Coyote Ugly, NYC.

I'm sitting in a cafe with free wifi in the Flatiron District, drinking a hibiscus steamer, listening to The Decembrists "The Hazards of Love" album, hoping to stimulate the creative juices, but I have writer's block. Isn't that so typical New York City? I'm aware of how hipster that sounds. It makes me cringe. Instead of writing for the book, I sent numerous emails, and now I'm writing this blog post. The procrastination is coming along fabulously!

This weekend, my sister and college friend came to visit. On Friday, we went to see Mark Williams at The Bitter End. We've been seeing him perform since he was 12, and now he's an 18 year old rock star. Next time they go on tour, I'm going to be the tour mom and make sure they all wake up on time and shower. I'm so excited. Concert was awesome, except they charged us $84 for 8 drinks and 2 Sprites. Each drink was $6.50 (somehow including the Sprite), so that equals... $65. I used a calculator to be sure. Besides the fact that Sprite should never cost $13, I asked the waitress who looked like Victoria from Twilight, and she said,"There's a $10 service fee." Okay, why? That's not even a 20% tip, but you're clearly not getting anything extra now. We're up to $75. Was tax $9? Why not include tax in the price of a drink? Sense, it makes none. I thought the service fee was because 19 year old Sarah asked for a beer and didn't have wristband, to which the waitress responded, "Another $6.50 Sprite then?" She was mean. Sarah did get good Karma when she got a free cheeseburger and fries at McDonalds though.

Saturday, we went to brunch with Mark, and then I spent four hours making a cake. I was attempting to make a cake that mimics the chocolate peanut butter candy cakes by Tasty Kake. It worked, except melting chocolate is no small feat. It turned into powder, so I mixed it with milk. It worked, sort of.

For dinner, we went to Charritos, in Hoboken. I'm not a fan of Mexican, but this was the real deal. The space only fits about 20 people, and you sit on benches with pillows. It's BYO, but they will make you margaritas or sangria if you provide the alcohol.

Fun, tragic fact of the day. There are coyotes in Manhattan. I know, I didn't believe it either. It came in through the bathroom window (Holland Tunnel). Then it went on the lam (lamb? sheep's clothing literally?), until it got tired and went to nap under an Escalade in a parking garage. Then cops killed it. I know they say they just tranquilized it, but this picture is NOT flattering. Anyone who sleeps like that is dead. I'm sorry, but it's true.

This makes me laugh.

I Spy Something Spring

It's really spring already? I don't want to believe it, because if it snows again, my Seasonal Affective Disorder will return with a vengeance. It's chilling below the surface right now, just waiting for a chance to pounce like a Frida and leap like a pony back into my psyche. I feel like March flew, which never happens. What's going on? Last weekend, I had fro yo in Hoboken then laid by the river, as if it was July. Now I'm wearing a scarf, but at least it's sunny.

Spring in New York makes me want to restart my life. For example, I signed up for a bunch of new blogs and websites about NYC, so I know what's going on, where all the new spots are, and I can break the old habits of sitting in my cube all day, then going home to do chores and Pilates. I love this city so much more after happy hour. It's true, but don't worry, I won't be drinking every day or even most days. It's almost bathing suit season. Nom nom! I love summer.

Argo Tea in the Flatiron Building has a seasonal delight called Green Tea Strawberry Creme. WOW! WOW! WOW! "We've created the perfect recipe of green tea, seedless strawberry puree, vanilla and creamy milk that's delicious hot or iced. Enjoy the sweet, exuberant taste of spring in a cup!" They're not kidding. My office is on Madison Square Park. Hold up. I mean my cube is in the middle of the room, without a view and sun rays can't even reach me in this gray high walled box in which I dwell. To rephrase, my office in which my cube is lodged is on MSP. There's always an art exhibit, sometimes wacky sculptures, and last summer there was a colorful seating area built around a tree. I enjoyed that, because I could eat lunch there, and little kids and dogs were always playing in the rubber sand pit thing which was funny. This year, however, Antony Gormley and his "Event Horizon" diddy makes me not want to eat in the park or stroll through the park or even cry when pigeons fly at me in the park... at all. He made 30 something bronze statues of himself, anatomy and all, and placed them on the edges of skyscrapers, including on the top of Flatiron, there are some on sidewalks in the way really, and some just creeping around various areas of the park. It's disturbing, I have to say. It definitely messes with perceptions and people are talking about it, so I guess it is "art," but I didn't like it when I saw the first statue and thought someone was committing suicide in front of me. That's not exactly a good day. I'm hoping there wasn't a hidden camera on 5th Ave. when I looked up with fright, eyes wide, mouth agape, cell phone in hand about to dial 911.

In other news, I'm trying to go to FL for the weekend of April 23rd and San Diego in July. I somehow made it through winter without going anywhere. I usually go away in March, but life was too chaotic. The school thing isn't panning out as planned, so I'm trying next year I guess. Meanwhile, I have a few ideas up my sleeve, including come up with an entrepreneurial idea and retire early (I spelled that word right without spell check, I feel as though I'm on the right track). I'm reading "The Art of Happiness" / Dalai Lama and he says I have to expect people to be compassionate and kind, and then I will be too. I should think about people who have less, so I feel better, and do things that make me feel fulfilled. I should start saying hi to everyone like my dad does, and lay on the beach all day.

Unless some graduate school miracle occurs, I'll be in NY for another year it seems. I need a new neighborhood, either a new job or more excitement about my current one, and a Dalai Lama in my pocket. I should be able to soldier on. When life hands you lemons, slice them up and have a vodka soda on some trendy ass rooftop in Tribeca.

Operation: Optimism

I just watched this documentary called No Impact Man. This NYC guy spent a year making his family totally green. They had no garbage, so think about that: no paper products, no packaged food, no new clothing. No carbon emissions or pollution: no elevators (they live in a 9th floor walk-up), no plastic bags. They ate local food from the Union Square farmer's market, but no meat or fish. Tell that to the asshole in California serving endangered whale at his sushi restaurant... No TV, no electricity for 6 months, they used a cooler for a refrigerator. No cars, airplanes, or subways. They rode bikes. They also aren't cracked out hippies with nothing better to do. His wife was a writer at BusinessWeek, so pretty typical Manhattanites.

There's tons of easy little things we can all do to save energy, protect the earth and all that jazz. I've always freaked out when someone doesn't recycle a plastic bottle. I feel like it's one of the most ignorant things in the world, but why not just NOT use plastic? Carry your own Siggbottle or coffee cup, since it's bad to drink sugar anyway. Also don't use plastic bags, there's no point or reason, plus carrying canvas reusable bags is easier. Less arm muscle strain. We can also turn off lights, heat, AC, print only when necessary at work, walk more, and buy local food, instead of nasty frozen food. I hate cooking, but how hard is it really? I've been thinking about going back to vegetarian recently, due to food poisoning from chicken and I feel sick if I eat red meat. When I was a senior in high school, I was a vegetarian because I worked in a restaurant and that's what seeing a giant paint bucket full of raw sausage will do to you. For real though, I had more energy and felt healthier than ever. For that entire summer, I played 6 hours of tennis a day then waitressed til close. The funny thing is that once you give up something, after awhile you adjust and you don't miss it. I'm not preaching, just saying. At least I'll feel better if I'm more conscious of what I'm doing in life.

I'm thinking I need a new career I actually care about, so I stop stressing so much and dreading life. I haven't decided what though, since I've been fairly apathetic ever since I left college. The real world has that effect, especially if you're so lucky to still have a job working for The Man. I might teach, until I come up with some idea I can use to have my own business.

WHO KNOWS I'm just tired of being stressed. Everything is so pending and unsettled. I miss being optimistic and idealistic. How do I get it back?

Recession Special....

Shaun took this picture last night, while waiting for a bus.....

Here's McLovin, a 25 year-old Hawaiian organ donor.

Lay down your pitchforks. I'm not moving to Iowa. Effing place rejected me. I knew I hated them for beating Penn State, plus who wants yellow as a school color? Only the worst schools have that.. cough...Michigan.. cough, cough, cough. I go back and forth between knowing I won't get accepted anywhere since it's so competitive and similar to winning the lottery, then feeling like I'm cocky for even applying, followed by a rush of wind and a shatter which is my dreams being crushed. Some days I forget why I applied in the first place, since the thought didn't cross my mind until a year ago, then I read a book and rationalize that I could never write with such attention and dedication, while being clever and fresh. Most days I'm just anxious, clutching my phone and staring at my inbox. If one more person tells me not to worry, I'll get accepted, I'm great enough, I will stab them with a proverbial pen, I swear to G. I should get used to rejection though, since all published people could paper their kitchen with rejection letters. I was just thinking it could be my ticket out of here (here = this career, routine, petty drama). Maybe my goals are too modest, and I should've moved to Europe after graduation to escape all things mediocre and predictable, but I guess in the end, that's a cliche too.

Today I may or may not have seen Mclovin, enjoying a pink cosmo at Heartland Brewery in Union Square. He looked a little older than I think the real Christopher Mintz-Platypus (whatever) is.

Then I bought myself a birthday present, because I was highly anxious after almost crying in a restaurant due to either empathy or anger or utter frustration at life. The glass of wine encouraged me, and the birthday discount from Anthropologie didn't hurt. I would like to work there. Anyway, I have a new mug that looks like a peasant painted it and a headband that cost more than a steak dinner. But you know what? I'm only 25 on the 25th once, and I'm not going to be in Vegas as I always dreamed I would be at midnight in 26 hours. So I don't care. At all. Ugh. I should move to Hawaii. I'm already an organ donor and now I'll be 25 too. Perfect.

True Life: Office Space

Email received today regarding an important meeting tomorrow:

In order for the office to look as busy as we are, we are in need of a few more live bodies to be bustling around and looking productive. If anyone has any friends, or enemies even, who happen to have a free morning and would like to come in from 9 to 10:30ish and earn $20 and a bagel (possibly a muffin), please let us know…

Please Fire Me.

Later that day another email...

Please make every effort to be here no later than 9am on Friday, even better - 8:45. I will be working in the "conference room" first thing in the morning. Please come visit me every fifteen minutes. Please wear shoes that make noise when you walk..

Hard to know what's a joke and what's real these days...to clarify, this actually happened.