Tuesday, September 26, 2006

If You Didn't Know...Peeing in Public...

Isn't just for homeless people!!!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in this city, even if you are the a proud tenant who turns in a hefty rent check every month, you may still choose to pee in the streets. Go ahead, everybody's doing it! Just get yourself a pair of manila folders to hold on either side of your junk while you whip in out in between a pair of SUVs that are parked next to Gramercy Park. Hell, it's the last private park in New York City—to get in youd need akey. Nevermind that Julia Roberts (who lives in one of the buildings surrounding the park) might see you, nevermind might traumatize an editorial assistant on her lunch break—for life. Please, relieve yourself, we all understand, a toliet—excluding of course those McDonalds and Starbucks on every corner—is just too damn far away.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

The Cold Conspiracy

I am pretty sure that my office has created a conspiracy to get us to dress better. We journalists, art directors and Internet geeks aren’t the best, or shall I say most professional dressers. (Exception: fashion journalists, I assume, I’ve never actually been in that kind of office…) Jeans day is Friday, but some people rock their dungarees just about everyday of the week, especially in the art department. One co-worker has said, “Pay me more money and I’ll get better clothes.” Ha!

So, it’s definitely not summer any more (yet my face still sweat when I walk to work, ew, but not ew enough not to walk, I call that Smelling it to The Man), but it’s FREEZING in this office, so I have started wearing jackets to create my signature pseudo-suit look (bottom and top doesn’t match, can be different colors or materials, either way, not looking too good is the only requirement).

I thought maybe, this conspiracy was all in my head, that I was the only one that started wearing jackets…but then the accounting guys started wearing long sleeve shirts and ties EVERYDAY instead of their usual polos and khakis. I thought to myself, “Bridget, you are not crazy.”

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

If You Didn't Know...A Truck Speeding Towards You...

is really FREAKING terrifying.

Yes, I was nearly hit by a truck at 8pm. Holy hell! I was crossing the street during a White Man, which means "WALK!" not "HIT PEOPLE!" It was close. Too close. I have been joking for too long that I was going to get get it by a taxi (It happened to an editor I worked with). Once my health insurance kicked in I even boasted that I could get hit! I was kind of excited that I had healthcare...

And at 10:20 pm a Land Rover was driving in REVERSE down First Avenue. OK, this time, it was Red Hand, which means "DON'T GO YOU IDIOT!" Even when there is nobody coming down the street? Red Hand says, "YES! BECAUSE LAND ROVERS LIKE TO DRIVE BACKWARDS AND THROUGH RED LIGHTS ON THIS STREET."

Why, oh why isn't the laundry mat on the east side of the street?

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

New York: 4,349; Bridget: 1

New York is a is a great city. But if I never moved here I could have continued my blissful awe of Manhattan from afar. Maybe it would have been better that way.

There's a lot of dog shit on the sidewalks here.

Just think, there's probably more millionaires per square foot of this island, yet it's covered in poo.

I can still enter the blissful awe whenever I watch "Sex and the City" or movies set in New York, but I don't feel like that place and the place I live are the same. I admit: I was hoping that I'd be living it up Carrie Bradshaw style, typing whitty observations on my laptop, buying shoes, attending exclusive parties, dating attractive men and wearing really ridiculously good looking, or just ridiculous (almost anything goes here) outfits.

But living in New York seems to be more about living like Frugal Fannie than Carrie Bradshaw. I've only bought four pairs of shoes since January, an all-time low this late in the year. When I look in the mirror each morning, I feel like the girl in "The Devil Wears Prada," just not so skinny. And my dating life has been, er, more than frugal.

However! My job has proved to just a little bit cool. And today I conquered my nemsis, the cute, fashionably dressed, PR party-girl.

The event: A party for Esquire Magazine.

The scene: The Garden of Ono at Hotel Gansevoort in the Meatpacking district.

The intimidation factor: A red carpet.

The overreaction: It was a small and cheesey red carpet.

The PR girl: fake smile, fake tan, fake blonde and more notably clipboard, pen, The List, and the power to say, "No, you are not on The List."

Me: Dressed in black (but different shades) and really incredibly cool Italian punk rocker shoes. (Can you see them from up there?)

PRG: "Who's next?"

I walked up.

PRG: "You're with them?" Pointing to a group of men.

ME: "No. Bridget Eldridge."

She scans. She scans.

PRG: "Whose list are you on?"

They confirmed! They confirmed! Yet, I knew this was going to happen.

ME: "Er, what?"

The pen stops.

PRG: "Oh ok. And you?" Pointing to Annie.

ME: "She's with me!"


PRG unhooked the ropes and let us through.

I turned to Annie: "Wow, that felt really good!" She nodded.

As I turned to check out the scene I overheard a petite seeminly true blonde ask a photographer, "Do you date models?"


Though I thought the night couldn't get any better, I met the most wonderful and attractive man who is taking me out to dinner on Friday, making my night complete. OK not that good, but it was an open vodka bar.

Sometimes, sometimes this city lives to its fantasy.