slow. down.

A timeless New York cliché is that everyone is constantly in a hurry. Frantic residents scurry around manically knocking over the elderly, elbowing tourists, and leaving the blind in the dust. I maintain a tortoise inspired speed based on my heat regulation issues, so I had yet to notice this as a truism until the past week. I typically get from point a to point b while tucked away in an ipod induced reverie and slower pace, however it seems to be true that all other New Yorkers have one of three things that I don’t.

a) more important places to be
b) the ability to remain a normal temperature
c) a death wish

Not only do people legitimately sprint along avenues as if there is some type of pot of gold or all you can eat pizza buffet at the end, but they gallivant in front of speeding vehicles as if they magically do not have the ability to hit them. In the rare occasion that I am not lost I do enjoy the feeling of walking boldly into the road so confident in my route that I must display to all around me. Each time I tempt the traffic gods with a brassy step, there is another that must step a little further until there launches a veritable Russian roulette hokey pokey hybrid.

Maybe this is why I am eternally 10 minutes late, but I refuse to rush or risk my life to get where I am going. Based purely on my own perception of reality and timing, I would say the average red light is about 1 minute and 30 seconds. Additionally, a 6 train comes every 45 seconds, so a sprint isn’t warranted for the daily subway catching endeavor either. I won’t claim to be right about everything, however I am fairly certain street sprinters worldwide could benefit from slowing down and giving up the 5 minutes saved daily by rushing and tempting traffic odds. Or alternatively, maybe I could benefit by hurrying up and starting to be a little bit timelier. Who knows?

Come on Phil

It used to upset me greatly when people would bail on plans due to unfavorable weather. “I see no reason why we should be cooped up all winter long crying in our soup.” I would shout, fists in the air. I for one was not to be put out of a good time based on a few snowflakes or gusts of wind. Perhaps this school of thought stemmed from my heat disorder and the idea that one can bundle for the cold by appropriately layering, however it was always a disappointment when people would hid themselves away for the winter months, leaving me to frolic by my lonesome.

It wasn’t until this weekend as I lay on the couch for the 8th hour of syndicated television, refusing to even exit the apartment for a brief breath of fresh air or to see a single fellow human being that I realized things had changed. In true comic book form, a tiny light bulb illuminated above my head and I suddenly realized I am depressed. I no longer enjoy activities that I once did, all I want to do is sleep, and I the thought of venturing into the outside world overwhelms me excessively. The cold dark days of winter have zapped every ounce of joy from my life.

Just as I resign myself to a life of solitude and gloom, with plans only to play the saxophone on fog infested street corners and to pour out my soul to price gauging therapists, I experience a faint hallucination/daydream in which I am skipping through a field of blooming wild flowers with a basket of puppies, basking in the warm glow of sunshine. And it hits me. I don’t need a therapist at all. I need one of those little heat lamps that trick your body into thinking life isn’t awful.

That is right folks, I am SAD. I am lethargic and craving carbohydrates, which the official website indicate as signals of SADness. Apparently I can either get the lamp, some antidepressants, or explore talk therapy, however I would prefer to take the route of the hibernator. So like our friends, the bear, bat, and some types of squirrel I will be stocking up on snacks and burrowing myself away for the remainder of this insufferable tundra known as winter. I will see you in 6 weeks.

Become Your Dream

I am basically in love with this crafty little UES graffiti artist. I am not sure if his “Become Your Dream” theme is a promotion for a local coffee shop or maybe gang speak for murder or something, but I am all about him (or her). He also loves to draw little fish that are either kissing or smoking cigarettes in chalk on the sidewalk, but I prefer the furniture messages. I love finding an abandoned medicine cabinet, coffee table, or mattress and wondering if I will see my favorite inspirational message painted across it.

It is definitely the little things in life, and pretty much every day in which I drag along to work and my eye catches a stray chair or bookcase I have noticed that I walk a little faster, with a little extra purpose, and the full intent to become my dream.

Picture of Health.

After hearing that a friend has lost 8 pounds in 5 days after seeing a nutritionist, I briefly toyed with the idea of visiting one myself! Even though I may have previously claimed to not need specific guidelines in order to accomplish goals, I clearly do, especially when it comes to being healthy. I wondered what secrets this elusive nutritionist could uncover for me, which lifestyle choices she would she would recommend.

Then I thought for a brief moment and realized that I don’t need a nutritionist at all. Mostly I just need to stop eating so much pizza. And stop drinking so much beer. I don’t know how it really happened, but sometime in the past year I have somehow morphed from an adult woman into a College boy. It’s not that I am inactive or sluggish. I am pretty much a gym fanatic; it’s just that I consume pretty much everything in site. And these things happen to be an even blend of carbohydrates and dairy.

I however, do not have the metabolism of a college boy, so I need to start thinking about this from a more reasonable perspective. I have broken it down into a 3-step program, which will lead me to fitness acme. This is clearly a fitness breakthrough worthy of a book deal of some sort or at least an article in Woman’s Day or some equivalent publication.

Step 1. Less Beer
Step 2. Less Pizza
Step 3. Fewer Bagels

Now that I am on a health kick I might be a little irritable so just let me be for a few days. Once all the cheesy, beery, carby goodness is out of my system I am sure I will soon forget how delicious it once was and turn to kale, and quinoa, and fish oil in its stead. I will keep you posted.

In case you don’t know…

Anyone that has met me or been near me knows that I have a small issue when it comes to the way of temperature regulation. And when I say small issue you know that I mean pretty much a life debilitating handicap. Not to say that this has entirely impeded my day-to-day existence, however I have been forced to develope some coping techniques and employ several tactics in order to coexist peacefully with other normally temperate people.

First of all, I primarily wear dresses. This wardrobe decision not only allows for more freedom and flexibility, but also provides me with consistent airflow and breathability. Additionally, I have several purse sized water spritzers ready to provide a cooling mist, whenever needed. These are mostly useful for overheated bar or concert situations, where a quick spritz can ease the discomfort of crowd induced humidity. As an added bonus I have filled each with mineral water to provide my skin with the glow of youth as I sizzle the night away. Where my work colleagues have space heaters, I have a tiny fan. Sleeping, for me, is most comfortable when within my self-crafted wind tunnel clocking in at about 55 degrees of bliss.

One might ask, “ Is all of this really necessary?” My response might be that until I am that person wearing shorts 365 days of the year, I think so. I have been many different sizes, completed a wide range of physical activities from light walking to triathloning, and lived in a diverse collection of climates. One thing remains constant, which is my extreme warmth. So if I ever seem unnecessarily flustered, averse to physical attention, or overly aggressive, please know that it is not you. It is most likely due to the fact that I am about 9 million degrees. And if you ever see a neon red person requesting ice cubes in a bar prior to an actual cocktail, it is most likely me or another fellow heat victim. So try not to judge and enjoy the fact that you are temperature appropriate.

The day I had to beg

I was reflecting the other day about how people tend to add more details to stories and explanations when they are lying. It is as if we think that by adding what kind of soup you were picking up for your Grandma will be the final bit of information needed to convince the other party that your excuse is genuine. Any time somebody does add this kind of detail, a pleading element is introduced, begging for the recipient to just accept the lie and move on. So anytime I am about to craft a tiny enhanced version of the truth I make sure to keep it brief. And, moreover anytime someone goes into a long-winded explanation about something, I mildly tune out, immediately accepting the statement as false.

Then I recalled a particular instance, which mildly debunks this theory. It was early spring, before I had moved into the city and I was racing to Grand Central for an early morning train to CT after crashing at a friend’s the night before. I was hosting a Mother Daughter cocktail party that evening and I NEEDED to make this train in order to make a bevy of appointments and errands I had arranged prior to the event. I arrived to the terminal essentially profusely sweating, sporting a minor upgrade from pajamas, and a head of hair that looked days un-brushed, with barely five minutes until the train’s departure, when I realized I am without the wallet that houses my money, credit cards, and train ticket.

I was at a junction where I could take one of two paths. I could either accept that I would miss my train and delay my day by a few hours or alternatively I could ask for help. I decided to ask for help. I hadn’t exactly gazed in a mirror, but I am fairly certain I was a site for exceptionally sore eyes. But I am a nice girl and I think I look pretty honest so I asked the first man I saw if I could perhaps borrow 3 dollars due to the fact that I only had 8 dollars in my pocket and I just needed three more to make my fare home to see my family.

I mean… it’s pretty much a textbook example from the panhandling handbook, but I continued on to explain that I had been staying with a friend and forgotten my wallet. As if adding these additional tidbits made me more human and less… insane. I saw the man look me up and down and hold up a hand to stop me. He gave me the money, more to shut me up than anything else, and when I asked for his address to send him the money he declined in a way that clearly indicated that he thought I would murder his family and pillage his home if I had my hands on that piece of information

When the janitorial staff of Grand Central think you are a street dweller it is a slight blow to one’s ego, however seeing that kind of fear in a complete stranger’s eyes is quite thought inspiring. All of these times when folks have just needed a few more dollars for bus fare to get home to see their families or get a little gas for the broken down car, or to get a metro card, maybe that is all they really did need. I still don’t give money to people when they spin the kind of tale I did, but I guess I should think twice, considering I still owe $3 to the karma pool.

Happy New Year!

This time of year is one that is particularly dichotomous. People are left riddled with guilt due to poor holiday decision making, over-indulgence, and overspending. There is a mild depression that sets in at the start of the long months of winter and a general sense of finality. And after a respite of brief celebration and jubilance, January 1st is invariably somewhat of a let down. However, this thick darkness is combated with the optimistic hope that this year will be better than the last.

In order to make sure that this is the case, we all make resolutions that we vow to keep to improve our lives and our environment. These can range from specific, “Drop 1 tenth of second on my mile” to general, “survive”. I personally like to go the vague route as, I don’t think it is healthy to script one’s life, but additionally that way I am not entirely held accountable when I fail. So in the spirit of looking forward, versus falling prey to the winter blues, my resolutions for 2010 are below.

1. Be nicer
2. Be healthier
3. Be calmer
4. Exhibit restraint

Of course there are certain specifics required to accomplish these goals, however I refuse to ruin my false sense of hope by micromanaging my plan to self-betterment. My only specific is that I give 2010 my best. So 2009, it is with mixed emotions that I am writing to let you know it is over. I have tried to reconcile our past during a period of self-reflection during the recent days and I have come to terms that our relationship has run its course.

Although there were some wonderful moments, I cannot continue with our unhealthy relationship any further. I have to believe that 2010 has bigger plans for me than you did. I have to at least believe this until it is warm enough for me to reconsider hurling myself over a ledge. So until then- show me what you got 2010! Happy New Year all!!!

Why? Whyyyyy

Something horrible is happening all around us and I am not sure if anyone is truly ready for it. Winter has settled in. For a brief moment this past weekend when I was frolicking along Compo beach basking in the golden glow of the unadulterated sun, I thought maybe it was spring. Families were playing Frisbee, jackets were sporadic, and I am pretty sure I saw the crowning of a newborn crocus on someone’s lawn. But alas, the bitter winds have taken warmth away from us and replaced it with the harsh reality that winter is here until March 20th. So everyone should settle in for three long, horrible months, until we will be able to enjoy a few mediocre ones that will bring us back to the glory of summer. To help guide this journey, below are a few reasons why I love box wine.

1.3 bottles? One box? Hello!
2.They fit perfectly into my freakishly small fridge
3.They are environmentally conscious- we all know I am all about reducing my carbon footprint! If I need to continue to drink box wine in order to save the environment, then I will just have to do it!
4.They are extremely portable and perfect for a picnic or a long subway ride.
5.They come complete with a spigot for easy pouring and sealing.

I hereby pronounce box wine as eggnog’s replacement and the single item that will get me through winter. That- or we could figure out how the whole hibernation thing works.

Thanks and Praise

I recently had a holiday gathering at which I planned to almost solely serve eggnog and since apparently nobody really likes I it I am left with a plethora of excess nog. Since I pretty much only have eggnog in my fridge currently after I recently polished off the jar of cornichons I have been munching on, I have exclusively been drinking eggnog on a nightly basis post holiday extravaganza. And I have discovered that this little elixir is intoxicatingly delicious.

Who invented this magical concoction? What genius decided that blending eggs, milk, and sugar would make such a perfect treat? It has completed my winter nights as I doze off to sleep in front of tube and it has been a surprising addition to my morning coffee. It is also a splendid portal for consuming large quantities of alcohol. Why are we limited to eggnog just one time per year?? Will the day ever come that this could be a year round delicacy?

I still have a few more cartons, so I won’t panic just yet, but I am fearful of the day when I have to put the mug down and step away from the eggnog. What comforting beverage will fill its void? To the creator of eggnog- thank you. My challenge to you now- send me something to wean me off its sweet sweet nectar.

Fin

I envisioned this online dating venture as a thrilling topic of blogging. Since most aspects of my life chart me in the fast lane, I figured this would be the same. I pictured numerous dates per week, doubling up on certain days, confusing people’s back-stories and having wild tales of stalkers and obsessive compulsive prone perverts to bring to the girls at work. I was also looking forward to obtaining exceptional blogging material.

However, it is now that the sad truth is beginning to present itself. My forte in life is most likely not online dating. I am awful at small talk, I don’t get online chatting, and crafting a witty e-mail is not really my game. Most of all, I hate talking about myself to people I don’t know. Due to my distaste for this rather integral cornerstone in socialization, I am essentially no good at meeting new people. I thought it was just in person, but as it turns out this extends to the online world as well.

Somehow I have made it pretty far in life for being almost entirely socially awkward, so I am going to just pray that the above is not completely true. Maybe I just haven’t gotten the knack of dating online, need to devote a bit more focus, or I need a new site, but in order not to bore any of my loyal readers, I am going to hold off on any further updates until I have some that is actually interesting to share.