Back to Boston

Well, it's all happening. Here is a run-down of recent events that have me moving back to my favorite city, Boston:
- Four weeks ago I met with a company who I had interviewed on the phone with MONTHS prior, and given up on. It's a small book publisher that does an array of projects, the bulk of which being new age-type books. I thought they disappeared into a vortex or were trapped in a sweat lodge, hence the months-long silence. I mean, who wouldn't want to hire ME!? So, they were in New York for a convention, and I reached out to set up a time to meet for breakfast. On the subway ride to their hotel, I start choking up at the realization that I may be leaving New York. Then, I realized I was listening to Sigur Ros on my iPod, so I quickly changed the music to the Sleigh Bells record and fixed that pretty quickly. Best not to feel emotions.
- Last Friday, I was up near their offices for a meeting with another company I work with in the area. After giving a presentation, that company actually offered me a job on the spot. They said they've always enjoyed my presence and how professional I am (ahem, ahem). I told them I'd think about it, because I was actually on my way for my FOURTH interview (again, just give me the job!!) at this other place. A few hours later, I was considering two job offers to have me relocate to New England. I took this as a major sign (the new age books are already working!) and decided to relocate with the publisher. It's an amazing opportunity: better title, more challenges, etc.
- Last Saturday, I drove into Somerville (just outside Boston) to stay with my friend Chris and to see Conan O'Brien's live show with another friend. And, I had an amazing weekend! Before the show, a group of us went to the Cambridge Brewing Company for beers, and my friends Carleton and his girlfriend Sarah came out, too. I've had a girl crush on Sarah since I met her last year sometime, and it was so nice to see her and hear that she was glad to see me relocate. Honestly, that's been a sticking point with relocating. In New York, I have a ton of amazing girlfriends, and with a few (lovely) exceptions in Boston, the majority of my friends are guys (who I love). Sarah was so sweet and said she'd introduce me to her friends, and it was just such a tremendous comfort.
Then, Conan - which was so much fun. While the show wasn't AMAZING, my favorite part of the whole experience was watching how much fun he was having. He's the only celebrity I've seen on the street that actually made me feel star struck. I mean, Steve Buscemi shook my hand before - so you know, a) I'm cool and b) it didn't make me start laughing uncontrollably or start shaking like Conan did. I was a little disappointed that he didn't have any cool guests stars (the Dropkick Murphys played with him, and these goobers sitting in front of my friend and me high-fived and knew all the lyrics, oof). After the show, we met up with my friends again who had seen him the night before and were really great about not giving out any spoilers, so I thought it'd be a good idea to tell them fake guest stars that were there, just to make them jealous. So, who's cooler than Dan Akroyd and Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers? The answer: no one. They believed us, but the charade didn't last long.
Anyway, that night turned into one of those where you think it's a GREAT idea to sleep outside in the rain, the sun starts to come up and you hear birds, and you have the worst headache of your entire life, but it was all worth it and makes you more excited to move back. Between my friends' hilarity and seeing Conan, my cheeks hurt from laughing so much when I was driving back to New York on Sunday night.
- Cut to Monday, when I have to start telling my NY friends. I had written a text to my best ladies on Saturday asking to get lunch or drinks after work on Monday, and they smelled a rat right away. I really didn't want to tell them over text message, but it was probably for the best. The first friend I told in person was my friend Hilary. We work together, and also traveled to Costa Rica together. I walked into her office first thing and just started crying. She starts crying because she knows that I'm leaving and it's all downhill from there. I tell my boss: crying. I get a nice email from my ex-boyfriend: sobbing. I left work on Monday completely exhausted from crying so much. The whole "best not to show emotion" thing is completely out the window.

The thing is, it's going to be OK. It's not going to be easy to leave in 2 weeks or 2 years, so I'm going to try to make the best of my remaining time here and look forward to the good times ahead. Boston is not that far away from New York, so I hope to get tons of visitors and definitely be back in New York as much as possible. And, for the next few weeks, it's probably best if I delete Sigur Ros off my iPod.

Elephants on Parade

Every year, the circus comes to town and the elephants are marched through the Midtown Tunnel on their way to Madison Square Garden. Last night, my roommate and I went into the city from Queens and patiently waited for the beasts to walk by around 12:30 am.

As soon as they showed up, a wave of people came running down the sidewalk who had been following them all along. We picked up the chase, too.

Living in New York you see a lot of strange things day to day, but this was one of the strangest and most endearing juxtapositions I've seen. I understand the circus is controversial, but seeing these elephants walking trunk to tail through a busy business district in the middle of a rainy night was pretty spectacular.

Affection, Balls, Beantown

Today I almost jumped over the counter at CVS and gave the clerk a hug. I'm sick, and I feel like that would have made me feel much better. It's not the first time this particular clerk has made me feel this way. She calls everyone sweetheart and honey. She even told me to feel better and didn't judge me for buying disgusting knee highs. Ugh, I love her so much.
I think I've been craving that sort of motherly affection a lot more lately.
My mom sent me this adorable card in the mail "just because" that said so many nice things like she thinks of me often and that she wishes she could be there in person to cheer me on during the half-marathon (help - three weeks away!). It made me cry it was so sweet. (Although, to be fair, I might have been crying because my friends and I tried to go to an ALL meatball restaurant in the Lower East Side that night, and there was an hour and half long wait so we didn't go. We were really looking forward to spending an entire meal trying to say "balls" as much as possible.)

In other news: I'm interviewing for a job today that would place me back up in New England again. Career wise, I think it would be a really great move, and I've always wanted to move back to Boston; I just didn't think there would be potential for that so soon. On a personal level, it'd place me closer to my East Coast family (about a 1/2 mile away from them, actually) and I do have a few friends from college days still in the area that I'd love to be closer to. On top of all that, Boston's awesome. I love that city so much, and not in a sad "let's recreate the good, old days" kind of way - it's just an amazing city. On the other hand, only recently have I really started to appreciate that I live in the "greatest city in the world" and currently have some of the best friends I've ever had in my life.
It's a lot to think about, and (despite not appearing that way) I'm trying not to get too ahead of myself here.

Moving Day

When I moved back to New York from Los Angeles in 2007, I decided to drive my car east. It was my boyfriend at the time's idea, so we could drive to see his family in Queens and drive to see my relatives in Northern Massachusetts. Well, we broke up two years ago, but I've still held onto that car. I'd like to get rid of it, but until then, I'll use it for the powers of good including: Target, the beach, visiting relatives and helping friends move.
A few weeks ago, I drove into the Lower East Side to help a friend move to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I hate driving in Manhattan. As a pretty nervous person to begin with, it really stresses me out. But, my friend promised me a burger and sweet potato fries, so I overcame.
The friend I helped move was someone I used to work with at my first job out of college. I love her because she has this amazing life outside of work, which seems to be rare in the corporate world. This "amazing life outside of work" includes writing musicals, painting and even reviewing sex toys for a Web site.
When I got to her apartment, I amazingly found a parking space and went upstairs to help her grab some stuff. I went for this large black Tupperware because I figured I could pile stuff on top and minimize the number of trips. As soon as I grabbed it, she said, "Careful, that's filled with sex toys." I'm not entirely prude, but I do get teased quite a bit for not wanting to talk about sex very much. It was a little awkward.
It got even more awkward when I grabbed some steel bars and heard, "Oh, that's my sex swing." Even more awkward still, when grabbing a pole with the top half covered in a black trash bag and feeling something squishy at the covered end. What could that be? A pogo dick.
That sent me a little over the edge because I had been trying to manipulate the "object" to get it to fit into my car. I didn't realize the object was a rubber penis.
I don't know if I'll ever have a more unique moving experience, or a more delicious burger that I know I earned.

Quit HOGging the Supplies (Get it?)

Last night, I went to the two Rite Aids in my neighborhood to buy a little hand sanitizer as ammo to the Swine Flu everyone is freaking out about. They were completely out. The Rite Aid downstairs at my job in Rockefeller Center was out, too.
They were also sold out of face masks and a lot of their hand soap. I'm trying not to get worried about this, but the first U.S. outbreaks were at the same high school my ex-boyfriend and two of my close friends went to in Queens. I live in Queens, therefore, I probably have Swine Flu (although hard to tell when my allergies are raging right now, too).
This morning on the train into work, I saw a woman who was breathing into a pink hand towel. Last night I walked home and passed a big group of people wearing face masks. I went on a date with a guy on Monday and he offered me hand sanitizer within the first few minutes of seeing each other. Everyone else is making me feel like I should worry more. Kind of like my mom's worries when I first got my driver's license: "It's not you I'm worried about, it's the other drivers!"

No Use For a Musto

I saw Michael Musto on the street yet again. He was wearing socks and sandals and walking his bike down Sixth Avenue.
I think he’s a lot like that pop punk band No Use For a Name. In high school, I listened to Bjork, Radiohead, anyone who would be performing at Lillith Fair, and a few ska bands. My first concert was for the band Save Ferris, with No Use For a Name opening. I despise pop punk music, but growing up in Southern California it was difficult to avoid – much like No Use For a Name. I’ve seen that band more times than I ever wanted (read: once was too many), and all because I was there to see someone else and they were opening.
So, Michael Musto, I never really want to see you, yet you keep popping up over and over.

9021-Oh-My-God, who are you?

Last night, I had the pleasure of going to a book party for Tori Spelling’s new release, Mommywood.
The party was at a restaurant near Central Park, and I went with a few friends from work. Within seconds of showing up outside the place, a car pulled up and Project Runway’s Christian Siriano (!!) emerged.
Once inside, I saw another familiar face that I just couldn’t place. It was this guy who was walking around in really tight spandex pants and ladies footwear. He was wearing insanely dark eyeliner a la Jared Leto, and it was driving me crazy – who IS that guy?
A colleague with very few, if any, social anxieties - unlike me - grabbed him as he walked by and said, “Who are you? You are fabulous!” He thanked her, continued walking as she shouted, “You better come back!” Later, and after he didn’t find us again, the guest of honor arrived and we walked closer to be within proximity to one of my television heroes – high school virgin cum clothing designer Donna Martin.
There’s not much to say about her except she is very thin, and prettier in person. She was filming for her reality show, but didn’t mingle or anything like that. Bored within a few seconds of spotting her, my friend and I found the mystery dude and started talking to him about him.
After a few minutes, and still not any closer to figuring out who he was, I asked why I should know him. He said, “Oh, I’m in a band.” No, that wasn’t it. I just nodded and went back to talking to my friend and his friend, a model (Who I asked if he was gay because I’d want to set him up with my boss. He’s not. Apparently, I was into asking really gauche questions that night!). Mystery dude walked away shortly thereafter and I asked his friend, “Really, where have I seen your friend?” He answered and neurons made connections, cosmos aligned, tectonic plates converged and I exclaimed, “Oh my God! That’s it!” He was a coach on the MTV Made series for “I Want to Be Made into a Rock Star”.
It was sad on a few levels: a) he was a Made coach b) he was ashamed to admit it c) I got so excited that the mystery was solved d) I watch Made.
This is him. This is his amazing video.
Overall, it was a fun night with lots of – what I consider - “A” list celebrities in attendance.

Random Photos: Take 1

I have had pictures in my camera since the summer of 2007; it's time to start downloading ... AND sharing!

Green toilet paper!

From the Smithsonian in D.C.

What happens when you order a bagel with cream cheese in Queens? A bagel with a melted piece of cheddar.

Sad.

Autumn in New York.

Bozo on a Wire

On my lunch break today, I went to see David Blaine hanging upside down. That's about all there was to it. Except, he was wearing those pants that zip into shorts; I really hate those.

Happy Monday!

What I find this morning when I go to move my car for street cleaning:

Grope Gripe

On the commute home last night I got really excited when I saw a seat available on the subway. I took out my iPod and book and started reading.

The guy sitting next to me had a backpack on his lap and looked like he had a rough day and probably needed the love a good woman. Unfortunately, he decided to choose my left thigh as a good place to start.

When I sat down his hands were underneath his backpack; when I sat down he placed them at his sides - this isn't proper train etiquette.

I continued with my book (read: using my peripheral vision to keep an eye on his hand) and within seconds, the guy had his palm resting on my thigh. Mistakes happen, so I gave him the "what the fuck" eyes - the same eyes you give to someone talking in a movie theater. He didn't flinch, just looked back.

Had this worked for him before?

I got up immediately - sad to relinquish reading time - and scowled the rest of the way home. It might be time for New York to adapt like the Japanese.

Why I was late to work today

1) My building ran out of hot water; there was some sink bathing

2) I had to move my car (parked a 20 minute walk away) for street cleaning

3) Frankie got shot. I was driving around looking for a space when I turned down a street with a long line of cars. The line crawled forward and a cop stopped me because they were filming something. A car screeches forward, a man jumps out with a prop gun and screams: BANG! BANG! And then an actress screams at the top of her lungs, "Oh my god, you shot Frankie! My husband, Frankie! Ohhhh."

It's SHOWTIME!

Last night I went to a newly-opened neighborhood bar that an acquaintance of mine just started bartending at. I met up with a friend of mine and her boyfriend at the back of the bar where they had free pool all night.

After bragging that my (now M.I.A.) uncle was ranked number 3 in the state of Florida, I promptly scratched every ball (TWSS) and failed to honor my name.

We kept trading off the table with a younger, neighborhood fellow (who some say looked like Jake Gyllenhaal) wearing a shirt that said, "Someone in Compton Loves Me" and an older gentleman who looked exactly like Martin Landau. (I couldn't remember his name at the time until I looked at my copy of Crimes and Misdemeanors at home. At the bar all I could think about was Walter Matthau). Martin Landau introduced himself as Jack. He seemed like a class act, a real prince - until the bar started giving out free kamikaze shots.

I'm not sure exactly what happened. Maybe it was the shot mixed with his chain smoking, the heat of the game, the mysterious wet spot on his T-shirt, wearing topsiders with no socks - I don't know. But, Jack lost it. He wanted to play teams, and he wanted me. Every shot he said, "It's showtime! SHOOTER!!" He played out of turn, he was solids AND stripes - he couldn't be stopped - until it was my turn to shoot. I scratched the ball AGAIN and he pounded his cue into the ground. Shooter was displeased. We lost the game to my friend and her boyfriend and then I overheard him telling the guy in the Compton shirt that it was my fault. "I woulda won if it wasn't for her."

After I left, apparently Shooter was accusing my bartender friend of stealing the money he was putting down on the bar. Even later, my friends went for a nightcap at a bar around the corner and Shooter was there still living it up. Shooter can't be slowed down, so don't even try.

Down of living in New York City

There are so many different languages in Queens, you can't learn them all. I wish I knew Greek so I could dicepher the words to go along with all five of the obscene gestures two young Greek gentlemen were doing on the subway this morning.

The ups and downs of living in New York City

You walk to the subway and see the same homeless man in a mesh shirt you see every morning on the way to work; only this time, he's proudly standing over a pile of poop. His own.

Then, you wait for the subway and see the operator in the front wearing a skeleton glove on his hand to drive the train, and this excites you to the point of joy that totally redeems what just happened.