But that's ok, I'm quite content with my concrete jungle and hiking flights of stairs.
Confession time: I watch Sarah Palin's Alaska to be reminded of my similar outdoorsy New Zealand adventures, not to mention I appreciate the sound bytes it gives me to keep refining my impersonation of her.
There is this one scene where (a very quirky and OCD) Bill Murray is sitting in the Gutman's coffee shop on the edge of his seat rocking back and forth with anticipation for Dr. Leeeo Marvin's call, moronically repeating "Baby step to 3 o'clock," even yelling at someone when they go to use the pay phone an hour or so before the expected call ("HEY! NO! I'm expecting a call!").
(aside: Hey, fellow kids who grew up in the 90s- remember when pay phones used to be for normal people? The best was when you figured out how to avert paying a quarter and 'call collect' so you could figure out why your mom was running late to pick you up or something. Now moms text. Too bad pay phones pretty much label you a drug dealer now. Does collect calling still exist? Anyways.)
SO anyways, here I am at my desk, making up an original "Baby Steps" statement...
Thank goodness for thorough old school Jewish doctors who prescribe four (4) things, to be taken concurrently, to ease up sinus congestion (I've been temporarily deaf in one ear, for the record).
Then I came home and watched some Wheel of Fortune (the inability to hear in one ear adds to the whole elderly experience, awesomeee). I know exactly when to cue it so it takes approximately 10 minutes to get through. I'm that good (lame)!!!
Then of course, as if I don't stare at a computer screen enough, I had to check Google Reader before bed, the result of which leads me to pose the following question:
But I haven't worn sandals like that since early September...
Reminds me that I need to get down there soon sometime for their Hero sandwich ("sweet and spicy coppa, Genoa salami, aged provolone, olive tapenade, marinated onions, romaine and tomatoes on sourdough").
i finally accepted that i can be hyper critical of myself and others, so i'm working on it with ferocity.
i can be logical to a fault. but at least i'm not irresponsible, right?! ;)
i'm super WASP-Y. This book was hilarious and autobiographical in many ways. also, yuppie is one of the highest compliments you could ever pay me.
I wondered why I could only count on my hands the number of boys I had crushes on growing up in California and at college COMBINED, until I realized that oh, yeah, duh, I'm attracted to preppy-slash-rugged boys like my dad that exist in droves on the northeast corridor.
I have faced a LOT of fears this year! whew!
in my experience running the gamut of hairstyles and color, short hair-ed brunettes have the most fun. ;)
I've never had an inkling to decorate a living space (unnecessary mess, that is actually intentional!) so the logistics of how people get their Christmas trees here never occurred to me. But as soon as I saw them on many street corners, I chuckled and said to myself, "Oh, well of course!"
Because On-the-street/At-your-convenient-disposal equals The New York Way which, in this instance, aptly applies to Christmas.
Had a 10K run this weekend with some friendlies and it was so fun, but pretty cooold.
My time was 55:20/ an 8:55-per-mile pace.
Can YOU spot the Californian wearing three jackets? HAHA
(I always forget how tall I am, thinking people are just a tad below eye level ... then whoa, pictures reveal the truth!) And uh, you know, I'm totally going to gloat because as you remember the point of my blog is to project my narcissism on you, so my time was 55:20, which is a 8:55 average-per-mile pace) which is about 6 minutes less than the first 10K I did about 2 years ago, around hilly Central Park no less.
Empire State of Mind came on the iPod as I was rounding on the west side of the boat pond for the first glimpse of the Central Park South skyline. I almost cried in happiness, but then my knees cried louder in pain, and I was refrained.
Aww... a bit of Helaman Halls at the finish line. Precious.
I ran it in 55 minutes, 20 seconds!
Of course the most important part of this event was the post-race brunch, where I still found no need to de-layer. haha.
Because I've been in 'recovery' from disordered eating for several years now (it's nothing abnormal when one is prone to OCD), I can't place dietary restrictions on myself.
I've always had a refined culinary palette, so I admit someone with a love affair of candy, soda, and fast food would have a completely different journey. But I, myself, have to allow myself to eat exactly what I want when I want. So this is another way adulthood suits me, because having control over what I pick out is the only way I can healthily function mentally.
BUT... I was curious if there were any outlying nutritional concerns I should be aware of regarding shrimp. I NEVER do this (anymore because I used to be one of those people who fretted over how many egg whites were cooked in a veggie omelette. yeah. It was a huge, lame, destructive waste of time)...
BUT...I found apparently shrimp has an outstanding amount of cholesterol. So I will take this into account, like a sane person.
But that won't stop me from eating that horseradishy cocktail sauce by the spoonful if the moment calls.
Is it sad that what I will miss most about home is the washer/dryer?
Southern California's been abnormally cold (it's year round warmth being the main draw), so I'm really stoked to go back to tropical-by-comparison NYC, a place where I don't question the additional layers.
Really excited to get back to choosing my own food to eat, and the selections on my own DVR. Even Top Gear gets old when you haven't chosen it yourself (Dad).
And let's be honest, YouTube and Facebook stalking sessions this weekend were priceless. I love when you find out that you have mutual friends with relevantly 'famous' people. Better than being stared at by Woody Allen on the street a couple weeks ago.
I have not been sleeping very well lately so I was literally about to pass out from exhaustion walking around indoors, so after a while (this book caught my eye amid my wooziness), my roomie suggested I take the train back to Manhattan and walk around midtown to get fresh air and grab a pastry from Petrossian.
So I got there, and saw there was an area to sit down, and thought, eh, why not.
I got my little cappuccino and a brioche, and then SHE WALKED IN with presumably her husband and another couple.
Of course, dressed immaculately. Off-white coat, understated gray dress, gray tights, black patent heels, her signature huge pearl earrings. Perfect makeup. And whoever her plastic surgeon is, bravo.
She is a beautiful, elegant, and poised woman of opinions, all spoken in Spanish; their 'ceta' accent were VERY subtle, I might add.
They ordered vodka on the rocks and a lot of caviar. She quickly marveled, "DeLI-thi-oso!"
The men carried Swan Lake Playbills.
Topics of conversation included a couple mentions of "Catherine the Great," a "Victoria" (probably a queen), the economy, Save Venice and Feed the Children.
I kept ordering beverage after beverage to keep eavesdropping. It was so silly. And kind of uncomfortable because most of my energy was spent on not gawking at her and redirecting it to a concerned (awkward) "I'm-looking-for-a-friend" look past her out the window. Her husband gave me a couple quizzical looks.
I walked out with Spanish bubbling around in my head. Good to know (some of) it comes back.
But oh, Carolina... Did I mention she has amazing red hexagonal reading glasses with frames about an inch in diameter? SASSAFRASS!
As one friend introduced me to a group of older New Yorkers the other day, "she has just moved here because, in her wisdom from a young age, she has always wanted to."
For the first 11 years of my life, I lived on the same street number as I do now.
For those early years, I lived in a fishbowl-like beach-front house, with about 90:10 ratio of glass windows to walls (or so it seemed), with sliding glass doors and thin blinds for some semblance of privacy.
We ate our morning Cheerios to the view of waves crashing into shore, fell asleep to the same sounds, and used the sand instead of grass as our backyard terrain.
People watching was an evident part of our lifestyle.
And even still, living at the beach was not without its imperfections.
There were riptides in the water, dog poop on the beach from disrespectful owners (my dad would sometimes hunt them down and accost them with plastic bags for the dogs' business - awesome), the rust on our soccer trophies and bikes from the salt air, people smoking cigarettes and weed on the public seawall in front of our patio, the bums all around (aside from the 'beach bums'), the need to wear sunscreen for the omnipresent skin cancer risk.
Sometimes, as my dad relayed in his early mornings, there were naked surfers (undecided whether that is a pro or con of coastal living).
There were always people coming and going within feet of our house.
Even though it's not situated on a beach, this is part of the reason why New York feels so natural to me. Anonymous people everywhere, small cozy spaces, close-proximity living, people watching.... the air filled with smoke (I just pretend it's Europe), the dog poop (ok, still gross), the necessary skin-clearing benzoyl peroxide creams, waking up to the horns and sirens, and falling asleep to them too.
I was the only one of my sisters to ride a bus to school for a few years, as the schools we would later attend did not have them. Perhaps my affinity for public transportation stems from this: for me, the ability to walk anywhere is more liberating than being able to drive myself.
I think it boils down to the fact that you are never isolated here, which I think, looking back, was a weird adjustment when we moved to a home with a 'normal' amount of privacy and stillness.
"50 Reasons to Be Pretty Damn Euphoric You Live in New York City"
Some of my favorites:
47. There is always someone crazier than you. ALWAYS.
29. Restaurants are as common as single men and women. And equally diverse. And you never have to see either of them again after the initial awkward encounter. 26. Smart people are the norm, not the exception. (Which doesn't mean they're sane, but at least no one's boring.) 24. When you fly back into the city after a vacation or business trip, no matter how long you've lived here, you get that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling. 9. Jaywalking is an art form. 7. Subway "prewalking," in which you walk to the exact right spot on the platform to board the train car that will save you the most time upon exit, exists and has a name. Gotta respect. (TOTALLY HAVE BEEN DOING THIS LATELY AND WONDERED IF OTHERS DID TOO)
I've done many things for one 23 years young, but sending mail to Burkina Faso is a first.
(I thought the post office would close at 5, but upon arrival saw they were open until 9. I LOVE NEW YORK.)
In case you were wondering...
(it's ok, the USPS lady herself was about 8,000 miles off, thinking it was part of New Guinea)
it is located here:
where my friend Val is a Peace Corps Volunteer teaching computer literacy to the blessed people to have her in Burkina. Like, seriously, who devotes two years of their life to teach people how to do things like hit File-Save. Speaking French. Guts.
I have my usual 'candy' reads I browse through quickly because there are few things more satisfying than to see your Google Reader number descend to "Zero Unread Items"... and then there are her posts, where I "Keep Unread" until I have ample time to pore over every word, savoring what little jewels she shares from her adventures.
And of course, what did I choose to send her but a New York Magazine (a FAVE) covering the greatest topical Halloween costume (of two years ago), Sarah Palin!!!