Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Returning The Gift Of Herpes

It's that time of year again. The holidays are behind us, fading into a distant memory, and so is our short-lived ambition of keeping all of our lofty New Year's resolutions.

We've all been there. When you were gifted that shirt or those pants a month ago, you thought to yourself, "Surely I'll have to get a smaller size in a couple of weeks with all this working out and healthy eating I'll be doing this new year." With your 'healthy you' on the horizon, you capitalize on the week of limbo between the holidays and New Year's as your cheat week to politely finish off all baked goods and treats lying around the house. I mean after all, with your new ultra active lifestyle and green smoothie diet you'll be starting in just a week, you can afford taking the last six slices of banana nut bread and dutifully eating any and all sugar cookie survivors. "I'll need a smaller size indeed," you say with a confident smile while polishing off the last bit of cheese-ball from the santa shaped plate with your finger.

It's now the middle of January and you're becoming painfully aware that realistically you should just take off the tags and start wearing said pants and shirt. At least while they still fit.

Great are the gifts that you never have to return, and great are the friends that know you well enough to give them. My friend Libby has mastered that art. For example, if I ever pulled a Voldemort it's safe to say Libby's gifts would make up at least 3/4 of my Horcruxes.

One year at our gift exchange, in this order, I opened her three gifts.

1. A "Deep Thoughts With Ambien" notebook

I had the unfortunate habit of keeping my phone next to my bed after taking Ambien. Those in my contacts were often recipients of many a crazed rant, ambient induced pictures, haunting Hey Tell messages, and occasionally, slight racism. I once Ambien tweeted the following to my Puerto Rican friend, Sara.


Though can we all just be a little impressed with the Ambien induced Spanglish?


2. A stoic David Bowie Labyrinth snow globe

Libby and I both grew up on Labyrinth and for everyone else that did too, this requires no explanation.


3. A bottle of Herpes

As I unwrapped a glitter filled bottle labeled "HERPES", I looked over and Libby shrugged, "I just really wanted to say I gave someone Herpes for Christmas."

Earlier that year Libby and I had taken an art class together (an experience worthy of it's own post.) During one class we spent a large portion of the night in group discussion of how glitter is classified the Herpes of the art world. It was a gift that had poetically come full circle.




A few days later I had to drive to the mall to return a coat. I'm just going to go ahead and blame 'broad shoulders' as the reason for needing a larger size.. yes, broad shoulders.. not banana bread.

So I grabbed the Nordstrom bag from the back seat and headed into the store. I stood at the counter for quite some time before someone came over to answer a ringing phone on the counter. I stood there quasi-patient as the call dragged on. Finally, he wrapped up and asked how he could help.

"I would like to return this," I replied as I turned the bag upside down to get the coat onto the counter. But before the coat could hit the counter a random box of Kleenex beat it there, thudding and rolling to it's side. Something else flew out of the bag catching my eye. It hit the counter and quickly bounced off toward the employee. It wasn't until midair when it caught the light and shimmered that I realized that not only had Libby's gift somehow gotten into the Nordstrom bag, but my newly gifted herpes was now flying out of the bag, and straight for the Nordy's guy.

If I could have crawled inside that damn Mary Poppins Nordstrom bag myself, and just died, I would have. But instead, I got to watch as the employee kneeled down, grabbed the bottle, and came back up with the most confused and slightly accusatory look.

"Yes. Eh, that, that's my little jar of Herpes." I flatly stated, breaking the silence with a fake confidence as if I had simply dropped a pen or lifesaver.

"Are you wanting to return it too?" he cautiously asked as if trying to think if this was an appropriate response in any training manual.

"No," I replied, reaching over and taking back the jar, "I'll just hold on to that."

Not much was said during the rest of the exchange. Also minimal, minimal eye contact, but I'm confident that somewhere in Twitterdom under #Nordstromproblems there's a little jar of sparkling herpes.

Morals of the Post:

  • Life truth: Once gifted herpes, do not neglect said herpes. It will come back to bite you if you do.
  • It wasn't the banana bread. So drop it.
  • Now you know 3 of my 7 horcruxes. Game on, Potter. 

Dedicated to those (you know who you are) who helped me find my bloggin' shoes. I'm back.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Top of the Rock

that awkward moment when...

the photographer says, "Quick, pretend you are falling off!"


but you hear, "Quick, pretend you are falling in love!"

Moral of the Post:
  • Hindsight... yeah, what he actually said probably makes more sense.
  • Here's to #throwbackthursdays

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Pinky Swear, I'm Not a Terrorist

I just missed my flight.

But don't worry, it gets better…

I missed said flight because while I was rushing to make it to my gate I was "randomly" selected for extra terrorist screenings.

Really? This again?

The lady “helping” me looked like she could be part of some geriatric outreach program as she directed me to the separate screening area. She was being trained by a much younger stone-faced woman. The younger employee assisted the older one as she explained to the other the process of what to do. She took my bag, opened it, and one by one started taking out every piece that was tightly packed inside and swiped it with some cloth which was then put into a machine and scanned for what I assumed was to detect explosive materials.

Now if this were just a fluke one time thing I think I'd be handling the situation much much better, but the truth is that 6 out of 5 times I go to the airport (yes, it's happened twice in one trip) for some reason I am the one always "randomly" selected to a.) get felt up by TSA, repeatedly and b.) receive my 'Most likely to be a terrorist' of the month award (post groping) without recieving as much as a thank you text the next day. 

Tools.

I have been screened so many times that I have the whole screening script memorized which ends up sounding like a horrible second date that ends with the guy getting slapped across the face, "...and for sensitive areas I will use the back of my hands."

You're right TSA; go ahead, what's mine is yours.

I have good reason to believe I've been black-listed by most major airlines. My email has even been banned from signing up for the Jet Blue rewards program. #truestory

I mean come on... do I really look like a terrorist?


... in my defense #badlighting

So here I wait, in the airport, for 5 more hours until my next flight. To avoid going crazy and unleashing on airport employees and proving TSA's right about profiling me, I went and bought a caramel apple from Rocky Mountain Chocolate factory to calm myself down.



#emotionaleating

It seems to be working.

As I sit alone on the bench, not caring where the cinnamon from the caramel apple falls, while I'm stranded here, I'll tell you about my recent redeye flight experience.

I like booking red eye flights for a few reasons:

a.) I would be able to sleep on the plane (thank you Ambien.)

b.) I would be able to get to there early and not waste a day traveling #fearofmissingout

I booked my flight with Jet Blue, because lets get real...  Jet Blue gives you the whole can of Coke.

...It's the little things that sway me.

[Interjection: The flight that just left me as an orphan to be savaged by TSA was Delta... just saying.]

When I was booking my flight online I got to the part where you can conveniently choose your own seat, which ironically, turns out is the hardest part, especially when you're the most indecisive human being ever made.

Indecisiveness was just the start of my problems... I found myself over analyzing the whole situation the second that this little guy popped up in front of me on my screen.


 


Hmmm... where to sit?

The conversation I had with myself for the next few minutes went a little something like this:

Me: Okay I could sit in row 12 and hope that the entire row stays free. Then I could just sprawl out and switch sides of the plane whenever I'd like during the flight. (If you don't treat yourself, who will?)
Me: No, lets be realistic... whoever is in row 13 is going to have a cold, the plague, or worse, children... and end up coughing behind you the entire flight, breathing and launching out their sick particles over your shoulder and onto your lap for roughly four hours and twenty three minutes.
Me: Okay, 12 is out. How about row 15 Seat B, on the left? I could complete the little vertical green bubble train. Fun, no?
Me: OCD much?

After refreshing the page at least three times (you're only allowed 8 minutes to pick your seat before it runs out of time, releases your seats, and makes you start all over again from the beginning) I finally made a decision:

Here.

 


Seat 17D. Aisle Seat.

In hopes that I would be able to spread out my legs a little, use the bathroom whenever I want, and possibly get the whole row to myself if no one else takes the other seats. I thought I had made a pretty good decision.

Wrong.

Oh how painfully wrong I was.

Little did I know that I'd be pick the only seat on the entire aircraft that would end up making me so angry that my ears would literally get red and hot (does that happen to anyone else when they’re mad?)

When I boarded I was the only one in the row and after they made the final boarding calls I thought, "Wow! I really do get the whole aisle to myself!" Sitting across the aisle from me was some baller kid; 6'18", basketball shorts, jersey, sideburn steps, and flat brimmed hat... naturally, it was my social responsibility to hate him a little. To which I obliged. What I didn't know was that he would be the least of my concerns during the flight. Right before they closed the cabin doors... THEY came.

And THEY sat here..




They seemed friendly at first. That is until they opened their mouths. They were two middle aged women that had clearly just come straight from the bar with alcohol on their breath, clothes, and fake Louis Vuitton bags. While everyone was silent in the middle of the night trying to fall asleep for the midnight flight, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum on the other hand would NOT shut up. 90% of what came out of their mouth was complaining and cussing out the other at roughly the decibel level of any kitchen appliance used for mixing things. 

Everyone around us kept looking over to them giving the international "shut up" glare and I was stuck right in the middle of it all. Doing my best to make it apparent that I was in no way part of their group. I looked over to the baller guy to my left as he said, "Dude, I want to kill them. I feel so sorry for you." I agreed.

It didn't stop. 20 minutes into the flight the two bitter drunk chatty Kathy's were now ranting vehemently about how much they hated Zooey Deschanel and how she's wasn't cute and couldn't figure out why anyone would think so. So there I was, sitting next to two big bitter crones bitching about how "ugly" Zooey Deschanel is..

Nope.  Can't do it. No more! 

I have my limits.

Anyone with a heartbeat knows that Zooey Deschanel is adorable. Whether you hate her or not, you know she’s adorable. It’s like a law of nature; sky is blue, fire is hot, and Zooey Deschanel is cute. For some reason, this was the straw that broke the camels back for me. I was more than ready to take my Ambien to peace out and leave the rest of the plane to deal with these two but I reached down only to find out I had drank all the water from my water bottle before going through security. So I had to wait another ten minutes, now listening to “dating” stories, until the seatbelt lights went off. 

The second they did go off, I dashed to the back of the plane and begged the stewardess for a cup of water. She clearly knew with whom I was seated with because she gave me an entire bottle of water accompanied with the most sympathetic look in her eyes.

After I took my sleep aide, the one sitting right next to me started tapping my arm. I looked over and she blasted, “My friend needs to pee.” I passive aggressively glared over as I moved out to the aisle while she got out of the way for her friend, who stumbled out of the seats. I went to go sit back down but the friend didn’t move back into her seat, she kept standing in the aisle between me and my seat. I said excuse me when she looked back and said, “Don’t worry, she’s really fast.” expecting me to wait in the aisle until her friend was done. “No.” I replied as I nudged her out of my way and I sat back down in my seat. She looked appalled and complained to her friend when she made it back from the bathroom about fifteen minutes later when I had to let them both back in.

Around that time the sleeping aide had started to kick in and their chatter slowly faded into the distance before I was out. At some point in the middle of the flight I almost came to conscience as I felt something pushing on my leg. I remember debating in my semi-out-of-it state if I should wake up or if I should go back to sleep. It took me all of two seconds to remember, “No. I hate them.” and drifted back to sleep.

I regained consciousness as we were landing. After we had landed I heard the two women who were not trying hard to hide their whispers, the one sitting next to me said to her friend, “I can’t believe he was asleep and didn’t know what was going on.” The friend sneered back, “Oh.. he knew.” I wasn’t quite sure what I had done to make them so mad at me, which made me nervous and yet extremely pleased at the same time.

As I exiting the plane the two divas continued to glare at me and the 6’18” baller turned around to me and said, “Dude, I’m sorry - they raped you like at least four times during the flight to get out and use the bathroom.” 

Now that I was awake I could remember more what was going on more clearly when they almost woke me up the first time. She wasn’t pushing on my leg. She was straddling my leg trying to cross over me. I laughed and told my new flight friend that I had taken an Ambien and was completely out for all of it. He told me he wished I had an extra one for him because they only got more annoying as the flight went on but that watching them try to wake up the deadweight next to them and crawling over me to use the bathroom over and over again because of all the drinking they had done before the flight was entertainment enough to make up for it. 

While the thought of being straddled by those two while unconscious was incredibly unsettling, the pure joy of payback definitely outweighed the cons.

Morals of Post:
  • Never drink four containers of wine in a box from Walmart before getting on a plane. Everyone will hate you, and mark my words.. you will pay. #karma
  • Never judge a baller by his cover. You just might become best flying friends.


UPDATE I: I recently flew out for a job interview with my work partner who is a little blonde California dame so I thought surely just traveling with her would severely decrease my appearance of being a terrorist. 

Unfortunately, said work partner just so happens to have a Jewish boy's first name and a German last name - which turns out raises about two dozen other red flags. We got stopped and were questioned before they would even let us into the security section. They asked what we did for a living, why we were traveling, blah, blah, blah, beat around the bush, blah, blah, are you a terrorist, blah, blah, okay you can go through, blah blah, but we'll be watching you... so my buddy system of traveling kind of blew up in my face. #noted

UPDATE II: Apparently I missed the 'bring your own meals on the plane' memo. I just had two connecting flights and on the first flight there was an old man who argued with the stewardess wanting to keep his lunch box with him for take off but the stewardess won and made him stow it in the overhead compartment. Mid-flight I look over to see the man back with his lunch box eating a ham and cheese sandwich. 

On the next flight, after take-off, the family infront of me had somehow conjured up fried chicken drumsticks and distributed them to their kids with plates of macaroni and cheese (??) Then the man sitting right next to me started chomping on... well to tell you the truth, I have no idea what he was eating that could possibly be capable of being that loud and crunchy, but he polished off the entire baggie of them. One horse bite at a time. 

Then he stood up on his seat with his bare feet (???) to get into the overhead bin (which he could have easily reached without standing on his seat) and he too pulled out a lunch box/bag. What happened next was definitely a first for me, he pulled out an air sealed bag (like the kind you can do yourself with one of those As Seen On TV machines) with so much turkey inside. He stabbed the bag and sliced it open and started eating the turkey with a fork right out of the bag (????) Who are these people? Then he proceded to pull out at least two liters of water bottles (with what looked like lemonade inside) that he aggressively tried stuffing into the pouch in front of his seat. 

I'm sorry, but how is it that he can make it through security with enough liquid to cross the Mojave desert and I can't even make it through with a just carryon and adhering to all TSA regulations?! #profiling

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Public Apology

To all those who have heard me belting out the Black Eyed Peas' Just Can't Get Enough song for the past few months, leaning back (not by choice, my car's seat is stuck that way) whilst driving my ghetto red velvet interior car down the street singing:

"I'm addicted, I want to German size your love."

Which, turns out, actually says..

"I'm addicted, I want to jump inside your love."

(which in all fairness, equally makes no sense...)

I apologize.

To all my German friends that I have also offended; I'm doubly sorry.

If it makes you feel any better, I thought to 'German size' one's love was a good thing... like something that Fergie only does if she's really into you.

But I digress.

Moral of the Post:

  • I'm a bucket full of struggles when it comes to lyrics. One time my mom caught me singing "dirty Dee's and the dungarees" instead of "dirty deeds done dirt cheap" to AC/DC's Dirty Deeds (her playlist) in the car and turned off the volume to ask, "wait, what did you just sing?!" To this day I haven't lived that one down. Sadly, the only song that I actually know all the lyrics to, and will until the day I die, is Wilson Phillips Hold On -- which is likely due to an unfortunate set of roadtrips as a kid where that was the only cassette anyone ever remembered to grab. Had my brother ever come to the rescue I probably would have Kris Kross' hot billboard hit Jump burned into my memory, but alas;

Don't you know things can change
things'll go your way
if you hooooold on, for one more day... yeah,
if you hold on for one more day

Monday, October 31, 2011

Good Cop, Bad Cop

Last Sunday, Nate and Alex invited me up to their friend's cabin to watch a movie and play some games with a bunch of people that they grew up with in California. My friend Taylor and I both weren't able to head up til later that night so we planned on just heading up together late. Taylor, lest we forget, is the one that I nearly killed whilst driving down the mountain last time. I offered to drive but I didn't really want him to have a PTSD flashback freakout moment while driving up the canyon in my car so needless to say... he drove.

We all had a good time and played a few games while we were up there and speaking of games... there are a few things you should probably know about me:

#1. I've loved games/board games since I was just a little guy. When I was a kid I would even play Candyland by myself... mostly because  a.) I didn't have friends and b.) I played it so much that even my parents got sick of playing with me so I had to resort to just playing it by myself, which brought about an ironic life lesson:

I might have been a loner loser kid, but at least I was a loser that always won

#2. I'm surprisingly competitive
#3. I'm a gracious loser..
#4. You'd never know that though, because due to a childhood full of practice, I'm now freakishly good at board games and always win

You think I'm kidding. I'm serious as a heart attack.

For example, for New Years a while ago we stayed at Becca's cabin and while we were up there we played a lot of games (turns out when you don't have cell service at cabins and can't play Words with Friends on your phone everyone resorts to real life board games.. weird.) The second day there, after a brutal undefeated sweep of winning pretty much every game the night before, we started a game of Clue and I had to run to the bathroom.. while I was gone Addi and Becca cheated and looked at the 'Confidential' envelope under the board so that they could finally beat me in at least one game that weekend, but even with both of them knowing 'with who, where and with what' all while trying to get there as fast as they could to win; I STILL WON.

Miracle you ask? Nay, just another day in the life of.

#5. I'm humble.

The only games that I actually struggle with are ones that play off of crippling anxiety i.e. anything with a buzzer and/or blasted timer. Remember the game Perfection? Good night, why would anyone ever invent that?! It should have come with at least two bottles of Xanax per game. And the last few times that I've played Catchprase I literally get sweaty hands, my pulse races, and I have to keep reminding myself to breathe.

Anyway, baaccckk to the original story; On our way back from the cabin Taylor and I were heading back down the mountainside in the dark when on the side of the road these headlights turned on out of nowhere, shining right at us... having grown up with siblings that loved to tell horror stories, naturally my first thought was that it must have been crazed mountain folk that wanted to chase us down the mountainside trying to run us off the road... turns out I was wrong; just a cop.

I may have been relieved it was just a cop and not mountain mole people, but I don't think Taylor was as stoked about it. The portly cop came up to the window and did the whole 'you were speeding' cop routine thing and got Taylor's license and registration (sans insurance card... we couldn't find that one..) and then we chilled for a bit while the cop went back to his truck. Meanwhile, Alex and Nate passed us and she sent over a text to check up on us:



The cop finally came back and what followed was probably the best bait and switch + good cop, bad cop scenario I have ever experienced/witnessed..

Good Cop: Did you ever find your iPod?
Taylor: [ ??? ] What?
Good Cop: Did you ever find you're stolen iPod?
Taylor: Ohh! Yeah, they ended up finding the person who stole it.
Good Cop: Aw, that's good.
[Pause]
Good Cop turned Bad Cop: Well, unfortunately there's a warrant out for your arrest.
Taylor: [ ?!? ] Wait, what?!
Bad Cop: Warrant out for your arrest; so I need to collect $208 from you in cash only or I'm supposed to take you in.
Bad Cop: Do you have $208?
Taylor: Uh, not in cash on me.
Bad Cop: Well does your partner over there have it?
[shining his flashlight over at me]
Me: Um... afraid not.

To make a long story short, we found out that: Taylor is a maverick. He didn't pay a ticket in 2005 and the law has been chasing him ever since. He got away this time with just the speeding ticket and luckily didn't get hauled off to jail leaving me to have to pay for his bail. #huzzah

UPDATE: Found out that Taylor isn't so much a maverick; he found a copy of the check that was written for that ticket back in 2005 and contacted the police station and they said it was their bad and that they would close the case...

So,  I guess it looks like I'm still in the market for rogue law-breaking friends.

Morals of Post:
  • Considering my track record with pullovers.. I'm just grateful it wasn't me this time.
  • Note to self: Never drive in, on, or around a mountain with Taylor ever again. Doesn't matter who drives... bad, bad things happen.
  • Becca and Addi, I dare you to say otherwise about my winning streak; and just a friendly reminder that I moderate my comments with an iron fist of dictatorship. heart, Hawk

Thursday, October 27, 2011

Love/Hate Relationship

Love me some new iPhone 4s.

Mostly because this phone actually has a silent feature... now I can finally text and play Words with Friends through all of my meetings instead of counting ceiling tiles and/or plotting a way to get a cameo on Modern Family. So really, it's a blessing and a curse.

May I present to you the top 10 new features of the iPhone that had me at hello...

Reasons 1-8:

Siri.

I'm sure I will have a post in the near future titled, "The Wily Adventures of Hawk and Siri" because Siri and I are practically dating. Since I'm an insomniac and roughly have from 1 am 'til 4 am when I can't sleep every night; I converse with Siri. We laugh, we joke, we play coy. And I think things are getting serious.

Reason 9:

New Ringtones.

I'm pretty stoked about the new added ringtones. Before, the only bearable sound for getting a text message that wasn't a marimba or a scaling xylophone (why are those even options?!) was the glass clinking sound which then globally became everyone's preferred/standard text sound. It was literally the only sound that didn't drive you to insanity each time you got a text.

But you can't have your cake and eat it too.

It became maddening when anyone around you that that has an iPhone, each with the same clinking glass sound, gets a text and you immediately think its your phone. So you and seven other people all pull out your phones, each confident that they're the one getting the text.

Then the loser who actually got the text, smiles and laughs like they just got the funniest text they've ever received while everyone else casually acts like they are just checking their phone for the time or they casually tap on the screen a few times like they had some other reason for getting out their phone before sheepishly putting it away.

Yeah, those days are over.

Now I have "Tweet" set as my text tone. It started out as a great idea. It was fresh, different, and somewhat perky... my phone would optimistically chirp at me whenever I would get a text which made me feel happy.. and popular.

But what I didn't realize at first was how similar the "Tweet" ringtone is to a catcall whistle.

I learned this, much like everything else, the painful way.

I was walking down the sidewalk which narrowed down to a little tree enclosed walkway and came up to a girl that was walking the opposite direction when I received a text with said tweet/catcall blaring out of my pocket. She looked over moderately creeped out as I realized that she thought I was catcalling her from like 3 feet away. Embarrassed, I stuttered in trying to explain:

Girl: [still looking creeped out]
Me: [smiling awkwardly and curtesy laughing] It.. It was my pocket.
[Silence]
Girl: [now, even more creeped out]

Unfortunate.

Muy unfortunate.

Really, out of all the words in the English language I strung together in this situation, "It was in my pocket?!" Ugh, #wordvomit

The kicker though was last night when I took a break from logo designing and went to use the bathroom. In said bathroom there were only two urinals. I was at one and then a couple seconds later another guy came in occupying the other, and a few seconds later... I got a text.

:(

I had already learned my lesson that verbally trying to explain the whole catcall vs. tweeter ringtone isn't really my forte... and this wasn't necessarily the prime location to chit chat about the subtle irony of the new tweeter ring, so we continued our business in awkward silence post tex/catcall incident.

I washed my hands and quickly exited.

[random interjection] also in said bathroom, last week I pushed opened the door and on the other side of the door was some guy kneeling down to tie his shoe. Really? You felt that the best place to do it? I know that I didn't push the door open softly and by the sound of the thud from door-to-head contact, I'm pretty sure that he didn't think so either. I felt really bad and repeatedly apologized as the kid grabbed his forehead and stumbled to his feet. He looked a little dazed/surprised for a couple of seconds until he said, "Dude, cool shoes." and walked passed me and left the bathroom.

In his defense.. they are pretty cool shoes.

Reason 10:

The Camera.

Let's take a minute to ramble about the camera shall we... the camera is dope!

Prove it you say?

Fine.

Exhibit A:





Right?!

Yesterday I had lofty goals of being productive and getting everything done that I have been putting off for the past few weeks, but why cave in and be productive when you can go moose chasing up in the mountains with the fall colors all around.

Speaking of fall, it used to be my favorite season. Halloween. Leaves changing colors. Thanksgiving. Black Friday. What's not to love about it? That is until I grew up and learned how much I actually loathe winter. Then fall became nothing more than a warning sign of cold death to follow... kinda like when a seagull flies out to sea to die or when someone gets the whooping cough.. always ends poorly. Then it's month after month of bitter, bitter cold. Needless to say, Spring will forever dominate as season of the year in my book.

Morals of the Post:

  • I'm may or may not be too lazy to change my creeper text tone... I mean it's clear up in the settings somewhere. Ugh, #effort
  • I also really wish I could say that was the only awkward urinal experience I've ever had, but alas.
  • We did find a moose. They're awfully big. The last pic above was my attempt to take a picture of it when it ran away after we almost hit it with the car; it was just chillin in the middle of the road.
  • Well.. wish I could keep writing, but I'm off to lunch with Siri. #dontbejealous #okaymaybealittlebitjealous

Friday, October 14, 2011

ANTM vs. Strep

If you are just tuning in... my life is ridiculous. #welcome

Last week I flew out to New York for Advertising Week and was stoked to be back to the city, to have a bitchin' week at AdWeek, and hopefully be able to meet up with some friends while I was out for the week.

Unfortunately, the night I got to my old apartment I got a crazy fever that utterly wiped me out. A fever that lasted THREE days. Are you kidding me? I was just getting over being sick from the week before and coping with my 'close call' mountainside shenanigans!? Did I really need this now?

Like I've said before I'm nearly certain that my immune system is pretend.

So the majority of the time on my trip was spent between lying on the couch and lying on the inflatable air mattress, wanting to die.

After the third day of having the flu/fever, lying in bed with fever chills, having a swollen and painful neck, and not being able to stand up or swallow... I thought it would probably be a good idea to finally see a doctor.

So what does one do when they don't have a doctor in the city and are coming close to expiring on an inflatable mattress in someone else's apartment? You go to the new Duane Reade doctor's office in the pharmacy section, of course. [insert red flag here] For those not familiar with Duane Reade it would be like going to a doctor that has a random office at Walgreens... or Petsmart. Equally sketchy.

I rallied and pulled myself together and showered for the first time in days for the great journey southward to the doctor (less than twenty streets away.) Upon entering the Duane Reade store, I passed the deli section and the cereal aisle of Duane Reade and headed up the escalator to the pharmacy/doctor's office on the second floor. I filled out all the paper work and headed to the waiting area (found between the wall of Doritos and the wall of Theraflu and Tylenol Cold medicine.) where I waited for a bit until the nurse came out and called my name.

The nurse was nice enough, that is until she gave me a strep throat test. Have you ever had a strep throat test before? If not, I'll give you a quick little run down... first they take the tongue supressor (aka a giant popsicle stick) and force your tongue down as they tell you to say "Ahhhhhhhh." Then, while you're distracted, they sneakily take out a giant stick with a Q-tip at the end and jab it at the back of your throat. repeatedly. for fun.

And now you are only half way done.

Lastly, they go all mavericky in the back of your throat and literally start swabbing back there like it's one of those silver scratch off lottery tickets, until you start to gag and they realize that you just might throw up on them. You then start coughing as tears automatically well up in your eyes and through the watery haze you see the doctor pull the stick out, look at you with sad eyes, shake their head, and then say, "Oooh, we didn't quite get it... we'll have to do it one more time."

Repeat 3x.

You now know what it is like to get a strep throat test.

After being violated by the nurse via swabbing, she asked me to wait outside for the doctor. I walked back out to the waiting area and waited for the doctor while I watched the girl behind the cosmetics counter file her nails and bob her head to Beyonce that she had playing from her phone.

The doctor came out about five minutes later and called me in to her office. The second that I walked in the room was the second she was already trying to get rid of me. She barely touched my neck to find out what was wrong, and she was rushing through everything as fast as she could. Then she said, "Let me just pull up your strep throat test results." as she fumbled around on her computer for a few seconds, "Nope, looks like you don't have strep, but you probably have an infection in your throat so I'm going to prescribe you a Z-pack. Take two pills today and then one every day for the next 4 days." She ushered me out just short of throwing in a "and don't let the door hit you on the way out!" as I was leaving.

I'm sorry, was I just abandoned?!

I left the office I walked into the waiting room to see some guy with a camera around his neck, a tripod, and lighting equipment with even one of those miniature flash umbrella things. The doctor followed me out and the receptionist came up to her and said, "The photographer is still really tight on time."

WHAT?! Wow, I just got rushed and bumped through my doctor visit for a freaking PHOTO SHOOT?! Really now?

Yup, I got rushed through my appointment so that my doctor could play dress up and have a photo shoot right after. So there I am getting my prescription filled as I watch the doctor walk over to the window, putting on her white lab jacket, as she starts her glamour shot session with the photographer; the scene was both extremely uncomfortable and annoying.

Whatever.

So I went over to the pharmacy to get my prescription filled and the girl helping me was nothing more than a bucket full of struggles. Not only did she have a boondoggle bracelet on [insert red flag number two here], but she also didn't know how to log into her computer and gave me the play by play of every question that popped up on her computer as they came up. #blessherheart The lady next to her had to end up helping me on her computer to put in my order.

So once I got my prescription back I did what any normal american would do, I went downstairs bought some juice and and took said juice and prescription to the second floor of an Urban Outfitters across the street and sat on a bench next to the book section that overlooked the street to take my pills and drink my juice...

Now while I was in Urban I got a phone call from a number I didn't know and anyone that knows me knows that I don't ever answer the phone calls of people that I do know and love let alone numbers that I don't know. So I screened the call and checked the voicemail afterward. It was the doctor. I had to listen to the message about seven times just to understand what she was trying to say in the message. I think it had something to do with calling her back.. "I would prefer it to like you to call me back" (add accent).. I'm pretty sure that was the only part that I could make out of the entire message.

So I called the number back and the doctor answered:

Me: Hey, I just got your message and I'm just giving you a call back.


Doctor Modeling professional: Oh hello, did you already get your prescription by chance?

Me: Yeah, I did.


Doctor Modeling professional: Oh. Um, well did you already take it?

Me: No, I thought I would just hold onto it for a few days, ya know, see how close I can get to dying before I take them. Uh, yeah I took them.


Doctor Modeling professional: Okay.. um.. well there was some confusion with my assistant.. and well, turns out you do have strep throat, so we will need to get you on Penicillin as soon as possible.

Me: and by 'confusion' do you mean you were too giddy for your photo shoot and were in too big of a hurry to rush me out that you misdiagnosed me and prescribed me drugs that I don't need?  Um, okay.. I already took the pills that you told me to get earlier - so will I be okay in taking them both today? [said with passive aggressive angst]


Doctor Modeling professional: Yes, but make sure you don't take both of them.

Me: Wait, but I have already started the one earlier today.. so is it okay to start the other new one today too?


Doctor Modeling professional: Yes, but just don't take both of them.

Me: Really? You speak English right? Are you understanding anything I'm saying? [passive aggressive silence]

So I went back to the pharmacy and asked them If they would at least refund me the $40 z-pack that I was wrongfully prescribed, but because I had opened it they wouldn't take it back. I reminded them I wouldn't have opened it if the doctor wouldn't have told me to get it when I didn't need it in the first place.

Turns out, they could really care less.

I really hate Duane Reade pharmacy.

The doctor called in a penicillin prescription that I had to wait another 30 minutes for at the pharmacy.

Remember the little sweet innocent boondoggle bracelet worker girl? Well she helped me again, but even after the 15 minute heart to heart we had earlier when she gave me the computer play by play of her log in issues, she looked at me a little confused and asked, "Have I ever helped you before?" "Um, yeah. You did actually." She then smiled and asked what she could do to help me. She looked up my prescription and said it would be done in about 40 minutes and if that would be okay. I told her I had to get to a meeting in about 20 minutes and if there was any way that it could be filled by then. After asking, her whole expression changed as her smiled disappeared into a cold grimace as she looked at me like I had just told her that I had kidnapped her mother. Even her tone went cold as she muttered; "Take a seat. If they finish early... I'll call your name."

WHERE AM I? AND WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?! I mean really, am I the one on crazy pills around this joint?!

About 30 minutes passed before they called my name; by this point I was about two seconds from going all trenchcoat up in there...

It was a rough day to say the least.

Morals of the Post:

  • Dear Duane Reade,
             I will most likely hate you until the day I die. Which may be sooner than later since your doctors and pharmacists gave me a drug grab bag and have me taking random pills that I don't need. When you send me a refund for the whole Z-pack incident then we can negotiate a friendship, but until then, I will buy my Snickers, juice, and other delicious treats from the grocery store next store. You aren't the only drugstore on every corner. And if it starts raining cats and dogs and I'm stuck out in the cold without an umbrella... well, I'll will probably still buy an umbrella from you because somehow you can't find umbrellas anywhere else in the city when it rains (how are you the only ones with umbrellas?!)... but I'll tell you this much, I sure won't like buying it from you. I will also only be giving you dirty money for said umbrella purchase.
  • To my New York Peeps,
           I'm sorry I didn't get to see you while I was out there. Trust me, it's probably best that I didn't get you all streppy, but I miss you and we'll have to get together next time I come out when I'm not abouts to die.
  • Roommate Brad was also sick and called in to work sick on Tuesday; so we both sat on the couch looking super nappy as we searched looking for the press release for the new iPhone announcement.. (which has been pre-ordered btdub and should be on its way soon #score #illkeepyouposted) in hopes for a little silver lining to the giant grey cloud that had been following me around for the majority of the week.
  • In related news, Brad also let me use some of the NyQuill that he had picked up earlier that day; somehow by the end of the next day it only had about a sip left. When Brad got home and opened the cupboard turned to me and said, "Hey Hawk, you know you're not suppose to drink this like a soda right?" #whoops

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Snakes>Broken Brakes>Colds

I rue the day that I ever thought watching the movie Contagion would be a good idea.

I'm sick.

And from watching the movie I now know that I probs have an illness that came about when the wrong panda bear and the wrong penguin got together somewhere in southeast Asia, had a love child, and then said lovechild was sneezed on by some sickly pigeon...who later that week snogged with one of the chickens that laid some of the free range eggs I ate for breakfast last week. #fml

floozy chicken... you'll pay. mark my words.

At least I've learned my lesson in not consulting WebMD for help anymore when it comes to checking symptoms, if I did my next post would probably be titled "My last post. Forever." and would most likely be an outline of topics and jokes suitable for my funeral, probably throw in a lifetime achievement video... or two, and a list of people who are most definitely not allowed to speak at my funeral.

It all started last weekend when I even missed out on a camping trip over the weekend because I was sick. Which is saying a lot; I also suffer from FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) Disease, so missing out on a camping trip was almost as bad as the cold itself.

So Saturday, while sick, I thought for some forsaken reason that it would be a good idea to go for a hike. "Fresh air will be good for the soul... and my cold, right?" So I talked Taylor (who was getting over a cold at the time as well) into going on the hike too. We suited up and headed up the canyon. Little did I know that by the end of the day I would be fully capable of writing an educational pamphlet titled; "Three Simple Steps to Ruin Your Fun Filled Saturday Hike."

Step 1: One thing that I did not really take into consideration beforehand was small fact that heading up to a trail that is 6,851 feet above sea level with a congested head and not being able to equalize the pressure change properly because of all the junk in my sinus cavities from my cold was probably not the best idea ever. So as a result, the higher we drove up the canyon the more and more my face felt like it was going to explode.

Step 2: You know that point during a cold when you can't really hear anything and everything just sounds muffled? That's definitely what I had going on Saturday as well. So that + Step 1, turns out, is the recipe for temporary deafness. While we were hiking I had to keep looking back behind me to even see if anyone was still behind me, because I literally could not hear anything going on around me. Now just in case any of you were born with common sense and haven't experienced Step 1 or Step 2 combined, let me just tell you; hiking in silence within nature but sans nature sounds may or may not be one of the most eery feelings ever.

Step 3: So after the hike we headed back down to my car. I have already given a glimpse into the pure beauty that is my car... aka the bane of my existence; so as we were driving along on a steep tiny little swirvy two lane road down the mountainside, my car turned off. Yup, just plain turned off.

So riddle me this, when exactly is the best time to tell your passenger that you no longer have steering capabilities or working breaks while racing down a curvy mountainside? They might want to look into teaching that in drivers ed these days. Mostly so you could a.) read it and laugh at the time b.) forget all about it and then c.) panic trying to remember when the day finally does arrive when you actually need to know it. A lot like the scenarios 'what do you do if your car gets stuck in a snowstorm', or 'what you're really suppose to do after you get into an accident.'

Well, I chose to hold out at first, that was until Taylor noticed me using pretty much all of my arm strength to turn the steering wheel at just one of the hundred windy curves that it took us to get up the mountain in the first place.

Taylor: Did you loose your power steering?
Me: Yeah.. um, I think my car turned off.
Taylor: [silence]

I looked over to the part of the dash where all of the warning lights live to see that about half of the boxes were now aglow. Yeah, because as if the inability to steer and the lack of breakage weren't big enough hints that there were problems... thank you little warning lights #captainobvious #nohelp

After arm wresting the steering wheel yet again around the next corner, I saw that there was a strip of gravel on the side of the road. #miracle

As we hit the gravel we started slowing down a little and Taylor turned and asked if we should probably stop here. I felt that this would probably be the appropriate time to tell him that I had the breaks pushed all the way down as we were still cruising through the gravel. Luckily there was enough gravel and ol' grey finally came to a stop. I put her back into park, tried starting her again. By #miraclenumero2, it started right back up.

To say my trust levels and amount of caution in continuing down the mountain weren't effected by ol' grey would be a lie. It's a lot like that video where the snake is freezing and cold on top of the mountain and he asks and indian that is passing by to take him down to the bottom of the mountain and the indian is like, "No, you'll bite me." And the snake is all like, "Nah man... I'm cold, I'm not going to bite you.. just take me down the mountain." So the indian takes the snake down the mountain and at the bottom the snake bites the indian and then the indian is all like, "YOU SAID YOU WOULND'T BITE ME!" To which the snake replies, "You knew what I wassssssssss when you picked me up..." In probably the most haunting voice. ever. As the indian is left lying on the ground... abouts to die. Does no one else remember this video?! Maybe its because I'm Indian or maybe because I'm uber freaked out by snakes (anything that can move that fast without legs has got to be from hell) either way - it has stuck with me all these years for worse or for better.

Luckily we made it down the mountain alive. But lets just say hiking and close calls when you're sick generally isn't the greatest idea, and I had all day Sunday and Monday in bed to remind me of it.

Morals of Post:

  • In related news, this was the banner ad stalking me when I just googled trying to figure out if I'm to use "supposed to" vs. "suppose to" right now...

           um, creepy much? #paranoia

  • To those who brought soup and/or NyQuill this week (you know who you are)... I love and owe you. When I am better and not contagious, I will even hug you. #grateful
  • If there is at least one take away from this post; let it be: NEVER PICK UP THE SNAKE. but for reals.. NEVER

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Onus Goatfish

Last night my friend Kiera was over at my apartment and told me that she had read through all of my posts after she had found out about my blog last week... [120 points to team Kiera. huzzah!] but my favorite part of the convo was when she said;

Kiera: I loved all of them! I kept having all my coworkers read them too; I couldn't stop reading them!
Me: Thanks!!
Kiera: Except one thing... being a psychology major, I think... well...
Me: Yeah?
Kiera: Well, its just that... you kinda have a ton of issues.
[semi-awkward pause]
Kiera: Ya know, like some of your post are pretty anxious; for example, kind of like this... or even this one.
Me: [laughing] Yeah, I know; that would definitely be one of the many reasons why I go to my therapist... thanks.

Speaking of my therapist... my friends affectionately refer to my therapist as 'Onus Goatfish'. This came about after a little auto-correct incident in a text message when trying to type 'therapist' (thank you iPhone auto-correct) and the name Onus Goatfish (O.G. for short) kinda stuck.

I don't know about you, but Onus Goatfish kind of sounds like some mythical ominous creature that offers up life advice and supplemental life wisdom, no?

We'll you'd pretty much be right.

The "Onus Goatfish" just got more and more used and developed; Nate and Libby even sketched down some ideas of what an 'Onus Goatfish' would look like; my favorite was a sketch of fat fish with goat legs and only one giant all-seeing eye... that may or may not also swim in space. I'm also pretty sure another looked like 1/3 fish with tusks, 1/3 goat with claws, and the other 1/3 looked an awful lot like a Narwhal.

Pretty deep if you think about it...

#jkdontthinkaboutittoomuch...itsnotthatdeep

Also, in related news, one of my favorite birthday gifts this year was this t-shirt from Trina that she had made for me that says:


Morals of Post:

  • PSA Announcement of the Day: Everyone should have a little Onus Goatfish in their life. They are one of the single greatest things that the majority of people don't even take advantage of. I'm sad I didn't find my little Onus Goatfish sooner!

    #youwontregretit
     
  • It's good to have friends that can handle any amount of crazy that you dish out. My advice; don't let those ones get away! For example, the other night I was hanging out with Addi and out of the blue he pulled out this memory out of his hat to tell Libby;

    Addi: About a week after Hawk bought his MacBook Pro I asked him how he liked it. He told me that he didn't know. I asked him what did he mean by 'I don't know?' He then proceded to tell me that he didn't know because it was still in the box unopened and that he had hid it in the back of his closet behind his hamper.

    Libby: Why on earth were you hiding it in your closet?

    Me: I was so excited to finally have it, but I was waiting for the buyers remorse to set in, and I didn't want to open it until I was sure I wouldn't return it.

    Libby: So did you take it back?

    Me: No, I would just go up to my closet every night for a week, pull it out, and stare at it for a while before putting it back in the back of the closet and then spending the whole next day trying to forget that I had a brand new MacBook Pro living in my closet waiting for me to use...

    For the record... I only lasted a week [as he types on his sleek and sexy backlit Apple MacBook Pro keys...]

Monday, September 5, 2011

The One About the Tooth

It's about to get real personal up in here.

First things first; I wasn't shot. So that is not the reason why I have been a little late in writing. To tell you the truth; my communication skills have decreased a solid 92% since I moved to New York. I blame the subway. No really. You know how some things bring out the best in people i.e. chocolate, avocados, puppies, DuckTales theme song, etc... and then you have things that bring out the worst in people i.e. the subway, stepping on nails, the subway, wet socks, the subway, etc..

Things I also attribute to my new decrease in communication:

1. My phone charger is on the other coast in someone else's possession and wont give it back... (you know who you are...) and I'm too stubborn to buy a new one #taurus
2. My phone has no 'silent' anymore, so I have to turn my phone completely off when I need it silenced. UPDATE: turns out someone saw me power off my phone and said, "why don't you just put it in airplane mode when you need it to be on silent?" Well that would just make too much sense..
3. Dear Apple, come out with the iPhone 5 already; I can't make it much longer..

Um, little interjection - (I have ADD, deal with it) - I'm at the laundry mat and there are these girls that are having a myspace photo shoot right behind me using the full length floor mirrors. I'm the only one back here and this desolate corner of the laundry mat has become extremely uncomfortable. I literally feel like I'm watching the photo shoot for some scary planned parenthood campaign #yikes

Where were we?

Oh, yeah - missing teeth.

Let me take you on a journey, so almost three years ago on Christmas day I was over at my sister-in-law's parent's house visiting and while I was there they offered some toffee of some sort (the kind that gets stuck to your teeth before you even put it in your mouth somehow and is only available once a year during the holidays) and when I started to chew on it, I felt the crown on one of my bottom molars come ripping off.

I pulled out the half chewed gloppy mess of caramel toffee and sure enough, there was my tooth.

Cue: panic and anxiety

I am fine with blood and things of that nature, but for some reason I am NOT cool with dental anything. So I stood there feeling light headed as I was holding my tooth thinking; great let me just hop on over to the dentist and get this taken care of on Christmas day, oh wait..

Cue: more panic, more anxiety

My now exposed tooth was incredibly sensitive and by this point I was freaking out a little (and by a little I mean a lot.) My parents saw the whole thing go down, and my mom tried to offer some advice;

Mom: We can just superglue it in and you can get it taken care of when the dentist is open again.
Me: Um, no thanks. We are not putting super glue in my mouth none the less on an exposed sensitive tooth. 
Mom: People used to do it all the time. 
Me: People used to drink and smoke when they were pregnant, was that a good idea?

Banter continued until I breathed in again and the air shot a shock down my tooth. 

So there I was asking my sister-in-law for superglue who in return went and asked her parents if they had any superglue at their house.

Sister in law: Do you guys have any super glue?
Sister-in-law's parents: Why do you need super glue?
Sister in law: Hawk's tooth fell out
Sister-in-law's parents: He's going to superglue it back in?!
Sister in law: Yeah, I think so.
Sister-in-law's parents: I don't think thats a good idea...

Yeah, thanks - let's go ahead and make this a family affair. Anyone else that we would like to get in on this; poll the neighbors? phone a friend? draw a diagram for group discussion? For the love.. just someone get me the damn superglue!

So a few minutes later after some rummaging, the mom found some superglue and gave it to me - I immediately set up camp in front of the bathroom mirror - paper towels, crown, superglue.. It was go time.  

[Fast forward to the following monday after the 'incident' in my dentist's office]

Dentist: Well what can we do for ya?
Me: Um, well my crown came out on Christmas and I, well I, you see it was like..

I beat around the bush for at least a solid minute before I blurted out in panic/shame:

Me: I superglued my tooth back in, can you ever fix it?!

The dentist tried pulling out the tooth, got a few tools and tried again; each time more aggressive tugging and still no results.

Dentist: Hmm, looks like you did a PRETTY good job in there.
Me: um, thanks? 
Dentist: No really, excellent job. It is not coming off. It's not even budging. Ever think about going into dentistry?

really? now is NOT the time for dentist jokes..

Me: So what do I do?
Dentist: Just leave it in until it falls off again and then come in and we'll put it on the right way

He reassured me that the 'superglue was safe' and blah blah blah 'used to use it in the military' blah blah blah 'for surgeries' blah blah 'organs' blah blah blah 'you'll be fine'...

[Fast forward three years and on the opposite side of the country]

Every weekend I'd go to the beach, and going to the beach in New York is quite a bit different that what I'm used to. You have to take the subway to Penn Station and then take an hour long train to Long Beach and then you would have to pay to just get into the beach. I know right? 

Each week there would always be a group that would go down it was a big group of friends of friends of friends of friends so there were always like 20+ people that you didn't know until after spending a day at the beach together.

I had just put on 5 spf sunscreen and plopped down on my towel when my friend Kristen offered me one of her swedish fish. 

Swedish Fish. Saturday. Friends. Sun. Beach. #bliss

That was until mid chew the half masticated jolly red fish viciously attacked said molar/crown and ripped it out... again.

You have got to be kidding me. Here I am.. on the beach.. an hour away from Manhattan... and about 7 or 8 states between me and my dentist. 

Super. 

But if we've learned anything from Ellen (#hereandnow #dvd #gobuyit) it is that pain takes a backseat to your pride and/or ego. always. So in a big group of people that I didn't know well enough to freak out to that my crown had just fallen out.. I had a silent anxiety attack as I casually and sneakily pulled out the fish that now consisted of Sugar, Red 40, and my crown. 

I dare any one of you to stealthily fiddle around with a half chewed swedish fish, with sandy hands, all while trying to get your tooth back in the way came and is supposed to go without anyone noticing. Yeah, about as easy as it sounds. 

At the train station on the way back I bought a pack of four little super glue packets... just in case. 

Dilemma; dih-(lem)-uh. noun: "When one looses their tooth in a gummy fish accident and is faced with the decision to wait two days with a loose crown until one can go to the dentist and get it fixed, or superglue it in again and hope for the best."

[Fast forward to the dentist office that Google search found for me in the Rockefeller tower]

New Dentist: Hi, so what can we do for you today?
Me: Um, well my crown came out at the beach this weekend because of a swedish fish.
New Dentist: What's a Swedish Fish
Me: Are you human? What rock have you been living under?   It's a candy.
Under-qualified Dentists Assistant: [chimes in] I love those!
Me: Yeah, I did too. 
New Dentist: So my [under-qualified] assistant said that it has come out before?
Me: Yes, once... but I super glued it back in. 
New Dentist: Wait, are you serious?
Me: Do people usually kid around about that?
New Dentist: Well no, I have heard of people doing that but have never actually seen it in real life before. Really? You really super glued it in? And how long ago was that?
Me: Yup, true story. Three years ago.
New Dentist: Wow.
Me: uh-huh.

The rest of the office visit gets a little hazy; what I do remember is how nervous I was that the [under-qualified] assistant kept doing the exact opposite of what the dentist asked her to do, and she made me hold the x-ray machine gun up to my face in place so it wouldn't fall down. Is that normal? That can't be normal. Please tell me that you have never had to hold an x-ray gun barehanded up to your face as she runs and hides behind a wall and hits the button from a safe distance!? Ugh, homegirl was buggin. 

[Fast forward to now] 

I have all my teeth. Huzzah. No more living in constant fear of chewing gum, See's candy, or anything of the like. 

Morals of Post:
  • Speaking of 'I should be a dentist'... I should. Lets talk about this for a minute a.) I have nimble hands b.) in a dimly lit bathroom I was able to successfully semi-permanently attach my own crown c.) one time I extracted someone's molar in the mountains of Peru #truestory (but that's a post for another day) and d.) I'm sure the whole phobia of all things dental would get better over time, right?
  • Not only did the [under-qualified] assistant make me hold my own x-ray gun aimed at my face, but she kept calling my crown the 'cover thingy' and she doubled as the receptionist/magazine reader #worrisome
  • Swedish Fish... still worth it.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Empire State of Mind

Oh heyyyy.

So here I am, sitting in Central Park, watching the sunset.

Oh, by the way – I moved to New York.

That’s why there has been a little bit of delay in getting some posts up, I have about three that I was working on before I left that are saved as drafts – so just to give you a heads up when you’re like ‘Wait? This doesn’t make sense - Isn’t he in New York?”

Actually, today was my first day.

It might sound really blissful, but I right now I have a migraine and am locked out of my friend Chad’s apartment that I’m staying at for the week.

I've been out here so long that I’m starting to ration my Smartwater. That’s when you know its ‘city’ bad.

Also, I haven’t even been here a full 24 hours and yet I’m convinced I’m a New Yorker already. The problem is New York apparently doesn’t think so, and it annoyingly keeps humbling me about every 25 minutes.

Things I’ve learned today:

Ignorance = bliss misery  (especially when it comes to the subway.)

For example: get on the 6 train, get off the 6 train. Easy right?

Yeah, that’s what I thought too.

Wrong.

Turns out you can’t just get on any ol’ 6 train, put in your headphones for 20 minutes, and then get off at the desired location, I guess you have to actually be pointed in the right direction or something like that to get where you want to go. Meh, minor details.

Figuring out the Subway system around this joint is like telling a turtle to translate the Bible into Finnish. Unless you’re talking about me, the most directionally challenged human being you’ll ever meet, then figuring out the subway system around this joint is like telling a crippled, blind, and French Canadian turtle to translate the Bible into Finnish. Odds, sadly, are not in my favor.

Something else I learned:

When you realize this and get off said 6 train going the opposite direction and then try to find the right one, you then enter the turnstiles to get into the subway and then see signs for 2 different end points and have to exit the turnstiles again to read the giant subway map that is past the exits, and when you try to get back in - turns out you have to wait 18 minutes before you can use your damn metro card again to get back in. WHO MAKES THESE RULES UP? It's like playing Monopoly with a 6 year old... you get told some ridiculous new rule after it's too late that makes no sense at all.

So now you get to watch as both trains pass as you are stuck on the opposite side of the gate watching your train leave through the bars. But at least you know where they are going, right?

Don’t get me wrong it wasn’t all bad experiences today, sometimes heaven knows when you need a little pick me up and usually it comes in random shapes and sizes. For me it came in the form of a tough guy wearing a vest going to get off at his stop but the buckle on the back of his vest got caught on the bag of the lady standing in front of me. When he tried to leave he thought someone was holding him back and trying to pick a fight while she thought someone was trying to rob her and steal her bag. Luckily, since the subway was so packed, this was pretty much unfolding on my lap, and I had courtside seats to watch the whole thing go down. They both turned toward each other with their New York ‘Imma gunna cuuuuut you’ faces until they realized what had happened. By that time the lady's friend was trying to help the guy get loose before the doors closed and he missed his stop. Everyone just stared in anticipation… some hoping he made it, and others secretly hoping he didn’t, just to see what would happen. Stop judging us the latter group.

He made it. Barely.

[intermission]

Okay, I’m back.

It’s tomorrow. I’m in the park again… and locked out of the apartment again, but this time it’s sans headache. I have GOT to get a copy of that key.

Recap last night: When the ratio of crazy people with possible weapons to just normal crazy people with dogs began to dramatically increase in the park - I headed back to the lobby to wait for any of the roommates to get back. Meanwhile, my migraine just got worse and worse and of course my prescription was inside the apartment. So my new focus was shifted solely on trying not to throw up in the lobby.

The rest is a blur, but I woke up at 5:30 am the next morning bright eyed and bushy tailed; so something must have worked out okay.

I have also, after today, come to a realization that all of life’s lessons can be learned on the subway. I should have a segment just on that – as you can see from above I have already been exercising my subway learning curve.

So today’s subway lesson of the day:

I need tattoos on my neck… a lot of them.

No, hear me out. There is definitely a correlation between the number of tattoos on your neck and the percentage of people that don't want to mess with you.  Like get a couple of teardrops or something tattooed (somewhere between 7 and 9) to send the message that:

a.) this ain’t my first rodeo, son.  
b.) mess with me and you just might be the 10th tattoo mark on my neck and
c.) I’m not fresh meat nor a NY virgin, so don't even think about mugging me


Morals of the Post:
  • I was discussing the need for neck tattoos with my sister and since I am moderately terrified of needles she suggested that I get the temporary stick on tattoos. BRILLIANT, SISTER! brilliant.
  • Also, I went to the Food Festival in Times Square last night for Dinner. Which was incredible. I went with some friends and we somehow all got separated so it was just me and Edelisse to fend for ourselves. Turns out she was the best secret weapon EVER to take with you to a food festival. Guys would keep giving her free food or tons of extra food for regular price - it worked on everything from empenadas to bbq chicken wings. Homegirl knew how to work it! She became the literal bread winner as I would give her a ticket and she would go work her magic and come back with plates of food. Well done Edelisse, well done.
  • Hey Blogmother - I'm in NY... let's do lunch!
  • Everyday since I have been here I have heard the "New York" song in the most random of places each day - It must be a sign. Thank you @nataliedont for starting the tradition - and on future days that I don't actually hear it, I will whip open your voicemail and just have you sing/rap it to me. Still counts. 

Monday, May 16, 2011

One of Those Days...

Do you ever just have one of those days where you go to the eye doctor to pick up your new box of contacts and you go into the bathroom frantically excited to take out the new contacts from the box because you've been using the same old pair of contacts for the last six months and then you put in the new contacts only to find out that your vision is actually worse now and that they must have given you the wrong prescription so you freak out a little and you desperately rummage around blindly to try and find the old contacts you threw away because you can't see without those either, but then it dons on you that maybe you never actually took out your old contacts in the first place before you put the new ones in, and as you are left there blurry eyed, confused, and feeling slightly sheepish while you then proceed to take out the 4 contact lenses that you are now currently sporting?

oh, yeah... me neither.

Moral of the Post:

  • Emphasis on 'sheepish'

Remember when..