Elevators

Elevators are strange places. In a city like new york they can be a blessing or a curse.

Running late to work and the elevator is just waiting with open arms for you on the ground floor? Blessing.

Stuck between ten people who don't speak English and who all crammed around you to take the elevator up only one floor? Curse.

I find the psychology behind elevator etiquette fascinating. No one makes eye contact. Those tiny tvs that have a slide show of current events becomes the most interesting thing that ever was. Ever. If you enter the car first, you are expected to move to the furthest corner to make room for the others.

I was running late to a rehearsal last night and after sprinting from the train I made it thru security in the lobby only to get trapped in an elevator with a woman who pressed every button in the elevator.

After the doors closed.

So we stopped on each of the 19 floors before I made my escape. Now, I don't know if this woman was reminiscing about her childhood where pressing buttons was a rare delight or if she was fighting demons that whispered of the evils of life without lit up lights. I do know, however that whatever her reason, she was cognizant enough to wait to be crazy until after the doors slid shut.

Along with the inevitable nut case there are also the people who are incapable of seeing beyond their tiny world. The people who won't move out of the way if you have to exit a lower floor than theirs - the people who just stand stoic and force you to manhandle others and maneuver around their dead weight dead center in front of the exit.  I hate those people.

There are also the loud sighing put-upon heavyset white men who jab at the door close button like their life depends on it. Guess what guys? That doesn't actually speed things along I'm convinced that that button only exists to make control freaks running behind schedule feel like they have some ownership of their ride upstairs.  And inevitably there will be someone who dashes into the elevator right as the doors start to close and will enter the packed car as slowly as possible, causing further delays. 

One of my favorite things to do - maybe ever- is to face the wrong way in an elevator car. Give it a try sometime- it makes people so uncomfortable. Try facing in and look at the other passengers- way more interesting than staring at the finger smudged mirrored door. The lengths people will go to to not make eye contact with you is remarkable and hilarious. 

You should try it. 

Money down the drain.

Last night I did something I swore I'd never do. I paid actual money for extra lives in Candy Crush.

Well, actually, it was $0.99 for five extra turns.   But tomato tamahto.

I am ashamed of myself.

I promised myself that when I downloaded that insidious game I would never ever spend money to move ahead. I learned my lesson with Citiville on facebook… you think “oh it’s only a dollar, and c’mon, look at all I'll get”. In truth, what do you get?  Nothing. Nothing at all.  

Unless you count self-loathing as a perk.  Because if so – it comes in packs of 12.

I had been stuck on the same level of CandyCrush for almost three weeks. I play a lot too so that's a long time. I play when I’m on the train- going and coming from work or rehearsal or where ever.

I wouldn’t say that I’m a superstitious person- well, maybe I am- I mean, I always pick up heads up pennies when I find them and put them in my right shoe. I try not to walk beneath ladders, and I always toss salt over my shoulder if it spills... So i guess I am.  So disregard my previous statement.  I am a superstitious person.   I've had a rough go this month- I was unceremoniously dumped, I'm frustrated at my job and both of my parents have had recent health trouble.

So, for whatever reason, last night was the final straw. Some tiny unrealistic voice in my brain said - if you can get past this level then the rest of your shitty problems will also start to feel like they're behind you – no longer squashing you resolve to move forward. So I did it. I typed in my apple ID and bought the extra moves.

You wanna know the saddest part? I'm not even to level 200 yet- and I'm pretty sure there are 400 total - so If I get that stumped before I'm even half way thru the game - then what the hell is waiting for me later? If I were smart I'd delete the game now and go back to doing a crossword puzzle on my morning commute.

Yelling email

I have never done well when people are mad at me.  Whether it’s deserved or not, I don’t handle it well.  The other day I got a scathing email from someone who wronged me in the past and who I recently talked about to with a mutual acquaintance. Nothing I said was untrue and I didn’t embellish a thing – there was no need really as the scale of his lousiness was pretty high.  Anyway, in this email, he was furious and now I feel terrible.  Not because I got called out for gossiping – because please, everyone does it. Not because while I thought what I was saying was done in confidence, it wasn’t. I feel bad because I spent at least 95% of my life trying to do the right thing.  Do right by people, do what’s expected of me, be kind, be helpful – and those moments when I let me guard down are the moments that come back and punch me in the face

When we were little and my sister and I would get mad at my mom – her patented reply was always “I’m sorry you feel that way.”  No matter what we said or how much we screamed – she was always sorry we felt that way.  She was never sorry for actions or words – she was sorry for how we felt.

I wanted to reply to his email – acknowledge how angry he was and apologize for how he was feeling without apologizing for my actions or my feelings – which I did, but yet, I still feel terrible.

In high school the most popular boy in my freshman class and I dated for about a minute and a half.  When he dumped me I was devastated.  I spent a long time talking badly about him after that and always felt guilty.  Years later I wrote him a letter apologizing and wishing him well.  And, honestly, I had forgotten that I did that until last fall when I ran into him on the streets of NYC – he lives in LA.  We grabbed a drink to catch up on the last 15 years and he brought it up and said how much that letter meant to him.  I remember writing that letter – tracking down his address and mailing it, but I wouldn’t have remembered it without his bringing it up. 

For this man – who I haven’t seen in over two years – who I think about so rarely that it’s laughable to be so irate with me that he sends me a novel of hate mail makes me so sad.  Because for all the good I try to do – he thinks I’m terrible.  And I realize now re-reading this post– that I sound like a self-important ass hole.  But I try every day to be a good person, and it really truly, 100% bothers me that this person who I don’t think is good people, doesn’t.  I wish I could brush it off, move on, not care – but I’m not built that way.

Thunderstorm Anxiety

I love thunderstorms. I have always loved thunderstorms.

The last summer I worked as a camp counselor, we had series of tornado warnings and during the worst one of the season, everyone in camp was huddled in the cellar beneath the dining hall. 150 scared kids and 20 staff singing their throats out.  Nothing beats a good repeat after me song when trying to distract an 11 year old. We were missing a couple campers (who later turned up in the bathroom upstairs), so one of the staff had to search all the cabins to find them. I happily volunteered. I love storms. The sky was a shade of green I hope to never see again and trees were down all over the place - but if I'm being honest, that search made for one of the most invigorating and awesome afternoons I have ever had. I love storms.

My dog, however, does not.

I don't know if its just ingrained in her because she's a small dog or because or if it’s because she was a stray living on the streets for the first year of her life, but oh my god- she does not like thunder. I bought her a ThunderShirt and that has made a difference, but she is still so anxious during storms that I feel incredibly helpless. I've tried everything; the calming tablets, RescueRemedy drops, I close the curtains, put on fans or my ac to drown out the sounds and last night- a new low for my personal well being - we "slept" with the lights and radio on.

Last month during a storm, my little chi-weenie discovered her inner cat and climbed up to the top of my bookcase – maybe she was trying to surrender to the lightning gods and was trying to get closer to Zeus himself to be offered as a sacrifice- or perhaps, despite living on the top floor of our building she was just seeking higher ground... who knows. But last night- wrapped in her ThunderShirt- my quaking little dog found her only source of comfort on my pillow- and by my pillow I mean my face. Now - I’d like to think she wanted to be near me for comfort and security, but she also may have been tying to kill me to make sure I wouldn't steal oxygen from her when the storm stole it all.

Trying to get her out the door for our morning walk was a fight, as I don't think she slept at all and she is a mutant who can hold in her pee for 15 hours- she just wanted to stay snuggled in her puff. I dragged her outside- she did her business and pulled me home again so she could sleep. I'm off to work and am dreading the storm we're meant to get tonight.

Gone are the days of sleeping with the windows open. I now sympathize so badly with the author of Marley and Me. I now daydream about living somewhere with a soundproof room so I can tuck her safely inside and go back to enjoying the rain...pipe dreams. 

I used to love thunderstorms. Not anymore.

Throwin' those shoes away... or am I?

I seem to have gotten to a point in my life where things that used to, and probably should faze me, no longer do. 

Yesterday I was walking my dog near Union Square and a little poodle crouched nearby, so hopeful that my pup would take notice of her.  She did not of course, but I stopped to scratch the ears of this pooch. 

She peed on my foot. 

I was wearing ballet flats. 

Her owner was mortified.  

If I’m being honest though, I almost didn’t even notice.  What is wrong with me?  A little bit of urine on my foot?  No big deal.  How is dog pee any worse than schlepping thru the puddles in Manhattan after a rainstorm?   I mean, there are way grosser things in those puddles, and we walk thru them everyday.

Over the weekend I finally got to meet my oldest friend’s four month old son.  He is cuter in person than in photos – and I’m not even a baby person.  He vomited on me three times.  The first time was a surprise, I felt the warm goo slide down my arm.  A surprise, yes, but it didn’t faze me.  I barely even washed.  Why not use the napkin in my lap to just wipe it away? Who needs soap and water? Not me.   The third round of puking was the most violent and went straight down my shirt.  I’m not sure if he was hoping to send that milk back where it came from, but, sorry kid - you got the wrong lady.

I wonder if it’s because I have a dog now, or if it’s because I was a camp counselor?  Or maybe I am just immune to the gross out?  Whatever the reason, for the record Universe, I am not asking to be peed on regularly, but when it happens, so long as I’m not wearing new shoes – I’m okay.