Tag Archives: midtown east

These Boots Were Made for Walkin’

Filed under funner times on the bus, it's fun to be fat, why i'm better than everyone else
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I do not run for things. Like, physically. This is perhaps the reason why the gym doesn’t work out for me. I would much, much rather be late to something than to hurry myself, to rush across the street on a flashing Don’t Walk sign to catch a fleeting bus or to plow down some station stairs to catch a train sitting with its doors open for an extra second. I think people who run for things look stupid. I hate people who are too eager. I hate people who care about things too much when they’re things I don’t care about.

Yet last Friday morning, I found myself turning the corner onto 42nd Street, seeing the bus waiting at the stop, noticing there was still a long line of people waiting to get on, and actually breaking out in a run. I have no idea why. I was running late, but why would I care about running late? Maybe it’s that I knew I would be getting to the stop just as the bus was pulling away and that everyone on the bus would know I had meant to get on it and that that would be more embarrassing that bothering myself to run for it. I’m irrational like that.

So I took off in the fastest jog I could in a pair of really rubbery flip-flops, and things were going pretty well. I probably could’ve walked just as fast if I really wanted to put in the effort of swinging my arms and rolling my hips and all, so I figured I was still looking fairly nonchalant to anyone who might be judging my eagerness, yet I hopefully looked like I cared enough about making it onto the bus that the driver would take pity and wait on me if everyone else loaded quickly.

But then, halfway down the block, the toe part of one of my flip-flops suddenly somehow doubled under itself and messed up my rhythm, and I had to stop to straighten things out. Just then, this beautiful brown-skinned woman went gliding past me in a summery black dress, her natural hair highlighted with a white faux flower. Her long, slender legs, fitted with soft black ballerina flats, flitted in front of her one at a time like those of a more-graceful gazelle. I somehow expected that she’d stop, that we’d laugh about me trying to run in my stupid shoes, and that we’d walk arm in arm to the bus. Instead, she probably laughed as my shorter, stouter legs, bound in too-tight, too-hot jeans pounded the pavement in comparison, and while she boarded the bus nimbly with a bounce, I hoisted myself up, out of breath and windblown with the entire bus glowering at me for making them wait.

That’ll teach me to try.

How to Water Plants in NYC

Filed under living in new york is neat
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You should’ve seen the look this guy gave me when he saw me taking a picture of him.

People in some foreign countries don’t have any water at all, and we spray ours all over the sidewalk. I find it kind of sad and kind of awesome.

(Mostly awesome.)

Clearly, I’m Destined for a Long Career in Erotica-Writing

Filed under bigtime celebrity, living in new york is neat
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My jack-of-all-trades friend Alan Corey of A Million Bucks by 30: How to Overcome a Crap Job, Stingy Parents, and a Useless Degree to Become a Millionaire Before (or After) Turning Thirty fame is a bigshot over at NabeWise, a new website devoted to revealing what makes NYC and San Francisco neighborhoods worth living in.

He asked me to do a series of guest posts about the neighborhoods I love most . . . in the style of a romance novel. Having never read a single romance novel in my life because I’m too much of a literary elitist, I was obviously the perfect choice for the task.

But they ran my post, anyway!

And it’s almost word-for-word what I sent them! Although the things they decided to leave out were obviously the best parts. Such as the phrase “like a mouthful of man-nectar between parted lips” and my mention of “buttflaps on old-timey pajamas”. Who doesn’t love buttflaps?! What I’m saying is–if you notice the same weird mistakes in the article that I do, rest assured that I wasn’t the one who made them. Not that I need to defend my reputation to you assholes.

Anyway, go read my post! And (please) make all of your friends read it, too, so I’ll have motivation to start on a super-sexy blogging-related Harlequin romance novel.

New York City is Supposed to be Devoid of Nature, and That’s Why I Moved Here

Filed under living in new york is neat, stuff i hate, super furry animals
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I spent my entire morning commute yesterday thinking that something was crawling on me. Now, my morning commute is only five stops on the train, but rush hour trains are always held up at the stations by passengers trying to cram themselves in, so five stops can take a half an hour. So picture me feeling itchy all over for a half an hour, adjusting the tags on my shirt and jacket in case that was the problem, furiously scratching the places I felt it most.

At first I thought it might be my imagination, because I do drop acid before going to work every morning, after all. But at one point, I actually felt like something was crawling on my ear. And I felt like the guy across from me on the train was watching it happen. I tried to distract myself with my Kindle, but I kept having to reach up every two minutes to brush existent or non-existent things off of my face. I wanted to get out a mirror and have a look, but I thought it was better to not know for sure, considering what my reaction might be.

I had it in my mind that it might be a spider, and I am totally scared of spiders. Like, scared in the way that if someone put a fake one in my lunch or on my pillow, I would never talk to that person again. Growing up on a farm, I was running downstairs nightly to wake my dad up and make him kill one I had or had maybe spotted on the wall beside my bed. Even now when I go to Ohio to visit, I’m on a constant look-out for spiders all over the house, and last time I was home and made my sister kill one for me that was dropping from the ceiling, she asked me, “How did you manage to survive twenty-some years in the country?” In that same trip, I made my best friend, Tracey, reach across me while we were in the Taco Bell drive-thru to pluck one of those little hairy spiders off of the armrest attached to my door. I really think I’m more equipped to deal with cockroaches somehow.

Anyway, I finally got to work and ran to the bathroom to check out my face. I didn’t see anything, so I officially chalked it up to my wild imagination and did my business. As I was washing my hands, though, this cute little spider came down on his web right in front of my face FROM MY HAIR. It was then that I remembered walking underneath a tree and noticing a spider hanging from it at the very last moment that morning, but never did I consider that it might have jumped on me. I tried to scream, but only air came out, and even though the last thing I want to do in the world is purposely touch a spider, I reached up and smacked it away.

And then I frantically checked the floor for it, but it was nowhere to be seen. And then I spent the rest of the day itching myself and being completely miserable.

Keep it together, New York City. My dad already thinks I’m stupid enough for living here.

Filed under living in new york sucks so hard
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Saturday: a bomb scare closes down Times Square.

Sunday: someone kills himself by jumping from Kamran’s apartment building.

WTF, NYC?