Wednesday, October 18, 2006

"Looks Like You Have a Boyfriend!"

Today I got felt up on the subway.

Ha. Actually, I got my knee rubbed. A lot. It was kind of weird, but I won’t lie, I enjoyed it. I can’t remember the last time somebody rubbed my knee.

The only knee rub incident I remember was when my highschool boyfriend rubbed my bare knee while his mom was sitting in the backseat. We were in a Jetta, she totally saw. When we picked her up from BWI, she insisted that I sit in the front, but when he reached over, I completely regreted that I wasn't more insistant that she sit in the front. I mean you can't yell, "Aah! What are you doing? Get off me!" like you are totally disgusted with her child. That doesn't make a good impression either—and this was, in fact, the first she met me. Mortifying.

Knee Rub I'll Never Forget #2 started out innocently enough. I noticed that he was interested in the colorful shopping bag sitting on my lap. He obviously wasn't shy and reached out to touch it.

He smiled. I smiled.

Usually I ignore strangers but I couldn't ignore him. He was pretty cute; I had noticed him from across the train before I even sat down next to him.

Then he touched my knee and I thought nothing of it, this is New York City and people are always bumping, smacking, running into each other, especially in the subway. But when he started to stroke my knee I really wasn't sure what to do.

I was expecting his mom to do something, but she seemed to be oblivious to the events unfolding under her nose, so I had to keep my cool. Knee Rub I'll Never Forget #2 was in front of another mom. My picture is going to be posted on a website with a headline that reads "Hussy," warning all moms to keep my super soft knees way from their sons.

A persistant flirter, he continued to smile and touch my knee or my bag. I'll admit I encouraged him with smiles and waves. When the 6 train reached my stop, I smiled, waved and said, "Goodbye!" But he frowned, looking pitiful and dejected, rejected and completely distraught.

While his mother never seemed to notice any of this, an older gentleman sitting across from us had. As I scooched out, he said to me, "Looks like you have a boyfriend!"

"I know!" I said, happy that someone used the words "you" and "boyfriend" in a single sentence that was directed at me.

Oh, did I mention that "he" was a baby?

Look me up in about 20 years, baby!

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Next Stop, Uh? Or Where the Hell Am I?

I went to Brooklyn on Sunday and ended up on a train to, er, Long Island? The end of New York City? I'm honestly not sure where the heck I was once I realized that I was traveling in the opposite direction of the East River. This little side trip cost me 45 minutes of my life. But I was ok with it because I wasn't late for something like usual; I didn't even have anywhere to be!

But my excursion got me thinking about the unpleasant—and funny if it's not happening to you—things that happen to people in New York City. And the longer you're stay, the more you'll get to check off your list. Lucky you.

1. Getting on a train going in the wrong direction. (Usually this happens to tourists. Manhattanites when they venture off the island to the realm of street names—CHECK.)

2. Missing your train stop. (Usually, people who fall asleep, like my Italian friends who wound up in the Bronx in the middle of the night. That's right, Italians wearing tighter pants in the Bronx at 4 am. Dum-dums who aren't paying attention—CHECK. And, of course, people who get stuck in the train because other people, jerkfaces, with complete disregard for others sardine (Yup, I'm using that as a verb.) into train.)

3. Getting splashed by a bus, think "Home Alone in New York." (This happens to the people who aren't paying attention and don't jump behind their friends, or sisters. My sister got splashed when she was visiting me. When I told my friend about this, he said, "Don't you just wish you could go back in time and pull her out of the way?" "Um, no. It was pretty damn funny." Sorry Sissy.)

4. Unwanted contact with birds. (A pigeon poops on you—CHECK. A bird flies into your chin, but that only happens to Annie. Pigeons eat your puke.)

5. Stepping in a black ice puddle, without boots. (This happens to everyone, snow, gah. Anyway, to keep with form—CHECK.)

6. Getting or nearly getting hit by a cab, a car, a truck, an SUV, a bike. (This doesn't happen to tourists much because they obey WalkingWhiteMan and RedHand, however, for those of us that live here, as my mom likes to say, "It's a jungle out there." CHECK.)

7. Seeing other humans, not dogs, pee. (Anyone and especially people who run along the East River or walk around Gramercy Park apparently.)

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Oh Snap, I've turned into My Grandma

My dad's mom, Peg, was big on reusing things that should probably not be reused. As a kid, it was torture, torture to watch this woman open a present because she opened it soooooo carefully so she could reuse the wrapping paper. I did not understand this at all.

A present, the most exciting thing in world, is in your lap and you delaying the discovery of what it is? What is wrong with you?!?! Rip IT OFF!!! Tear! TEAR TEAR!!!

(Christmas morning was race to see who could open all their presents first—my sister or me. So I could just not understand this slow, methodical way of opening a present.)

As I got older and more impatient, teenagers are like soooo busy and important, it just got annoying.

Oh goody, let's what Grandma open another present. Sure I have all day, it's not like I'm waiting for a boy to call me or anything. Hmph.

However, today I understand the importance of making moments like this last. Christmas morning lasts a lot longer these days. Mom have you made the coffee? Is there a lot? A lot, a lot Mom. When I do indulge in 4-buck-cup aka a Tall, Nonfat Latte from Starbucks these days, it is a treat.

I'e been "pulling a Grandma" with plastic bags. I have been, um, reusing the little plastic snack bags I put pretzels or raisins in. This, of course, is a means to save money, it's NEW YORK freaking expensive CITY y'all. Baggies accumulate in my purse. I'm a tool. I carry around plastic baggies. This would be very conveinent if someone cut their finger off, but I guess we'd have to wash the bag first.

But my reusing of plastic obsession got a little sicker today. I decided to make an omlet because I had a yellow pepper and a tomato from the Union Square farmers market in my fridge. After I grated the cheese, which was the last bit of the block, I saved the saran from the cheese to cover the leftovers. And then it hit me, Whoa! This is something Grandma would have done! ha. Uh oh. It's never pleasant moment for a woman when she realizes that she has turned into her mother—or grandmother.


Anyway, that aside. Although Grandma saved all that wrapping paper over the years, I NEVER saw it again. My grandparents usually gave us money as presents—in an envelope. But one would think that I would have seen that damn Sally Foster wrapping paper again.

What did she do with it? Stack it in a closet, creating the world's biggest fire hazard? Did my grandfather throw it away once they got home? This is really starting to bother me.

Monday, October 02, 2006

The Pretty Colors of Fall, All 300 of Them

Don't you love New York in the fall? It
makes me want to buy school supplies. I
would send you a bouquet of newly-sharpened
pencils if I knew your name and address.

—"You Got Mail"

It has become a bit chilly in New York City (yet, they still haven't turned off the AC in my office...) and I can't stop thinking about this quote.

I'm really missing school this year. Way more than last year. Last year I just wanted a job...ha hA HA!

I'm even missing Virginia Tech's Drill Field, which I still blame for making me late to every class freshman and sophomore year when I had to walk across it—or maybe I was late because I wanted to see the end of "Trading Spaces" and I loathed Microeconomics...

But I don't just miss the all-nighters at the Math Empo, actually being able to sleep in past 10 AM, buying $2 liter beers of Natty Lite at Hokie House and VT football games—kids' uniforms and knee socks are getting me all nostaglic about my Catholic school days. I'm tempted to trek to the Brooklyn Target for a bright yellow box of 300 Crayola Crayons with colors like "Macaroni and Cheese" and "Blue Green" and "Green Blue."

New notebooks! Pens! Pencils!

Maybe I just liked the shopping...

Or maybe I miss the excitement of Pizza Wednesdays at St. John's Elementary School or tag days at O'Connell High School, dress down days that cost a $1 for student council fundraisers. Tag Days were a HUGE deal in high school, like, a total bigger deal than Fashion Week in Bryant Park—trip to Abercrombie & Fitch required. Of course these days I can eat pizza for lunch any day I want—if I disregard my bank account and my waistline—and I do have Casual "Jeans" Friday, for free.

Maybe, my boss wouldn't mind if I expensed a 50-count box of Crayons.