Tag Archives: living in new york sucks so hard

When the President Comes to Town

Filed under living in new york sucks so hard, politicking
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I think that when I lived in Ohio, I was neutral-to-positive about the United Nations. I actually remember defending it to someone–my dad?–saying that even though it allows itself to be basically powerless and just for show, it’s a good idea at its core.

But now that I’m dating someone who lives literally steps from the UN headquarters, I understand that it was created entirely to take pity on people from lesser countries, give them good parking spots for their giant gas-guzzlers, and allow them a place to prance around in the ridiculous costumes of their homelands.

That’s right. The UN General Assembly meeting made me a jingoist.

It was all just so annoying. The neighborhood was littered with cops not doing anything, clumped in groups and lounging on whatever was nearby. Their undercover comrades sat on the park benches and pretended to read books, believable but for the wired earpieces sticking out of their collars. All of the streets were blocked off to non-UN traffic, so the buses we use every day were rerouted, which means we actually had to walk amongst these animals. And of course none of the bus stops actually had signs on them saying the buses weren’t stopping there.

Tuesday, I got to 42nd Street after work, and these guards were standing on the sidewalk behind some barriers, but I was like, “Yeah, I live here,” and tried to saunter by without incident, but of course one of the guards took a step backward to block me and gave me this whole run-around before sending me one block north, where there were no guards. Reeeeeeeeeal intense security, guys.

Wednesday night, I came up out of the subway, and pedestrian traffic was stopped to let one motorcade of black SUVs pass west and then another motorcade pass east on the wrong side of the road. White dudes in suits were leaning out both sides of the cars, yelling at every delivery boy and street-crosser in sight. It had to all be for the President, right? Sirens wailed and horns honked, and you could see all of the Secret-Service-looking guys crammed into the backs of the vehicles despite the tinted glass, and I stood in the middle of it like, “OH MY GOD THIS IS AWESOME.” Because I am from Ohio and am easily impressed by shiny things.

Oh, UN.

Attacked by the Bubble Man

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There are these gypsy vendors near the Bowling Green subway station every night who sell ties for $5, earrings for $2, perfume for $10, candy for $1, and so on. Most of them are harmless, and indeed, I almost enjoy hearing the guy with the huge dreadlocks boom, “Everything a dollar!” and seeing the candy lady sitting at her cart and reading in between customers every day. I like to think about how many books she finishes in a week.

But every now and then, there’s a guy selling bubble guns. He’s really aggressive with people he has no chance of selling to, like young women in impressive suits and bachelors with popped collars. He repeats, “Get your bubbles; take a LOOK!” and shoots bubbles at the people who ignore him.

Last night, he was directing his bubbles right into the face of a little Japanese kid in a stroller while the parents just smiled, and I passed by without looking at him. He said, “Get your bubbles; take a LOOK!” right into my ear, and I ignored him, so he stalked after me and shot bubbles at me halfway down the stairs to the subway.

Can I file harassment charges?

The Subway Makes Me Want My Mommy, Too

Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york sucks so hard
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Just before I manhandled some poor old lady on the R train on Tuesday, I was relaxing with the first book of the Sookie Stackhouse series on my Kindle on my way home from work. Bill kept saying Sookie’s name, and I kept thinking about the way he draws it out all low and slow like some emo 15-year-old in “True Blood”, the TV adaptation of the books, and I was enjoying the thought.

There were exactly 4 people in my train car, because it was still before rush hour. I was sitting at the end of a three-seater, and there was a girl on the other end of it, one seat away from me. Two guys were sitting together farther down the car, and every single other seat was empty.

At City Hall, the doors opened, and in my peripheral vision, I saw what I can only describe as an ogre barreling onto the train. I didn’t look up, because I try not to stare at obviously-crazy people, but from over my Kindle, all I could see were these giant–I mean GIANT–feet leading the way. It wasn’t just that they were longer than I’ve ever seen; they were super-thick, too, as if he was wearing black platform moonboots. He took these enormously wide steps, too, like he had been straddling a horse for months and had lost the ability to unbend his knees.

Read the rest here.

Also, it’s been a super-busy week on UNBREADED, donuts4dinner, and even Lost and Lonely Leftovers. I must have been bored.

Wait Your Turn, Grandma

Filed under fun times on the subway, living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality
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I met a friend for dinner Tuesday night and told her I was so glad to be seeing her just so I could get this story off of my chest and never have to publicly admit to it, but of course I have to publicly admit to it. It’s not that I think I was in the wrong, because I know I was in the right, but I still can’t help feeling guilty about physically intimidating an old lady in the train. Yes. You read that right.

I was on the R coming uptown from work. As the train neared Union Square, I turned off my Kindle and casually headed for the door. I don’t like to rush right over and potentially block someone who might be in a bigger hurry than I am, but I also need to make it clear that I’m getting off so I don’t get trapped inside the car by all the crazy people coming in. Because they are always crazy.

So by the time the train came to a stop, I was firmly in front of the doors and ready to plow through the group outside on the platform who were inching closer and closer like classic horror-movie zombies in a feeding frenzy. I could see that there was this wiry white-shirted person right in front of one of the windows, but I didn’t make eye contact, because it’s easier to make people think I might cut them if I don’t show them my innocent, doe-like eyes.

Read the rest here.

I’m GLAD You Were Bitten

Filed under living in new york sucks so hard, my uber-confrontational personality, super furry animals
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I was on my way up to Kamran’s apartment last night after the first meeting of my bowling team. In the elevator was a guy about my age with one earbud and a Chihuahua on a leash.

(I have to mention the leash part, because people in Kamran’s building love to let their dogs loose in the elevators, which I of course find extremely fun but Kamran finds kind of annoying, as he’s allergic to anything cute.)

Across from me was a slightly older woman who reminded me of an even uglier version of the detestable designer Ivy Higa from this season’s “Project Runway”. They were both looking at the floor. The Chihuahua came to sniff my jeans, and I said, “Hello!”, which usually inspires dog owners to chat with me, but this guy continued to stand quietly.

We were still waiting for our elevator doors to close when the elevator across from us opened up, and an elderly lady and her dog stepped out. It seemed like some sort of Beagle mix to me, small and kind of dopey-looking, and it made a beeline for the little Chihuahua. The lady let out her leash a little so the dog could come over to us, and the two pets sniffed each others’ noses adorably for a second until . . .

The icky woman across from me suddenly said, “Okay, I need to fucking GET OUT OF HERE. I can’t handle this,” and began jabbing at the button that closes the doors. The older lady quickly gave her leash a tug, and the two dogs were pulled apart.

I thought maybe she was in a real hurry or something, but even so, I was pretty grossed out by her display. As our doors began to close, I said, “Woooooooooooow. That was really . . . angry.” The woman just stared at the floor.

The guy with the Chihuahua said, “She was bitten by a dog.”

I said, “Oh, you two are together?” in what I’ll admit was a disgusted voice, and he said, “No, but she just told me that.”

I had no idea how to respond. I mean, I can be the queen of irrational fears when it comes to spiders and weird things at the bottoms of swimming pools, but I couldn’t help thinking this woman was dumb. It’s one thing to be afraid of some rabid 80-pounder baring its teeth at you, but this was a CHIHUAHUA politely sniffing things. GET A GRIP and go get yourself another elevator.

We got to the guy’s floor a second later, though, and I cheerfully said, “Goodnight!” as he exited, and he completely ignored me, so maybe it really is me who has no idea how to act in public.