Hailing a Bus

Annie lives smack between two bus stops on 3rd Ave., which travels uptown. After an episode of "Project Runway" last week I stepped out of her apartment to see that the bus had already stopped at the 23rd St. stop, so I hiked up my skirt (a little) and ran for the next stop. I didn't make it. (Of course.)

I didn't stop running and yelled, "You suck!"

Then, someone whistled.

The bus stopped!

I got on.

I didn't think the bus sucked anymore.

I liked the bus.

"Did you whistle?" the bus driver asked me.

I shook my head.

When I got off I made a point to display my gratitude with a big gushy "Thaaaank you!!" to the bus driver.

Someone hailed me a bus. And it wasn't even my doorman.*



*I live in a sixth floor walkup. We don't have a doorman.

D.C. Nostalgia

Sometimes, I honestly miss D.C.

Where as New York is all "I'm so snobby!" in a skinny, fashionable model/actress way; D.C. is "I'm so snobby!" in a I went to Princeton/Yale/UVA way.

NYC: "Oh my god I saw Ben Stiller!"
D.C.: "Oh my god I saw Barack Obama!"

NYC: "I wear a suit to Wall St."
D.C.: "I always wear a grey suit and a blue or red tie! (I like to mix it up.)"

NYC: "Check out my BIG ASS Balenciaga bag!"
D.C.: "Check out my BIG ASS S.U.V.!"

NYC: "I depise chain restaurants!"
D.C.: "My favorite restaurant is Outback Steakhouse, and of course, Starbucks! I just looove Starbucks."

NYC: "I'm a Manahattan snob!"
D.C.: "I'm a Northern Virginia snob!"

NYC: "I miss Target. There's one in Brooklyn. That's far."
D.C.: "I live within a 10 mile radius of SEVEN Targets!"

NYC: "I hate that skinny bitch Lindsay Lohan."
D.C.: "I hate that bitchy bitch Hillary Clinton."

NYC: "George Bush is such a dumb ass."
50-percent of D.C.: "George Bush is such a dumb ass."
50-percent of D.C.: "George Bush is such a dumb ass, but I have to do what he says or I'm out of a job."

Corners

I think I saw a prostitute under the Queensboro Bridge at 6:45 in the morning. It was the start of a new day for me. I was dragging my ass to the gym. I guess it was the end of a day's, er, night's work for her. I didn't want to stare, so I didn't turn around until after I passed under the bridge and crossed 59th St. She was gone. Damn, that was quick. She really must have been prostitute. After all, who stands under a bridge at 6:45 am wearing skin tight shorts hiked up like to look underwear and high heels that lace up the leg that isn't a prostitute?

Around 2:30 pm this afternoon I'm standing on a corner myself. The Red Hand is telling me to stay put, so I'm standing there.

"You must not be from here, or you would have gone by now!"

I shot this man holding a McDonalds bag the Look of Death. I hadn't seen sunlight in over six hours and missed having lunch with Annie because I had been caught up with work—proofreading and putting changes into Quark—WITHOUT my left contact because it had broken in HALF. I felt like I was the Grand Duke with the monocle in Cinderella. So the Look of Death was more like a Skewed, Squinting Look of Death.

"I live here. I'm on my lunch break and I'm not in a hurry."

"Well, I'm from California!"

Hmmm. I care?

When the White Walker signaled that it was OK to cross he actually said: "Nice talking to you!"

If You Didn't Know...Honking...

Is ILLEGAL in New York.

Unless, of course you are about to hit someone.

But, if you're not, and no one is in imminent danger of Death by Taxi—hence, you are just being an ass—then it will cost you $350.

Except, I've never seen anyone get a ticket for honking, but I did watch Kent get a $ 50 ticket for smoking a cigarette within the parameters of the outdoor subway stop at Yankee Stadium.

So I'll keep on keeping on with my "SHUT UP! Won't you juuuust shuuuut up!" plead to the just-emerged-from-the-Queensboro-tunnel jackasses when I walk down East 63rd St.

Let's Go Hokies InYourFace!

There’s one sure fire way to be catcalled in New York: Virginia Tech clothing. You, the unassuming victim, will be walking down the street minding your own business when, “YEAH! WOO!” There’s a screaming girl walking down the street towards you, a girl, not a construction worker, not a skitzo, a normal looking girl.

You ask yourself (in an Australian accent): “WTF, mate?”*

And before you pass each other by, she gets in your face:

“Let’s GOOO HOKIES!”

Ah, but of course, you are wearing a Virginia Tech Hokies hat.

While this happens to me on a regular basis, just last week there was a run in with a dreaded Ooova-er.

“AH!” Imagine the voice of a cartoon super hero’s nemesis. “A..HOKIE!” he says with spite, spite! “A whole pack of Hokies! Gah! I went to U-V-A!”

I whip around, stick out my chest to proudly display VIRGINIA TECH FOOTBALL on my t-shirt, definitely my nemesis, “BOOOOOO UVA!” I yell waving emphatic THUMBS DOWN motions.

But sometimes, I’m the one catcalling the Hokies. Just today there was an unassuming (the person is always unassuming) kid is walking down Park Avenue and I see him.

Oh, I’m sooo saying something.

I actually get in his face—geeze, what’s wrong with me—as he passed by, “Let’s gooo HOKIESEEES!!!”

He turns around and I’m still smiling at him like a dirty, sweaty, catcalling construction worker, only I’m a dirty, sweaty, badly dressed 9-to-5-er who has removed the sweater of her outfit that is SO FALL and is wearing a tan tank top that makes me, maybe, but hopefully not, look naked.

WELCOME TO NY!!!

*Scary Side Note^: Über-popular at VT two years ago, this animated cartoon at is now completely outdated and just made me very, very old.
^Even Scarier Side Note: I still use most of the cartoon's "funny" phrases on a regular basis. woot...

Bottle Shots

So today I’m doing a little background research on a brand’s new Web site that’s listing Alana Cumming as one of its “trendsetters.” And since Alan and I go way back to May—I averted my eyes as he passed by me at Iriving 71 and then I, no joke, found $20 (always wanted to say that)—I was surprised to see that he has launched a fragrance, “Cumming the Fragrance.”* He never told me about it anyway.

Yikes, Alan, cheesey bottle. And what are those thumbnails at the top, pictures of you? Hmmm, you have a piereced nipple, well I never knew that. Um, wait a minute, lots of sexy half-naked/totally-naked-just-not-showing-anything Alan Cumming pictures to sell a cologne? Why would…..oooh, I am definitely out of the target audience for this ad campiagn.

And oh my gosh, I’m at work and if anybody saw that, thumbs down.

*Hmm, cannot link the actual site, but type in Cummingthefragance.com to see Alan in the semi-nude. teehee

HelloHello x Two

After two years of owning two t-shirts that say the EXACT same thing in different languages, I've finally realized: I OWN TWO T-SHORTS THAT SAY THE EXACT SAME THING IN DIFFERENT LANGUAGES!! What's wrong with me?




I mean, I understand enough Italian to know that "Ciao" means "Hello." Heck, I know enough Italian to know that "Ciao" also means "Bye."


More importantly, who needs TWO t-shirts that say, "Hello! Hello!" In my personal expereince (obviously, doublely more than I was aware before) wearing such as phrase on a t-shirt is just an invitation for some smartass to say, "HELLO! HELLO!" all up in my face. Like you are soooo clever and NO ONE has ever done THAT before.

Hmph!

But, seriously HOW have I not realized—in two years—that I own TWO shirts that say the same thing? Two shirts. Same whitty message.

The only conclusion I can gather: The shirts have VERY different histories.


I acquired "Ciao Ciaco" during my Thanksgiving trip with Sable to Firenze! to visit LoLo (sniff, just realized all those images are gone, particularly the one with me and EIGHT Italians guys, stupid computer). This shirt is the STAPLE of the tourist bartering expereince in Florence. It only costs € 5, but I was buying five and I actually convined the ragazzi to give me ALL FIVE for ONLY € 20! Woot!


"Hello. Hello." Now this is a story. Coach Caroline made me this shirt in the Summer of 2004, because I did something silly, so she immoralized it on a shirt thanks to Ali at Le T-Shirt (who wants her to marry his son, but if he wasn't married himself, he'd probably be trying to get her to marry himself...).

During that summer I discovered that being the CRAZIEST person on the planet held the attention span of 5- to 8-year-olds for 2 minute spurts. So, the whole summer, "Coach Bridget, you are sooo WEIRD!"

One Wednesday night meet, Coach Caroline is talking to the coach of the other team, Coach Brad (Coach Patrick later discovered his name). I catch a glimpse of Coach Brad and decide that he's cute, (later, I decide he's not). They finish talking, she walks over to me, I assume he's gone and out of earshot when when I gush: "Heeel-LO! Heeel-LO!" I turn and right there is Coach Brad.

Smooooth!

At the All Star Meet, my fellow coaches dared to go up to him and say, "Coach Brad! Hello! Hello!" Caroline even said she'd buy my lunch. I was too humiliated.


****

I was thinking about how that summer turn me into a Wild and Crazy Guy, er, girl, after which I really could no longer take my self seriously...

For example, senior year I went on spring break in Jamaica that the DJ taglined: "Sex, Drugs, and JERK CHICKEN!" The night before I come down with bronchitis (diagonosed as pneumonia the next week) everyone is dancing on the beach all MTV-spring-break and I'm dancing all goofy. It's spring break. It's Jamaica. And I just can't bring myself to celebrate "Sex, Drugs, and JERK CHICKEN!" through my dancing because everyone seems ready lick the person next to him or her that I feel like I could just stand there and get hit on, so why should I even shake my booty, espcially when there's some crazy girl shaking her ass in a pink skirt.... Oh my, was that a butt check?

Anyway, whether or not standing around like a bump on a log would have enticed the boys, I'll never know. The next day I woke up shaking uncontrollably thinking it was the craziest hang over ever, until I went to the clinic and they told me that I had a fever of 104.

So, I'm walking back from the clinic, still shaking uncontrollably, and someone starts yelling at me, "Hello! Hello!"

I'm sick! Pervert!

"Hello! Hello!"

oh. damn shirt.

"hi."

All Hail Suburbia!

I began telling people that I was from D.C. in high school. I realized that most people don't know where McLean, VA is. (C.I.A.!) But, D.C. is our nation's capital and while I now realize (having moved away) that most people know jack-poo-poo about their nation's capital ("I went to the National Mall in 8th grade and that's it"), at least they can point to it on a map.

That's saying something. Have you ever tried to point to a city in the Midwest in under three seconds? Impossible! But it certainly riles Midwesterners. One day when I was studying in b.f.e. (oh god, my initials!) Paderno del Grappa, Italy, a couple of my fellow study abroaders and I were examing a map of the U.S. that was hanging in the other cafe (total of two) of this little Italian town. They were both from Kansas (the program was through the University of Kansas and I had never met so many Midwesterners in my life, I found them to be, surprisingly, normal) and I was asking them where their school was located, "People on the East and West coast don't know anything about the Midwest, you guys just don't even care!"

I felt a little ashamed, but: Duh.

At Virginia Tech, I acutally began telling people I was from "Nova," which was troubling to adjust to, considering that in Northern Virginia, NOVA is Northern Virginia Community College, and we are major where-did-you-go-to-school snobs. (I also picked up "Y'all." I try to it use sparingly.)

So when I moved to New York, I went back to telling people I'm from D.C. and people think that I actually lived in the city ("Scary! Gun shots!") and I have to launch into an explanation on D.C.'s transient 9-to-5 nature. This inevitably causes an uproar with New Jerseyers, "You can't say that! I don't tell people I'm from New York!" (Ha. That's cause you are from Jersery. I went there once. I totally get all the jokes now.)

Really, I'm just going to start telling people that I'm from suburbia, it's pretty much the same everywhere, right? Then no one will ask me why I don't have a southern accent, "But you're from Virginia."

That's Northern. Virginia.

This is how I feel about sushi. It's good. I like it enough (heart). But I could never eat a lot of it (gate) because it is RAW FISH (ew).

But sure have eaten a lot of it since I've lived in New York. People are crazy about it. And I totally get that. The transitive property (If a=b, and b=c, then a=c):

If (a.) Sushi's rawness grosses me out
Then (b.) I can't eat a lot of sushi (like McDonalds fries, yet, also gross)
And if I can't eat a lot then, (c.) I get skinny

So...Sushi will make me skinny! I'm so eating MORE. No, wait...

My Name! In HTML Code!

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! So excited.

Interview with Unsung.

iCationNano

Sometimes, New York makes me feel like I might be a crazy person. So, when I was reading the New York Magazine's "Summer Guide" issue that suggested I take a Nano Vacation, I repeated, "Cold Spring, NY, Cold Spring, NY, Cold Spring, NY" three-times fast and then I forgot about it.

Luckily, I was reading the magazine at the gym and hadn't finished going through the issue, so I went back and checked, ("Cold Spring, NY, Cold Spring, NY, Cold Spring, NY" three-times fast) and still forgot, but thankfully nymag.com came to the rescue!

And oh, did I do everything Corrie suggested, Foundry Café ($9 sandwich! holy shit. But as my dad always says, "Well since we're on vacation..."), Hudson Valley Outfitters for directions, because the the cute little old man at the Visitor's Center (a hut-like concrete structure) couldn't tell me how to get there. So I got in for directions and feel like I should buy something since I was going to be asking for directions. $8 bug spray! Holy shit again ("OK, since I'm on vacation...") and the lady tells me that I need a map. Efffff. Do I have "NYC Asshole" stamped on my forehead? I just bought BUG SPRAY FOR EIGHT DOLLARS AND SIXTY-THREE CENTS!!!, so, NO, thank you.

OK, I did almost everything, I definitely didn't make it the whole 4.5 miles. I might walk that much each day around Manhattan, seriously. But there are no major hills covered with rocks that bust open my forehead if I fell. I was also without someone with me to keep me going. Bridget! One we get to the top, we get to climb a BIG rock to see the ENTIRE WORLD! Really? Yeah. Oooooh, the ENTIRE WORLD! So. I stopped. I turned around. I slipped a little and freaked out that I would break my leg ALONE in the wilderness. Because THAT would happen to me.

I was taken aback when I stopped and what did I hear? Nothing. And then the bugs started up. But that nothing was pretty special.

The Hudson Valley Trail complete with Nature! Dirt! Bug Bites! A wilderness trail less than a mile from the train station! No honking! No sirens! No people talking on cell phones! (Except during the 1 1/2 hour train ride, of course.) Exclamation point!

And documented by my lovely CAMERA PHONE:

grass! rocks! dirt!

a plant that i cannot identify!

the hudson river!

cold spring's record store.

what prompted me to say that i might want a mini van one day, shut up.