of stairs. Carry heavy hamper down street, turn right and go a block.

Then you fight for a washer, go home for 20 minutes, walk back and fight for a dryer, go home for another 30 minutes, walk back one more time, and finally exit quickly with clothing in hand, hoping to avoid the establishment for at least a few weeks.

It’s not too bad when the weather’s nice. In fact in can be an excuse to just sit outside and soak up the sun. But in the snow? Nope, slipping around and hoping your underwear doesn’t fall into a pile of slush is my definition of hell.

Maybe I’m over exaggerating by comparing laundry to the fiery pits of despair, but I think it’s such an inefficient waste of time with very little reward. For goodness sake, in 15 days or so you’ll be back with 12 quarters and 75 some minutes of your life wasted.

Needless to say, I’m certainly not a known presence at the Laundromat. Some people come in with loads upon loads of clothing and stay for hours, or sit, talk, and use this chore as a social outlet. I pity the poor mother with 4 children. Ugh! Hell I tell you! I am not the extrovert I claim in be in other aspects of my life when doing laundry– I simply try and get in and get out with minimal sock-lossage.

So it’s always amusing when a "Laundromat Talker" tries to conjure up conversation with this unenthusiastic clothes washer. Hence the next Thursday’s Things New Yorkers Say will give you a glimpse into the world of detergent and dryer sheets. I've even labeled my Laundromat usuals... so stay tuned peeps ;)

The Laundromat

"Your Booty" in Three Syllables

I know.

You don’t have to tell me.

It’s not Thursday. But I’m still going to give you “Thursday’s Things New Yorkers Say,” simply because today I have time and yesterday I did not!

I'll be better next week. Promise.

Ladies and gents, without further ado, here is the chitchat from around the city:

Waiting for the E train at Times Square to get to Martha:

A man in a Yellow Jacket is kind of circling around the platform with his headphones on, occasionally mumbling a song lyric. I think nothing of it.

“This is my song for reeeal, no doubt, See the DJ’s makin’ me feel thugged out.”

Oh great. And we’ve got a singer! These people have always annoyed me. Why do they assume we all want to hear them sing? Never the less, I’ve heard worse and louder. But I do silently curse the fact that my Ipod’s battery is dead.

“As I walk you to the dance floor, we begin to dance slow. You put your arms around me, I’m feelin’ on yo booty.”

Um. Seriously? First, he kept singing…why? Second, feeling-on-yo-booty? Are we really going to sing that right now? Uh, sir, isn’t it awful early in the morning for a booty song?

“And yo hair weave’s lookin’ kinda puuuuurty, the way you back it up on me, baby, Lord have meeeercy.”

Oh – oh no. I’m laughing… out loud. Straight up laughing. Sure, I look like an idiot too – but Yellow Jacket is now bending, dancing, and singing LOUDLY about a purty girl’s weave, while waving his hands around. Other people are beginning to stare at him. Is this Candid Camera? A joke? Please, please be a joke.

“Playaz wanna play, ballaz wanna ball, Rollaz wanna roll but I’m takin’ all, after I dance.”

Boo. Come on Yellow Jacket. That didn’t even rhyme. If you are going to MAKE me unwillingly listen to your music you sure as heck better perform up to standard.

And then is happens.

“Yo boo-o-ty.” Imagine. Booty becomes a three-syllable word. He starts off by saying it low and with a deep voice.

“Yo boo-ew-ty. Yo boo-ew-ty.” Getting louder.

Yo boo-EW-ty. Yo boo-EW-ty!” Louder and higher pitch.

“Yo boo-EW-TY. YOO BOO-O-TY!” Too loud! Too high pitch!

“YO-BOO-EWWW – EHHH….”

Yep. He cracked. His voice cracked big time. No more booty for him. The platform echoed that shameful note and I simply starred at him with a slight (vindictive?) grin. All the things that came to my mind – all the things I could have said!

Instead I just shook my head. Yellow Jacket may have had the booty blues for a few minutes, but don’t you worry about him. He was singing again before the next train arrived.

And while he annoyed me, and while I thought about yanking his earphones from his head, and then shouting “WE DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOU SING,” I refrained.

Because Yellow Jacket is a part of what makes New York exactly what it is and exactly what it’s supposed to be.

********

Pics of the Week

How's this for hobo-chic living? Our roof begins to leak...

...a lot.

Then the wind was so bad it blew over my picture frame and opened my AC unit. I was sitting in my bed and then BAM. Mother Nature invaded my room. Craziness.

"Your Booty" in Three Syllables

Three's Company... Great Company

This past weekend my friends Kelley and Alice visited the city from Virginia. After a harrowing journey via the midnight Chinatown bus to New York, they were greeted with an under construction F train which subsequently led to a trip through Brooklyn on the wrong train, followed by several layovers to good old Queens.

And all this at 6am. Sounds like some adventures I've had before...

Never the less, they made it! And I'm quite proud of their determination despite the evil MTA powers at hand.

So they slept all day and I went to work until dinner time. When my shift ended, we made plans to meet up for food and headed towards my favorite sandwich shop near Union Square.

Grey Dog's Coffee is a cozy cafe with delectable breads and beers, tucked into a pleasant, eclectic space on University. We walked into the small restaurant and per the usual, were greeted by some cute, semi-trendy guy. Embarrassingly enough, Alice, Kelley, and I all ordered the same exact thing - but you CAN NOT go wrong with the infamous Number 7. Brie cheese, and turkey melted together, combined with juicy Granny Smith apple slices and topped by a raspberry mustard sauce on two thick slices of cranberry bread. No. You can do no wrong.

All the sandwiches look amazing. This is the Number 1 with tomato instead of apple. Photo courtesy of Robobby on Flicker.

But our food binge didn't stop there...

The next morning we woke up and made plans to try a French cafe in Astoria. We donned our boots and grabbed umbrellas, undaunted by wind or rain. You see, rumor had it this place served a brunch under fifteen bucks that included croissants and Nutella.

Swinging open the door of the Pomme Cafe, I was greeted by a warm Parisian wood-panelled den, lined with wine bottles and picture frames. "Three for brunch?" the hostess said as we nodded and were whisked away towards our table.

Oh and were the rumors blissfully true! Croissants and Nutella appeared before our hungry eyes, as well as coffee and a box of teas to chose from. There was also a complimentary Bloody Mary, Bellini, or Mimosa with our meals, so I tried with homemade tomato juice mix and was not disappointed in the slightest. But this ceremony of treats was all before our food even arrived. I'll let the pictures speak for themselves...

Bloody Mary that came with brunch.

My buttermilk biscuit with pork, eggs, and hollandaise sauce.

Kelley's fruit-filled French toast.

Alice's zucchini and squash omelet.

The day progressed with much walking thus our glutenous appetites were not yet quite appeased. Yes, you know what comes after brunch... dinner.

Down to the South Seaport we went, stopping into Salud around 4pm, just in time for the $5 Mojito happy hour special. After two orders of drinks, two orders of plantain chips, and one order of a three-course tapas meal to split, we were finally feeling delightfully full. A little steak, the seafood platte, and a rice pudding dessert occupied our minds as we hid from the perpetual rain in this candle-lit restaurant by the Hudson.

$5 Mojitos are unheard of in the city. These three guys were fabulous - and usually $11.

Love me some plantains and bean sauce.

The rest of the evening was enjoyable and I finally saw the Oscar-wining movie, "The Kings Speech." For good measure, let's not discuss the fact that we dove into chips and salsa after the film. Nope - no mention of that.

But of course, by Monday morning, we had been without food for nearly 7 hours. It was grazing time again! Now we craved the ever-present man in my life: Mr. Brooklyn Bagel. Kelley, Alice, and I ordered a schmorgasboard of different bagel flavors and cream cheeses, leaving us all full to the brim.

Now finally we fasted. I saved half that bagel all day, eating pieces here and pieces there. After my internship and late night at Bloomies were completed, I met the girls and David at Rudy's Bar and Grill around 9pm. If you've read these posts before, you know what we do at Rudy's... Besides dance with Louie Prima Jr. and run away from Indian men who try and curse you... yes that's right! FREE HOTDOGS.

And did we devour those! Plus the bartender gave us free drinks and somehow we managed to score free fries from the bartender's cousin. I know, I know... how could I lower myself eating scavenged fries and hotdogs after such fabulous foods all weekend?

I'll tell you. Eating food? Well it's fine. But wining and dining with great company? Enjoying conversation over a fancy Mojito or a $7 pitcher of cheap beer? Whether it be at a Parisian cafe or a dive bar in Hell's Kitchen - those moments with friends sharing stories and snacks; those moments are to be forever engrained into my bottomless stomach. Those moments are precious.

Now aren't you hungry?

Grey Dogs Coffee - Photo courtesy of Alice Ricks.

Pomme Cafe - Photo courtesy of Alice Ricks.

Three's Company... Great Company

Thursday's Things New Yorkers Say

Some one-liners from the streets of New York and New Jersey:

“Why you don’t got no kid yet?” – Child in Newark asks me. It was sad. But then it was kind of funny.

“Look, honey. I got two hands. I’m not a like uhh… one of those octopuses, ya know?” – Woman talking on her phone walking down 24^th street in Chelsea.

“Do you know how to get to the Hustler’s Club?” – Young guy to me when in Hell’s Kitchen.

And no… I didn’t know where the Hustler’s Club was located.

Now, let’s take a look at February in a flash:

Classes began to confuse me.

I bought a plant. I haven't quite planted it yet... but I took the first step.

A yummy Martha Stewart crumb cake was baked and devoured.

We celebrated a birthday!

And we danced.

Finally, there was a photo shoot.

Plus more. But for now, I'm sorry guys - I've got to go. This blog post was short. Here's the thing: I'm reading the Hunger Games and I have about 50 pages left. So I'm going to go disappear into that world for a while, and then I'll be more sociable in a few days. Talk to you again when I'm not in Britney-book-mode... oh the obsessive behavior. It's like a disease! Insomnia, loss of interest, and a whole slew of other side effects you might hear in a prescription's informercial.

Lucky I love this sickness. And if your reading my blog, you probably do too.

Thursday's Things New Yorkers Say

What I Do On My Days Off

I’ve got the entire day off you say?

Well of course! I can’t believe I’ve got the whole day.
No internship, work, or even school.
This day, yes. This day will rule.

Maybe I’ll clean my room and make my bed,
But no, I would only do that if I were sick in the head.
Chores are boring and really no fun.
Besides I’ll get back in bed once the day is done!

So maybe I’ll go down the street and wash my clothes.
But honestly that idea just makes me want to doze.
It’s too cold to carry my laundry basket down the block,
So I’ll just do my laundry when it gets hot.

Instead I could do homework and read for class.
But it’s my free day! I’m sure I will pass…
Besides, there is my Fafsa and taxes I must complete.
Not to mention scores of paperwork I should greet.

But no! I refuse! With this dreadful list,
My day off is becoming something to resist!
So I will turn a blind eye and stress myself out during the week,
Thus on my day off only happiness shall I seek.

So these days have been filled with bagels and museum tours,
Or shopping, friends, exploring, and more.
There’s also my list of things to do in NYC I’m trying to beat
And I always love to be busy, out and about on my feet.

While Pace is driving me crazy with these ridiculous forms,
And my “online” W-2 was never emailed to me like it was sworn,
I’m glad I have at least a few hours a week to be free
So I can live an exciting life, or just simply be.

*******

This past President’s Day, most of me and Ivy's friends had visitors in NYC or were out of town. So we got together and made some breakfast in Queens before visiting the Tenement Museum in the lower east side (two thumbs up!) and then checking out some thrift stores. Not only did we enjoy our fabulous day off from reality, but I found a leather jacket for spring via The Dressing Room consignment shop for cheap!

I can’t tell you how great it was to do nothing.

So we made a crazy breakfast involving doughnuts, strawberries, and cream cheese.

Get chocolate cake-like doughnuts (mine are from Donkin'), and then slice up the strawberries.

Next, slice the doughnuts in half.

Spread a light layer of cream cheese on the glazed side of the doughnut and pile on the fruit.

Martha probably wouldn't like this recipe. Oh but do I...

We also bought some bacon because you know I've got to get my salt.

Next, lightly grease a pan, and toast the tops of the doughnut till they are slightly crispy and deliciously warm.

My first glass of orange juice in months! Ivy and I actually drank the majority of the gallon.

So very good.

Cooking and such.

Putting our plates together and getting ready to watch a Gilmore Girls episode. Because, you know, it's our day off. So we do what we want.

Heaven. Just don't tell the bagel I cheated on him with something this sweet. It will be our little secret...

What I Do On My Days Off