Dear Ya'll,
Well, it's finally time to pack it up and move along. I wish I could say it was with mixed feelings but honestly, I'm so very ready to be a member of "real America" once again. No longer will my husband and I have to don disguises and drive our "other car" to New Jersey to secretly dine at chain restaurants in order to feel more connected to the rest of the country. We can now go out loud and proud to any Olive Garden we choose. The veil of shame will be lifted. And, to God be the glory, we are headed SOUTH to North Carolina where I will once again be amongst "my people", mosquitos, humidity, and FLIP FLOPS! (Can I get a what what on that last one?). I'm looking forward to once again communing with people who have a smile in their voice, Jesus in their hearts, a working knowledge of traffic laws, and well, manners. Granted, these are the same people most likely to be featured on www.peopleofwalmart.com, I love 'em. What's not to love? I can taste the fried okra and hear the flipping of the flops now. Lets take a moment to just let that sink in. *pause* Ahhhh....zen.
While most of my experience here in Brooklyn was, well, "an experience", there will be things I will miss about it. I have received what one local friend describes as a "Brooklyn Education". This is not a part of my educational background that I plan to divulge on a resume (unless I am trying to get a job with the Dept. of Corrections or the local looney bin). It will take months, possibly even years to work through all the anger management issues and paranoia associated with horn honking so that I can go back to being my former & better self. Obviously I will miss the pletheora of opportunities to be snarky. (Although, "my people" usually provide plenty of those opportunities as well....see www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com for examples) Here are a few more things I will *miss* about living in Brooklyn:
1. Paneantico Bakery. This bakery exists only to add inches to thighs, but it is truly a place blessed by the bakery gods. I hereby declare it to serve The. Best. Cheesecake. EVERRRRRR. Really. It's just impossible to imagine anyone coming close to creating that heavenly goodness anywhere else. I spent many (too many) a night indulging in an illicit affair with their raspberry chocolate cheesecake. Farewell, Paneantico. While I cannot pronounce your name, I will forever be reminded of our scandalous relationship every summer when I see myself in a bathing suit. But it was soooooo worth it.
2. Lulu's Cuts and Toys. This children's hair salon is nothing short of genius. Nowhere else can my son get a $30 haircut for $200. You see, at this dreamy little salon, children enter a world surrounded by wonderful toys. Sure, I am more than willing to pay $30 for a child's haircut (three times what my husband pays for his adult haircut) so that my child can sit peacefully in a firetruck, watch a movie, and have bubbles blown in his face all while being expertly coiffed. This is where he finally agreed to wear the cape and sit still instead of leaving a hairy, tear-stained monster. R learned to enjoy haircuts here, quite possibly because it also happens to be a toy store. Haircut: $30. Toys (because it's pretty impossible to leave without one or three): $50 Tip: $5 Parking Ticket: $115. Hey, it comes with the territory in this neighborhood. But my kid looks so adorable when we leave!
3. Fatty 'Cues: Dag nab it. We only found this place a few weeks ago but Holy BBQ. Hang onto your brikset baby. This place is awesome with a twist of wow. BBQ with an asian flare. Yes, it's as good as it sounds.
4. Receiving emails from people named Rocco Muffoletto. I mean, who has a name like that? (He works at the car dealership & reminds me to get my oil changed via email). I love asking for "Junior" when we drop off the dry cleaning. My kid goes to school with children named Pasquale, Antoinetta,Ace, Salvatore & Luca (for the record, R is probably one of two blue eyed children in all of Brooklyn. The second being my other son, E). It's like the next generation of the Corleones all grouped together at the lunch table. Great names.
5. Unprecedented access to the mafia world. See previous blogs about the bust across the street and also Gymboree. (Yes, Gymboree). I cannot watch Goodfellas without yelling "That's SOOO Bay Ridge!" every 10 seconds. I swear the ice cream trucks play the Godfather theme song if you listen long enough.
6. Watching the container ships come in late at night while I rock my baby and feed him his midnight meal. Every container ship that comes into the NY harbor passes by our house. It's pretty cool. (What's NOT cool is "fog horn season").
7. Manhattan. I love Manhattan. It would have been nice if I could have spent more time there. The access to theater, great food, parks and general awesomeness is unparalleled. Brooklyn is like the dirty little step-sister to Manhattan. Unfortunately this is where I spent 99% of my time and hence the reason I should probably be in therapy pronto. I will visit Manhattan many times throughout my life....Brooklyn, not so much. For the record, Times Square should be part of Brooklyn. Go there once, see it, and then never return.
8. Craft. This is Tom Colicchio's restaurant (as in Top Chef host). I stalk him much in the way I stalk Brian Williams. Sean and I splurged on several rediculously fabulous meals while we were here (hence my rediculous posterior size at the moment) and out of all the legendary places we've dined, Craft is by far the absolute best.
9. Brian Williams as in THE Brian Williams of NBC Nightly News. 'nuff said. I came, I stalked, I inappropriately accosted him at a silent auction/dinner and demanded a photo. We made eye contact and did the side hug. But for him, I would have given a full on hug. If you've read my previous blogs about personal space, you know that a full on hug is a Really. BIG. Deal.
10. Friends. We have some great friends here, old & new. The E family, who has treated us like family for many years...it was nice to finally get to live close enough to behave like family with them! So many wonderful Italian meals at their table....those will be missed. And others. I mean, where else can Swagger Wagon Mom hang out at a children's museum with a professional bartender sporting pin-up girl tattoos? Or catch the New York City Ballet's production of Nutcracker with two Naval Nuclear Power officers? Or attend a dinner party with Jermaine Jackson's former assistant? And I consider Brian Williams my friend. I mean, we definitely had some platonic chemistry during that whole silent auction incident. Or maybe that was just his fear I was feeling, but that's neither here nor there. He had feelings for me...of one kind or another.
11. Fairway Market. There has never been, nor will there ever be a grocery store as wonderful and over-the-top as you. I hesitate to even call you a grocery store because I feel like that cheapens you. You are a mecca for food lovers, gourmet chefs, wanna-be gourmet chefs, and people like me who just like to walk around, mouth agape, and inhale the smells of cheese, oils, meats....I think I might actually cry if I keep thinking about never going to Fairway again. Where else can I discuss the culinary attributes of saffron with a pair of gay leather-clad bikers from "The PA" (as they referred to Pennsylvania)? Where else can I find smoked Hungarian paprika or Madagascar vanilla beans with such ease? Where else can I walk in fear of collapsing the 15 varieties of apples stacked into high pyramids of color? Fairway, you helped me become a better cook, you helped me try new things, and you allowed me to understand why kosher meats cannot be stored with regular people meats (although apparently the Bible also contains this answer, but if I'm truly honest, God saw it necessary for me to learn this lesson while inadvertantly offending a Jewish person).
12. My oldest son's "Brooklyn Education" and overall experience as a resident of NYC. I did my best to shelter my child from public urination, fornication, and public intoxication, but there are things I'm proud the kid picked up on. I love that he knows that Daddy takes the R train to work. I like that he knows the difference between Brooklyn and Manhattan. It's pretty cool that we can go into the city and he says "I love this place". I was honored to take him to see his first Broadway Show (Mary Poppins) and even more touched that he is still talking about it...and still singing "Spoon Full of Sugar". It's funny that he knows that pigeons are acceptable birds to torture whereas the robins and finches in our yard are not. I love that he knows the difference between the Verazzano Bridge ("our bridge") and the Brooklyn Bridge. It's funny that he will ask to ride the Staten Island Ferry and it's sweet that he always looks for the Statue of Liberty when we're driving on the Belt Parkway. He's only 3 years old and, while somehow managing to develop a strange combination of a southern/midwestern accent while living here, he knows the proper way to eat a giant slice of Brooklyn pizza (folded in half). He met his very first best friend here and they developed a friendship that most adults would admire. He started preschool here and met other friends that helped shape how he interacts with people.
13. My second son's birth experience. We knew we would probably have baby #2 while stationed here, but the idea of giving birth in Brooklyn was probably the second most terrifying thought I could ever imagine next to waking up and finding out that they've outlawed the magical combination of peanut butter and chocolate (that would almost end my will to live). We did a lot of research and seriously considered just holding off on having another baby until we returned to "real America". But we went ahead & took the plunge and I have to say that I really had a pretty decent go of it in the obstetrics/birth dept, even if my OB did look like a cast-member on Jersey Shore. Admittedly, I chose a Staten Island based OB and a Staten Island Hospital, but I can't leave NY and not feel a little sentimental that this is where our littlest one was born. I also can't believe that I actually have a child with a City of New York birth certificate. It seems a little strange and I hope his personality does not one day reflect the stereotype. So far, so good on that.
14. Spring time. I'm usually more of an autumn girl, but while living up here, spring has become the highlight of my year because it signifies the end of the god-awful winters, slush/mud, and the wearing of socks. Spring is elusive and my personal jury is still out on whether or not 2011 has had a spring season yet. But on that first really nice day when all the planets align, the sun is out, and the need for a coat is diminished, people walk around in a happy, disoriented daze, as if we all just emerged from our caves and were experiencing sunlight for the first time in months. There's something especially wonderful about spring time in NY.
I have had my moments with this place. Pretty much on a daily basis. But I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish here and I'm proud to say I did them all and accomplished some things I swore I'd never do....like drive in Manhattan. 50% of my goals involved eating and food related things, but I also went to the Today Show & hugged Bon Jovi & Ann Curry, I saw an Opera at the Met, watched the New York City Ballet, learned the subway system without having to use a cheat sheet, and stalked & cornered Brian Williams and conned him into a hug & a photo without getting arrested. All in all, this experience was successful in terms of goals, but as Frankie said, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. Unfortunately, I never became much more than a fish out of water here. NYC kicked my southern behind. But the truth is that although NYC did beat me, I'm totally okay with that because living here has taught me about who I really am, what I really believe in, and what is most important to me in life. There once was a time that I only wanted to move to the big city and see what would become of me. Now I have those answers and I can safely say that whatever becomes of me, it's best done down in warmer weather where the pace is slower & the crowds are sweeter.
And now I must sign off, close out this blog, and begin a new chapter. My first move being googling "big city detox programs" quickly followed by ridding my wardrobe of socks and closed-toed shoes.
Cheers ya'll, it's been a trip!
Double hugs, double kiss, no looking back,
L.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
An Open Letter to Door to Door Sales People in NY
Dear Door to Door Sales People in NY,
Do you know that in the rest of the country, one would never go to the dentist, be IN the dental chair, mouth agape, and staring into the blinding white light only to have a random person off the street walk in and try to sell the dentist and patient jewelry? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
Do you know that in the rest of the country, a woman would not have to stand at the receptionist counter in the pediatrician's office holding the world's heaviest baby in the world's heaviest baby carrier and wait while an Al Pacino look alike badgers the nursing and receptionist staff into buying a $10 pair of scrubs? And then have to wait an additional 5 minutes while he alternates between trying to make change for those purchasing and insulting those who are not? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
Do you know that in the rest of the country, a man and his wife can enjoy a lovely, romantic meal in a pretty nice restaurant and not have some random Chinese guy from off the street come in and try to sell pirated DVD's to them at their table? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
Do you know that in the rest of the country, a woman could get a pedicure at a day spa and not be interrupted by another random Chinese guy selling more pirated DVD's and have to wait while the nail technician stopped to peruse the inventory? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
Did you know that in the rest of the country, a woman could peacefully shop in the diaper aisle at Target and not be approached by a sketchy dude who looks like the love child of Ray Charles and Bob Marley (if that were possible) trying to sell her knock-off Gucci purses from a garbage bag? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
That is all.
L.
Do you know that in the rest of the country, one would never go to the dentist, be IN the dental chair, mouth agape, and staring into the blinding white light only to have a random person off the street walk in and try to sell the dentist and patient jewelry? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
Do you know that in the rest of the country, a woman would not have to stand at the receptionist counter in the pediatrician's office holding the world's heaviest baby in the world's heaviest baby carrier and wait while an Al Pacino look alike badgers the nursing and receptionist staff into buying a $10 pair of scrubs? And then have to wait an additional 5 minutes while he alternates between trying to make change for those purchasing and insulting those who are not? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
Do you know that in the rest of the country, a man and his wife can enjoy a lovely, romantic meal in a pretty nice restaurant and not have some random Chinese guy from off the street come in and try to sell pirated DVD's to them at their table? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
Do you know that in the rest of the country, a woman could get a pedicure at a day spa and not be interrupted by another random Chinese guy selling more pirated DVD's and have to wait while the nail technician stopped to peruse the inventory? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
Did you know that in the rest of the country, a woman could peacefully shop in the diaper aisle at Target and not be approached by a sketchy dude who looks like the love child of Ray Charles and Bob Marley (if that were possible) trying to sell her knock-off Gucci purses from a garbage bag? That would NEVER. HAPPEN.
That is all.
L.
An Open Letter to New York City Crime Families
Dear NYC Crime Families,
Just as I was beginning to think that I'd been in Brooklyn too long to notice the daily oddities that make it the freak show that it is, you guys come and surprise me. I woke up this morning living in a Gangsta's Paradise. (yes, I just quoted Coolio. Get over it). I try to maintain a low profile, carrying on in the stereotypical "stay-at-home mom" fashion. I drive a minivan (gag). I stand outside my son's school shamelessly holding a tiny space ship umbrella on rainy days. I tend to smell like baby puke most days, but I wear a lot of dark colors so you can't see it after I rub it into my clothes. My fire alarm goes off anytime I cook anything above 400 degrees in my oven. My life is so plain it makes a box of bran flakes look delicious. So how come I have a front row seat to the largest mafia roundup in history? What, pray tell, does a boring mom like me, one who gets excited about making a new stir fry for dinner, have in common with a mafioso besides dining at Lai Yuen Chinese Restaurant (Bay Ridgers know what I'm talking about) and the sharing the same zip code? Well, right now we're both living on the same street.
Last night I thought God was just looking out for me when I got to the gym and it was closed. Three cheers for a pain free night! Then I noticed that the gym parking lot was roped off and filled with very important looking government mobile command post vehicles with fancy antennas and satellite dishes and guys wearing the snazzy yet cliche FBI jackets hanging out all around. I figured it was just an antiterrorism exercise, which would be a logical explanation for anything out of the ordinary where I live. Then a huge US Marshal's mobile command post pulls in and sets up shop. Hmmmmm. Interesting. (In case you're wondering, I live across the street from the gym....it's God's daily reminder that I'm not getting any skinnier!). This morning I wake up and the place is swarming with feds. (I've always wanted to use the phrase "swarming with feds" to describe my current location. I can check that off the bucket list!). There is heavy activity in the gym and it's not by people going to the 6:30am spin class. I know this because I usually laugh at those people. A while later, my friend sends me a Facebook post stating "100 of your neighbors got arrested in a mob sting". I laugh and suggest that this would be the reason for all the activity across the street. So I turn on CNN to hear about my fellow New Yorkers making the city proud when I realize quickly that yes, indeed this IS the reason the feds have set up shop across the street. Holy Cow! I take another peek out the window and there is the "prison bus" pulling up and unloading Italy's finest. Briefly I imagine that the bus is playing the theme song to The Godfather....like a little ice cream truck full of murderers pulling into jail. There they are, the good, bad & ugly of America's top crime families. It's like a hair gel convention for old, sleazy gangsters. Suddenly I have the urge to watch all the Godfather movies consecutively and eat cannoli. Unfortunately the gym is closed and therefore I cannot eat cannoli because I am unable to burn off those calories in a heated environment. I am beside myself with excitement.
So, Crime Families, I understand you're not having the best day. Stuff you've been getting away with from as far back as 1981 (according to the unreliable CNN), has finally caught up with you. If it's any consolation, I appreciate the fact that it caught up with you in my front yard. Watching a live version of Law and Order go down steps away from my front door has added a little spice to my otherwise droll day of rubbing baby puke into my clothes, learning about ear wax from our pediatrician, and determining discipline strategies for our unruly three year old. Perhaps explaining to our three year old the "situation" going down in the gym parking lot might actually assist in making my point that the little man needs to mind his mama or suffer consequences. It might be a gesture of community service if you could throw a threatening glance his way to drive the point home?
Admittedly I will never quite understand how someone so "un-NY" like me could find herself in so many stereotypical New York situations, but today's scenario was quite funny in my book. So thanks Crime Families. I hope they're good to you in prison.
Triple kisses, because that's how ya'll do it in the movies,
L.
Just as I was beginning to think that I'd been in Brooklyn too long to notice the daily oddities that make it the freak show that it is, you guys come and surprise me. I woke up this morning living in a Gangsta's Paradise. (yes, I just quoted Coolio. Get over it). I try to maintain a low profile, carrying on in the stereotypical "stay-at-home mom" fashion. I drive a minivan (gag). I stand outside my son's school shamelessly holding a tiny space ship umbrella on rainy days. I tend to smell like baby puke most days, but I wear a lot of dark colors so you can't see it after I rub it into my clothes. My fire alarm goes off anytime I cook anything above 400 degrees in my oven. My life is so plain it makes a box of bran flakes look delicious. So how come I have a front row seat to the largest mafia roundup in history? What, pray tell, does a boring mom like me, one who gets excited about making a new stir fry for dinner, have in common with a mafioso besides dining at Lai Yuen Chinese Restaurant (Bay Ridgers know what I'm talking about) and the sharing the same zip code? Well, right now we're both living on the same street.
Last night I thought God was just looking out for me when I got to the gym and it was closed. Three cheers for a pain free night! Then I noticed that the gym parking lot was roped off and filled with very important looking government mobile command post vehicles with fancy antennas and satellite dishes and guys wearing the snazzy yet cliche FBI jackets hanging out all around. I figured it was just an antiterrorism exercise, which would be a logical explanation for anything out of the ordinary where I live. Then a huge US Marshal's mobile command post pulls in and sets up shop. Hmmmmm. Interesting. (In case you're wondering, I live across the street from the gym....it's God's daily reminder that I'm not getting any skinnier!). This morning I wake up and the place is swarming with feds. (I've always wanted to use the phrase "swarming with feds" to describe my current location. I can check that off the bucket list!). There is heavy activity in the gym and it's not by people going to the 6:30am spin class. I know this because I usually laugh at those people. A while later, my friend sends me a Facebook post stating "100 of your neighbors got arrested in a mob sting". I laugh and suggest that this would be the reason for all the activity across the street. So I turn on CNN to hear about my fellow New Yorkers making the city proud when I realize quickly that yes, indeed this IS the reason the feds have set up shop across the street. Holy Cow! I take another peek out the window and there is the "prison bus" pulling up and unloading Italy's finest. Briefly I imagine that the bus is playing the theme song to The Godfather....like a little ice cream truck full of murderers pulling into jail. There they are, the good, bad & ugly of America's top crime families. It's like a hair gel convention for old, sleazy gangsters. Suddenly I have the urge to watch all the Godfather movies consecutively and eat cannoli. Unfortunately the gym is closed and therefore I cannot eat cannoli because I am unable to burn off those calories in a heated environment. I am beside myself with excitement.
So, Crime Families, I understand you're not having the best day. Stuff you've been getting away with from as far back as 1981 (according to the unreliable CNN), has finally caught up with you. If it's any consolation, I appreciate the fact that it caught up with you in my front yard. Watching a live version of Law and Order go down steps away from my front door has added a little spice to my otherwise droll day of rubbing baby puke into my clothes, learning about ear wax from our pediatrician, and determining discipline strategies for our unruly three year old. Perhaps explaining to our three year old the "situation" going down in the gym parking lot might actually assist in making my point that the little man needs to mind his mama or suffer consequences. It might be a gesture of community service if you could throw a threatening glance his way to drive the point home?
Admittedly I will never quite understand how someone so "un-NY" like me could find herself in so many stereotypical New York situations, but today's scenario was quite funny in my book. So thanks Crime Families. I hope they're good to you in prison.
Triple kisses, because that's how ya'll do it in the movies,
L.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
An Open Letter to Potential Corporate Sponsors
Dear Corporations of America,
Anger Management. Let's face it. Even I need it. Tony Robbins....get yourself some additional publicity by providing group therapy for this place full of issues. Even my husband will tell you, "L did not have anger management issues prior to moving to Brooklyn". Don't even ask me how that hole on the back of our door got there. This place will turn you rotten. ROTTEN I say!
Hand Sanitizer. Probably the most mentioned item in my blog. Don't leave home without it. What's that perfume you're wearing, L? Why...it's Eau de Purell! As Depeche Mode so wisely put it, "Just can't get enough".
Dunkin Donuts. Actually, I think they already are a corporate sponsor of NYC. Much like with the Suburu Forester, you are always within view of a Dunkin Donuts. I can't imagine what kind of stampedes Krispy Kreme would create here. These people be lovin' their donuts.
Duane Reade. This is the "Walgreens" of NYC and, much like Dunkin Donuts and Suburu, you cannot escape its glare. They're everywhere. I'm starting to think Duane Reade, whoever he may be, is sort of a Big Brother entity here. Always watching. Distributing drugs to the masses. Reporting back to the Mothership. Interesting thing about Duane Reade/Walgreens type stores here. People actually frequent these stores shop for groceries and stuff. It's more than just a "run in and grab your prescription, photo order and a pint of Ben & Jerry's" type place. The Walgreens in Bay Ridge has a produce section (granted, it's terrifying) and they advertise "fresh sushi" which to me sounds like they're trying to up their sales of Immodium and Pepto. I mean, who goes to Walgreens for sushi?
Dry cleaners/Laundry Services. Nobody has laundry in their apartments. Except us. Which makes us super cool people. :) Except my washer is broken right now so I am no longer cool and must pay someone (by the pound) to wash my kid's underpants because he's no longer buying my "Commando is Cool!" attitude. Anyway, there are more laundry service companies here than subway rats. So you know they're popular and good candidates for corporate sponsorship. Might even get some things cleaned up around here.
Double hugs, double profits,
L.
Everybody has a sponsor these days. Lindsay Lohan (well, AA sponsor, but close). Lance Armstrong. Nascar drivers. Tiger Woods (once upon a time anyway). And since NYC seems to be in a constant financial hole, I'm thinking it should look for some corporate sponsors as well. Now, I've only lived here one year, 19 months and 3 days (who's counting?) so I'm still classified as an "annoying tourist" to pretty much everyone, but I've had plenty of time to observe the territory and I have a few ideas. Please note I would like credit should any of these deals actually go through:
1. Suburu. Specifically the Suburu Forrester or Outback. One is never more than 10 feet away from a Suburu Forrester or Outback in NYC. Not the cool Suburu's, but more of the station-wagony ones. I'm not sure what the appeal is as they are pretty hideous looking (forgive me if you drive one. I wasn't talking about yours, per se.) It's New York's answer to the SUV for city life I suppose. Perhaps they choose station wagons to avoid paying the $10 oversized vehicle fee in parking garages. But my Lord, they're EVERYWHERE! Forget "punch buggy orange". We play "punch-Suburu"!
2. The color black. Hey, if colors can sponsor Sesame Street episodes, they can certainly sponsor a city. I have never seen so much black in all my life. It's like a giant funeral. People wear black clothes, dye their hair black, and then drive to work in their black cars. When in doubt, pick black. (and, if you really want to blend in, contort your face in a way that suggests today is your last day on death row before the big "grand finale". Then board the subway train, blast your ipod music and stare blankly into space. You will never be mistaken for a tourist.)
3. Big Tobacco. Good grief. Forget calling it the City That Never Sleeps (which is a HUGE fat lie if you've ever tried to get good cheesecake or dinner after 10 pm in areas that are NOT in Times Square). It should be called The City of Secondhand Smoke. I swear to you my toddler has a pack a day habit. I thought NY'ers were to supposed to be so trendy and ahead of the times, but HELLO! Smoking? Lame. And everybody everybody everybody is doing it. I saw a pregnant lady with a towel around her waist (a sure sign that her water just broke...because that was me 3 years ago) standing in front of a hospital smoking a cigarette before checking in. Not even joking.
4. Trash. Not to be confused with trash can manufacturers. Those people would so lose money in this market. However if you are a fan of polluting the streets with all manner of garbage, you should consider sponsoring the city. You'd have endless publicity for your cause.
5. Tanning Salons. Well, you know it's summer when suddenly the human race turns a funky shade of orange (in our home we identify it as "oompha loompha orange", but it's different on everyone). (My favorite salon is "Alaska Tan" because when we think of Alaska, we think of "tan", right? hmmmm.) The Orange Ones tend to trod in the outer boroughs, although it is common to see them in the city as well. New York is full of every hue of the human race, but suddenly, come May, a new race emerges making everyone else a collective minority. It produces a shade like no other. Somehow a memo got leaked to the public that turning yourself the most unnatural shade of "burnt umber" (thanks Crayola!) is smokin' hot and the ladies (& gents!) ran with it. Also, apparently orange goes great with and is amplified by black (see corporate sponsor suggestion #2). Thankfully the rest of the "tannable" population tends to lean towards pasty white (a category I fit right into), however the tanning industry here is blowin' up from May to September. Don't light a match anywhere on Staten Island or the place may just go up in flames or the residents might melt.
Anger Management. Let's face it. Even I need it. Tony Robbins....get yourself some additional publicity by providing group therapy for this place full of issues. Even my husband will tell you, "L did not have anger management issues prior to moving to Brooklyn". Don't even ask me how that hole on the back of our door got there. This place will turn you rotten. ROTTEN I say!
Hand Sanitizer. Probably the most mentioned item in my blog. Don't leave home without it. What's that perfume you're wearing, L? Why...it's Eau de Purell! As Depeche Mode so wisely put it, "Just can't get enough".
Dunkin Donuts. Actually, I think they already are a corporate sponsor of NYC. Much like with the Suburu Forester, you are always within view of a Dunkin Donuts. I can't imagine what kind of stampedes Krispy Kreme would create here. These people be lovin' their donuts.
Duane Reade. This is the "Walgreens" of NYC and, much like Dunkin Donuts and Suburu, you cannot escape its glare. They're everywhere. I'm starting to think Duane Reade, whoever he may be, is sort of a Big Brother entity here. Always watching. Distributing drugs to the masses. Reporting back to the Mothership. Interesting thing about Duane Reade/Walgreens type stores here. People actually frequent these stores shop for groceries and stuff. It's more than just a "run in and grab your prescription, photo order and a pint of Ben & Jerry's" type place. The Walgreens in Bay Ridge has a produce section (granted, it's terrifying) and they advertise "fresh sushi" which to me sounds like they're trying to up their sales of Immodium and Pepto. I mean, who goes to Walgreens for sushi?
Dry cleaners/Laundry Services. Nobody has laundry in their apartments. Except us. Which makes us super cool people. :) Except my washer is broken right now so I am no longer cool and must pay someone (by the pound) to wash my kid's underpants because he's no longer buying my "Commando is Cool!" attitude. Anyway, there are more laundry service companies here than subway rats. So you know they're popular and good candidates for corporate sponsorship. Might even get some things cleaned up around here.
Double hugs, double profits,
L.
Friday, July 30, 2010
An Open Letter to Brooklyn Drivers:
Dear Everyone in Brooklyn and I do mean everyone,
Lets take a moment to talk about this, shall we?:
Raise your hand and raise it high if you've seen one of these before. Now, keep your hand raised if you know its purpose. Well, if you're so smart, then how come you jerks can't seem to respect the purpose? In case you need some traffic law awareness, allow me to remind you that the STOP SIGN is intended to incidate a point at which to come to a full and complete stop. Say it with me: "FULL AND COMPLETE". When grouped together, say, at a 3-4 way stop intersection, it is also acceptable to go the extra mile and look both ways before proceeding. It is also standard practice to follow a "first come first served" mentality when operating at a 3-4 way stop. It's not "he who drives the fastest while honking and waving your Brooklyn Peace Sign finger gets to go first". I know this is shocking information and you're probably scratching your heads right now wondering how you could have gone wrong all these years, but let me tell you--If you honk at me one more time while I am properly obeying a traffic sign, you won't have many years left to ponder this. I am losing my patience, as indicated by my mid-intersection, fist waving, window rolled down screaming rant at the intersection of Fort Hamilton Parkway and 101st St this morning. (Ironically this is the same exact intersection where I recently had an accident so maybe I know a thing or two about the location). It was helpful to have my friend D pull up at the intersection at the exact same time and roll down her window to encourage me by shouting "I HATE BROOKLYN" in support of my raging 8-months-pregnant tirade in the street. (Oddly enough, D was also at that same intersection at the time of my aforementioned accident....maybe she's my Brooklyn Driving Fairy Godmother? Or maybe she thinks I stand in that intersection full time and raise holy hell on a daily basis? Or maybe she thinks I'm just working my usual corner? Yikes. I should make a note to call her and clarify.) Anyway, today I'd had enough. Some call it pregnancy hormones. I call it "living in Brooklyn for 18 months and 29 days".
So what have we learned today folks? Red octagonal shapes on corners are not to be ignored. Stop you idiots. Just stop. And do not honk at the few who do take, oh, 5 extra seconds of your life by looking both ways. Like I said before--I'm 8 months pregnant. If I rush into an intersection due to your honking just because you're an impatient ego maniac who is going to be .0002 seconds late for your tanning appointment and end up hurting my unborn baby, you will be getting the ultimate tan in the Deep Down Under if you know what I mean.
Double time at the next stop sign, JERKS--
L.
PS: Forgive my abrasiveness, but this is a trait that you seem to understand so I figured I speak your language. Hopefully it fully translated my inner rage clearly enough for you.
PPS: Tanning makes you look like an oompha-loompha. Give it up.
Lets take a moment to talk about this, shall we?:
Raise your hand and raise it high if you've seen one of these before. Now, keep your hand raised if you know its purpose. Well, if you're so smart, then how come you jerks can't seem to respect the purpose? In case you need some traffic law awareness, allow me to remind you that the STOP SIGN is intended to incidate a point at which to come to a full and complete stop. Say it with me: "FULL AND COMPLETE". When grouped together, say, at a 3-4 way stop intersection, it is also acceptable to go the extra mile and look both ways before proceeding. It is also standard practice to follow a "first come first served" mentality when operating at a 3-4 way stop. It's not "he who drives the fastest while honking and waving your Brooklyn Peace Sign finger gets to go first". I know this is shocking information and you're probably scratching your heads right now wondering how you could have gone wrong all these years, but let me tell you--If you honk at me one more time while I am properly obeying a traffic sign, you won't have many years left to ponder this. I am losing my patience, as indicated by my mid-intersection, fist waving, window rolled down screaming rant at the intersection of Fort Hamilton Parkway and 101st St this morning. (Ironically this is the same exact intersection where I recently had an accident so maybe I know a thing or two about the location). It was helpful to have my friend D pull up at the intersection at the exact same time and roll down her window to encourage me by shouting "I HATE BROOKLYN" in support of my raging 8-months-pregnant tirade in the street. (Oddly enough, D was also at that same intersection at the time of my aforementioned accident....maybe she's my Brooklyn Driving Fairy Godmother? Or maybe she thinks I stand in that intersection full time and raise holy hell on a daily basis? Or maybe she thinks I'm just working my usual corner? Yikes. I should make a note to call her and clarify.) Anyway, today I'd had enough. Some call it pregnancy hormones. I call it "living in Brooklyn for 18 months and 29 days".
So what have we learned today folks? Red octagonal shapes on corners are not to be ignored. Stop you idiots. Just stop. And do not honk at the few who do take, oh, 5 extra seconds of your life by looking both ways. Like I said before--I'm 8 months pregnant. If I rush into an intersection due to your honking just because you're an impatient ego maniac who is going to be .0002 seconds late for your tanning appointment and end up hurting my unborn baby, you will be getting the ultimate tan in the Deep Down Under if you know what I mean.
Double time at the next stop sign, JERKS--
L.
PS: Forgive my abrasiveness, but this is a trait that you seem to understand so I figured I speak your language. Hopefully it fully translated my inner rage clearly enough for you.
PPS: Tanning makes you look like an oompha-loompha. Give it up.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
An Open Letter to Non "Cow People"
Dear Lady Who Was Mean To Me Today:
I'm sorry if you found my comments about New York offensive. Funny thing is, I wasn't even talking to you. And you have never met me! But that's okay. I can imagine how someone from New York might be offended when I say things like, "I don't ever think I will miss New York. I will miss the food and some other things, but honestly, I think I'll miss being hugely pregnant before I miss living in New York....and I'm not a fan of being hugely pregnant". I'm sorry if that statement, which was shared with someone who has spoken with me about her own similar opinions about New York, was offensive to you, a total stranger who was not even a part of the conversation.
What I don't get, and perhaps what further perpetuates my lack of attachment to this crazy place, is your response. You called me a "cow person". What, pray tell, is a "cow person"? I realize that I am 8 months going on 42 years preggo right now and look like I'm about to give birth to a full sized calf but I'm not an actual cow in "real life". I only play one on TV...and when I'm hugely pregnant. I am not employed by Chick-fil-A and therefore am not wearing the cow suit (another reason to not like NY....no Chick-fil-A!!!! GASP!). I'm not sure what a "cow person" is. I have never personally owned a cow and my high school did not have a 4-H program. I have had unprecedented access to cows on my Grandaddy's farm and have had the unfortunate experience of riding a cow and falling off into cow poo-poo, but again...how would you know that about me? In my defense, a duck is the closest thing to livestock I've ever owned thank you very much. Have you even actually seen a cow in person? Because I'm pretty sure in a blind taste test, 9 out of 10 people would agree that I am not a cow. My OB might say otherwise, but he'd be the 1 hold-out in that survey.
What's even more bizarre is that after you called me a cow person, you said that you'd rather, and I quote, "Hang on a cross than live in the boonies like where [I] grew up and have no life." Ouch. That's harsh. The thing about the boonies is that they are located far away from weirdos like you. Respect the boonies. Lots of positive things come from there. Ironically, I wouldn't call where I come from "boonies". Sure it's acceptable to be shoeless. Sure most meals are prepared using propane or a vat of oil. Sure at least 5 people on the block I grew up on own airboats. (You probably don't know what an airboat is, but I'll let you think that it's a magical boat that travels in the air a la George Jetson). Sure it gets reeeeeeeeeal dark outsiiiiiiide at niiiiiiight tiiiiiime cause 'dere ain't no city liiiiights gettin' in the way. I know where to get frog legs, alligator tail and fried turtle bites in a hurry. If that makes me a cow person....OK. Moo. I'm pretty sure that Jesus Christ would have SOOOO picked the boonies over the cross if he wasn't the Son of God with bigger responsibilities. I mean, he was kind of from there himself. Cows were present at his birth. And if the boonies are good enough for Jesus, they're good enough for this Baptist gal. I'm certainly not comparing myself to Jesus Christ, but lets be real. He never took public transportation and he didn't sleep at a Holiday Inn Express last night.
Look, I respect that some people....lots of people....can't imagine living anywhere else but NYC. I get it. I know those people. They can't go camping because it's too quiet. They are unfamiliar with the terms "covered dish" and "dinner on the grounds". They carry alternate pairs of shoes in their purses. They mock me for driving everywhere. I have been told by someone (in their WORST Brooklynese) that I have a "rediculous accent" and more than one stranger has stated to me, "you're not from here, huh?". That's okay! I don't mind not blending in because NY is a melting pot of all kinds of people. Even "cow people". I enjoy my NY friends because of our differences. They laugh at me, I laugh at them....it's a win win. We can learn from each other and have a pretty decent time. We will always be different. Crickets keep them up all night. Sirens keep me up all night. Everyone is different and that keeps things interesting.
My husband says that small towns breed big dreams. I believe that. Lots of greatness has come from the boonies. There's less competition and more room to grow ideas and garner support. I invite you to visit my not-so-small town down south any ol' time you want. (I mean, it was pretty much an orange grove when I was growing up but then they put in that big ol' shoppin' mall and things really took off!) Give it a try. Us cow folk might just impress you a little bit. There's a reason they call Florida the "Sixth Borough". New Yorkers move there in droves and then convert to "cow people" so they too can blend in and enjoy the lifestyle.
Double hugs, Moo Moo,
L.
I'm sorry if you found my comments about New York offensive. Funny thing is, I wasn't even talking to you. And you have never met me! But that's okay. I can imagine how someone from New York might be offended when I say things like, "I don't ever think I will miss New York. I will miss the food and some other things, but honestly, I think I'll miss being hugely pregnant before I miss living in New York....and I'm not a fan of being hugely pregnant". I'm sorry if that statement, which was shared with someone who has spoken with me about her own similar opinions about New York, was offensive to you, a total stranger who was not even a part of the conversation.
What I don't get, and perhaps what further perpetuates my lack of attachment to this crazy place, is your response. You called me a "cow person". What, pray tell, is a "cow person"? I realize that I am 8 months going on 42 years preggo right now and look like I'm about to give birth to a full sized calf but I'm not an actual cow in "real life". I only play one on TV...and when I'm hugely pregnant. I am not employed by Chick-fil-A and therefore am not wearing the cow suit (another reason to not like NY....no Chick-fil-A!!!! GASP!). I'm not sure what a "cow person" is. I have never personally owned a cow and my high school did not have a 4-H program. I have had unprecedented access to cows on my Grandaddy's farm and have had the unfortunate experience of riding a cow and falling off into cow poo-poo, but again...how would you know that about me? In my defense, a duck is the closest thing to livestock I've ever owned thank you very much. Have you even actually seen a cow in person? Because I'm pretty sure in a blind taste test, 9 out of 10 people would agree that I am not a cow. My OB might say otherwise, but he'd be the 1 hold-out in that survey.
What's even more bizarre is that after you called me a cow person, you said that you'd rather, and I quote, "Hang on a cross than live in the boonies like where [I] grew up and have no life." Ouch. That's harsh. The thing about the boonies is that they are located far away from weirdos like you. Respect the boonies. Lots of positive things come from there. Ironically, I wouldn't call where I come from "boonies". Sure it's acceptable to be shoeless. Sure most meals are prepared using propane or a vat of oil. Sure at least 5 people on the block I grew up on own airboats. (You probably don't know what an airboat is, but I'll let you think that it's a magical boat that travels in the air a la George Jetson). Sure it gets reeeeeeeeeal dark outsiiiiiiide at niiiiiiight tiiiiiime cause 'dere ain't no city liiiiights gettin' in the way. I know where to get frog legs, alligator tail and fried turtle bites in a hurry. If that makes me a cow person....OK. Moo. I'm pretty sure that Jesus Christ would have SOOOO picked the boonies over the cross if he wasn't the Son of God with bigger responsibilities. I mean, he was kind of from there himself. Cows were present at his birth. And if the boonies are good enough for Jesus, they're good enough for this Baptist gal. I'm certainly not comparing myself to Jesus Christ, but lets be real. He never took public transportation and he didn't sleep at a Holiday Inn Express last night.
Look, I respect that some people....lots of people....can't imagine living anywhere else but NYC. I get it. I know those people. They can't go camping because it's too quiet. They are unfamiliar with the terms "covered dish" and "dinner on the grounds". They carry alternate pairs of shoes in their purses. They mock me for driving everywhere. I have been told by someone (in their WORST Brooklynese) that I have a "rediculous accent" and more than one stranger has stated to me, "you're not from here, huh?". That's okay! I don't mind not blending in because NY is a melting pot of all kinds of people. Even "cow people". I enjoy my NY friends because of our differences. They laugh at me, I laugh at them....it's a win win. We can learn from each other and have a pretty decent time. We will always be different. Crickets keep them up all night. Sirens keep me up all night. Everyone is different and that keeps things interesting.
My husband says that small towns breed big dreams. I believe that. Lots of greatness has come from the boonies. There's less competition and more room to grow ideas and garner support. I invite you to visit my not-so-small town down south any ol' time you want. (I mean, it was pretty much an orange grove when I was growing up but then they put in that big ol' shoppin' mall and things really took off!) Give it a try. Us cow folk might just impress you a little bit. There's a reason they call Florida the "Sixth Borough". New Yorkers move there in droves and then convert to "cow people" so they too can blend in and enjoy the lifestyle.
Double hugs, Moo Moo,
L.
Friday, June 11, 2010
An Open Letter to The Man Who Played Bumper Cars With My Car Without Permission
Dear Sir,
Perhaps you enjoyed bumper cars as a kid at the fair, but take heed my friend....not all cars are bumper cars and while first appearences may lead you to believe otherwise, Brooklyn is not some carnival circus with free rides. I did not enjoy sitting on the playground and alternating my attention between watching my son and watching you repeatedly bump my car in your sad attempt to fit a giant purple Mercury minivan into a small space previously occupied by a Mini Cooper. I'm pretty sure the Malibu you also repeatedly bumped did not appreciate it either.
Don't get me wrong...I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt at first. I remained calm. I said to my friend, "Hey....so is it just me or is that guy an idiot for thinking he's going to fit that giant Barney the Dinosaur of a minivan into that small space?". After careful deliberation (and watching you exit your vehicle to give the scene a once over before continuing your plight), we decided that you were indeed an idiot and that someone should probably stop you before you broke something. That someone would be moi--an annoyed, sweaty pregnant woman in an unattractive outfit at the park.
I was in no mood for my Nice Nasty....people in Brooklyn don't get that style of confrontation....so away I go pointing my finger like I meant business. It wasn't the middle finger, which may have confused you as that is the standard operating procedure for Brooklyn confrontation, but it was my Finger of Authority. Just ask my two year old about its importance if you have doubts. The look on your face very much resembled the look on my son's face when he's caught acting like a turd and it proved to me that you knew exactly what was up, although I appreciate the innocent Brooklyn Shrug you gave me followed by, 'Is that your car, miss?'. No you idiot. That's not my car. I just have a passion for 2004 Honda Accords. I'm just a big ball of pregnant vigiliante walking the streets looking for vehicle injustice when it's 90 degrees outside. Of course it's my car!
After much discussion, most of which was me repeating, "You cannot park here! Why would you even try this?", and blank stares on your end, you finally decided to take my advice. Unfortunately you had wedged yourself awkwardly inbetween my car and the next and were pretty much stuck. Meanwhile, my child is running around on a playground shared by gang members, junkies, and happy toddlers. Fortunately a trusted friend was watching him, but still. My priority was getting back to the playground. Unfortunately, your idiocy required me to move my car, risking yet another parking ticket (and trust me, they know my plate number by heart!) so that your hideous purple minivan could squeeeeeze in just a little bit more.
I wonder had I not shown up to inform you of your stupidity, what you would have done? I can only imagine that you would have left your beast parked halfway between the curb and the street. And you, my friend, are a prime example of why people from New Jersey/New York should just not operate motor vehicles.
Although my car isn't exactly a shiney BMW, it's my ride, damn it. So how's about showing some respect? I will respect your Barney Car (though I will NOT sing the song), and I ask that you show the same respect for my humble Honda. You're lucky my main ride had a flat tire. Had you hit the non-ghetto tricked-out Highlander, we'd have had a much different conversation.
Double hugs, double park if you have to just don't be dumb like that again,
L.
Perhaps you enjoyed bumper cars as a kid at the fair, but take heed my friend....not all cars are bumper cars and while first appearences may lead you to believe otherwise, Brooklyn is not some carnival circus with free rides. I did not enjoy sitting on the playground and alternating my attention between watching my son and watching you repeatedly bump my car in your sad attempt to fit a giant purple Mercury minivan into a small space previously occupied by a Mini Cooper. I'm pretty sure the Malibu you also repeatedly bumped did not appreciate it either.
Don't get me wrong...I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt at first. I remained calm. I said to my friend, "Hey....so is it just me or is that guy an idiot for thinking he's going to fit that giant Barney the Dinosaur of a minivan into that small space?". After careful deliberation (and watching you exit your vehicle to give the scene a once over before continuing your plight), we decided that you were indeed an idiot and that someone should probably stop you before you broke something. That someone would be moi--an annoyed, sweaty pregnant woman in an unattractive outfit at the park.
I was in no mood for my Nice Nasty....people in Brooklyn don't get that style of confrontation....so away I go pointing my finger like I meant business. It wasn't the middle finger, which may have confused you as that is the standard operating procedure for Brooklyn confrontation, but it was my Finger of Authority. Just ask my two year old about its importance if you have doubts. The look on your face very much resembled the look on my son's face when he's caught acting like a turd and it proved to me that you knew exactly what was up, although I appreciate the innocent Brooklyn Shrug you gave me followed by, 'Is that your car, miss?'. No you idiot. That's not my car. I just have a passion for 2004 Honda Accords. I'm just a big ball of pregnant vigiliante walking the streets looking for vehicle injustice when it's 90 degrees outside. Of course it's my car!
After much discussion, most of which was me repeating, "You cannot park here! Why would you even try this?", and blank stares on your end, you finally decided to take my advice. Unfortunately you had wedged yourself awkwardly inbetween my car and the next and were pretty much stuck. Meanwhile, my child is running around on a playground shared by gang members, junkies, and happy toddlers. Fortunately a trusted friend was watching him, but still. My priority was getting back to the playground. Unfortunately, your idiocy required me to move my car, risking yet another parking ticket (and trust me, they know my plate number by heart!) so that your hideous purple minivan could squeeeeeze in just a little bit more.
I wonder had I not shown up to inform you of your stupidity, what you would have done? I can only imagine that you would have left your beast parked halfway between the curb and the street. And you, my friend, are a prime example of why people from New Jersey/New York should just not operate motor vehicles.
Although my car isn't exactly a shiney BMW, it's my ride, damn it. So how's about showing some respect? I will respect your Barney Car (though I will NOT sing the song), and I ask that you show the same respect for my humble Honda. You're lucky my main ride had a flat tire. Had you hit the non-ghetto tricked-out Highlander, we'd have had a much different conversation.
Double hugs, double park if you have to just don't be dumb like that again,
L.
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