MTA

There are very few things worse than a non-air conditioned subway car.   I cannot even fathom how dreadful and horrible riding the trains must have been before all of the cars had a/c, because every time I get into a car with stagnate warm horrible air I want to immediately flee.

There are always those moments, when you’re waiting on the train platform and the car that stops in front of you actually has, (gasp) open seats.  You smile to yourself thinking how lucky you are, step in, sit down and at the exact moment the doors “bing” and start to close, you breathe in and realize why this car is so empty.  It smells of pee, or vomit or is 100 million degrees.  These moments are the only moments when I miss having a car.   

I love public transportation.  I love never having to drive myself.  I love the luxury of being able to read or text or play Candy Crush for my entire commute.  I love the fact that I can pop in my ear buds, blast my show tunes and zone out.   I also love that if I get stuck underground on a slow or malfunctioning train – everyone who has ever relied on the MTA will understand my tardiness.  It is a shared frustration and something we can bond over.

Twice – not once, but TWICE I sat down only to realize a second to late that I was sitting in a puddle of what I can only hope is water – clean bottled water that some very hygienic tourist accidentally spilled – the actuality is too gruesome to consider.  Even at those moments, I love public transportation.   

When there’s urine on the floor, or barf on a seat – I don’t begrudge the MTA.  Someone just really had to go and couldn’t wait another second.  But when the a/c isn’t working, or just not on?  I want to kill everyone.  There’s no need to shove 8 million people into tiny metal tubes and make us sweatier than we already are.  For the love of everything holy, please, please, please, please, keep the air on.

Oh, and on an unrelated note; I found my first gray hair yesterday.  Awesome. 

Santa's hat.

This morning I saw a guy who looked exactly like Santa Claus riding a motor scooter and wearing a fedora.  It was one of the most delightful sights I’ve seen in a long time.  

I’d love to imagine that

a) Santa is real 

b) that he lives in Queens

c)keeps fit in the off season by riding a scooter. 

Wouldn’t that be amazing? And of course he’d be trendy enough to wear a fedora – and rock it.  

Good for you Kris Kringle… good for you. 

Being patient...

This weekend I was talking about my single status, and had a girl tell me to “be patient” and that “the right guy comes along when you aren’t looking for it”.  Now, I realize that she was trying to be kind, that she meant well, but before I go on, there are a few things I’d like to illustrate for you about said girl so you can get a better mental picture of it all. 

• This girl is gorgeous.  I mean, stop-and-stare stunning.  I’m no slouch, mind you, but this is the kind of girl that makes the rest of us feel a little less lovely.  Oh, and we were tubing down a river in PA, so we were wearing our swimsuits.  You know how most women are comfortable in their bathing clothes so long as they can wear shorts or a sarong?  Yeah, this girl was just wearing her bikini.  And rocking it. 
• This girl is 23. 
• This girl has been with her boyfriend “on and off” for ten years.  Which means that this girl met her boyfriend when they were freshmen in high school – and they are still together. 
• This girl is also not the brightest bulb in the box.  She is nice.  Super super nice.  (But please read/say that with a tinge of valley girl in your voice and you’ll get the idea.)   

Every time I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m an awesome single person – that the fact I haven’t dated anyone seriously in 2 and a half years doesn’t bother me anymore, I realize that I am a big fat liar.  It does bother me.  Of course it does.  And I swear to God that if one more person tells me that “it’ll happen when I stop looking for it” I might punch them in the face.  I don’t know how anyone who wants to find a partner to share their lives with and hasn’t yet found said match could not be looking for it.  Maybe it’s because I’ve watched too many rom-coms, but I want to find more than just a “you’ll do”.  You know what I mean, the guy you keep around because he makes you feel less lonely, more attractive/interesting/fun/pretty/whatever… 

Now, could I have kept dating my boyfriend from high school into adulthood?  Probably – he was really into me.  Well one of them was, the guy I dated as a senior dumped me for a freshman – that was a mess in itself... also not the point here.  But if I was still with a guy from 10 years ago, I’m certain that we’d both be miserable.   And even if I’m so lonely that it hurts, and even if my dog will be my only love for the next 13-16 years, I would rather be awesomely single and happy whenever possible than miserably paired up with the wrong guy.

Natural Selection

I will never understand how some people are still alive.  The days of natural selection are long gone and sometimes (nay – all the time) I think we’d be better off if it still played a role in who survived into adulthood. 

There are people I work with who would not survive even 15 seconds of the Hunger Games.  Or the Oregon Trail.  Or life in general with the internet, moving walk-ways or a cell phone.   They would be shivved, or starved or die of dysentery. These people are incapable of opening a bag of pretzels so that it can be closed again with a chip clip.  I mean, it obviously makes the most sense to open the bag open like you have talons and make sure it’s open on both ends of the bag.  It makes the most sense to ask me if the lunch meat in the fridge is still good instead of looking at the expiration dates posted on the outside of the packaging.  It makes so much sense to see an email I send out to everyone – read the subject line, NOT the body of the email, and then come ask me questions about it.  All of which, by the way, were answered in the first two sentences of the email.

I don’t want you to think I’m unreasonable – people have off days.  Days where they forget how to spell, or forget where their glasses are (on the top of their head) or days where even the simplest tasks seem impossible.  These days usually follow a night of drinking, or a night with a screaming inconsolable baby, or a night working too hard – and on these days I try to be more understanding. More patient.

There are however, a couple people at my job with whom my patience is always at ZERO.  I don’t care if they just got out of the hospital where they suffered from kidney failure and had a miraculous recovery – if they open the supply closet and don’t close it? I want to rip their face off.   I don’t care if they just had their heart broken and their dog ran away and a stranger shaved part of their head on the subway in a razor rampage – if they pour themselves a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and open a new milk when there are already TWO open milks in the fridge, I want to push them down the stairs. 

I just don’t get it.  Be a grown up. Pay attention.  Clean up your own damned mess and stop assuming that you are the only person in the world with needs.  You are not.  And I’m not your f-ing cleaning lady.

Dog-vision

About a month ago I adopted a dog.  A perfect little mutt who looks nothing like the dog I always imagined I’d bring into my life.  Her legs are 3 inches long and her body is the length of a truck.  She’s shy and weird and brave and snuggly.  

 There is an unreasonable selection of dog toys, goods and accessories available online.  There is such a thing as a Thunder-Coat.  Someone is probably retiring now, because they invented the idea of a Thunder Coat.  It’s a blanket you wrap tightly around the dog’s body during a storm, and it’s supposed to calm their nervous system or something.   You want a collar that will keep them from barking without shocking their neck?  You can buy one that shoots out citronella instead.  I bought my dog puppy stairs - to make her climb onto my bed easier.   If there was ever any hope of my love life looking less depressing, it has since gone out the window - I now share my bed with a furry loveable pile of kisses and sneezes.   All thanks to the puppy stairs.

 Having a dog changes the way I look at everything.  If people don’t smile when they see my dog – they are ass holes.  If other dogs aren’t friendly enough to sniff at her – their owners are ass holes.  If people, like the man who sat next to me on my flight back to NYC last weekend, are scared of her – they are idiots.  I no longer feel bad about being a judgmental person – I do it in the name of my dog.  The vet tech tried to take blood twice and couldn’t find a vein and my poor little pup stayed quiet and scared.  I stepped in after her third try failed, grabbed her off the table, and forbid him from jabbing at her one more time.  I demanded that the vet do it himself.   I don’t feel bad about being a bitch to him because she doesn’t have a voice and cannot fight for herself.

You know, people (mainly my roommate) may judge me for buying her puppy stairs.  People may judge me for talking to my dog in public like she were a person – an adorable little person.  People may judge me for carrying her when she gets too tired to walk up the stairs to my apartment.  And people may judge me for letting her sleep with her head on my pillow.  But the only thing I’ll judge myself for is purchasing a Thunder Coat on Amazon.  It will be delivered on Friday.

Rainy Monday

This morning I had a 9 o'clock appointment with my doctor.  

I arrived at 8:45am and after stepping off the elevator, waited for nearly a full minute for either of the front desk gals to acknowledge me.  When they finally did, it was gruff and unfriendly - no eye contact at all or a smile.  Now, I work in guest relations, I understand today is rainy and a Monday morning, but honestly, being friendly is your g-damn job.  

I told them my name and that I had a 9 o'clock appointment, and was asked "do you have an appointment?"  I said I did, at 9 o'clock.  She asked me my name again.  I told her.  She took my license and insurance card and was putting paperwork together for me.  She then handed me the forms to fill out.  

I sat down in the waiting area to review all the paperwork and realized after a minute or two that she'd given me someone else's paperwork.  Now, I am not a doctor or a lawyer, but I am 100% positive that this was in violation of at least two or three regulations. I took them back up to the desk, and the woman didn’t even look up when she said “yeah?”  I told her that the forms she’d given me were someone else’s.  She snatched them from my hand and said "what's your name again?"  I told her my name (for those of you counting) for the fourth time.   The other front desk women stepped in at this point and said she'd put my paperwork together.  When I was given my forms I filled out the first page and brought the clip-board back.  She asked "you're finished already?"  I didn't fill out the background sheets - because none of my information has changed.  I was told to fill them out anyway.  I made a comment about how it's a waste of time because everything is the same as last year, and that they already have all of that information on file, to which she replied "yeah, well, I didn't make the policy."

I’d like to stop here to say again, that if you work at a front desk, IT IS YOUR JOB TO BE FRIENDLY.  It is your job to be patient and as helpful as possible.  And it is your f-ing job to be hospitable. If you have no interest in customer satisfaction, then don’t work as a receptionist at a busy doctor’s office in New York City.

I’d also like to say at this point that during my “visit” and 46 minute wait in the lobby, these two women working were complaining about having to work the week of the fourth of July, complaining about the rain, complaining about their weekends and one of them (the one who gave me the wrong paperwork) was complaining child-care for her daughter.  It did not surprise me that this woman who is not married, (and maybe 20 years old - maybe), has a child with no father-figure to speak of.  I shouldn’t judge, but I do.

I’m not a big complainer.  I start crying immediately when I even think about confrontation.  My mother never had that issue, and would complain about everything.  Once, my family was at a Dairy Queen, and my mom saw something unsanitary.  She looked at my sister and I and said “I’m going to say something” – we both immediately walked outside and sat in the car.  I wish I had the skill to do that on my own behalf.  I can compose angry emails, but when it comes time to saying something to someone’s face? Forget it.  I’ll crumple like paper. 

So here I am world, in a totally unhelpful and useless way; I am stepping up and saying that my morning was unacceptable.  I wish I could say that I won’t ever go back to that office.  That I’ll find a new doctor who has front desk staff that aren’t horrible bitches.  But frankly, finding a new doctor is exhausting and I’m too tired for that noise.

Stress

I find that living in NYC makes my anxiety level rise exponentially. Everything here just seems so dire.

Oh my God – I have to get up this escalator right now – I can’t believe you’re standing still on the left side of it! Can’t you see we’re all trying to get around you!?!

OhmahGod I have to get on this very full bus immediately, I can’t believe you don’t already have your MTA card out and in hand! 

What do you mean you only take cash?! 

It’s raining, and my umbrella isn’t golf sized!?!?    

It’s three o’clock in the afternoon on a Sunday,  I’m trying to take a nap and my neighbor is playing loud music?!?!   

Wtf?! The deli ran out of plastic forks?! 

Woe is me.

I’m going to be moving this summer, and while on its own, moving is incredibly stressful – moving in New York City?

World-ending-stressful.  

Two of my dearest friends in the city live near me but both of them are leaving NYC this summer.  One to LA and the other to Chicago; I don’t blame them, but I hate that they’re leaving me.   Because they won’t be nearby anymore, I’ll be changing neighborhoods, so I can live near other friends who welcome the chance to lay on the floor watching trashy tv and eating too much.   I have been planning to move into my own apartment, but sadly, now that I look at my budget, that seems less and less wise.   Additionally I’ll be travelling a lot this summer and worry about the actual schedule of moving. 

Being realistic is also incredibly stressful.  Why can’t I live in idiots-ville and just find an apartment that I like and assume that I’ll be able to find the money I need when it comes time to pay rent? 

Sigh.

If there was ever a time when I wished someone else would make decisions for me – it would be moving season.  Pick my perfect new apartment that fits inside my budget AND doesn’t require a broker fee.  Just get her done.