Girl work hard for the money

Pink Pink PINK

2009-03-06T16:12:00.002-05:00

I have opted to change the template from its previous mediocre state to this glorious one of pink.

This lust of pink is relatively new, but it is blossoming with a ferocity unseen since the love of Helen of Troy launched a fleet of ships (I am so poetic).

Example: We're repainting the office and we held a vote as to what new "accent" color on the walls should be. I voted for "heartfelt" because it was comforting. Not only was I told that the office would look like a womb, but my vote was vetoed and I had no say in the color. Even after they had narrowed it down to 2-3 choices.

Another example: I got a new credit card because one of the designs is pink and monogrammed.

Clarification: Victoria's Secret's pink line = not cute.

Wine and Grilled Cheese

2009-03-06T15:27:00.002-05:00

A few friends and I attended this fantastic event at National Geographic the other night. 9 representatives (including Ambassadors!) from 9 small countries gathered to romance a crowd with poetry. The nine countries were Austria, Bahrain, Bulgaria, Cyprus, Iceland, Liechtenstein, Malta, Monaco, and Slovenia.

It was an entertaining evening, to say the least. The representatives/Ambassadors were absolutely hilarious, though I don't think they intended to be. I fell in love with His Excellency Andreas S. Kakouris from Cyprus for his studly and charming accent. If you melted butter and mixed it with chocolate and cream (besides making a delicious meal), you would have his voice. One of the friends I was sitting next to pointed out that my new lover bears a striking resemblance to Martin Scorcese. True.

The Ambassador from Iceland was also charming, in a rambling, hilarious way. I don't remember specifics, besides a dig at France, but it made me laugh and wish I could bring him to show-and-tell. He also reminded me of this film professor I had in college, because there were so many random tangents.

Claudia Fritsche is a fireball of a lady from Liechtenstein. The Ambassador is well-spoken, engaging, and a powerful presence. She was tiny and when she first took the stage, I was still enamoured with Cyprus and Iceland (though all 9 were fabulous). She spoke softly, but her tone was focused. Like a rattlesnake waiting to bite your face.

Afterwards, there was a reception with wine from each of the countries (a fact the Slovenia representative referred to multiple times). There was also a variety of snacks to sample on, most of them deep fried.

There were fried mac-n-cheese squares, mushroom and cheese mini quiches, chicken skewers, potato pancakes, baklava, struedel, and grilled cheese. Not grilled cheese sandwiches, but grilled cheese. We thought it was grilled fish at first and excitedly started scooping them up. No, pieces of cheese they put on a grill.

I just kept putting food in my mouth, I couldn't stop. To save room for all the fried calories, I didn't partake in the free wine. Priorities! A girl has got to have priorities!

Speaking of priorities, JKru got us these amazing tickets. In exchange for her ticket, a friend of ours had to bring this supposedly delicious caramel sauce she stole from her office's catering service. I'm talking this girl straight up spooned caramel sauce into a plastic cup, covered it with plastic wrap, and rubber banded the whole thing together. We're all standing at the reception when she whips this crushed plastic disaster out of her back. JKru, feeling obligated to eat it since she demanded it, poured it all over her baklava.

It was like watching someone pour a bag of sugar onto a chocolate cake.

While she was eating her masterpiece, I went back for round 39493848949 of fried mac-n-cheese. They had just brought a new tray out and the fried bits of glorious heaven were hot. But it only burns your mouth if you chew.

Mmm. National Geographic, you are delicious. It's a wonder those 9 nations don't have higher obesity levels than America. Well... probably because they eat in moderation and they eat normal portions.

Ugh. Hate DC sidewalks.

2009-02-10T18:21:00.001-05:00

Mainly because I just tripped while walking and fell into a trashcan. I also think I dislocated my hip. This is probably how my grandma feels 24/7.

JJ Dinner

2009-02-07T22:08:00.001-05:00

I am currently in Richmond at the Jefferson-Jackson Dinner. Bill Clinton spoke, and let me tell you, that man is like a delicious scotch. Smooth, woody, greater with age, and I would take a shot of him to the face.

Different candidates are speaking. Lt. Governor candidates submitted these videos of themselves. One of the women reminds me of the Contessa from the Real Housewives of NYC. She seems kind of sassy and ready to knife someone.

The candidates for governor all get to speak for like 15 minutes. Terry McAuliffe had tons of supporters, all of them waving signs and glow sticks. I don't know where these glow sticks came from, but I am pretty sure they are not environmentally friendly and not a good use of money. Unless they are leftover from a police drug bust at a rave. Are raves still even a real thing? I thought they were a way to rebel against Backstreet Boys concerts.

Brian Moran... Hahahahaha I can't stop laughing. His commercial was awful because he had clearly gone to a tanning bed and gone overboard. Bright red with a pale mask around his eyes from where the tanning glasses were.

"Virginia needs a fighter, not a fundraiser."
"It's a one thing to say you're going to be like Tim Kaine and Mark Warner. It's another to have been here, fighting Republicans."
"I am going to beat Bob McConnell... Like a drum."
"A woman's right to choose does not mean a right to choose her college."

And many other classic one-liners.

Right now Creigh Deeds is speaking. It's kind of sad because I think a lot of people have counted him out. His kids introduced him, and it was kind of cute. Except they told this completely bizarre story of Deeds pulling over for eight cats. And then they ran off and he chased them into the woods. It was supposed to show how much he cares about... Things?

Also, this coffee tastes like sugar water. Not delicious.

John McCain is much more attractive in real life.

2009-02-06T19:33:00.001-05:00

I went on a special tour of the capitol today, mainly in hopes of finding an attractive and ambitious young legislative aide. Unfortunately, that was a fail. I never wandered away from the tour (the one time I fell behind, they joked that I needed to hold onto a rope like a preschooler). I also never really saw an attractive young aide that wasn't rushing somewhere or in a group. What was I supposed to do?

W: Hey group of dashing men who I can only assume hold some sort of power. Care to take me out to eat/marry me without a pre-nup? I can be the Hill to your Bill. Hinthint.

Omg side note. I just got on the metro train and the man in front of me reeks of marijuana. I think I might get a contact buzz by the time this ride is over.

Speaking of contact buzz, Michael Phelps lost his Kellogg endorsement. He is the best thing they could have asked for. What do people who are high want to eat? The crap they make. Also, if he can win eight gold medals while stoned... That man is superman.

Back to the original point. It is hard to type this coherently because a) my fingers are too fat for this Blackberry and b) I am pretty sure I am getting high off this man's BO.

I saw John McCain on the senate floor. He came in, quiet and unannounced, but his presence immediately drew everyone's attention. He has a commanding stature and he reeks leadership and authority and when I think of him, I imagine a tattoo of an eagle holding up an American flag and a bazooka in its sharp, American-made talons.

Wow. Seriously. Its like Harold and Kumar in here.

We went to lunch at the senate cafeteria buffet. I ate like a mother bear before hibernation season. I had trouble walking after, but I think I impressed everyone. Especially the lady staffers who picked at their lettuce while I ate plate after plate and topped it off by demanding ice cream.

Wow. I am light headed.

Life is hard

2009-02-06T00:34:00.000-05:00

Just like typing on a Blackberry when you have fat fingers is hard. A couple of friends and I went to Busboys and Poets tonight to listen to speakers read essays from _Yes Means Yes_, an anthology that began on the internet. The people were enthusiastic and open and honest and the book def sounds amazing. However, the topic is not the most happy topic.

I got there late and the only spots left to sit were on the stage, behind the readers/authors. Talk about awkward. I couldn't look at them because the overhead lights were shining straight into my small eyes. I also couldn't look at the audience because its awkward and slightly creepy to stare at strangers. However, that did not stop me from staring at their food.

The post-Busboys night involved delicious thai food and a discussion of gay porn. Mainly whether or not I'd be a good director and which is a better theme: mechanics in an auto shop or football players in a locker room. Keep in mind this is the first time I have ever met one of the girls.

I would add more, but that will have to wait because my fat fingers are tired. I will end with a fun fact. When I try to reenact Meg Ryan's orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally, I sound like a beached whale. Or a gorilla that has been shot. :( that prob does not bode well for my beatboxing career.

Obscure Asian sport = I win!

2009-02-04T10:09:00.005-05:00

A friend of mine challenged me to a duel. She insisted that I could pick any sport involving a ball and that she would be a difficult and devious competitor. My first instinct was ping pong. I don't know why. I've never been very good at sports that involve swinging an object at a ball. With ping pong, I instinctively try to hit the other person with the ball. In tennis, I instinctively try to hit the ball over the court fence. And in baseball/softball, I close my eyes and swing as hard as I can, which occasionally causes the bat to flee from my hands. Obvi ping pong is not the best idea.

Which led me to the grandest of all obscure Asian sports... sepak takraw!

As you can clearly see, sepak takraw is an intense combination of skill, prowress, and sheer grit. None of which I have. It is also a mix of volleyball and soccer, neither of which I've played. My friend was a varsity athlete in both sports. I don't think I even know the difference between a volleyball and a soccer ball. One is black and white, like a panda.

Long story short, I am banking on sheer luck to win.

New Chapter to an Old Story

2009-02-03T14:10:00.005-05:00

I have a horrible habit of letting blogs die. In my defense, there has always been a good reason. Mostly a life-changing, impulsive and poorly thought out decision that has rendered the "theme" of a blog moot. I don't even know what "moot" means, but I assume it makes me sound smarter. Like that is a moot point I wouldn't even bother bringing up in moot court.

This blog drifted off and died when I stopped my fabulous travels. I thought of resurrecting the beast, but that "determination" lasted two entries. Recently, I've thought about a new blog and I've come to the conclusion that I might as well continue this one. Mainly because I couldn't think of a cleverer blog URL than winnie.gets.around.

And now that I'm gainfully employed, names and locations may be changed to protect the not-so-innocent (namely me). Any resemblance to any real life incident is pure coincidence.

Right.

"You look like a whore."

2008-10-12T18:51:00.003-04:00

NOVA (the rugby team) held a fundraiser at a local bar last night. The theme was 80s (as it usually is with this group). My sister was home for a couple of days, so she said she'd "Madonna" my outfit. I ended up looking more like Peg Bundy from Married With Children. My mother took one look at me and said, "You look... like... a woman... who, you know, walks the street and gets paid money to get into men's cars." Then she said it would probably be a good idea if I covered up because I looked like someone the police would arrest for soliciting.

I get to the bar at around 9:55, 5 minutes before I start my stint as guest bartender. Problem: I only know how to make Jack and coke. I figured I could flirt my way out of trouble, wink a little, perhaps play on some creepy people's Asian fetishes.

NO. Did not happen like that. At all. Instead, I wandered around, trying to make drinks. This one guy watched me make a screwdriver and told me that was the worst mixing he's ever seen in his life (and he totally looked like someone who has had his fair share of bar experience). It's pretty sad because the drink is just OJ and vodka.

I also think living at Casa Coaches has ruined my ability to judge alcohol. If I learned anything from living with Doctor and Comiqua, it's that no drink is "too strong." That, in addition to my poor vision/inability to see in dark places, led to a lot of drinks where I would run out of room for the mixer. Whoops. Don't care.

My whore outfit didn't help me out one bit. Not only was my drink knowledge completed pulled out of my ass, but my heels kept getting stuck in the rubber mat and I'd drag it with me while running around or trip and throw alcohol all over the people at the bar.

The worst part of the evening is that I didn't have time to invent my "yello fever" shot, a drink I had been advertising all week. Instead, the drink I made up was brown, which is sad because all the liquor in it was clear.

The upside is I did get many compliments on my outfit:

"You look like Mr. T's wife."
"You should wax your lip."
"Didn't have time to wash your hair?"
"Were you alive in the 80s?"
"Are you wearing make up? It looks like you got punched in the face."

I'm in love with a stripper

2008-10-09T08:45:00.003-04:00

I have failed in so many aspects.

Updating this blog after Vegas: F
Not selling out: F

But on the upside, I have continued to succeed where it matters. I'm still often confused as a lady who will "play" for pay. It doesn't help that in the past week alone, I've somehow found myself in the company of stripper poles and naked women.

There's a bar/restaurant that has great happy hour deals a block from where I work. I met a friend there for drinks and dinner after work. We were catching up when the the lights dimmed and loud, awful music (read: Avril) started to blast. A man in a suit came over to our table and, very politely, told us that at 8, the bar/restaurant became a gentlemen's club.

As we were finishing up and waiting for the check, the ladies started to come in. I have never seen a more diverse group of women. I saw ladies dressed as a cowboy, a cop, a hobo, etc. It really showed me that my gender doesn't limit me, and if I put my mind to it, I can be anything I want to be.

Then last night, in an effort to help NOVA fundraise, I was coerced into visiting a "restaurant" to ask for a raffle donation. This time, the ladies weren't dressed as anything. In fact, many of them weren't dressed at all. One was even making out with herself in the mirror. I mean, I understand if you find yourself attractive, but making out with your reflection is one step below making out with your hand (which I totally stopped doing sophomore year of college*). I didn't get the donation and I'm pretty sure he wanted to offer me a job. Thank goodness the muscle I brought along took care of that.

*by "sophomore year of college" I actually mean "last year, when I graduated"

I now pronounce you...

2008-09-12T00:11:00.002-04:00

Thanks to The Washington Post Magazine and Google, I am now an ordained minister.

I can legally perform marriages, Baptisms, and supposedly absolve sins (though the last one seems a little questionable).

If you are interested in any of the above, please let me know.

I definitely should've gotten this done before Vegas.

Drag Queens and giant pizza

2008-09-10T18:20:00.008-04:00

The Friday night before I left for Vegas, my friend Joanna (pronounced "Ho-anna" or "Whore-anna" - don't worry about it, she's foreign) were planning on meeting other friends in DC for a night of rabblerousing fun. As a sidenote, I'm not quite sure what rabblerousing means, but I couldn't think of another word to describe drag queens and giant pizza.

There was a rumored drag show in Dupont Circle, which I recently learned is oftentimes referred to as the "Fruit Loop." While in DC, I suggested we descend upon the infamous Pizza Mart and claim ourselves a giant slice of pizza. I can't describe how big this pizza is. Only that it has about 1400 calories per slice.

This is not Joanna. Nor is it me. Or anyone I know, for that matter. It's a picture I googled to emphasize how GIANT this slice of pizza is. And how enticingly delicious. If you look really closely, you can see lakes of grease.

Unfortunately, my dreams of giant pizza and men showboating in dresses was not to be realized this night. Instead, Joanna and I went to watch Hamlet 2 and eat at a late night bakery-diner.

Hamlet 2. What can I say about this movie? It is probably one of the most confusing, disturbing, bizarre, and offensive movies I've seen in my life. And it's nowhere near as entertaining as Superbad. The best part of the movie is the musical performance of "Rock Me Sexy Jesus."

Rock me rock me rock me sexy Jesus. As sung by Phoebe Strole, who at one point in time was part of the cast of Broadway's "Spring Awakening."

When the credits finally rolled, Joanna and I sat in a morbid silence. We slowly made our way out of the theater, trying to fill the awkward silence with small talk. Small talk that ended with the consensus that we were going to Amphora to get fries and pie. I had mentally prepared my body for the prospect of consuming an extra 1400 calories. One way or another, I was going to get that 1400 calories.

The diner is open 24 hours, and when we arrived, there was a good number of people enjoying their fine dining experience. We sat down and were handed these gargantuan menus. Please note the salt shaker for comparison. There was an entire page dedicated to desserts and pies.

My first round was coffee and blueberry pie. When he tried to take my menu, I told him to wait because there'd be plenty more coming. Joanna ordered a side of fries. Please note that she said a "side" of fries and not an "entree" of fries.

Before and after pictures of our delicious first round
.

Delicious. Joanna felt sick midway through eating the fries, but I convinced her that it's what her body wanted... no, what her body needed. After thoroughly salting and peppering her plate (would you like a side of potato with your seasoning), she finished.

PIE THAT WAS DELICIOUS.

I would be lying to you if I said that pie wasn't delicious. And I know my blueberry pie. I've feasted on many a pie from the Charlottesville farmer's market (a good portion of those were purchased out of guilt and/or fear) and from a nearby county fair (purchased for similar reasons, except instead of Mennonites staring at me with judging eyes, I bought pie from gun-toting-confederate-flag-wearing-Bible-quoting-Republican-voting ladies. I know this for a fact because their booth advertised all of the above), and this pie was amazing. The crust was perfect. It was soft with a little bit of a flake to it and the blueberries were sweet and good. A lot of pies have a very syrupy filling, one that tastes like you're eating candy because it has too much sugar and too few berries. No, this pie was just... good.

So good that a drunk girl stumbling in for a late night snack with her posse leaned over our table and almost fingered my pie, asking if it was any good. As her blurry eyes rolled towards the back of her head, I stared and shoveled more pie in my mouth. My concern wasn't that she might throw up on me or hit me or something. I was worried she was going to fight me for that pie.

She drifted off, I licked my plate, and all was good in the world.

Round 2 involved an order of hot wings. Half of them regular spicy and the other half hotter than licking the sun. When it comes to spice, I go above and beyond. A large part of it being that, as an Asian, I feel like I'm socially obligated to uphold the stereotype that we can handle our spice. At Thai 99, I would order thai spicy and eat everything without taking a sip of water, knowing that the thai personnel were watching me... judging my spice tolerance. The same at Wild Wing Cafe. One of their spiciest wing flavors is "China Syndrome." Coincidence? I think not.

The two piles represent the two distinct levels of spicy. The moment the plate was set down, Joanna's eyes watered and she claimed the scent had burned away her ability to smell. I blocked out the world and focused. If I learned anything from torturing my body with spicy food for an illogical and irrational fear of failing the Asian race, it's that speed is key. The moment you stop to breathe is the moment your brain finally registers your face is on fire.

I tucked a napkin into my shirt collar (because I am classy, after all), and dug in. Joanna gingerly took one and picked it apart with her knife and fork. By the time she had finished one and a half, I had plowed my way through 6 and my face was smeared with burning sauce.

Joanna finished 2, maybe 3. She then told me it was my responsibility and duty to finish the rest. I wouldn't be able to tell you how they tasted. Hot? I'm not quite sure. The aftertaste was pie. Because I brilliantly figured that coconut cream pie would cure any sort of burning in my mouth/stomach.

Joanna ordered a raspberry chocolate cake next. It was rich, thick, creamy, and incredibly decadent. More brownie than cake. There were layers of chocolate "cake" and chocolate raspberry mousse, covered in thick chocolate delicious. If you were to die by chocolate (and I don't even like chocolate), this would be the way to go.

OMG. There is no baked good this diner can't make. The coconut cream pie was dreamy. The crust was a little overdone, but the filling was light and fluffy and just like cool whip. The coconut is an immediate taste and it lingers ever so slightly, but I definitely wouldn't describe it as "strong." The piece they gave me was gigantic. I ate the whole thing.

Since I had already consumed my daily 5-6 meals, this additional indulgence can be considered "training" and "practice" for my competitive eating.

When I told my parents about my pie eating, my dad said to watch out for diabetes, but not to worry about putting on weight. Good news: I'm genetically above things like weight gain (hypothetical and possibly a horrible misinterpretation of what my dad was trying to say). Bad news: I might have a tape worm (according to House, M.D.).

Google Yourself

2008-09-10T17:54:00.003-04:00

I googled myself and died a little on the inside for a number of reasons:

1. According to linkedin, there is another individual with my name. An amazing individual. A woman who has held executive merchandising and product positions in the following companies: Kate Spade, Burberry, Polo Ralph Lauren, Gap, Martha Stewart, Macy's. Hello classy professional lady who I now consider my alternate self.

2. However, I know this relationship between Glam-Winnie and me-Winnie can never exist. We are on opposite ends of the spectrum. She is in charge of buying fancy things. I am training to be a competitive eater. She has people calling her all the time for fashion advice. I have people calling me from passing cars because they think I'm a prostitute.

3. Depressed, I thought of ways to cheer myself up. Mainly reading my old columns and reminding myself that I am so clever and smart and pretty and brilliant and great and clever. Unfortunately, the only thing the "Pavalier Waily" had going for it (my archived columns) is lost in cyberspace. The "newspaper," and I use the term loosely, has updated its webpage. Since my archived page no longer exists, I am refusing to visit the site again.

4. Thus, Pavalier Waily, your website's daily visits count has lost my 200 daily visits.

5. No, I don't regret burning bridges when I left. Especially my swan song, where I insulted the editors, the quality of the paper, and its random choices for censorship. Whoops.

6. Haha! I was also apparently a cheerleader when I was in high school. Fab-u-lous.

Dear Vegas

2008-09-04T23:51:00.001-04:00

Dear Vegas,

Remember when you stole my heart and eloped with it in a sketchy run down wedding chapel? And remember how it was officiated by an Elvis impersonator and a Cher female impersonator?

I love you, Vegas.

I am a cheap hooker.

2008-08-31T20:17:00.004-04:00

No trip of mine is ever complete without a) getting heckled or b) getting propositioned because people think I'm a prostitute.

After walking from Millennium Park down the Magnificent Mile shopping stretch, Evan gave me directions to get back by bus. It was pretty exciting! Mainly because I got on at the tail end of rush hour and could pretend to be a young professional heading home from a busy day out on the town.

Two things wrong with this scenario.

1. I didn't bring a purse to Chicago and "had" to buy a new one. But for my trek around Millennium Park and down most of the Magnificent Mile, I had been swinging a pretty sweet canvas tote bag from Trader Joe's. The purse I ended up buying still had tags on it. I didn't realize they were visible/hanging out until a bit into the ride.

2. I was scared to death. The bus driver seriously hit like 80 mph in heavy traffic and the bus was swerving and hitting bumps and I was sliding all over the place and flying through the air. Clearly not someone used to Chicago's public transportation.

Evan said to keep riding the bus and it'd stop near the train station near their apartment. I had been in the area before and knew what to look for/expect. However, in the middle of nowhere, the bus driver comes on the intercom and announces, "This is the last stop. Everyone must get off."

I sit there and hope he just lets me ride around with him because this is NOT where I'm supposed to be. He stares at me in the rearview mirror. We are close enough that he can talk to me just fine and I can hear him. Instead, he picks the intercom back up and announces, again, very slowly and very clearly, "This. Is. The. Last. Stop. Get. Off."

I get off and call Evan. I am standing on a corner. Only a few cars are passing by. Evan says he'll come get me.This is the corner I stood on. See. It's a legit corner at a not-real intersection. Some mensfolks drove by reeaal slow and rolled down their windows to ask me, "What're you doing? You looking good." My face must have registered disgust, but I'm not sure because I was trying not to say something stupid. Like, "That makes one of us." Or "Ew. Ew. Ewwwwwwwww VOM."

This was across the street. If you can't make it out, that building is a "Pregnancy Clinic."

Haha, this was right next to it:
RIDICULOUS. It's a Christian video and book store. All I can think of is the pregnancy clinic is one of those make-believe places that promises a lady some significant guidance and health... via the Bible. Except they don't tell you the last part until you're cornered in an exam room. I saw a Law and Order on it once.

Or it's like competing stores. Like a RadioShack and a Circuit City. Which one has the better price for that baby?

Thankfully, Evan came to pick me up rather quickly. He rolled up withou a shirt on because he was getting in the shower when I called. Fearing for my life (and my possible rural farm naivette being demolished), he came to my rescue.

Best Parts

2008-08-31T20:14:00.003-04:00

Haha, cops on segways are fairly common. I tried to run after this cop to get a better picture.

Y.E.S.

Must. Finish. Chicago.

2008-08-31T18:25:00.005-04:00

As I'm researching things to do in Vegas (which thus far includes shooting a machine gun at a gun store's "ladies night" special), I realized that I can't update on Vegas if I still have so much left from Chicago.
Millennium Park is a public park on the east side of Chicago and it's probably known best for Cloud Gate aka the giant bean. "The Bean," as I'll affectionately refer to it, is like 60000million tons. Or at least I'm assuming it is based on the size. It was constructed from 2004-2006 based on Anish Kapoor's winning design in a sculpture competition. While still being constructed, it was revealed for the Millennium Park's grand opening before being hidden again until its completion. It was inspired by liquid mercury and your image contorts depending on where you stand. If you walk underneath the Bean and look up at its belly, you'll see 4883984 reflections of yourself.

Building it was crazy! It couldn't get too hot in the summer so tourists could still be able to touch it and it couldn't get too cold in the winter so (I don't know even know who would do this) people could lick it and not get their tongues frozen to it. The Bean is also seamless, so getting it welded together was insane.

At one of the entrances to Millennium Park is the Crown Fountain. The fountain is a giant black granite reflecting pool placed in between two large glass towers. The cool thing about the towers is that they're 50 feet tall and covered with LEDs that light up and change so that images of Chicago's citizens show up. During the summer, the towers shoot out water into the reflecting pool where all these children gather in swimming suits to splash around and play. The effect is that the citizens of Chicago are spitting on their children.

See?! How insanely creepy is that! It's a small child's face and the face moves and the kid makes a spitting face and all of a sudden fountains shoot out water.

This is from the side. Please note all the children gather in front of the giant face as it spits on them. A whole new meaning to the term "water sports."
Another creeper picture.

Then there's the Jay Pritzker Pavilion. It was designed by Frank Gehry and it serves at the centerpiece for Millennium Park. The sound system installed in the trellis network recreates a sound similar to what you hear at an indoor concert venue.

Keep you in anticipation...

2008-08-27T02:23:00.002-04:00

Which is totally my excuse for STILL not completing the Chicago trip updates. Keep you coming back for more.

I am heading to Vegas next week. In a very poorly planned (and even worse budgeted) trip, I expect a great number of adventures. Especially since my plane is scheduled to arrive about 5-6 hours before I can check-in to the hotel. And especially since my hotel is going to be safari themed. It was that or Hooters.

Do I have anything planned? No, but that is nothing out-of-the-ordinary.

What is particularly disturbing is how long I will have to go without internet access. Mostly because I refuse to pay $12 for 24 hour access. AND there are no free wireless hot spots near the strip.

I can only hope my casino winnings will be enough to cover the internet. Sigh.

Ran out of people the world cares about

2008-08-23T01:32:00.002-04:00

Chicago's struggling for important people:

I protect your freedom

2008-08-23T00:46:00.009-04:00

While wandering around downtown Chicago, I walked by a building offering "Free Admission." Not even bothering to see what it was, I pushed through the revolving door and asked the security guard where I could get a "free thing." He pointed me to a counter. I looked through a brochure and discovered I was about to enjoy the McCormick Freedom Museum.

The McCormick Freedom Museum is the first museum in the country dedicated to freedom and the First Amendment. It opened in April 2006 and is dedicated to educating Americans about freedom and the First Amendment. Vague, but intriguing. Like an unexplained stain on the carpet.

The woman at the counter gave me a purple token and asked me all sorts of questions. I refused to answer because I'm pretty sure personal questions like "Where are you from" violate my freedoms. There was a sign that said "No Cameras." It did not specify cell phones.

The first room you enter is a theater that talks about freedoms. I don't really remember what the movie was about. I was too busy scouting the other patrons. Sitting in the row in front of me was a couple of older ladies who kept whispering about something. I tried to scoot closer to listen in, but they caught me! This is as close as I could get. I also had to use the flash for this picture, which is probably what gave me away.

The exhibits were pretty interesting and brought up issues I hadn't thought about since AP Government in high school. Like which of the following countries has freedom of press:

1. China
2. Cuba
3. USA

It hurt my head (and heart). The woman in front of me, aka one of the women from the theater, got it wrong. She picked China.

We need this museum in every major city.

At one point, you could take a test to become an Official Freedom Agent. Of course I took that! I even got to print out a badge and wear it for the rest of my tour around the museum.

That's right. I am freedom. Once my badge printed, I thought about legally changing my name to "I am freedom." I had already researched the project because a few months ago, while trying to order business cards, I had mistakenly used "Wnnie" as my name. It's easier to legally change your name than it is to deal with customer service.

Another exhibit showed t-shirts worn by high school students. One was "gay? fine by me." The other was, "CRIMES COMMITTED AGAINST... GOD"

It caused a huge controversy, but apparently encouraged the high school students to sit down and talk it out. Here's a news story about it.

I'm not one to judge, but one of the shirts makes no sense to me. "gay? fine by me." is very clear. The other shirt... it's very intimidating. "CRIMES COMMITTED AGAINST" dotdotdot "GOD" almost seems like it should be accompanied by some scary movie music. The back of the shirt apparently has the 10 Commandments listed. Cool. No problem.

What do the 10 Commandments have to do with being gay? I went to Wikipedia, the source of all things accurate and real, and searched for the 10 Commandments. Then, too lazy to read through the whole thing, searched the text for the word "gay." Pretty sure that is not a real commandment. So really, as an "anti-gay" t-shirt... not that great. Instead, those shirts should be sold specifically for divorce proceedings. Especially when there's infidelity involved. Emphasize the adultery and the neighbor's wife parts. Judges really go for visual aids like this.

At the very end of the exhibits, you put your purple token into these clear plastic boxes. It was a simulation of the upcoming election. You could "vote" for your candidate.

What the whole thing looked like.

McCain's sweet take. Pretty decent. I wouldn't be surprised if some stodgy old guy pressured the museum to put all those tokens in. And by pressured, I mean he threatened to call it the museum of terrorism unless they supported the true values of freedom as defined by President Bush.

Obama's even better take. Probably from all those liberal hippie students backpacking on the "Free" admission. I'm glad to see that even though "hope" won't put food on the table, it will put purple token votes into a plastic box in a fake election.

Reason #5857393948 why I ruin everything.

Mishaps and Misfortunes

2008-08-23T00:28:00.003-04:00

We finally got back to the apartment. We came up the backstairs into the kitchen, which was filled with delicious treasures. B and Evan had cleaned out the cupboards, the fridge, and anywhere else they had secretly stashed food. Everything was sitting on the counter, waiting for a loving home.

They sent out an SOS to friends nearby, who came over to get "Free Food." Two came with the intention to gather handfuls or only enough for that night's dinner. Instead, thanks to tag-team salesman skills, they left with 5 paper bags full of food and supplies.

"Oh? You got a new grill? You know what would impress the ladies? Some delicious marinated chicken. Oh wait, here's some balsamic vinegar. You can use that on chicken."

"Why waste time making dinner when you can whip up amazing pancakes from this opened, partially empty, Bisquick box? Don't worry, the exposure to air means the pancakes will be extra fluffy. And delicious."

"I know what it's like to be vegetarian. Sometimes it's hard to get all the protein you need. Take this bottle of Ranch dressing. That's better than vitamins."

I think the only things we weren't able to get rid of were household cleansers, a jar of jalapeno jelly (which I talked them out of taking because I secretly wanted it), a roll of aluminum foil, and boxes of tampons. We wrote "Free Surprises!" on the paper bags and brought them down into the courtyard of their apartment building. And left it as a reward/treasure for others to find.

Seriously. If you came home from a busy day and you were stressed out, wouldn't you be happy to find a free box of tampons?

Later, B and I went to Loyola's campus for a photo shoot. Mainly, we took hundreds of pictures of the two of us posing, pretending to be fashion models. We took breaks (modeling is hard work) to watch this girl run around on the track. Since Loyola's a smaller school, the track is two lanes. This girl went with an older woman and all of a sudden yelled, "START" and took off running.

She sprinted probably the straight away, and as soon as she got to the curve, was struggling. Everytime she ran by the older woman, she would yell "TIME!" It was a very husky voice. I couldn't tell if she had a naturally deep voice or if she was just hoarse from her labored breathing. I think it took her like 25 minutes to run a mile.

This inspired a sense of curiousity and wonder in us. Later, B would show me her Adam's apple. It's subtle and apparently, a source of her deep voice.

a) I am pretty sure there's no Adam's apple. I think she was just trying to get me to look down her shirt. Or get me to freak out Evan.
b) She does NOT have a deep voice. I have heard many women with deeper voices. One of which I once mistook for a man on the phone and referred to her as "Mr."
c) That's nothing. One time, at an internship at an unnamed and unknown Government location, a woman came in to fix my computer. She was wearing a jersey that said "Baby" and had a rotund body shape. I figured the limitations of stylish and affordable maternity wear was the reason for her jersey dress. I congradulated her on her baby. Awkward silence. "You must have me mistaken for someone else." Awk.ward.

Rich People Have Too Much Time on Their Hands

2008-08-18T14:18:00.008-04:00

Fact: Chicago does NOT have a lottery for rich people furniture.

After we finished eating our giant sandwiches, B walked me past the giant building she used to work in. Then she pointed across the river at this shimmering oasis, with promises of luxury bathroom fixtures and kitchens designed by NASA. She told me that's where people go to buy furniture when they win the lottery. Somehow, I misunderstood that statement and believed (all the way until we left Chicago) that Chicago had a magnificent lottery for furniture. Like scratch cards that awarded chandeliers and cashmere cushions.

The first floor of LuxeHome is the Merchandise Mart, which they stress as "Open to the Public."

1. LuxeHome makes no sense at all. Is it supposed to be an abbreviation for luxury homes? Or deluxe homes? Either way, it fails. Instead of triggering my imagination to conjure up magical home furnishings, all I can picture are scenes from when I studied abroad and Asian stores tried to appeal to Western pockets by combining random English words. Here are a couple of examples:

2. "Open to the Public." That's a really fantastic marketing strategy. "Our merchandise is so expensive, you probably can't afford it, but it's ok to come look." Ikea has an "open to the public" strategy as well. They also name their merchandise fancy foreign names. Like Svetlana. If it wasn't for the fact that one of your kitchen designs costs more than Sweden's worth, I would say Ikea wins this round.

This is like some amazing dream kitchen of mine from Iron Chef America + Top Chef + Food Network + $1 million. It's basically all stainless steel and makes me want to challenge someone to a food battle, secret ingredient: water!

As we continued walking around, browsing and peering through the windows (I left face prints on a few display windows, as I shed tears of regret that I didn't earn my M.R.S. degree and marry rich when I was a young, naive, undergrad), I came to the realization that rich people have WAY too much time and money on their hands.

How does something like this even come to exist? A billboard sized image of a young naked girl. In one of the rooms, this was all there was. Just this giant picture on the wall. She's not even dressed up as a flower or a bee or anything. Some people collect antiques. Some people collect books. Some people collect naked pictures of small children. Creep.y.

B then leads me to this special case and tells me to look at the mosaic. I think she's referring to these bad boys. I take the obligatory picture, kind of feign excitement over the multi-colored tiles. If this is what she wants to spend her scratch ticket winnings on, I'm not one to question her (awful) life choice. If you look closer, you can see the multitude of rainbow tiles in the back. I like the brown one in the lower right hand corner. When I'm in my bathroom, I want nothing more than to be surrounded by that color brown.

Then, as I turn to leave, I catch something out of the corner of my eye. Oh. My. God. This is what B was actually referring to.

If you can't tell, that is a naked woman's behind. Probably Dara Torres.

"Networking"

2008-08-17T23:05:00.002-04:00

My "aunt" (aka really close family friend) is retiring this week from some government agency. She had invited my parents to her retirement party/dinner/gathering. When she found out I would be in town this weekend, she extended the invite. I asked my dad what the dress code was and he said "casual."

Well, thankfully I dressed to impress (read: have not done any of the piles of travel laundry and was left with nice clothes) because by "casual" my dad meant "Banana Republic store mannequin casual." This one woman had this absolutely gorgeous necklace on and I kept staring at it and it was awkward because every time she looked over I was obviously staring at her chest. I finally went and introduced myself and explained that I was in love with her necklace. She said she makes jewelry in her spare time. In the kiln. That she had apparently custom built into her house. And then she and my "aunt" had this obscenely long conversation about their retirement plans. Like how they are going to be masseuses.

They were talking about this one massage parlor where the guy did all these different kinds of "massages." He combines different techniques. I didn't ask if one of the techniques was "exotic" because (a) ew and (b) the woman already thought I was a creeper for eyeing her age-defying bosom. Hm. I really hope she never reads this blog.

Also this weekend:

My sister and I went to visit our grandparents. I am pretty sure my grandma thinks I'm some big drug dealer that has to travel the country to buy/sell my delicious commodity. Which is better than my grandpa, who didn't have his glasses on when I first came in. He thought I was my cousin. Who is a boy.

My grandma told me I looked taller. Then my sister hugged her and my grandma said, "Oh God, your arm is so thick. You've gotten fat." The inside joke is that every time she sees Vicky, without fail, she makes a reference to how she's gotten fatter. As Vicky puts it, "According to grandma, I'm the size of a whale now."

My dad likes to try to defend the fat comments.

D: You know, in different cultures, different things have different meanings.
V: What other meaning for "fat" is there?
D: She's not saying you're fat. Just... there are a lot of Chinese people who are... (at this point, he is motioning with his hands and making a skinny person outline)
V: So it's ok because I'm not really "fat," just "fat" compared to other Chinese people?
D: No, no. In Chinese... she's just saying you're healthy.
V: That's the polite way of saying "fat."
D: Healthy, she just likes to tell you how healthy you look.
V: Right. God forbid she ever has to think of another "compliment." At least she hasn't started calling me ugly yet.

Obviously, I found the whole thing hilarious. Until later when my mother pointed out that my jacket makes me look pregnant.

"No, really. You should thank you. I'm your mother and I'm the only one who will be honest with you. Those people who tell you that you look nice are lying. You look pregnant."

Prep is so in right now

2008-08-15T01:25:00.003-04:00

Those are TWO different guys wearing madras shorts at the airport. Related to my previous entry about flying to Chicago.

This is not creeper at all. Maybe just a little.

Holler at your girl

2008-08-15T01:03:00.003-04:00

I bet if there was an Olympic event for good looking people, I would maybe win silver.

I have been honked at/heckled at in every city I've visited, including Chicago (which I am soooo behind in updating).

I was in Charlottesville the past few days, and even in a deserted college town in the middle of the night, while a friend and I are chatting on a street corner in the midst of stores that closed hours ago, SOMEHOW we still get honked at 4-5 times. We were also serenaded.

The next day, while getting coffee at Barnes and Nobles with the Fox, we're hit on. It started because all the tables were filled, except for one next to this kind of sketchy man. Whatever. I sit down. This man is sporting an afro and a bald spot. How is that possible, I don't know. Imagine an afro and then shave off the entire top part. He is wearing this fashionable three piece tan/camel colored suit straight from the 70s. He leans over and introduces himself. I smile, respond, ignore him.

According to the Fox, he told his colleague (I can't even describe what this woman looks like) that I was pretty. Fox tried not to laugh and wanted to tell me that the man of my dreams was sitting right next to me. I heard them talking, continued to ignore them. Then the man's colleague pointed out that Fox was also very pretty and that we were probably sisters.

At this point, while I'm in the middle of a long-winded rant and pouring my heart out, he leans over and introduces himself. He leaves out the part about him finding me attractive and only says, "My friend here thinks you're both very pretty. Are you sisters?"

I quickly say no and try to ignore him/continue the conversation. Fox responds that we're kind of like sisters, which is true, and this somehow encourages him to re-introduce himself. His name is Garland. He shook our hands. Told us again how we were pretty. I try very very hard to ignore him some more.

This tactic has failed me before, as Comer so kindly pointed out when we told her this story. For a while, every time I went into Harris Teeter this woman would follow me around or conveniently appear next to me and ask if I needed help or try to make conversation. She'd always point out samples and I'd always nod politely and try to ignore her. I just figured she was really really socially special.

Then Comer and I went to pick up a birthday cake. We were in a rush and I was signing for the cake and the woman, who HAPPENED to show up to collect the cake for me from the back bakery, kept asking me if it was for a birthday, if we were having a party, etc. I gave her one word answers and kept talking to Comer because we had more important things to discuss - like whether or not I should eat the regular or lowfat sugar cookie in the "for children only" box.

APPARENTLY, this woman had been trying to hit on me and the whole time was shooting dagger glares at Comer. Since then, every time I've returned to Charlottesville and gone to the Harris Teeter, I've seen her. I've brought many a witness with me and this woman stalks me with her eyes. As if she were a giant bear and I was a salmon, swimming upstream with the hopes of finding a dream salmon to mate with and not a bear that wants to devour me. Ugh. Those last few words made me vomit in my mouth.

THEN tonight, at an ABC store in northern Virginia, a bunch of guys were at the register and one of them asked if I needed help. I responded, "No thanks, I'm good."

And then I hear, "Damn right you are. Mmm."

Maybe it's a tactic to make women buy more alcohol than they need. A kind of "if I drink 3 handles by myself and right before I pass out, I lose my ability to see/hear/talk/think, then maybe you'll be attractive" mentality.

Haha. Joke's on him. My prison name isn't "Scrumptious" for no reason.

Perry's Deli

2008-08-10T17:37:00.005-04:00

B, having read this blog, wanted to take me someplace that seemed to match the theme: food.

She worked a few blocks away from this place called Perry's Deli, rumored and advertised to have sandwiches as big as your head. Yes, I was told, even as big as my giant melon. I was warned ahead of time that there is absolutely NO cell phone use. Not just when you're ordering, but none in the deli at all.

B had suggested and strongly recommended the corned beef with Russian dressing on rye. I got that, with some provolone, lettuce and tomato. I have never seen a sandwich that size.

The reason why there seems to be a thousand pickles on my plate is when I tried to look around to see if I could use my cell phone camera, B dumped all hers onto my plate. Please also note that this is a picture of HALF. I saw the size of the sandwich and panicked and B said to just ask for the other half to go. Apparently it's fairly common for people not to finish. It was sandwich was cold and really really good. The only downside was that it's so big, it just falls apart. The corned beef isn't melt in your mouth, but it's tender and extremely flavorful. Evan got the double decker monstrosity with brisket.
Notice his sandwich falling apart. The giant thing still on the plate is HALF. Here are a couple more pictures to detail the size of these "sandwiches."

We got there at the perfect time. As soon as we sat down, the deli started to fill. The line stretched out the door. We were sitting next to all these business guys with their ties thrown over a shoulder or tucked into their shirts. I am pretty sure being able to finish your entire sandwich is a statement to your manhood. The guys at the table next to us kept watching each other's sandwiches, trying to match bite for bite. B and I were also one of 4 ladies in the entire establishment. One of the other ladies was working the register, and the 4th was sitting off in the corner booth with a guy. I am pretty sure they were breaking up.

What does that say about a relationship to break up in a deli during lunchtime, over a giant corned beef sandwich? "Hey, how about you stop talking now so I can finish my sandwich?" I at least hope she was dumping him. Then he could re-establish his manhood by finishing his sandwich and the menfolks would all admire and want to be him.

I thought about taking more pictures and had my cell phone in my hand when this HORRIBLE alarm went off. It was a fire alarm, a police siren, and a dying cat all combined and projected from speakers. Everyone stopped eating and looked around. I shoved my phone back into "Soul Rebel." Thankfully, it was because some guy in line was texting. His friend called him out.

Hahaha, I bet they are BFF.

Backtrack - Rewind

2008-08-10T16:56:00.003-04:00

Rewind.

Probably due to the number of unhygienic places I've been in the past few weeks (I feel like there's always the smell of urine around me now), I've been suffering from some horrible urine-caused disease. Like monkeypox.

But thankfully, I kept careful notes of my Chicago adventures post-flight.

The train takes forever. Apparently, the tracks are undergoing major construction. I'm assuming normal construction delays would be a few minutes stopped here and there. Instead, Chicago has decided it's more efficient and effective to not only stop trains, but to keep them running no faster than 3 MPH. How do I know this? As the train from Midway got closer and closer to the loop (the trains come from all around Chicago and then merge on this giant track that loops around and above downtown), it got slower and slower... to the point that I watched a pedestrian below walk faster. I am also pretty sure that pedestrian had a walker.

I got to the stop I needed about 10-15 minutes before Becky and her lovely manfriend Evan got there. I headed down to street level and saw a lovely CVS. Not as if I'm speaking from personal experience or anything, but if you ever, for some reason, need a pair of underwear, some lady products, Shout wipes, etc., this is the place to go.

And after reading that last sentence, I realize what sort of situation that implies. NOT TRUE. Those were all necessities from separate trips and separate circumstances.

As I walk up to the checkout counter, who should come strolling in? Becky! I run over to her with my giant "Soul Rebel" bag on one shoulder, a box of lady things in the other hand, and hug her. The two of us are screaming and laughing and hugging and I look at Evan. I realize how absurd this looks. I wave at him, awkwardly, with my lady box hand. Becky takes one look at them and winks and "whispers" (nothing between me and B is ever just a "whisper") and says, "Oh, don't worry. I have tons of those I'm trying to give away."

We leave through the revolving door. B and Evan later explained to me that basically every building in Chicago uses revolving doors because in the winter, when it's absolutely freezing out, it keeps the warm air in and the cold air out. This is no good news for me since, as Big can attest to, I don't like touching doors. I always tell her to "push me through." I tell B the same thing, and she understands and gets a running head start to really give that sucker a big shove.

However, Evan and I have stopped walking because we see a man coming in... B runs on. As he is taking his first step, B slams into the door and sends it revolving, squishing him. Somehow caught with his lower body outside and his upper body inside, he's struggling to breathe and call out. B is confused and thinks the door is stuck (stuck on some trash, not stuck on a person. There's an 80% chance she wouldn't have pushed if she thought it was a person). She continues pushing until Evan points out that a man is stuck in the door. I am laughing and can't breathe. She apologizes. He thinks she is crazy and walks into CVS and hurries down an aisle.

One of the many reasons B and I are such good friends.

Leaving on a jet plane...

2008-08-04T22:07:00.002-04:00

My flight left at 6:40. I was supposed to be at the airport at 5:30.

I woke up at 5 AM. In panic, I stumbled around my room in the dark, tripping over J. Crew bags, kit bags, running shoes. Perhaps it was fate or perhaps my mind was functioning at "genius" level thanks to the crisis at hand, but I fell and ripped a J. Crew bag. And remembered that I had bought a lovely dress in Jersey. Since I was flying stand by, I had to dress up and this was perfect. I don't remember the name of the color, but it was something bizarre like persimmon or golden watercress or Kentucky Fried Chicken red.

I grabbed my lovely L.L. Bean tote. Over the summer, a few friends and I had gone outlet shopping. L.L. Bean was one of the stores and they had a bin in the back with embroidered totes that had been returned for whatever reason. We bought a tiny "Abigail Emergency Anaphylactic," a medium "Miss Bunjun," and a GIANT "Soul Rebel." Me and my sweet Soul Rebel bag made it through security, where the man in front of me was pulled aside for security check and where the security guard left him to flirt with me.

When I told a friend later, her reply was, "How do you know he was flirting with you? How do you know it wasn't racial profiling and Homeland Security had marked you?" Well, for one, he complimented me on my dress. He said the dress was beautiful. Then said I was beautiful. And then said my eyes were beautiful. I smiled, awkwardly, and went to grab my Soul Rebel bag.

I figured I had plenty of time, so I went to the bathroom to get my face did. I had read online that if you fly stand by, you should always look super good to impress the airline people into letting you on if there were open seats. I really wanted to make this flight, so I went and did my face. When I got to the gate, the waiting area was empty. Because everyone else had already boarded. I went up to the desk and asked what the chances were of getting on this flight. She looked me over, told me to wait. 30 seconds later, she gave me a seat assignment. As she checked me in, she commented on the lovely color of my dress and how cute I looked.

All I have to say is this dress must be smoking hot because I flew first class. And this trip to Atlanta was much better than last time I flew to Chicago by way of Atlanta. Last time, I sat next to two men who were deeply religious. I didn't realize it at first, until they started making small talk. And giving me a talk about finding God and going to a Billy Graham revival and reading from their Bibles. One guy gave me a Bible comic about making good life choices, right after he asked me (very very loudly), "If this plane went down right now, would you be scared? Would you be afraid of going to Hell?" The other guy talked about his wife. Who he met when they got married because he was introduced to her on the phone. She was his sister's neighbor or something, and they met because of their love for God.

This all ties in together because on the plane, I sat next to a man who saw my Soul Rebel bag and asked me if I was a "sinner." Awkward. I read some magazines, drank my unlimited supply of soda and my complimentary alcoholic beverage. All the drinking caught up with me. As soon as the "buckle seatbelt" sign came on, I realized I had to use the restroom. I got up and headed toward the bathroom when all of a sudden, a flight attendant screamed at me, "What are you doing?! We're landing?! Sit down, sit down!!! You're not allowed to stand up! BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELT." It was like we were going down or it was some sort of landing emergency. She had already strapped herself into the flight attendant's seat.

I went back to my seat, and a few minutes later, another flight attendant came down the aisle to see if I was ok. She asked if it was an emergency, if I needed anything, etc. I told her I was fine, she smiled her polite smile and went off to get the woman across from me another bloody mary.

The Atlanta airport is a nightmare. I bought yogurt from one of the vendors because it looked delicious with granola and berries. The stupid thing cost me $6.27. WHAT KIND OF YOGURT IS $6?! Yogurt laced with gold. Which this was not. There was one saving grace: madras shorts! Everywhere!

Here are my undercover pictures.

Well. Apparently pictures aren't working right now, but when they do...

Double Deckers... mmm... sandwich.

2008-08-03T13:09:00.008-04:00

At around 7 in the morning on Monday, Voorhees dropped me off at the train station on the way to work. She said I'd be fine, just follow the crowds and I'd end up in New York City, there was no way to mess this up. It was easy getting from her part of Jersey to Newark Penn Station. That's when it got complicated.

I saw a giant crowd flood out of the train and head down the stairs and onto another platform. Of course I followed them. After standing there for 10-15 minutes, I looked up at the monitor explaining what trains where heading where at what platform. The train I was supposed to take into NYC was not on the screen. Probably because it had already left. From another platform. A train pulled up and I asked a man next to me if it was headed into New York. He stared at me and I was about to repeat the question when he said, "No... it's going to Hoboken. But there are a lot of trains going to New York."

Fabulous. So after that, I stood and waited on the platform until I saw OBVIOUS tourists and followed them to the right train. How did I know they were tourists? The sneakers with the high socks, the American flag t-shirt, the fanny-pack. Perfect. They led me straight to Penn Station.

I had an hour to kill before the bus left, so I went to Borders and browsed around. Half an hour later, I headed back to the bus stop and this is the Hell I saw:

I asked the two people in front of me if this was the Megabus to DC. They were both Asian and the woman nodded and said really loudly, in a slow voice, "Yes, we're in line." Thank you. I don't really care that you're in line. I can see that. Also, maybe if you speak louder and slower, I'll pay more attention to what you're saying and less attention to how stupid you sound. After like 5 minutes, the Asian man in front of me turns and holds up a banana peel. "I'm just going to go throw this away, ok? I'll be back. Throwing this away in the trash can. Over there." Ridic.

As soon as he gets back, the Megabus guy looks over at us and yells out, "Yo, where y'all going?" The guy behind me yells back DC, and the Megabus guy hollers that we're in the wrong line. At this point, I don't even care anymore and use my bags to knock the two Asians out of my way.

I still don't understand how everyone is going to fit on the bus until this monstrosity pulls up in front of us.Yes, that is in fact a giant double decker bus. Huge. I got on and went upstairs. While I was waiting and staring out the window, I saw one of the sketchiest things I've seen in NY.

The first picture is of a man talking to a cop with a drug sniffing dog. The dog all of a sudden went insane and lunged at the man. It was snapping it's teeth and pulling on its leash. The cop kept having to restrain the dog, pulling it back, pushing it down to the ground and basically disciplining it. The dog would absolutely not stop. It was barking and pulling and generally going nuts and drawing attention to the man. Finally, the man kind of backed away and took off running (as you can see in the second picture). And then the dog was fine and just stood there like nothing was wrong.

Total sketch.

It's genetic

2008-08-03T02:00:00.003-04:00

I just hung out with the sisters for a long time.

We were sharing our high school stories with the little one and Vicky decided to give us a glimpse into how she scored so poorly on her AP Government and AP English Lang exams.

AP English Lang: She thought the writing section was meant to show off your cleverness rather than test for skills like "grammar" and "spelling." She decided to write it like a blog entry. The prompt asked, "If you could uninvent something, what would it be?" Her response was some nonsense about how obvi wooden clogs and Uggs should have never been invented, but if she could uninvent anything, it'd be the ladder. She got a 3.

AP Government: The prompt for the essay used the word "litigation." Vicky didn't know what the word meant. She still doesn't because she referred to it as "ligation, you know, having to do with law-y things." And she pronounced it "lie-gation." Assuming it meant the grassroots movement, she wrote her essay about eliminating cold calls and turning to the internet. She then explained how this wasn't all that unexpected based on the final paper she wrote for her AP class. She didn't understand the assignment, and somehow ended up writing an essay about how the government should take money from Hurrican Katrina efforts to fund a space program sending men to Mars. The essay was supposed to be about... space? I'm not really sure, but she said she needed to come up with a funding source and thought about where the government was wasting money. Somehow, by the grace of any and all higher beings, she pulled off a 3.

If the relation wasn't obvious before, it most definitely is now.

New Jersey shenanigans

2008-08-02T23:31:00.006-04:00

There is so much to update about! The turnaround between getting back from NY/NJ and heading off to Chicago was approximately 12 hours.

New Jersey was a trip full of shenanigans! The trip was originally made under two assumptions: I would get to visit the Tick Tock Diner, because it was showcased on Food Network, and I would get to go to a sketchy batting cage.

Tick Tock Diner ended up being further away than we thought, so I accepted Spinning Wheel Diner instead. Our waitress was seriously doing lines of coke in the bathroom or something. There was an ornamental plant hanging in the window, and every time she walked to our table, she'd slam her head into it and she always seemed confused afterwards. She kept forgetting parts of our order and would laugh about it and say, "Sorry, I walk away and just forget." I saw prosciutto omelet on the menu and asked her whether it was delicious or not, where did the diner get the prosciutto from, etc. She stared at me blankly (probably coked out of her mind) and said, "Um. I don't know, I'm a vegetarian."

Awkwardly, I ordered the farmer's omelet. The omelets are giant (also, if you haven't noticed, I only recently learned how to spell "omelet" and I apologize for all previous awful spellings) and they share a huge platter with a mound of hash browns. The hash browns were a little bit of a let down, not a lot of crisp. More greasy and soggy than anything else. I thought about taking half of it home because there was so much, but the Jersey kids made fun of me for wanting to bring home leftover diner food. To show them who's boss, I ate the whole thing. And then promptly almost died.

The second goal was to head over to the batting cages. By the time we worked out our coordinating outfits and ventured to what seemed like an abandoned warehouse in the backwoods of Jersey, the place had closed. In an effort to salvage the day, Voorhees kept driving down the road. Distraught and overwhelmed with silent tears, I looked up to see my salvation.

I demanded she pull over, which she did, and I climbed up this massive hill to pose with the billboard.

While she tried to get everything in the frame, these kids on bikes rode by and heckled me. They were probably like 9, 10 years old (unless evolution has delayed male puberty since last I took sex ed) and one of them was riding a girl's bike. It was pink with pom poms tied to the handlebars, which I didn't think they made anymore. Well, I take that back. Just because it's pink with pom poms does not make it a "girl's bike."

They rode around and kept saying things like, "You're going to get arrested!" and "Do you like breaking the law?" and "What do you think you're doing?!" Hooligans! Then they rode off into the street and I secretly hoped they caused an accident so that I could yell at them as we drove off, "You're going to get arrested! Do you like breaking the law? WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?!"

Then we drove around some more and found this amazing "free" yard sale. The reason it was free was because it was all crappy leftovers that the family couldn't sell. Like broken vases and toys from the 1960s. Our disappointment in the "free" stuff was quickly forgotten as we sprinted across the street to a PLAYGROUND.

We played on it and I demanded Voorhees take an obscene amount of pictures of me. Out of guilt more than anything else, she obliged and snapped pictures of me riding a seesaw, laying all over the playground equipment, playing in the sand, falling down the slide (I am too big. My legs got stuck while my butt kept swirling around and I ended up flying out head first. Probably in large part due to gravity pulling the biggest parts of my body, like my head and butt, down fastest). The whole time, this family was sitting off to the side staring at us.

Then we went over to the swing set made for toddlers. The ones where the seat looks like a high chair. Voorhees swore she could fit in it, so she climbed in and promptly got stuck. I laughed and when the family wanted to help her out, I yelled at them and told them that she got herself into it, she sure as hell can get herself out. Hahaha, well she definitely could NOT get herself out. Her feet ended up lodged in the seats while the rest of her body hung down from the swing. We had to take off her shoes to get her out, which she originally refused to do because the shoes were new. She finally caved when she started losing feeling in her limbs.

Later, as the family's small child started to run after us to play, her mother pulled her back and said that we were "teenagers" taking pictures. Hooligans.

Here is a picture of my unfortunate tumble down the slide. It was traumatic and scarring.

You're Weird.

2008-07-28T22:01:00.002-04:00

When Voorhees uploads pictures, I'll be able to fully illustrate the adventures of this weekend.

I had two goals for my visit to the Dirty Jerz:
1. Visit Tick Tock Diner because it was on Food Network
2. Batting cages, because I saw pictures on facebook and got jealous of how sketchily fun it looked

Goals I accomplished: None.

Instead, a 12 year old yelled, "You're weird!" at me.

Nightmare on NJ Transit

2008-07-26T20:01:00.004-04:00

Since I'm in the New York area anyway, Voorhees talked me into coming to the rolling hills and scary woodlands of New Jersey. I agreed, mainly to go to a batting cage and the Tick Tock Diner (which I saw on television).

The directions I was given included, "Go to Penn Station and get on the train."

I was supposed to leave at 1:30. Thanks to the amazing experience that was The X-Files (and the subsequent 3 hours spent on Craigslist making fun of people), I overslept my alarm (read: my alarm that I insisted on not setting because I was positive there was no way I was going to sleep in that late). I woke up and had to prioritize: I called Voorhees to tell her I was going to be on the 2:30 train and then went and ate the rest of my cheesecake.

With an extra hour to spare, I took my time leisurely shoving clothes into my bag. I also sat on the couch and watched Big try to clean her apartment. I offered to help, but when she saw what my "help" amounted to (a pile of papers haphazardly stacked on the window sill and blankets shoved under couch cushions), she insisted I get out of the way.

At 2:05, I realized I still hadn't bought a train ticket. Big told me I wasn't going to make it and tried to trick me into staying (read: she locked me in the apartment). Breaking free, using wild Asian cunning (read: I cried), I sprinted from her building to the local subway station. I got on and sat next to a man who smelled like toilet (read: I bet he pooped himself hardcore), and rocked back and forth in panic. I started reciting the directions in my head (read: muttering outloud) and the people in the subway made sure to give me plenty of room to breathe. How thoughtful of New York.

I got to Penn Station, got off, and had absolutely no idea where to go. At this point, I think the time was 2:20. I am sprinting through Penn Station with my ninja turtle backpack and my giant kit bag, knocking people out of the way left and right. I got yelled at a few times, but I had more important goals in mind. LIRR = Long Island. I thought about the delicious tea and wondered if that train served it onboard. I ran by Amtrak, and a whole bunch of other places. I saw a sign that said "NJ Transit." If there's one thing my 4 years in undergrad taught me, it's NJ = New Jersey.

Of course none of the trains had my final destination and the ticket line was too long. I called Voorhees, who said to just get on the train leaving at 2:32. It is now 2:30. I don't even remember what track the train is on or where it's going or what number it is and I still don't have a ticket. I follow this other woman who is also sprinting and run to track 13 (never a good sign) and push my way on, just as the doors close.

This is what I am met with. An abandoned baby carriage/stroller. I am in the doorway and there's a guy next to me and this baby stroller. I'm pretty sure it's not his and I'm also pretty sure there's a baby in it. I stand there, staring at this stroller, scared out of my mind that this is either a) a horror movie like one of those Japanese thrillers where I pull back the carriage top and inside is a Hello Kitty doll that turns into that girl from the Ring who then sucks my soul out of my eyes or b) an episode of Law and Order gone horribly wrong. All of a sudden, I hear, "TICKETS, HAVE YOUR TICKETS READY."

Problem: I have no ticket. I ask the man next to me if you can buy tickets on board the train. He says yes. Thank goodness. I buy my ticket, which is this yellow piece of paper with holes punched in it. It also acts as my receipt, government-issued ID, and I can trade it in at Dunkin Donuts for a free coffee.

The train stops at Newark Penn Station. I remember I have to get off at Newark. I stumble off and wander up and down the tracks for a few minutes before asking for directions. I'm told I'm on the wrong tracks. I have no idea where the other tracks are and in my sheer frustration, I contemplate running into a brick wall a la Harry Potter. I look into a building labeled "Waiting Room" and see people disappearing. Like some strange magic act. I walk in and realize they are disappearing alright... down an escalator. I follow the crowd down into a scary mystical tunnel. Everything is well lit with big flashy signs, except for the door leading to the track I need. It's next to a bunch of trash cans down this empty hallway with a handwritten piece of cardboard propped against the wall. The handwriting looks like when I tried to write on my own butt (long and unrelated story).

I walk through the doors, up stairs, and find a train. Assuming it's the one I need, I board and sit down next to a guy with sunglasses on. Creeper. The train takes off and a woman comes down the aisle asking for tickets. I pull out that yellow piece of something I got, she looks at it, looks at me, squints, looks at the paper again, looks back at me... and hands it back without saying anything. This train ride passes by relatively without drama. Until it's time to get off.

At the stop before the one I need, the conductor mentions that we should start moving toward the back of the trains. Well I figured the back of one train is the front of another. The train stops, I carry my things to the front of the train car and the doors don't open. I stand there, wait. And look out the window. And realize these doors won't open because I'm in the middle of a bridge. I step back and look down the car and see the last of the passengers for this stop getting off. In panic (theme of this trip), I bolt down the aisle. Poor planning: I physically get lodged between the two seats and have to writhe and struggle my way free. I throw my body off the train just as the doors close and it pulls away.

Voorhees is standing in the parking lot (parked illegally in a handicapped spot) and tells me she got worried because everyone else got off the train and she thought I had missed this one too, but was too embarassed to call her and was somehow hitchhiking my way to NJ. I'm comforted by the fact that she thinks I'm attractive enough to flag down lonely truckers.

All I do is eat

2008-07-26T19:48:00.006-04:00

It's sad, but completely true. Big's friend from Miami, who is also going to the same New York school as she is (but for business instead of medicine), met us for lunch. We went to Manhattan Diner, which is the place with the utterly melt-in-your-mouth, incredibly light and rich and creamy cheesecake. Clearly, we know what was on my mind.

He got one of the day's specials, a roast beef sandwich.

Big got two eggs over easy and the whole wheat waffle with bananas and strawberries. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to get a picture of the waffle before it was stripped of it's delicious accompaniments.

It wasn't as light as the pumpkin waffle from Sarabeth's, probably because of the whole wheat batter. The pumpkin waffle had it's own flavor and was so distinct, it didn't need anything else. The whole wheat waffle was everything a waffle should be, but a little heavier. It soaked up the syrup and butter without transitioning to the gross soggy stage. It was almost like eating a delicious piece of cake (or the texture of it, at least).

I ordered the Athenian omelette (only because I couldn't make up my mind and panicked at the last possible second). It was an outstanding choice. Eggs with spinach, tomatoes, mushrooms, and feta. It came with a side of potatoes and toast. The potatoes were basically hash browns, and delicious. Shredded potato fried on a flat griddle (I am assuming that's what it's called). The outside was crispy and brown, but my fork broke through it to fluffy potatoes beneath. I like my potatoes a little more done (aka burnt), but it wasn't bad.

The omelette was fluffy with tons of veggies. Every bite had a mixture of veggies. I couldn't really taste or see the feta, which is hard considering feta is such a strong flavor. It wasn't as outstanding as the omelettes I get at the Blue Moon.

When we left, I got a piece of cheesecake to go.

Hours later, as I stood in the dark in Big's kitchen, shoveling cheesecake into my mouth and trying to will myself to put it back in the fridge, I realized that New York may not be the best place for me to take my shrinking bank account and my RAPIDLY expanding waistline.

I Want to Believe

2008-07-25T12:20:00.002-04:00

It was everything I had dreamed of and more. Big and I went to the midnight showing. We were almost late because I decided I wanted to sneak in some delicious treats. I spent probably 20 minutes in the grocery store deciding whether or not I wanted a sandwich. Big stood there and made fun of me. She also pointed my predicament out to the bakery guys (they are on a first name basis because of how often she buys rainbow cookies).

The theater was gigantic. We walked in and there were signs directing us to the "mezzanine." Of course I'm sitting upstairs, fool! We got fantastic seats and as previews were starting, I abruptly decided I wanted popcorn, despite our bagful of goodies we had snuck in. I got my popcorn and put my own little dash of melted butter on it. But melted butter never sinks down and the top always gets too soggy and the bottom is too unbuttered. I figured if I shook the bag, it'd be ok. I shook it too hard and with my hands full, not only shook half the bag of popcorn out all over the counter/floor, ended up dropping the entire bag. I momentarily contemplated scooping the abandoned popcorn back into the bag. Leave no kernel behind. I'm sure it tasted the same regardless.

Since it was a midnight showing and they were putting popcorn away for the day, they felt bad and gave me another bag. Yaaaah. Then I stumbled up the stairs and into the theater, interrrupting the previews for these horrible scary movies.

I love X-Files. <3.

Big Nick's

2008-07-24T11:44:00.001-04:00

Despite the last venture to Big Nick's and my subsequent food poisoning (which my daddy insists was all in my head), we went back last night.

Rewind - Last night NYU had info sessions for a bunch of their graduate programs at a building in midtown instead of at their Washington Square Park campus. Our presentation had about 10 people and the director of the program came and introduced the curriculum, the faculty, and the structure of the program. At the end, as we were all standing up to leave, I noticed that I was the shortest one in the room. By probably a foot. The guys were all obscenely tall and the girls were Amazons (aka they rowed crew). I spoke with the director, re-introduced myself and we had a real quick conversation. She = fab.

I went downstairs where they had a table of cookies. I had called Big and told her about the cookie buffet and to not worry, I was going to bring her a variety pack. I had to take the metro, so I didn't want to put the cookies in a napkin where they could be squished into a delicious crumbly mess in my turtle pack. I walked around and stumbled upon the cafe area where they had a stack of styrofoam cups. I took one and was filling it to the brim with cookies (like really shoving those suckers in there), when the director says, "You should really try the blondies. They're quite good." She is standing there. Watching me shove cookies. Into this cup. Great.

I get back and talk to Big for a bit about life goals (re: why I don't want to be a dominatrix anymore) and we head to Big Nick's. There's outdoor seating, so we bring Big's adorable Boston terrier. We're sitting outside and I'm going over the menu (because I'm the least decisive person ever), it starts to lightning and thunder. Fabulous. We can't go inside because we have the dog, and we want to eat the food there. The rain starts to come down, and since I'm sitting on the outside, the wind keeps whipping the rain into my back. By the time the food comes, I'm slightly miserable because the back of my shirt (yes, an oxford) is completely drenched and the front is dry.

But the food makes everything better. Because of the rain, I didn't take pictures, but I will describe how delicious is was.

Burger florentine - the burger is made with 100% Angus, 8 oz., and the meat is mixed with spinach, feta, olives, and scallions. I got my burger medium and it was juicy and the spinach and scallions were like melted into the burger. I couldn't really taste the olives, but the feta added that extra flavor at the end, just a really complete bite. As I ate, I started to taste the olives and the feta. I guess they were just near the center of the patty. The burger was really really good. If you ever go to Big Nick's, I highly recommend getting a burger.

Bistro burger - Big got a bistro burger with a veggie burger. It's a burger with cooked mushrooms, Gruyere, grilled onions, on toasted Challah bread. It was... I can't even describe it. It was THAT good. Like Challah bread in itself is really good. It's soft, and kinda light and eggy, which makes it absolutely to-die-for with egg and cheese. The Gruyere was melted and bound together the mushroom and onions. Big thought there was a little bit too much onion, but it was amazing. I know this because she put the rest of her burger on my plate and to keep my mind off of the rain-soaked back, I ate the rest.

When we finished, I stood up and turned around so Big could see. My front was almost 100% dry. My back, from my shirt all the way down to my shorts (because rain had slid down my back into my pants), was drenched. TYPICAL.

Subway Showdown

2008-07-23T23:21:00.003-04:00

I witnessed my first Subway Scuffle today. I was running to my 6 PM info session downtown and had to take the local 1 train (look at me, slowly learning the fancy city lingo). That's a whole different story.

Anyway, it was the beginning of rush hour and when the train pulled up, it was kinda crowded. I push my way on with my ninja turtle shell backpack. I stop because a man with a cane is trying to get past everyone to sit down in an open seat. Everyone was making an effort to let this guy past. Except the woman behind me. She pushes me REALLY hard into the metal pole and says, "Can you move in? People are trying to get on the train." I tell her to slow her roll, we're all trying to let this old man by. She keeps pushing.

I get angry and really passive aggressively refuse to budge, even when space opens up. And as the train starts up/stops and everyone sways, I make sure to sway back and use my turtle-shell backpack to squish her against the door. She finally moves over and gives me a dirty look.

Two seconds later, she starts yelling, "Get off my back, sir. GET OFF MY BACK."

The next stop, she is starting to move and keeps saying, "Get off my back!" This guy behind her says, really sarcastically, "Maybe you should ride in a private car. Is yours in the shop?" And she goes, "Maybe you should shut up and get off my back."

Man: It's rush hour in New York City. What do you expect?
Woman: I expect you to GET OFF MY BACK.
Man: There's nowhere else to go. If you have a problem, you should take a cab.
Woman: My problem is you need to GET OFF MY BACK.

I couldn't get my phone free to take a picture, so I illustrated the showdown. It's pretty accurate. I should be an artist. Also note there are absolutely no distinguishing features. This way, no one can mistake my poor drawing skills as racist caricatures.

Clearly not a New Yorker

2008-07-23T00:13:00.002-04:00

Bolt Bus was amazing. I slept a little, played Text Twist a little, watched a movie, browsed CNN.

The bus ran a car off the road. By "ran," I mean the bus had its blinker on and it was changing lanes and in the middle of changing lanes, a car tried to pass us. WHO DOES THAT. I am pretty sure, unless you stole a tank from the army, no vehicle trying to pass a bus changing lanes is going to win. Well obvi that car had to swerve onto the shoulder as the bus driver pulled our bus, safely, back into the original lane.

30 minutes later, I glance out the window and laugh at the cars stuck in traffic... until I SEE A CAR EXPLODE. IN THE MIDDLE OF 95! This red sedan just blows up and is burning up and flames are everywhere and police cars have held traffic back. I look around because I want to yell "OMG THAT CAR EXPLODED THAT'S AMAZING" like that kid from The Incredibles. Too bad NO ONE ELSE is awake/paying attention.

Still later, Mr. Chocolate (our silky voiced driver), asks a passenger to take a picture of another Bolt Bus. He acted like he'd never seen one before. Not a good sign.

Other people on the bus around me:

Woman mid-breakup - This woman sat in front of me and from the moment we got on to the moment we got off, she was on her laptop working on the SAME EMAIL. FOR 5 HOURS. How do I know this? Because she'd type a little. Pause and close her laptop and stare out the window. Then open the laptop and delete what she had written and rewrite a new one. I know it sounds creepy, but I could see the reflection in the window. It wasn't like I intentionally kept checking the window/the reflection to see what she was doing. Or anything like that.

Man reading sci-fi - This guy gets on the bus and passes out in 30 seconds with his stupid iPod nano blasting. Then he pulls out his iPhone and starts playing with it. And then he shuts everything off and reads this book with spaceships and aliens on the cover. By the time we get to NYC, he has read the entire thing.

Idiot behind me - Keeps answering his phone really loudly. We pass a sign that says "Welcome to Delaware" and he says on the phone, "Dude, I just woke up. No, I didn't plan to fall asleep. Where are we? 95. Wait, wait. Here's a sign. We're at Dover Newark. Wait, no. That's an exit. We're near Dover Newark." Then as we're about to enter the Lincoln Tunnel. "I can see the skyline. Now we're entering a tunnel. I don't know where this is. There's a lot of traffic. A tunnel."

FAST FORWARD - I get off the bus and walk to the subway. I need to refill my metrocard. I push the buttons on the machine, it says insert card, I shove my card into the machine... and jam it. It's too far in to pull out, and the machine is not accepting it. Instead, the screen keeps flashing "INSERT CARD." There's no cancel button, there's no back button. There's nothing I can do but awkwardly stand there until the people behind me go to other machines. The whole time, I am pretending to buy a metrocard. I take out my credit card, pretend to swipe, and stand so that my body and baggage obstruct the flashing screen. As soon as it gets less crowded, I move to the machine next to me.

As I go through the turnstile, I understand that I cannot carry my kit bag to my side and expect to make it through. Somehow, in my mind, I believe that I can force it through. Like a running headstart and just pop out on the other side. My running headstart ends poorly because my bag gets caught and I end up semi-getting the wind knocked out of me. I struggle. Most people can work their way free. No, I have to have someone help me out with a nice push.

Fab.

Bolt Bus

2008-07-22T15:13:00.002-04:00

I'm not quite sure I can handle what's going on right now.

This time around, I took Bolt Bus to NYC instead of MegaBus. I am sitting in leather seats, with a lot more leg room, and wireless internet (as well as an outlet for my old school laptop with no battery to plug into). There's less people on this bus and everyone is quiet and just doing their thing.

I was impressed with MegaBus because I made it to NYC for $1 without dying. And without getting my stuff stolen/my body sold on the black market. Bolt Bus has just blown up any sort of expectations I had about bus riding.

With MegaBus, we stopped outside Baltimore to pick up more people. According to the website, since this is more than a 3 hour trip, we'll be stopping... at a fancy rest stop where we can buy things/use a real bathroom. I hope it is Maryland House. Our bus driver also likes to talk to us over the intercom. He has a very smooth and chocolate-y voice. If a fudge brownie drizzled with dark chocolate could have a smooth and creamy real-life voice, it would be this man's.

Note: I did not take that picture. I DID take pictures of the inside, but this creepy man thought I was taking a picture of him and got up and moved.

Second note: Oh, I finished packing... but it's a horrible unplanned mass of uselessness. Example - I packed a sweater. But it's better than the one time I had to fly down to FL for a conference and forgot underwear.

Countdown

2008-07-22T12:17:00.003-04:00

My bus is leaving at 3.

It is noon. I haven't finished packing. Instead, I am looking at places to eat online.

Looking good

2008-07-21T12:57:00.002-04:00

I want to look good for my return trip to NYC. And by good, I mean when I go to NYU's info session, I want to seduce the admissions officers into throwing fantastic education/financial packages at me.

Like, "Dang girl, you're so fine. Here's $500,000 to come to our school and just look pretty." Of course that scenario is totally realistic. As realistic as Bill Clinton falling in love with me and asking me to join Hillary and him in the hottest political menage a trois ever.

I went to the fitness center this morning to get a quick run in. I worked on walking uphill in the hopes of establishing buns of steel. I then started my 5k. In the middle of the run, as I'm cranking up the pace, I realize I'm surrounded by a crowd of senior citizens. Why? Because an old man thrown down was about to happen!

There was an older gentleman on either side of me. The treadmill two to the right was open. A middle aged woman got on and started walking. She wasn't on there more than 30 seconds when an old man came and stood right next to her and started lecturing her. About "stealing" machines and not waiting her turn. The woman stopped walking and was like "Are you serious? This machine has been open for 5 minutes." But the old man kept rambling and going on and on about how she cut in line and didn't wait and you can't "reserve" machines and just show up when you want. The woman finally just threw her towel in the air and walked off.

The old man got on the treadmill and said hi to the men on either side of me and said how good it was to have buddies at the gym. Three minutes later, he and the man to the left of me traded machines so they could each have time in front of the fan. Wtf.

So to "punish" them and their backdoor dealings, I stayed on my treadmill and turned down the pace just enough so that I could run and talk at the same time, and sang along to songs on my ipod outloud.

Songs I sang to:
"I Kissed a Girl" - Katy Perry

I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chap stick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my boyfriend don't mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don't mean I'm in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it

"Fourth Drink Instinct" - Cute is What We Aim For

She's doesn't deserve to be in a place like this
All alone
She's underage and so very very brave
A fake ID lent her credibility
She sits at the bar
The gents are gonna try so hard

He said it was a one night stand
But the alcohol didn't let her understand
Yeah, he said it was a one night stand
A one night stand

"Let's Make Love in the Club" - Usher

You ever made love to a thug
In the club with his sights on
'87 jeans
And a fresh pair of Nike's on

On the couch, on the table
On the bar or on the floor
You can meet me in the bathroom

Oh man, I'm such a good workout partner.

Where the Hell is Matt?

2008-07-17T15:14:00.003-04:00

Watching videos like this make me want to travel the world instead of the U.S. And it makes me want to dance instead of eat (well, not really).

If you want, you can go to the youtube site and watch it a higher quality. Totally worth it.

Job Fail.

2008-07-16T13:43:00.002-04:00

I'm heading back to NYC next week to take another look around the city and to sit in on an info session. In the meantime, I've been perusing lovely craigslist. I'm pretty sure I have my classy New York future planned out (if that's where I end up).

Date: 2008-07-15, 5:08PM EDT

We are looking for attractive, articulate, college-aged females to work in a safe, clean, and inspiring environment where one can explore the cutting edge of the cultural underbelly with lucrative earning potential. Begin exciting work in a job that your friends will actually want to hear about over dinner. Explore your potential as a professional Domina (a.k.a. dominatrix).

No nudity or sex but must have an interest in S&M. Full-time and part-time positions available.

No experience necessary -- we will handle training.
Friday and Saturday availability a plus.
Please reply via email with a brief introduction regarding your interests and a photo. We look forward to hearing from you.

Dumpling Man NYC style

2008-07-13T23:48:00.002-04:00

I really like Marco and Luca's in Charlottesville. The dumplings are juicy and pan fried so the outside has this seared crisp layer. Then you sink your teeth through the dough into a ball of mouth watering and well seasoned pork. The sauce it comes with is this mix of soy, hot chili, and possibly hoisin. I've never questioned the ingredients because my mouth has always been crammed full of food.

I swear, this isn't all about food. After Chinatown, Big really wanted some dumplings from the Dumpling Man, a little food place we found online. Somehow, probably because the word "dumpling" is in the store name, Big thought the Dumpling Man was in Chinatown.

No. Wrong. So wrong. My backpack is crammed full of baked goods, I'm sweating through my shirt, I'm stumbling down the street in a dehydrated state listening to Big ramble on and on about how she doesn't like sweat, when this group of guys hollers at us. I am now 2 for 2 for being hollered at in a city I'm visiting. He calls out, "Hey sugar." When we don't respond, he uses another name. I don't remember what it was. Something not as appetizing as "sugar." Like "salt" or something.

The only reason I remember "sugar" is because Big and I debated who was who. I insisted I was sugar. She could be salt or spice or taco or whatever he called her. My trump card was that I already had a prison name so I had more street cred than she'll ever have. "Scrumptious" makes me more gangster than anyone else I know.

We walked past NYU's campus and through what has been referred to as a very trendy area. Let me tell you, my seersucker = sooooo in right now based on all the looks I got.

The Dumpling Man is actually pretty small. You can order at the to-go window or go inside and sit down. It's kind of like bar sitting. Stools and a high bar are along one wall, and chairs and a low bar are on the other side of the room in front of the dumpling makers. Big and I ordered and sat right in front of the dumpling makers to watch these classy Asian ladies at work. We got steamed vegetable dumpling, daily special vegetable dumpling, daily special meat dumpling, and this pumpkin pie batch of four.

They were alright. The pumpkin pie batch was so rich and thick and sweet and I could only have one. Big decided she wanted more and since she had got the first round, I went to get the second.

Here is the completely unrelated to food part - the guy taking our orders was very... nonchalant about everything. He wasn't really focused and was a poor listener and just terrible. He had a very hipster lady friend come in and the whole time I was ordering, she kept looking me up and down in what I considered a very judging way. I ignored her and sat back down. Big insisted that the "judging" look I saw was really her checking out my butt. I knew these seersucker shorts = magic.

I needed to go to the bathroom, so I headed to the sketchy back area. It was a one room bathroom for both men and women. I did my business and when I tried to flush, it wouldn't go. Most people, as I have learned from others telling me I'm an idiot, would have just left. I wanted to fix it. I lifted up the back of the toilet and noticed the water level was down. I turned on the faucet and started scooping water from the sink to the toilet. In the process, water was splashing everywhere. All over the floor, the toilet, the walls, the trash can... and the sink wasn't draining as fast as the water was coming out, so then that overflowed.

At this point, I'd only gotten like... 3 cm of water into the back of the toilet. I see a 409 bottle and decide that is perfect. I unscrew the top, dump the 409 in, and try to fill the empty bottle with water. Of course the bottle is too big to fit, so I bend the plastic with my brute man-strength and fill it with as much water as I can. A few rounds later, the water level is finally where it should be. Proud of my achievements, I flush... only to watch nothing happen. FAIL.

I wash my hands and go out to tell Big we have to leave before my efforts are discovered. She points out that 20 minutes later, our food still hasn't come (I want to point out that 19 of those minutes was spent trying to fix the toilet). We sit there and wait, watching everyone before and after us get their food. Meanwhile, the cashier who rung us up has gotten off and he and his lady friend are sitting at the high bar behind us.

1. No man that big should ever wear jeans that small.
2. It wasn't even like they were painted on. I don't know how it's physically possible for him to have fit into those pants. Unless he used like... a shoehorn or something.

The lady friend is still staring/judging me. We sit and wait. And wait. And wait. As we're waiting, as my luck would have it, the lady friend suddenly decides she needs to go to the bathroom. She is in the back less than 30 seconds before she comes back out shooting me death glares. I pretend to not notice. She grabs her giant shoehorn-man-friend and they leave.

At this point, I go the front and ask them what happened to our order. They have no idea. To make up for this FAIL, they give us twice as much.

Why do I always write about food? FAIL.

Chinese Bakery Delicious

2008-07-11T20:44:00.002-04:00

I feel bad for the lack of pictures and my poor description of the baked goods we encountered in Chinatown. To make up for my failures, I googled pictures of what we ate.

Dim Sum

This is some delicious pork and shrimp shu mai. Mine didn't look this fancy (there was no green pea on mine), but it did come in a nice bamboo steamer.

This is a steamed shrimp roll. The wrap is made from rice noodles and when you bite into it, you'll sink your teeth into plump steamed shrimp. Big got hers with scallions, but instead of being wrapped up, they were actually mixed into the rice noodle. She said it was just very doughy, but she did like the "special sauce" aka soy sauce.

I can't find really appetizing/accurate pictures of the rest of our meal, so I'll just move onto our baked goods.

Chinese Bakery = Chinese melt in your mouth

Coconut cream bun
Sesame balls. And to re-emphasize, I googled all these pictures to make up for my lack of foresight. Our food looked very similar to all of the above, please don't sue me.

Egg custard tart.
Moon cake.

Oh man, googling images is hard work. I'm pretty sure I've worked up a sweat.

Shaming my people

2008-07-11T13:55:00.003-04:00

Out of all the places I could go to embarrass myself... Chinatown.

When Big and I went to Chinatown, it was a part of our eating tour. Mainly, Big had never had dim sum before nor had she visited a Chinese bakery. I was dressed to impress. And by dressed to impress, I mean a blue oxford shirt and my favorite seersucker shorts. Poor life choice because the shirt is long-sleeved, heavy, and sweat stains show up really well.

We took the subway to some random stop. The subway was crowded and I was shoved between a large woman and a gay man (I know he was gay because he and his boyfriend kept semi-making out). It was awful. I had nothing to hold onto and couldn't brace myself because every time the subway train lurched, the large woman would knock me into the gay man. It ended up being this horrible game of large-lady-chest-bumps-me and I accidentally hip-thrust-gay-man. We got off at a stop that we could only assume was in the middle of Chinatown.

No. Not even close. It's a shopping area, though there are significantly more Asian people than I've seen since I've been in New York. Big refuses to ask for directions. "I don't do that." Lame. I insist that my China-dar is spot on and that I can lead us to victory. I follow a group of Asian people, playing on stereotypes and believing in some twisted way that all Asian people will inevitably end up in Chinatown. All this plan does is get us lost.

By this point, Big's hunger:sane ratio is freakishly uneven and she whips out her Blackberry and googles us a map and directions. I follow her "instincts" and this is where it leads us:

A bright, rainbow colored sign that reads, "Hell Yes!"

True, I may have poor vision.
True, I may not be up-to-date on New York trends.
True, I may not be the best Asian tourist.

But despite all those things that are true, I am pretty sure this is not Chinatown.

We turn the corner and walk down the street. I have begun to sweat unattractively. My backpack (originally brought along as a disguise for the "designer" purchases I am convinced I'll make on Canal St), is causing shoulder strap sweat stains.

Suddenly, we see a sign in Chinese! We sprint along and as the signs become more and more prevalent, the crowd increases until we stumble onto Canal Street. A man comes up to us and says, "Hand bag? Hand bag?" Big leans over and whispers, "What is he saying? Translate!"

Great. Off to a wonderful start.

We have done no research and have no idea what a good dim sum place is. We stop at some fancy jewelry store and I ask where a good dim sum restaurant is. I understand none of the directions I'm given and we turn down a really sketchy side street. The doors leading into the basements are open and if you glance down, you can see ducks/chicken/other meats hanging in the basement doorways. I had flashbacks to studying abroad in Asia and the lack of FDA oversight.

As we're walking by a gaudy restaurant bedazzled (if you could explode a bedazzler all over the side of a building and then bathe it in fake gold and throw glitter paint on it, this would be the place) with all kinds of sparkly things. There is a sign that reads "dim sum special" posted in the window and Big immediately shoves me through the wooden doors. I'm trying to find a menu or have an idea of what dim sum they serve because Big eats no meat or fish, so dim sum might be kind of a struggle.

She is having none of that. She pushes me into the path of the hostess who immediately seats us. It is a giant cavern of a room, completely filled with Asian people. We are the only tourists/people who look out of place. I flag down a cart and ask her in my heavily American-accented Chinese if she has anything with no meat. Of course she does! And she starts rattling off all these dishes with seafood in them.

No, no, she doesn't eat fish. The woman pauses... and hands me a plate of bread and a plate of tofu. This is going to be a struggle. Basically, I eat some delicious shrimp and pork/shrimp shu mai. Big eats tofu, bread, and dessert. It is not a healthy meal.

We are both full, but I insist we have to go to a Chinese bakery and taste test. After I take a quick bathroom break. I have heard of soap on a string, but never toilet paper on a string. And it's not even string, it's like plastic twine tied to the door.

Next stop - Taipan Bakery. I may or may not have lost control a bit and just gotten everything that is delicious and reminded me of my childhood. Almond cream bun, coconut cream bun, almond twist, and red bean bun. That was just at this bakery. We sat down and sampled everything before I demanded we find another bakery to buy more food at.

The next bakery was this tiny store off the main road. We got moon cake, egg tart, sesame ball, rice ball with red bean, and almond milk bubble tea. I didn't take any pictures because as we sat there, we were both becoming physically ill from the amount of food we had been forcing into our stomachs. With so many baked goods left over, I packed the rest in my backpack (now with no room left for my "designer" purchases) and we headed for a walking tour of Little Italy.

It's been written that Chinatown is eating Little Italy. Not a lie. The streets that make up Little Italy have to be blocked off and as you walk by the restaurants and stores, you see Chinatown encroaching. There's an Italian restaurant with daily specials next to a Chinese "special massage" parlor. The no-mans-land between Chinatown and Little Italy is where I stumbled upon my lovely psychic.

The day continued with more eating and a forthcoming story about how I broke a toilet.

Longest last day in history

2008-07-11T00:15:00.002-04:00

My last day ended up stretching for 48 hours do the food poisoning I suffered. I am assuming it's food poisoning, though I have no definitive medical expertise to verify my diagnosis (WebMD symptom checker = worst idea EVER).

Big did her best to alleviate my pain. She read me bedtime stories (aka she read from restaurant menus and take-out flyers) and rented what is probably the best movie of this decade (aka Fool's Gold, a movie that made Jersey Girl look Oscar-worthy).

When I felt I could handle food products, we went to Shining Star Cafe. I got chicken noodle soup, some toast, and steamed broccoli. The whole time I ate, I stared at this man sitting outside. He was eating a big juicy bacon cheeseburger. It was dripping with grease and calories and fat and I could feel my stomach die a little, but I wanted it. He also was chugging a milkshake. It was too thick for his straw, so he kept having to drink from the cup.

It was awful. It was kind of like teaching a class full of pre-med students and saying only one of them is going to pass. Kind of.

I ate my meal. Sadly. Later that night, as I lay on the tile floor with a bottle of water and a packet of saltines, I had an epiphany. And by epiphany, I mean my disease-ravaged-brain created a vision of what would cure me: ice cream.

I stumbled down the hall and demanded we go get some. Big sighed and rolled her eyes and reluctantly googled local ice cream establishments. I think she finally gave me because I kept referring to a Mr. Snowman and how much I wanted it. "Snow," as I have come to learn, is a street term for cocaine. What I had in mind was Mister Softee, the ice cream truck.

Big reads this delicious amazing menu from a place called Emack & Bolio's. SO DELICIOUS. I make her call the store and we find out it closes at midnight. The time was 11:47. She insists we can run down multiple flights of stairs and walk the 6-7 blocks between her building and ice cream miracle cure. I believe her.

We learned that my slow jog is the same speed as Big's normal walking pace. We also learned that you shouldn't walk on hot asphalt that's just been laid.

We got to the store and I ordered the Deep Purple Cow - black raspberry ice cream with white and dark chocolate chips and blueberries. Big got a waffle cone dipped in rice krispy treat. I actually don't even know how they made it. It looked like someone melted a rice krispy treat and shoved it on a cone. She didn't get any ice cream, she just ate the cone. Here is the menu.

Needless to say, that was exactly what I needed. My stomach felt fine. I was cured!

Moral of the story: ice cream solves all the world's problems.

Eating tour ends in semi-tragedy

2008-07-09T10:38:00.002-04:00

In celebration of my last night in the city, Big and I took a nap and then rallied to go out at 11 PM. We're a classy pair. We didn't go out to a bar or club. We went to the "trendiest" Barnes and Nobles of them all. On the way, I pointed to the CNN building and told her that's where I'd someday work. She said, "Hotel Empire?" which was the building right next door. This is, of course, in reference to the jobs I've been finding on craigslist. If you try hard enough, there are plenty of job opportunities in New York. I could be an escort or a dominatrix. The possibilities are endless!

After going on a few other adventures (to Walgreens where Big cried about how inferior Duane Reade is in comparison), we journeyed to Big Nick's. The whole time, Big has about 30 conditioner bottles because she found an Herbal Essences conditioner that had been discontinued that Walgreens was still selling. She bought their entire stock.

We went to Big Nick's where we decided to make up for our day of not eating (because we had been napping for this big night out) by consuming our recommended daily calories. Big got two vegetarian hot dogs and I got a piece of pizza and sweet potato fries. We ate everything. And then decided we wanted pie.

We ran across the street to Manhattan Diner. Big got apple pie with ice cream and I got cheesecake. The apple pie was warm and the crust was flakey and soft and soaked up all the ice cream without losing substance. The apples were sweet and gooey and the whole thing was just like biting into the American flag it was so good. I have never had better cheesecake in my life. It was light and airy and nothing like the dense globs I've previously consumed. My fork cut through it like butter and it was creamy and flavorful and it was literally like drinking something delicious. Like drinking a bucket of cream and flavor.

Well, cream and flavor and grease do not a good ending make. I think I have food poisoning.

Perhaps because pandas are Asian too, but I feel as if what I am experiencing is similar to what they go through when they shove tons and tons of bamboo into their cute black and white panda mouths. If it's even a fraction of what they endure, I'm not surprised they're all endangered.

New York eating tour continues...

2008-07-08T18:56:00.008-04:00

... with a visit to Artie's Deli for some delicious Jewish deli food. Big would know because she is, supposedly, Jewish. The only real proof I have is that she mutters/insults/curses under her breath in Yiddish when I do something completely idiotic in her presence. Like when I got locked in her bathroom (the bathroom door doesn't have a lock).

When we first sat down, the waiter brought us a bowl of pickled vegetables. Big informed me that there are half-sour pickles and sour pickles. They also had a pickled tomato and pickled red pepper. The really bright green pickle you see only had a slight bite to it. The other two were sour and made my tongue crawl down my throat and die and made my eyes water. The tomato had a vinegar aftertaste, but wasn't all that bad. My favorite, by far, was the red pepper. It was sweet with a little salty vinegar subtle tone to it.

We also got a bowl of homemade cole slaw. I enjoy cole slaw, I'm not going to lie. And this was spot on. It didn't have too thick of a sauce and the cabbage was fresh and crisp and just really really good.

I ordered their pastrami sandwich and matzo ball soup. Big got egg salad and noodle kugel. The matzo ball soup was amazing. It came on a plate by itself, accompanied by a bowl of chicken noodle soup. You pour the soup on over the matzo ball when you're ready. Big, being the total hippie organic veggie eating fool she is, took a bite of the matzo ball pre-chicken soup. She gave it a Jewish rating of delicious. I put a chunk in a separate baby bowl for her and dumped the chicken soup on.

The matzo ball was like... if you took all the clouds in the sky and shoved it into a compactor. Light and airy, but thick. It had a melt-in-your-mouth consistency. The chicken soup was alright, but the matzo ball really made it a winner. I want another one now. In my mouth. Instead, I finished the dish just as our entrees arrived! Unfortunately, by this point the egg salad and pastrami have arrived!

That's the egg salad. It was creamy and rich and amazing. Big put a little bit of Jewish deli mustard on it and it was fabulous. The eggs were fresh, there was a mayo base but it wasn't overpowering, the seasoning was spot on and the mustard gave it that little tangy spicy kick. The flavors were strong enough to linger and leave you wanting another bite (even though your stomach is dying), but mild enough to shovel spoonful and spoonful into your mouth without the starchy protection of bread.

That little corner missing is all I could eat before my stomach started to reject it. The rye bread was underneath to soak up all the delicious pastrami juice. There was a layer of sauerkraut and then piles and piles of thinly sliced pastrami, with melted swiss and Russian dressing. The pastrami was tender, juicy, full of flavor, and so thin that I honestly could swear it melted on my tongue. It was everything I had dreamed about and more.

I thought I was dying on the way home. As we were crossing the street, I saw an ice cream truck and pushed Big out of my way and into the path of oncoming traffic in an effort to get to the truck and my awaiting ice cream. It was delicious.

Fireworks Bonanza!

2008-07-08T18:31:00.004-04:00

4th of July was exciting. We read about Macy's 4th of July Fireworks show and the planned 120,000 EXPLOSIONS of fire! It is the world's largest fireworks display and there is accompanying music and performances.

I got my hair did and my face did to go out (mainly I had Big spray no-water-shampoo into my hair and I used a hand sanitizing wipe to wash my face). Then it started to rain. Still traumatized by the Central Park run in the rain, I talked Big into staying in and watching the fireworks from the roof of her building. I convinced her that there was no point sitting in the rain for hours with no guarantee of a good view when we can just go up to her roof with food and beverages and in our pajamas.

At 9 PM, NBC started broadcasting performances and the beginning of the fireworks bonanza! It started off with a huge blast when Gavin DeGraw sang the national anthem (this is dripping with sarcasm because it was the most dramatic thing I've ever witnessed, with the exception of Ann Coulter trying to explain why she's not the devil). The broadcast was supposed to end at 10 PM, so we figured fireworks would start at about 9:40.

We were in the kitchen shoveling food in our mouths. Big had a box of Cheeze-Its and I had a container of guac (I notice that I probably use the word "guac" almost as much as the word "me," which is a lot). I was trying to think of what else I could put guac on and Big was trying to make her dog dance for a cheesy human treat when we heard the fireworks countdown. With mouths full of food, we ran for the door. Sprinting down the hallway (I am pretty sure I had on flip flops and Big had on no flops), we ran for the elevator. Not knowing which ones went to the roof, and at my insistence that we were missing EVERYTHING, we took the stairs.

14 flights later... driven and inspired by my screeching that I was missing the celebration of my 8th favorite holiday (Thanksgiving, Christmas, my birthday, New Years, Halloween, Foxfields, Chinese New Year), we sprinted up. Though there were moments where we sat down to die/I laid down sprawled in between flights, we made it to the roof, welcomed by the burst and explosion of lights in the sky!

There was already a crowd and I used my stealthy ninja ways to find the perfect place for us - in front of a group of small children. As the night sky filled with the colors and power and beauty of 120,000 EXPLOSIONS of fire, tears trickled down my face. Not tears of joy or tears from any sort of emotion, but tears from laughing so hard.

We couldn't see a GD thing because the building next to us was taller and in the way.

Running back inside, we took an elevator down with a group of people. The elderly woman dominated conversation in the elevator, talking about this and that and other nonsense like how fireworks attire should be formal wear or something else that I probably made up. They got off on the same floor, and Big and I tried to walk down the hall. As soon as they rounded the corner in the other direction, we took off, pushing each other into walls in an all out brawl to get back into the apartment first.

Thankfully the fireworks were still on. Unfortunately, I couldn't bask in the utter gracefulness of the celebrations because the camera kept cutting away to the audience. All these little kids looked so stupid with their open mouths and their shiney bright eyes filled with what NBC wanted to be interpreted as hope and patriotic fervor. Instead, they all just looked stoned.

Big loves me.

2008-07-08T02:12:00.000-04:00

Winnie: "Big, you're the best."
Big: "Shut up."

Pictures from the Park

2008-07-08T01:35:00.011-04:00

Notice everyone and their umbrellas. Notice the haziness of the picture. That is from rain, not my camera.

This is Bethesda Fountain aka "The Angel of the Waters." This fountain is the only sculpture commissioned as part of the original Central Park design and the artist, Emma Stebbins, was the first woman to be commissioned for a major piece of art in New York City.

Underneath the larger angel are four figures representing Temperance, Purity, Health and Peace.

This is a picture of the gorgeous buildings on 5th Avenue from Conservatory Water.

The original plans for Central Park called for a conservatory. But thanks to budget cuts (over a hundred years later and nothing has changed), the builders were forced to scrap those plans and come up with a design based on model boat ponds in Paris.

Right next to Conservatory Water is a sculpture that I'm sure many of you are familiar with: Alice in Wonderland.

The statue was commissioned in 1959 by philanthropist George Delacorte for his wife Margarita. Not only does she have a delicious name, her husband is such a stud.

There are also lines from her favorite poem, "The Jabberwocky," engraved in granite around the statue.

This is a picture of the Jackie Kennedy Onassis Reservoir. The Reservoir is encircled by a running path that Jackie O used to run on. It was beneath the windows of her 5th Avenue apartment. Must be nice.

It was decommissioned in 1993 because of contamination and named after Jackie O in 1994. I don't know whether that was to actually "commemorate her contributions to the city," as Wikipedia states, or if it was a comment to how the Kennedy bloodline has been contaminated by the peasants who have married in.

I wish I was the peasant that caught the eye of a charming Kennedy. Except I really don't want to end up in a car at the bottom of a body of water.

This is the last picture and it is of nothing important. Except that table in the back. Some poor kid was having a birthday party. I tried to secretly take a picture of how sad the scene was. The paper table cloth was soaked and the balloons had been popped/blown around and it was just this one girl and her family. For some reason, I found the whole situation hilarious (read: I have no soul).

As I was taking this picture, the mother ran over. I thought she was going to punch me in the eye, so I started to take off. She asked me if I spoke Spanish. I said, "Un poco." Because I had taken 3 years. In high school. Like six decades ago.

She had to call the food place to cancel the stuff coming for the party. No one was coming. I tried to talk to the little girl. She was crying. I asked if I could have a balloon. They said no.

Central Park does not = Central Perk

2008-07-07T23:54:00.005-04:00

Central Park is gorgeous. And gigantic. According to Wikipedia (which is never wrong), Central Park is a large urban park. It is also larger than 2 countries: Monaco and Vatican City. Census 2000 has Central Park's population listed as 18 people, 12 male and 6 female.

On two lovely days, I was one of that group of 6 (and even that is debatable because in 10th grade, I volunteered to tutor elementary kids and one stupid kid asked me if I was a boy or girl).

Day 1
The first day, I walked over to Central Park from Big's apartment with the intention of going for a quick run before meeting Little, Voorhees, and Big for breakfast/brunch.

Five minutes into the run, Little calls me and says, "Hey, remember that walk we were going to take through Central Park on our way to brunch? We'll be done in 20 minutes. See you then!" So I start to run a little faster. A little bit later, I get another call. "Hi, we're here now. Our name is on the list. How long before you're here?"

Meanwhile, Big is trying to get ready and meet us at the brunch place. She has 20 minutes to get dressed and somehow transport a mile. At the same time, I keep calling her because I'm lost.

My phone is about to die, I am trying to balance talking to Little and talking to Big, and I am running around lost. I stop by a hot dog stand and ask the man where Central Park South is. He looks at me and kind of laughs. Then informs me that Central Park South is on the other side of the park. I have been running north this entire time.

Voorhees then puts her sister on the phone who tells me that I am going in the wrong direction. Yes, yes I know that. She tells me to go south. Yes, yes I know that. Thank you.

Big has decided that she is just going to come get me. She tells me to find a way out of the park and wait on the street, like a hooker, and she will come collect me, like my pimp. I stumble through some sort of public protest (where a crazy man is ranting about the war) onto Central Park West. You can see a pic of it on the left. I sit down next to a man with a "Why lie? I need the money for beer" sign. I tell him, "Amen."

I get a call from Voorhees. She asks me where I am, I tell her. "Omg. You still have to go down 13 blocks and over some. Can you catch a cab? We've been waiting forever." I tell them that I'm sorry, just eat without me and Big. 15 minutes later, as Homeless-Beer-Dude and I are having a grand time chatting, Big comes and gets me. We go to brunch on our own. It is delicious.

We went to Sarabeth's, which is where Little, Voorhees, and her older sister went to brunch. We just happened to be at a different location, a whole lot later. Sweating, in an atrocious outfit, and feeling sick from sprinting through the park, all I can even comprehend digesting is a giant bowl of granola. With honey and milk and strawberries and bananas. Big got a pumpkin waffle.

It was delicious. Excellent life choice. What was NOT an excellent life choice, however, was the three cups of coffee I drank in lieu of water. Also, if you'll note in the first picture the platter of toppings. Big asked for everything on the side. And by everything, I mean EVERYTHING. On that platter are toasted pumpkin seeds, raisins, honey, powdered sugar, and sour cream.

Omg. The pumpkin waffle was light and dense. When you first bite into it, it tastes like a dense piece of delicious pumpkin heaven. But as you chew, through the magic of physics and beyond human understanding, the waffle gets lighter and leaves a very waffle and slightly sweet taste in your mouth. The granola was rich and crunchy and so delicious with fresh strawberries and banana. I put a little bit of honey on, though it wasn't necessary.

Day 2
The second day started off a little better. There was no deadline, no time pressure, no frantic phone calls. I started off the run nice and slow, without a care in the world. Until it started to rain. Pouring down. I think, "Not a big deal. I love running in the rain." Too bad I'm one of probably 5 runners out and I'm the asshole wearing the bright pink shirt with a picture of a nurse touching herself on the back (with the motto "Jealousy is a disease. Feel better soon.").

At one point, the rain is coming down so hard I can't see. I run off on a side path and stand under a tree. All these old couples and stupid tourists walk by with these smug looks on their faces with their stupid fancy umbrellas and stupid raincoats. Dead to me.

I finally just give up and keep running. The rain only comes down harder. Once again, I'm lost. I see signs that take me out to the street. And by street, I mean 5th Avenue. I keep running and decide I'll just cut back into the park when I get a chance. Unfamiliar with Central Park, I am unaware that entrances to Central Park, especially off 5th Avenue, are few and far between. All the tourists and Upper East Side shoppers are definitely staring at me. I am drenched, my clothes are sticking to me, and with that ridiculous motto on the back... sigh.

By the time I finish my run, it's 1.5 hours later and I've basically completed the 6 mile loop around the Park and then some. Completely soaked. Struggling to breathe. I call Little and end up laying down on a bench like the homeless guy I talked to the day before. I wish I had a sign for beer.

Psychic Reading

2008-07-07T14:06:00.007-04:00

Big and I have been staying up late watching amazingly trashy TV. One example is America's Psychic Challenge where they put psychics through a series of challenges. The last challenge is always insane. The show takes the psychic candidates to the scene of a gruesome murder and they have to piece together what happened.

The episode we saw was crazy! This one guy sucked at all the other competitions and kept saying, "I'm only good with dead people." When he got to the murder scene, omg, he got every single creepy ass detail right. Things the police investigator hadn't even told the host about in his summary.

Well, that made me a believer.

The next day, on one of our many travel adventures into the bowels of the city, we found a sign that said "Special $10 Palm and Tarot Psychic Reading." It was down this alley between Chinatown and Little Italy. Big pushes me down the alley and refuses to let me back out.

The whole time she keeps yelling, "THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED!" I am being pushed to this giant bright light at the end of a dark tunnel. It was almost a near death experience - and by almost, the only thing missing was the absence of noise and the eerily calming feeling of peace that overcomes you. Mainly because Big was pushing/dragging me and yelling the whole time.

The end of the tunnel leads to this open courtyard and the door to the psychic's apartment is open.

I knock on the door and this fat little boy ("no, he was round. he wasn't fat, he was completely spherical." - big) opens and invites us into this sketchy kitchen. Right away, this Italian woman named Nicole comes around the corner and asks us to sit down. A character reading is $10, one palm and past/present/future is $25, and both palms and face are $60.

Because I make poor life choices, I default to Big, who in this case, proves our relation. $25 later, she's "telling" me a series of statements.

Psychic: "You are an honest person."
Truth: First thing she says. WRONG. I enjoy compulsively lying on special occasions, like major Federal holidays and weekdays.

Psychic: "Are you going into medicine? Perhaps something in the medicine field of helping people."
Truth: First of all, the second sentence doesn't even make any sense. Secondly, I took 0 science/math classes in college.

Psychic: "You are going to help people. You are going to guide them."
Truth: Who would ever come to me for help? You'd have a better chance of asking Taser for help (see "New York is totally known for Mexican food" post)

Psychic: "You are going to meet someone named John or Jonathan."
Truth: You are going to eat.

Psychic: "Has someone from your past tried to contact you? No? Well, they will. Soon."
Truth: I burn bridges, I don't build them.

Psychic: "You are going to have a very successful marriage. I see 3-4 children."
Truth: Lady, have you seen the size of my head? No. No times 3-4.

Psychic: "Someone is very jealous of you."
Truth: By someone, you mean everyone.

Psychic: "I see California in your future."
Truth: I am Asian. You have like a 100% change of getting that right.

Psychic: "You had poor self-confidence in high school and now it's just starting to get better. But soon it will sky-rocket."
Truth: hahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahhahahhahahahahahahaha

Psychic: "You are outspoken. You say what you mean to people's face."
Truth: Yes, that's why I'm currently talking about you on my blog.

Later, when we finished (about 2 minutes later), Big and I tried so hard not to look at each other.

As I was leaving, she asked me where I was from. I said, "D.C." Her fat kid then steps in front of me and goes, "Atlantic City?"

New York is totally known for Mexican food

2008-07-05T23:54:00.003-04:00

What do I eat after hours of bus travel and hundreds of miles?

In the city known for exciting new cuisine, fusion foods, cheap and delicious eats on every corner, and 24 hour old school establishments, what do I have a craving for?

Right. Mexican. Because I walked by a stupid Chipotle and wanted guacamolez (I know that's misspelled, but a little dog just walked across my laptop and that was her contribution - I figure somehow it adds street cred).

After a hilarious adventure on the subway (Big got stuck in the turnstile because she volunteered to carry my giant kit bag), we tried to figure out what to eat. She pulled out piles of take out menus to give me an idea of what we were working with and also looked online for restaurants nearby.

I just wanted a mouthful of delicious Chipotle guac and chips. All 3948483 calories. In my stomach. We ordered from Burritoville. While we were waiting for delivery, I tried to build a fort in Big's living room with the leftover furniture/appliance boxes (she just recently moved). She stared at me for maybe 30 seconds before dragging every single big and usable box out into the hallway.

Burritoville came and I shoved half the burrito into my mouth. Literally. The combination of shredded chicken, flavored rice, and tomatillo salsa was heaven. Big ordered something with tofu and black beans and when we first saw it, I thought someone had mistakenly delivered a baby a la this newspaper clipping:

The next night, Little, Voorhees, and baby dingos Taser and Rosa come into town. Upon my fantastic recommendation, Little has opted to take the megabus from Philadelphia to NYC. Trouble began prior to boarding when she called me to ask if the megabus stop has a sign. Why yes, yes it does. You don't see it? Maybe it's because you're on the wrong corner.

Directing her to the right place, yelling that the bus is going to drive off and leave her backpack toting ass behind, we are confident in our success. An hour and a half later, I'm still confident in success - just not megabus's.

Everyone else is already in NYC. It's 4th of July weekend, we have no reservations for dinner anywhere, so we suggest that the group head over to Blockheads (a local Mexican place) to grab a spot and some drinks. Instead, they insist that we all walk as a group. Mainly because they are currently shopping for shoes.

Little rolls into town and we all meet outside the Borders, the one I am intimately familiar with. We walk through Times Square, which is a nightmare because sweaty large touristing men keep bumping into me. It's like I am a bag of crispy BBQ flavored pork rinds. Everytime I accidentally touch one, I die a little on the inside because the... scent... is overwhelming.

We get to Blockheads and there's a 40 minute wait. Our party puts its name on the list and sits down in the courtyard outside by this large fountain. While we're waiting, this man comes up to us and asks us to help him in this survey he has. The following are his questions and our answers:

Q: What is the first thing you notice about me?
Little: Clipboard
Taser: You look a little nicer dressed.
Rosa: Yah, your clothes make you stand out a bit. And your glasses.
Winnie: Your belt and shoes match.
Voorhees: You have a clipboard.

Q: What do you think of help?
Taser: I don't like asking for help. And I don't like helping people.
Rosa: You are a horrible person. Terrible. I don't like asking for help, but I like helping people.
Little: I agree, I like helping people, that's probably why I want to be a doctor.
Winnie: When I think of help, I think of natural disaster. Like the tsunami and Katrina. In both those situations, help didn't come in the forms it needed to. Know why? Because the victims were minorities. And no one likes helping minorities.
Voorhees: .... I like helping people.

Q: What do you think of control?
Taser: I don't like not having control.
Rosa: I think some things you can control and other things you can't.
Little: I think you can control most things in your life.
[discussion/debate between the two ensue]
Winnie: Wait... control like BDSM?
Voorhees: I think you can control most things in your life.

Q: If you could learn technology that would help people, would you do it?
Rosa: Yes. What kind of person wouldn't say yes to that?
Little: Taser.
Winnie: Wait... does it also help me? And would I be obligated to use it to help others? Or could I choose? Fine, fine, yes, I would learn it.
Taser: So you could charge people to help them.
Winnie: That's why you're my favorite.
Voorhees: Taser.

An hour passes, we're still not seated. Big has gone up multiple times. Voorhees's older sister (who is meeting us for drinks) has also gone up. Finally, they push two tables together and we sit down, starving and enraged from our wait. We order $3 margaritas and start devouring chips and salsa. The margaritas come and I had ordered mine "raspberry" because a) I have low tolerance and b) I am allergic to alcohol. It tastes like a slurpee spiked with moonshine-tequila-made-in-prison-toilet-bowl.

The guac is not much more impressive. It is a pile of avocado (and by pile, I mean half an avocado) in a little taco shell. Hungrily, we shovel it down. I order a Mexican chicken wrap which is basically the exact thing I had the night before. Except it comes with fries.

As the alcohol hits me (yes, from one watered-down drink), I "secretly" sneak bites of other people's food. And by secretly, read: lean across the table and say "shhhh" in a completely nondescript manner. I am also trying to wink at this point, but my eyes are even smaller than normal and my wink is an exaggerated blink.

In addition, we get a refill of complimentary chips and salsa so we can pour it into our doggie bags to take home. And by we, I mean me. Don't hate, I'm traveling on a budget.

New York women are classy

2008-07-04T15:59:00.003-04:00

That's the rumor.

The first night I got here, Big was in a meeting so I got off the lovely megabus (which was parked in front of the Chinatown bus and I was heckled by the Chinatown bus drivers because clearly I am Asian with a bunch of bags and they almost kidnapped me/dragged me onto their bus) and headed to Borders.

My first interaction with a real "New Yorker", or a girl I just assumed to be one, took place in the Borders bathroom. As I lugged my giant kit bag and my Ninja-Turtle-shell backpack through the crowded narrow aisles, the whole time knocking displays over, people over, books over (aka leaving havoc and destruction in my wake a la Godzilla), I realized I had to use the ladies' room.

There would be a line in the ladies' room. Standing there, in awkward silence, trying not to hit people with my bags (because I swear, if I were in a bathroom and someone accidentally hit my bladder with a bag... a] I'd be pissed; b] the custodial staff would be pissed; c] and they'd be pissed because I would make them trade pants). There are only two stalls, and the line is inching forward. All of a sudden, a girl near the front whips around and asks, "Does anyone have a tampon?" Dead silence. And then her eyes, full of dwindling hope and rising despair, turn to me and my thousands of pounds of baggage. I sigh, tell her I think I might have one, and start to unpack on this dirty bathroom floor.

Victory and glory! I hand one over to her and she profusely thanks me, all the while giving COMPLETE overshare as to her cycle, etc. This opens the floodgates as all the other women in line start to chip in, discussing things that should only be shared between a lady and her lady doctor.

Finally, the line is down to just me and the woman in front of me. The regular stall door opens a few moments before the handicapped stall door. She takes a look at me and my piles of crap, and then waits that few moments before making a beeline to the handicapped stall. Really? REALLY?

I try to justify her poor life choice. Maybe she needs extra room because... she... has a big butt?

So I have, at this point, formed a biased and horribly twisted profile of all New York women based on 10 minutes in the bathroom of the Borders attached to Madison Square Garden. I am going to be a great world traveler.

$1 Bus = best $1 purchase outside of a winning lottery ticket

2008-07-03T14:03:00.006-04:00

For all those doubters - it was an adventure/trip well-worth the $1 I paid.

Things people told me about my $1 bus ride:

1. There will be no bathroom.
2. There will be no A/C.
3. It's going to be a school bus.
4. You will die.
5. They are going to steal your luggage.
6. You'll have to pay $50 to get off the bus.
7. They are going to knock you out and steal your organs.
8. You are stupid.

But who wins? I do. Because there WAS a bathroom, and A/C, and it was coach bus, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY I am alive.

The bus stop is at this major intersection outside the Metro Center stop. There's the little megabus man logo on a sign. I wait there and the luggage policy on the website clearly states that you can have one piece of luggage to go under the bus and another to store in your overhead compartment.

This is the woman in front of me.

There are more bags behind those. She had like 6 bags and I was pretty sure she wasn't going to get on. Then this man in a red vest starts yelling for "MEGABUS TO NY."

He checks my confirmation/reservation number and then tells me to have a seat on the bus. I start pulling out my phone to take a picture of the bus and of the Megabus sign, and he stops, stares at me, and says again very, very slow, "Take a seat. On. The. Bus."

Of course I then scurry on and find a seat near the front where I can creepily watch everyone else board the bus.

A bunch of young ladies get on the bus, and then this classy young thing rolls up with an older classy thing. And I think it's totally cute until the mother starts talking to the driver. She asks him where the bus stops, and when he answers, she yells onto the bus after her daughter, "DID YOU HEAR THAT? WHERE ARE YOU GETTING DROPPED OFF?" Then asks if she can board the bus to say goodbye to her daughter. Climbs onto the bus, her sunglasses still on, and tries to make her way down the aisle. Meanwhile, her daughter is absolutely mortified and tries to pretend like she doesn't see/hear. Her mother immediately pivots and hobbles off the bus, announcing loudly to all the passerbys on the street and the driver, "She doesn't want to see me." She then proceeds to have another conversation with the driver who is trying to check more people in until he finally stops acknowledging her. After talking outloud to the street, she just wanders away, like a woman who has walked too far from the nursing home and doesn't remember where she lives.

I am sitting in my seat, taking a nap, when this woman across the aisle from me starts to talk loudly on the phone. The first thing I wake up to is, "What's up sugar?" I assume, because of the volume of her voice, that she is talking to the driver and trying to make friends.

No. She is of the breed where the smaller the phone is (or the more ethnic looking an individual is) the louder you talk. She proceeds to have this ridiculously loud conversation. But I also feel bad making fun of her because she might be suffering from a disease. The one where you can't control the volume of your voice.

On the bus, at one point, the bus driver realizes he is in the wrong lane on 95. AKA the left lane and he needs to be in the right lane. We are right outside the city at this point. He pulls a Little and veers across 4 lanes of traffic, just as 95 splits. There is a HUGE difference between doing that in a little Hyundai and doing that in a GIANT COACH BUS.

Also, at one of the stops, the driver was talking on the phone about how some guy hit him on his way to the airport and drove off and at the time apologized and said it was his fault and is now recanting. The driver then yells on the phone that he's getting a lawyer. Who hits a bus? If you hit a bus, maybe you shouldn't be driving because it's not like they're easy to not see.

It reminds me of a time in elementary school when our bus was making a turn and we told her she couldn't make it and she told us to shut up and of course, she didn't make it. She crushed the entire front left side of a Mercedes as the guy was dropping off his daughter. She said that thanks to the Mercedes being like an inch over the "kiss and ride" line (the line cars pull up to to drop off kids, not a line cars pull up to to pick up prostitutes), she was off scot-free. That afternoon, she hit a trash can on the side of the road because she was distracted by the older kids who had found her trashy romance novels and who were reading outloud the graphic scenes to the first graders.

Most Delicious Cheesesteak in Philly

2008-07-03T12:34:00.005-04:00

On the way out of town, Little and I decided to swing by the end of the Italian Market and try out the ultimate tourist cheesesteak chowdown - Geno's v. Pat's.

Having thoroughly researched the proper way to order a cheesesteak online, I was fully ready to hand over my dollar billz while stating "one whiz wit" which roughly translates to one cheesesteak with cheese whiz and fried onions. However, Little and I both almost immediately agreed that we would prefer provolone (Mistake #1 in pointing out how we were not native Philadelphians).

Then, we stood in line waiting to order until someone pointed out that we were in the line for fries and drinks, not the line for cheesesteaks. Mistake #2.

Then we get to the window, Little orders, this guy with ridiculous Popeye biceps and tattoos demands the money, asks if we're splitting it the food, and then within 4 seconds, slings a cheesesteak so greasy the wrapper is clear. As we walk away, I can't help but notice the infamous sign in the window that sparked controversy a couple year backs.

Yes, it's a "Speak English" sign. You can also get a sweet t-shirt that says "Speak English."

This is America. All I could think about when I saw that sign was the world moving in slow-motion and puppets singing, "Fuck yeah, America, fuck yeah!"

The cheesesteak itself was disappointing. The bread was soggy with grease and the provolone was just a slab of cold cheese. The steak was alright. We only had a couple of pieces in ours and we could barely see the onions. Overall, it was just disappointing.

We finished, unsatisfied, and crossed the street to Pat's King of Steaks. There, we experienced Mistake #3 when I order and don't have the right amount and tell him to "hold on" because I "have change." I then cause the line to back up while I rifle through my wallet for 50 cents of change, all the while apologizing profusely. According to the "internet," when you don't have the right amount of money, they yell at you and send you to the end of the line. Thankfully, I'm sure with my exotic foreign good looks and the lack of a "Speak English" sign, I could get away with pretending to a complete tourist.

Pat's was more promising. There was more steak, you could see the tons of sauteed onions they had on top. We sat down, split it, and started to consume. Midway through, the approx. 6 gallons of cheesesteaky meat oil sitting in my stomach started to sink. It was like I had swallowed a block of trans-fat. We couldn't even finish Pat's (though it was minorly more edible than Geno's).

Conclusion: we both like steak and cheese, but not Philadelphia cheesesteaks (if the definition of a Philadelphia cheesesteak is listed as "gross meat, cold cheese, white bread, sauteed onions, with a delectable sauce of oil and meat fat").

The first one is a picture of Pat's and the second one is a picture of Geno's.

Also, as an addendum, on the way back down, we passed by Delaware House (similar to Maryland house). There was a sign for the next exit and Little, a little overexcited, made her way from the left lane to the right lane. In the middle of her sing-a-long to Carrie Underwood, I point out that like Maryland House, Delaware House was in the middle of 95. A few seconds pass before the implications set in. With probably 100 m left before the exit, Little jerks the wheel, the car FLIES across 4 lanes of traffic. The whole time she's saying, "Oh, don't worry. This car is designed to have no blind spots."

W.T.F.

Life Lessons

2008-07-01T10:24:00.005-04:00

After Reading Terminal Market, I kept walking down the street. There are maps on most of the signposts that tell you where you are and in what direction major landmarks are. For example, a number of intersections I came to offered me two choices: left to Chinatown or straight to the Visitor's Center. Though I would have loved to visit the town of my people, the seductive promise of air conditioning triumphed.

This is a picture of the maps they have up... along with a lovely PSA. For those who can't make out what the flyer is, there's a picture of a doctor with a surgical mask on top and a picture of dope dealers on the bottom. The text says, "Doctors Warning - All dope from Mexico is poison. All dope must be a refrigerator or dope turns to deadly poison. Please send letters to the President of Mexico."

Life Lesson Learned #1.

Further down the street, I saw this sign in the window of a bus stop.

That rat-mouse needs me to know how to save a life. There are no directions as to how he wants me to save a life, or what specifically he wants me to know how to do, but that's ok because it is a cute cartoon a la Smokey the Bear (lot of good that ad campaign did - remember that kid that was playing with matches and burned down half of California a few months back?)

The saddest part of this ad is the rat-mouse's name is "Perry Medic." It took me until now to get that "Perry Medic" is "paramedic." Before, I was just like, "That makes no sense. How is that similar to doctor or saving a life or anything medical related at all? Stupid Philly." Life Lesson Learned #2.

Reading Terminal Market - not a place books go to die

2008-06-29T20:59:00.009-04:00

We woke up Friday morning (and by woke up Friday morning, I mean Little got up to go to her classy young professional job and I got up and ate the breakfast of champions: pie). I had planned to make up the sightseeing I was planning on doing Thursday. Instead of walking, I decided to take the subway. Thus began the day of questionable life choices.

Good life choice: wearing seersucker shorts and a blue oxford
Poor life choice: wearing a long sleeve blue oxford and having to walk to the subway in what was probably 300% humidity

The subway stop is only a couple of blocks from Little's apartment, but it's a couple of blocks in a not great direction. I passed by questionably liquor stores and stores that sold "custom jewelry" aka grillz. I really wanted to take a picture of the items they had on display in the window (read: items on a table behind a window with prison bars), but I figured that if my outfit didn't scream "not local," the whole "Asian-with-camera-taking-pictures" would.

Subway fare is $2.90 roundtrip. I gave exact change to the woman behind the counter and she gave me this slip of paper and told me to walk on in. I thought I had won a special lottery and I was holding a Willy Wonka ticket to a day of mystery and adventure. NO. FAIL.

Good life choice: paying in exact change and getting rid of small extra bills/coins
Bad life choice: thinking I had won a special prize because by "Willy Wonka ticket of magic" I mean "stupid bus ticket"

The woman had given me a bus ticket. I stood at the platform and stared at it for probably 5 minutes thinking there must be some significance to this ticket. Maybe it had a secret code on it, maybe it somehow doubled as subway fare. I went back and asked her and she said, "This station doesn't sell tokens." I then asked her what I was supposed to do with the bus ticket she got me. She explained that the ticket helps me get on a bus, and if I had it to the driver, I don't have to pay.

Wow! Thanks! USELESS. FAIL.

I ride the subway to the stop I need and talk to Debbie, the counter woman there. She is an absolute sweetheart and says that if I come back during her shift, she'll let me on the subway without having to pay again. Pleased with this lovely turn of events, my faith in the brotherly love of Philadelphia restored, I head to Reading Terminal Market.

In case you forgot to write down directions to Reading Terminal Market, have no fear. There is a giant neon sign mounted on the wall outside the market. For comparison, please note that it is bigger than that tree and bigger than most of the cars on the street. Even better, please notice the man on the phone in the lower right hand corner. That sign is like... twice as big as he is. At least.

Once you go inside though, it is like a food lover's paradise! Every different type of food has a little area, there's fresh produce, all kinds of food-related products, everything you could ever want to eat. Mexican, Thai, Chinese, deli delicious, DUTCH. It was paradise.

They also have wireless internet and a sweet sitting area. The iced coffee is totally fab and very very strong.

1. Fresh veggies and example of the produce stands they have and how cheap everything is.
2. A GIANT BURRITO. Seriously, that was probably how big I was when I was born.
3. All kinds of delicious pies and desserts and delicious things I wanted to eat/put in my mouth until the Dutch lady who handled this part of the market came and asked me if I needed help. I panicked and ran away. I didn't want her to think I was taking a picture of her.
4. Chocolate delicious.
5. More chocolate things.

I then sat and people watched and it is the craziest blend/mix of people you've ever seen. There are a lot of tourists later on, but early in the morning, there are a lot of people who the market staff are really familiar and friendly with (and it's more entertaining than sitting in the window seat at Starbucks during finals and watching people fight for open table space).

Oh, you just look like you work here.

2008-06-27T13:50:00.002-04:00

I had a whole list of places to visit yesterday. Did I make it to any? Just one. Why?

I found a J. Crew.

I didn't mean to go in. Well, I did. What I didn't mean to do is stay for 3+ hours. I couldn't help it! I walked in and just wanted to look around and within 5 minutes, one the J. Crew people thanked me for representing them (I was wearing their really cute madras shorts) and asked if I wanted to try anything on. I said sure, there was a shirt I just wanted to swirl around in.

He then tells me his name is Glen and he's a personal shopper. 15 minutes later, I'm in the fitting room and he has these unbelievably amazing outfits picked out. We then proceed through 3 hours of fashion show with me parading around the store as a walking J. Crew catalog. The manager comes in a number of times to compliment the outfits. AND what everyone keeps talking about is my legs. In a kind of creepy way. They keep asking if I play sports and touching my calves and getting me to wear heels and stand on tip toes.

By this point, I'm starting to feel torn. I want all the clothes, but I'm not ready to part ways with a couple of benjamins for a ridiculously well-fitting, beautifully cut, comfortable, super gorgeous and all around OUTFIT MAKING blazer (even though I seriously considered it because it would be an "investment"). Since I've taken up so much of his time, I feel awful just leaving. So in my mind, what is the only solution? Oh right, lie. So I tell him I can't get anything now, but I am going to talk to "daddy" and I'll try to bring him back to buy me all these things. Which isn't a lie. I did tell my dad about shopping... for food.

Seriously though, if any of you end up in Philly and go to the J. Crew, Glen is AMAZING. Ask for him. If I could, I'd hire him to be my personal shopper 24/7. He is that good.

As I was leaving, some girl asked me for help and when I looked confused she said, "You don't work here? Oh, you just look like you do." It was the best compliment I've ever gotten in my life.

My popped collar, pearls, and madras got me to stand out even more when I walked down the street into Philly's gay district (how stereotypical that all the best shopping in Philly is down the street from the "gayborhood" as it's aptly nicknamed). I wanted to go to Giovanni's Room because all the tour books say it's someplace worth visiting. As I was taking a tour around the store, I was asked if I needed help for anything or if I was looking for anything specific. Not wanting to stand out anymore, I said I was just looking and grabbed the nearest book, flipping through it. Typical luck. It was a book with naked men, full frontal nudity, and I just awkwardly stood there flipping through page after page of naked while that guy watched me.

It's a very cute store though.

As I was walking back towards University City, I pass a parking lot advertising valet parking for Boyds customers. I thought it was strange to have a parking lot off such a major street, but glanced at it quickly while passing by. And stopped because every car was one of the following: Cadillac Escalade, Lexus, BMW, Mercedes, Jaguar.

I then went and looked up Boyds. Well, I know where I won't be shopping anytime soon.

Little's apartment also has no A/C and her room is hotter than my face when I was "browsing" that naked man book. We ventured to 7-11 to use their A/C and buy something to drink. Then we saw a Chili's and decided we'd go there instead. We got $2.99 bottomless chips and salsa and water and sat in the air conditioned room for an hour and a half. I'm pretty sure our waitress wanted to punch us in the face.

And then we went back to the apartment to eat a pie I'd made. It hadn't cooked all the way through. I had made enough filling for 4 pies (because I refuse to measure) and only had 2 pie crusts. Instead of throwing away the extra and/or saving it like Little suggested, I just forced all the filling into 2 pies. And baked at the normal temperature/time.

Whatever. It's still edible (kind of).

She's a girl - a real, live girl.

2008-06-26T09:49:00.014-04:00

"She's a girl - a real, live girl. It's just that she has to prove something--to herself and to her family. She has to prove that she has a brain and that if she ever has to compete with men on their own terms, she can do it - and win. But she really doesn't want to compete with men. In her heart she wants to attract men and eventually marry one. The girl watcher should not let this situation disturb him, however. If the girl is watchable, she should be watched, no matter what her motives or ambitions may be. The same thing is true of a cigarette. If it's smokeable, it should be smoked--and Pall Mall is the most smokeable of all!"

- 1962 Advertisement, Daily Pennsylvanian

That lovely quote was carved into a stone walkway that winds through this women's "memorial" park (though after reading some of the quotes, I doubt "memorial" is the right word to use) between UPenn and Drexel University.

We left the apartment yesterday morning and decide to go down the fire escape because it's closer to the street. Maybe it's because of the mental image of the fire escape from Pretty Woman, but I was sure we were going to get locked in and die. Yes, locked in. You walk outside and back into the building into this brick encased stairwell with rickety wooden stairs that Kate Moss could snap in half. This photo doesn't even do it justice. I thought I was close to dying and used a cell phone instead of my camera (not like there's much difference - my cell is 1.3 megapixels and my camera is 2.0 megapixels).

Once we stumbled out into the sunlight and the door slammed shut behind me, Little realized that the map and directions she wrote out were in the room. In trying to figure out how much time it'd take to run back up, we realized that the map and directions were in her room, on the bed. Next to her keys.

With my impeccable sense of direction (aka with Little's freakish photographic memory), we walked to the hospital where she somehow found her way around. Meanwhile, I found this sweet cafe with wireless and outdoor seating, drank like 2 large cups of iced coffee and planned out my day.

First stop, UPenn's bookstore. Why? Because it's the largest academic bookstore in the country. A few years ago, they struck a contract with Barnes and Nobles who built a new bookstore for them in the B&N style = gigantic. As I walk in, a girl stops me and asks if she can talk to me about global warming. She's not the most persuasive person, but all I can think about is Al Gore's stupid documentary and the polar bear that just keeps swimming looking for ice and all the ice melts and the polar bear just drowns. I told her I'd make a one time donation. She tried to make small-talk, like what was I doing in Philly, where I'm from, what's up, etc. I told her I finally got access to my trust fund, I quit my job, and I'm traveling the world (all true except for the trust fund thing, which set her expectations too high. Maybe if she wants that kind of donation, she should take a "how to talk to strangers and not make them want to stab themselves in the face" class).

When I handed her the check for $10, I think she was a little surprised. She mentioned how they usually encourage larger donations for one time donors. I told her I don't even live in Pennsylvania and I just sacrificed a gallon of gas for my Hummer.

I walked into the bookstore and headed straight for the writing section. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING I SEE? Another Asian person crouching by the shelf. But what is the second thing I see? This book. Of course I think it is absolutely hilarious. Please note that it is next to a book on novel writing and next to an Oxford and MLA Style Guide. Yeah UPenn, way to impress me.

Of course while I'm looking through this book and taking pictures of it, one of the store workers comes up and asks me if she can help me with anything. I say no and hastily shove the book back on the shelf. 10 minutes later, she comes up to me again and asks if I'm finding everything ok. Good part = I am holding a book on how to find the perfect career for you. Bad part = I am somehow, unbelieveably, on the chapter that talks about how to voice dub pornography. Great.

I found a falafel stand selling delicious food for lunch. For $4.75 I got falafel, pita, rice, really fresh grilled veggies, and this spicy delicious sauce. I sat on campus and ate it and got super creeped out when an old man on the bench across from me kept making eye contact and eating his bag of fruit in a... semi-seductive way? And by semi-seductive, I mean I threw up in my mouth/on myself/all over the bench every time I had to watch that. I would rather have witnessed my grandparents conceive my parents than experience that again.

At 1:45 I headed over to the Admissions office for a tour. I figured it's a weekday, how many people can there be? We popped into the end of the info session and oh for the love of all that is... it was an auditorium FILLED with people. I'm talking probably 100-200 people. They were asking questions like, "Do SATs count?" and "Tell me more about blah blah blah." I sat in the back and played poker on my phone and scandalized the family next to me.

Next we broke up into smaller groups for tours. SOMEHOW I ended up in the group of 20 where only 4 people were not Asian, and that group of 4 was a family from NJ. The guide then made us go around in a circle and introduce ourselves and what we want to come to UPenn for. Since I have no shame, I started off by saying my name is Lauren, and I'm very interested in coming to UPenn for pre-med and computer science. All the other Asian parents were very impressed with a) my choice of majors and b) my outspokeness and started nudging their kids.

They were impressed until 10 minutes into the tour when we walked by a GAP, and I pushed my way through the mass to get to it. I was in the store for 20 minutes and decided I really, really, REALLY wanted to go to Urban Outfitters. Little and I had passed one coming into the city, so I knew there was one "nearby."

20+ blocks later, I no longer care about Urban Outfitters but refuse to turn around and/or ask for directions. I cross over this lovely bridge and HAVE to document the trek. Keep in mind this bridge.

Meanwhile, I get hollered at A TON because the shorts I'm wearing are a little short, they ride up when I walk, and as unprofessional/unclassy/TMI as it may sound (IT WAS HOT OUT), there may have been sweat stains. I'm really going to regret posting that.

I make it to UO. NOTHING GOOD. But along the way, I stopped to eat at Rittenhouse Square and some guy gave me a free Starbucks card. I know it's sideways. Why don't you just pick up your computer and turn it sideways and then it'll be right side up?

It was delicious. Except Starbucks here has no wireless. USELESS to me. Little met me outside and we went back to the apartment and her roommate let us in. We grabbed a quick dinner of delicious turkey sandwiches and moved her car. The plan was to walk down South Street.

The cute, boutique part of South Street. But of course we decided it would be a good idea to walk from UPenn's campus. More specifically, past 45th St.

We're crossing over the river and Little decides to freak me out by doing a handstand on the railing of the pedestrian walk (SEE ABOVE). She doesn't actually do it, but jumps up a little. I panic, but the woman next to us actually has a legit reaction. She then walks with us, the whole time talking about how she probably would have died on impact or suffered serious brain damage and been a vegetable and kept running over the worst case scenarios about what would have happened to Little's body in that river. Then she just kept talking about Philly and was just over-the-top exuberant and hilarious and a whole lot of fun.

Long story short, the fun South Street starts at 7th St. In total last night, we walked ACROSS the city of Philadelphia, 50+ blocks, and got there in time for everything to be closed. Except for a psychic palm reader/tarot card reader. $5. I dragged Little up this narrow flight of stairs to experience it, except when you look through the window in the door at the top of the stairs, it's CLEARLY someone's house. And all I could think about was the scary movies my mom made me watch as a small child to scare common sense into me.

"Psychic" reading + sketchy kitchen + two girls = one of us is going to die and be butchered/eaten by cannibals while the other ends up running around in the rain in a wet t-shirt. And since I'm a minority/was wearing not sexy clothes at all, I was pretty sure I was going to die.

More pictures to come later, but I clearly didn't pack appropriately. I'm planning to head to the "gay district," the Italian Market, and Chinatown today. I'm wearing pearls, a popped collar Polo, and madras shorts. POOR LIFE DECISIONS.

One Way is not always the right way

2008-06-25T10:01:00.006-04:00

We drove up to Philly yesterday morning. We left the DC area at around 11 and made it to Philly a little before 2, which is not bad considering we stopped for 20 minutes or so at Maryland House and we hit construction traffic heading into the city.

Little had never been to Maryland House and didn't even know what I was talking about. Maryland House Service Area is in the middle of 95, literally, it sits between the north bound and south bound lanes in this oasis of artery-clogging food and bathroom breaks.

Key point = it had a Starbucks.

We parked the car, went inside, and joined this ridiculously long line. Of course, when I get to the counter, I cause more trouble/delays. First of all, I was dehydrated, but instead of getting water I figured I'd get iced drinks because ice is made from water.

Apparently, one drink wasn't enough for me. I get a large iced coffee and then order a skinny vanilla latte. After she rings me up, I decide to clarify that I meant iced skinny vanilla latte. She has to cancel my order and re-ring me up only to tell me they are out of sugar-free vanilla. I then ask her to go through their entire syrup selection.

I get my iced coffee and while waiting for my delicious skinny latte (which btw looks nowhere near as delicious as the advertisements because I am pretty sure my foam doesn't have that nicely powdered cinnamon/brown sugar/drugged delicious on it), I finished the entire coffee.

At this point, I have eaten 0 food products and consumed 0 hydration products. Thoroughly jittery, we get back in the car and here finally comes the main point of this post: Little takes a one way road that takes us to 95... South.

Panicking, we decide, in our caffeine riddled state, to back up down the one way street. Problems with the plan:

1. It's not a short street. It's actually kind of long, with a curve in it so cars speeding around the corner won't see us.

2. Little is not the best car-backer-upper.

She starts off kind of slow and all of a sudden we jerk, fly back, and swerve a little, followed immediately by, "Whoops."

The One Way experience doesn't end there. Later, in Philly, we need to make a right turn down this street. Little is positive the street is One Way. In confusion, we stop in the middle of the intersection until a car honks at us. Little then veers the car off to the side onto a pedestrian walkway. Where we see the street is NOT One Way, but we're too far past the lane to turn.

I also want to point out the main reason we didn't drive separately is because Little's sister and mother said it would be a bad idea. Why? Because I am an Asian driver. Oh, the irony.

How to look cool when you're unemployed

2008-06-23T22:35:00.004-04:00

Here is how to look cool in the grocery store when you're unemployed and in a t-shirt and everyone else your age is in classy professional gear:

1. Shop in the gourmet food aisle. Contemplate the difference between organic products. Hold two fancy looking items in your hands and pretend to care about the nutrition information and the calorie count.

2. Sip on your Starbucks latte (extra shot of espresso, soy milk, and sugar-free vanilla) while you browse the fresh fruit.

3. As you are walking out the automatic glass doors, whip out your sunglasses and put them on.

4. Walk into the glass pane because the door is to the right, the pane is to the left, and you didn't realize that only one side slid open. Drop bags of groceries, break sunglasses. Look like an idiot.

5. You look even cooler because your sister works there and all her friends know who you are.

The first step is always the hardest

2008-06-23T12:59:00.000-04:00

Oh, Dr. Seuss.

It's sad that 20 or so years after I first learned to read, my favorite author hasn't changed. I don't know if it's a testament to his influence or if it speaks to the quality of my English degree.

Almost a year ago, at that fateful graduation party, a classmate's mother asked my parents what my plans were for this upcoming year. My father responded that I was exploring my options, testing the waters. She then asked him if my parents were ok with the "lack of direction" in my life.

I traveled for a little bit and ended up working in a law firm. Though it has been a wonderful, fantastic, enlightening, and character-building year, I've come to terms with the notion that maybe I just don't have direction in my life, and maybe that's ok.

As for Dr. Seuss, the man's a genius:

"You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself, any direction you choose."

With that in mind, I've left my job, sold most of my furniture, gathered my savings, and I'm about to set off on a series of wild adventures. Wild mainly because I occasionally make poor life choices (i.e. buying $60 worth of clothes from a woman on craigslist that ended up consisting of 5 or 6 trash bags stuffed full of what seemed like Halloween costumes and brothel leftovers, and not even a classy brothel like the ones in Nevada).

I figure I should put in another cliche Dr. Seuss quote:

"And will you succeed? Yes indeed, yes indeed! Ninety-eight and three-quarters percent guaranteed."

Here's hoping my luck holds and I don't fall into that 1.25%.