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.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Nightmare on NJ Transit
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.
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
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.
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.
Friday, July 25, 2008
I Want to Believe
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.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Big Nick's
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Subway Showdown
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.
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Bolt Bus
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
My bus is leaving at 3.
It is noon. I haven't finished packing. Instead, I am looking at places to eat online.
It is noon. I haven't finished packing. Instead, I am looking at places to eat online.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Looking good
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
Oh man, I'm such a good workout partner.
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"Fourth Drink Instinct" - Cute is What We Aim For
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
She's doesn't deserve to be in a place like this"Let's Make Love in the Club" - Usher
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
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.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Where the Hell is Matt?
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.
If you want, you can go to the youtube site and watch it a higher quality. Totally worth it.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Job Fail.
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.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Dumpling Man NYC style
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.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Chinese Bakery Delicious
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.
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
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.
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Eating tour ends in semi-tragedy
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
New York eating tour continues...
... 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.
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!
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.
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.
Pictures from the Park
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.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Central Park does not = Central Perk
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.
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
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?"
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?"
Saturday, July 5, 2008
New York is totally known for Mexican food
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.
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.
Friday, July 4, 2008
New York women are classy
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.
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.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
$1 Bus = best $1 purchase outside of a winning lottery ticket
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.
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.
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