Friday, June 27, 2008

My Marilyn Monroe Moment

Last weekend the boy and I took a much needed vacation down the shore, OK, a three day weekend, but it felt like a vacation to us. Knowing that the wedding is 4 months off and my pasty pale self burns at the sight of the sun, I slathered myself face, shoulders and arms with SPF 45 to avoid any unsightly tan lines. I settled in my beach chair and thumbed through the last few pages of The Prince of Tides. After an hour or so I felt my legs getting hot, so I went ahead and gave them some sunscreen and went back to my book. Thinking I'd head in for a sandwich and a shower, I packed up the beach bag and headed for the house.

Fast forward 45 minutes. I exit the shower t day-glo legs. Thinking my pasty Perdue legs might be shaded by the book I was reading, I obviously didn't protect them in time! For three days now I've been bathing my fire engine red thighs in aloe with Lidocaine and wearing loose skirts and dresses to work.

Fast forward to today-your typical windy summer day in new york.

I've got a good pace as I weave and dodge other commuters hopping alternatively from sidewalk to street, depending on what feels less crowded. I land on a skinny patch of sidewalk, one half covered by impassable construction awnings, the other, grated subway covers. Knowing I've got to move quickly to avoid the inevitable upward breeze of a passing subway, I start to pick up my pace a bit. And then....the man in front of me stops to let the people coming in the opposite direction pass.

Just as he does, the E train barrels under 8Th avenue just under the patch of side way grate were standing on, with just enough force to cause a hurricane of wind up my dress and before I can even think to grab the skirt and hold it down, it flies up in my face and I'm standing on 8Th avenue, in Manhattan, in my granny panties (because they didn't hurt my sunburn, duh!) and my lobster red thighs for all the world to see!!!! I wanted to crawl into the subway crate like a sewer rat and never emerge.

Oh my God.

I grab the ends of my skirt and force them down just in time to hear the snickers of my fellow New Yorkers and tourists alike as I turn down the closest side street and trudge the rest of the mortifying walk to Port Authority on 9Th avenue.

And as I write this, I'm standing in the bus line behind the good Samaritan who happened to let the others pass us by on the sidewalk.

He smirks at me. "Usually you buy a girl dinner before you get to first base." I say to him, as I pushed my way past him in line to get on the bus first.

Welcome to New York.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

At what points do alarms become alarming?

The truth of the matter is NY is a bit of a scary place to work, let alone live. With the recent crane accidents, manholes blowing up, steam pipes exploding and the random muggings and murders that still occur, I find myself trying to get into the city when its still early enough to see what the hell it is I'm walking under, into, around, or past and getting out as soon as I possibly can.

While the boy and I enjoy venturing back in on weekends to explore the city in all its touristy glory, we tend to vacate the hustle of the city as soon as the work bell sounds. I like to call it self preservation. Call me paranoid, and those of you who know me will, I'm afraid of everything, and you'll find me knocking on wood more often than you'll find me brushing my teeth (don't worry-I still brush at least twice a day).

So when the sounds of New York City start to fill my ears, I begin to wonder, should I knock on wood and hope for the best or run? But unfortunately, you kinda get used to it and maintain your steady walk.Tonight while on the phone with my big bro during my walk to port authority, we paused our conversation 6 times while the screaming sirens of New York's finest plowed into the streets heading uptown. While my brother commented that it sounded like he was stuck in the middle of a NYC movie soundtrack, I commented that I hoped that traffic wasn't going to be jacked up in the tunnels as a result. What can I say? You become immune.

And upon entering Port Authority to flashing lights and the shrill sounds of fire alarms, I found myself looking up at the escalators. Nope, nobody running around terrified, no cops ushering people out or barricading the doors, so it must be fine. I continue with my everyday auto pilot commute to the fourth floor bus line and knock three times on the hand rails all the way up. At some point you can only hope for the best, right?

Monday, June 23, 2008

Corporately Challenged

So the big day finally came-no, not the wedding day, but rather, corporate
challenge day. After months of strenuous workouts, tireless dieting and
loops of the Rocky theme song I was ready. OK, so if you know me, that's a
bunch of crap. I thought I could easily pull a 5k walk/run with my
co-workers out of my ass if I needed to, so I kept eating pizza and
occasionally have a beer.

So the big day came, we line up in our matching t-shirts and prepare to
walk (I don't run unless its from someone or for a shoe sale) the 3.5 mile
in beautiful central park, NYC with 15,000 other NYC corporate employees.
Here's the thing: Organising a group of 5 people is hard. Organizing a
group of 15,000 people is impossible. The runners line up according to
pace: 6, 7, 8, etc up to the non competitive people (people compete in
these things?!) And we all wait for the starting whistle. So I'm there
with 2 of my co workers and 3 others I've just been introduced to and get
ready to start. And then it starts to rain. No, I'm being too kind. Its
pouring. But were dedicated to the cause, right? Wait-whats the cause
again?

The whistle blows and were off! Only we don't get to move at all because
were waiting for the 123486 people in front of us to begin their
competitive trot around scenic, rainy, central park. After 10 minutes, the
ground clears enough for us to shuffle our feet, but the little old men in
the park are passing us and they're using walkers!

We keep pushing ourselves and eventually reach a slow jog thanks to the
coaching of my co worker, who encourages me to set small milestones and jog
at least half. When we came up on the last half mile of the race, he
pushed me to finish while shouting, can't you hear the music at the end?
And while I wanted to punch his lights out because my legs were jello and
my knees and Achilles tendons are burning, I rounded the bend and finished
under 45 minutes. Not too bad for a corporately challenged beginner! And
while I write this after having had two celebratory beers following the big
win, I can't help but wonder, will I be able to feel my legs tomorrow?

Friday, June 13, 2008

Working 9 - 5?!?!

In the fabulous world of agency life, there's no real 9 to 5. When I moved up to NY from the suburban safety net of DE and my seemingly simple 8-5 job, my pleasant 40-45 hour work week all but smoldered under presentations, trainings, client deadlines, budgets, meetings, travel and happy hours. Believe me, while necessary, those happy hours are not happy-they're work. They're not all fun and games. That said, when you get to work, you stay until the work is finished. Unfortunately, there is no 5:00 whistle in the Big Apple.

Remember the age old image of Fred Flintstone sliding down the back of the dinosaur after his shift ends - not so much. Its a three or four o'clock Starbucks run for the long night ahead of you. Today its been a long day and an even longer week. After checking off the last thing on my overly stuffed to-do list I pack my overly stylish NYC briefcase and I head to the elevator bank. Will a deep exhale and the feeling of accomplishment settle from my lips? Nope, there's still more tomorrow. Moments later, the green down marker lights up and my mood lightens as I am one step closer to being home. The door opens and it appears to be empty...until I see my boss standing on the far side. Though incapable of small talk, I smile and make a lame comment about the finished workday that I'm sure she has heard a hundred times.

Here's the thing: they don't put the big bosses of companies on the top floor because they're status symbols, oh no. They do it to create awkward moments just like this.

After two floors of excruciating silence I ask, "Any plans for tonight?" Rather than answer me, she asks me for a report that was on my to do list for tomorrow. When we reach the lobby she steps out and I push my floor number again. "Forgot my cell phone" I say, as the doors close and she goes off to have dinner with her husband. I head back into the office to cross another item off my to do list.

Fred Flintstone had it easy.

Friday, June 6, 2008

Life in the fast lane...


Why walking on the NYC sidewalks are like driving down the NJ turnpike....There are some unspoken rules about walking on a New York City sidewalk. For the most part, tourists keep to the sidewalks (the right hand lane) and city folk keep to the streets (the fast lane). Now, the streets are technically meant for the bikes, cars, cabs, Pedi-cabs, carriages, trucks and maniacal drivers who drive the city streets day in and day out, but for the brave few who treacherously venture from the safe (but slow) sidewalks into the fast lane bike aisle of the New York City streets, its a gift from God himself.


Here's the thing. Trying to walk, I mean shuffle, down the sidewalk on any given commuting day is like trying to get my 80 year old grandmother to use her walker. Its faster to pick up Grams and haul her 85 lb butt from the car to the house with walker in tow. You'll save yourself 45 minutes. My walk from 42nd and 8th to 49th and 8th is only 7 blocks, which on a normal day by sidewalk will take 15 - 20 minute depending on which traffic lights I choose to obey. But if I hop down to the fast lane, I'm there in easily, 7-10.


Why, do you ask?



  1. Sidewalk walkers have no sense of urgency. Much like turnpike right lane lovers, they keep to the posted speed and pace of traffic and stop at every flashing hand that cautions them from crossing. I learned early on to watch the cars, not the signals. These guys just slow me down.

  2. Sidewalk walkers weave. You'd never think it to be true, but these guys are the drunk drivers of the sidewalk. They can't just pick a side and stay there. Oh no my friend. You get stuck behind one of these dizzy walkers and you'll find yourself in a one person square dance with disaster.

  3. Sidewalk walkers hug the yellow line. Yep, not only are they slow, drunk and overly aware of traffic signals, they hug the middle of the freaking sidewalk. Try to get around one of these guys when you're trapped in a narrow construction area or under an awning. You might as well pull over for coffee and wait it out. Nothing you can do.

  4. And finally, they slam on their breaks. Can't tell you how many unfortunate rear end collisions, and I do mean unfortunate, I've had with people. They're walking at a good clip and then SCREECH.....SLAM. Did I know you'd find the fake Statue of Liberty at the I Love NY t-shirt store a good photo opportunity?! No. License and registration please.

So my friends, my advice to you is to stay clear of all sidewalks when possible. Especially on a rainy day. And...please don't get me started on the escalators.

I'm Only Happy When It Rains

Whoever wrote this song obviously didn't live or work in Manhattan. The city is a veritable sh@tt show when it rains. Now don't get me wrong. The rain is an absolutely positive thing. Every once in a while the stink and grime from the cabs, commuters, tourists and hot dog stands that settles on the sidewalks and the buildings needs a good cleansing and the rain absolutely purges the city of that funk - its necessary. It just sucks. Here's why. The rain slows down every single thing in Manhattan. The people walk slower, the tourists in their ponchos get lost more, its impossible to get a cab, the tunnel gets clogged, and I'm convinced it all stems from the umbrellas. The UMBRELLAS FROM HELL. Let's talk a little umbrella etiquette shall we?

  • Gentlemen-There is absolutely no reason why you should be carrying a golf umbrella if you're not on the golf course. I don't care how much rain coverage you need-that umbrella takes up virtually the entire sidewalk, guy. You know who you are. If you can use your umbrella as a walking stick, a cane or a weapon, leave it at home. It should fit in your bag.
  • Vertically challenged aka people under five feet: You should be getting enough coverage from those people holding umbrellas well over your heads. Put your umbrellas down on a crowded street. You're putting peoples eyes out.
  • Girls: Its really cute that your umbrella matches your galoshes which matches your coat. When your under a overpass or a covering lower the hello kitty umbrella so those who actually need to get to work on time can pass you. Its not raining under there.
  • Umbrella Karma: There's also a little something called umbrella karma. You lose one you find one. Don't be sad the next time you leave one sitting on the seat of a cab or the floor of a bus. You never know when a little hello kitty umbrella may fall your way.

Stay dry out there.

This Just In....


Its a long day working in the city and while I do it every day I have to admit that I am pretty tired by the end of the day. The plan was to meet the boy at Port Authority, grab some dinner and run some errands. (I know, I'm sorry, not every night is a swanky night).
So about a block from Port Authority I'm greeted by a number of New York's finest (aka, the Police) and a HUGE crowd. Not an unusual occurrence, but it was a surprise nonetheless. Immediately, the worst possibilities run through my mind. As my heart starts to beat faster and I think to myself, "please let everything be alright" I hear someone say "there he goes." I see the cameras pointing up and along with the other two-hundred fellow New Yorkers and tourists craning their necks to look up in the air, I too, look up. We're all jammed together so tightly onto the sidewalk that you can't tell whose hand is whose (or more importantly, exactly whose hand is on my butt). And then I see him. Some jack ass is climbing the New York Times building.




Seriously? What makes someone do that? While some would say heroic, I would say CRAZY!!! He could get himself killed AND he's screwing up my commute. Hello, it's 6:15!


As he scales the building, my mind flashes to a cartoon scene where I imagine someone on top of the building finishing a banana, dropping the peel over the side and the climber slipping on it then falling off the building -- very Tom & Jerry, I know, but that's what I was thinking. What? It would serve him right.


After pushing past the gawking crowds, taking half-steps at best, I was able to make it to the bus and alas, found the boy. I called my Mom, of course to tune her in to the happenings of the Big Apple and caught the story while on the way home. I, along with the other commuters, scoped out cnn.com on my blackberry all the way home to get the details on Spidey. Turns out he missed the banana peel, made it to the top and was promptly arrested. While it took a little while longer to get home than usual, now I'm happy to be home and skyscrapers everywhere are safe from building scalers.


This is the girl signing off-goodnight New York.