Stormy Friday Morning

This morning I got caught in one of those surprise torrential downpours. It was sunny across the street. I was at the corner of 59th and Lexington. Bloomingdales hadn’t opened yet, so I ducked under a building with others who decided not to brave the elements. I thought about the episode of Sex and the City where Carrie ducked under the building and met a gorgeous man. Another NYC moment straight from TV. I didn’t meet a gorgeous man, or even an eligible geriatric, but it was a New York moment nonetheless. I started talking to a middle aged, well dressed man. He lives in France and is here for a month on business. He said, “The boom, boom fast pace of the City is too much for me”, and wondered how people can live here. I surprised myself with my answer. “Many times we think about leaving the City after having a moment, or day, with unimaginable hardships that would not happen anywhere else. But then we think about, or experience something magical that could only happen here and we decide to stay, that we can’t live anywhere else, and the magic makes it all worthwhile.” With me, it’s the celebrity sightings, the Upper West side, Central Park, the Tribeca Film Festival, and chance encounters with quirky, interesting, pleasant people. It stopped raining. The man thanked me and said he was lucky to find a nice person to speak to while he waited out the storm. We told each other to have a great day. As we parted, I realized I just had another quintessential NYC encounter that keeps me here. As I turned the corner, a six foot tall jerk in a cheesy suit cut in front of me, blocked my path and refused to move. On principle, I wasn’t moving. I was already late and refused to take even one extra step because of this pockmarked, hair gel wearing Gordon Gecko wannabe. He finally moved to the side. I muttered, “jerk” and walked away.

Soggy Thursday and Happy Birthday Dad

Walking in 83% humidity, I could barely breathe. I cut across an alley near the Queensborough Bridge underpass. While wondering whether this was a bad idea, I saw a Tony Soprano-sized dead rat. It's dark outside, like the end of the world, with thundershowers in the forecast. Sure enough. There goes lunch hour, when I wanted to attend the lunchtime Broadway performances at Bryant Park. Will I make the trek in spite of inabilty to breathe and lack of proper rain gear? Maybe the Lord would rather I spend lots of money and watch a show from a great seat inches from the stage(well worth every penny). Office manager has just arrived, chattering in background. I have no idea what she's saying; am not paying attention at all. Today is my Dad's birthday. Happy Birthday, Daddy. I miss you! xoxo

AUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Trying to deal with the new office manager is like herding cats. It'l like trying to teach a chipmunk how to play the piano.

Things they never warn you about

Why, as soon as the temperature goes above 100 degrees, does a stinking garbage truck end up on whatever street I walk down, no matter what time of day? Not to mention the mini-van sized strollers used only to carry purchases from stores I could never afford; or the Caddyshack sized giant golf umbrellas that might be perfect if we were in Montana; or self-centered idiots who ride scooters, no matter how crowded the sidewalk might be. What better time to scoot across town than rush hour? I hear there is an organization forming: concerned citizens with safety pins. Their mission: to poke holes in offending golf umbrellas and scooter wheels. They are also lobbying for the enactment of sidewalk segregation legislation to construct a special sidewalk lane limited to strollers, giant umbrellas, scooters, and tourists.

Don't Call Us. . .

Wanted: Angry Man with Bad Attitude

Requirements: The ideal candidate must be fluent in Ferris Buehler, with an ample portfolio of excuses for every occasion. We are looking for an energetic individual who can take an entire afternoon to wander about the City under the guise of carelessly performing the ½-hour task of bringing back a plethora of useless and irrelevant documents. Must be able to turn a normal situation requiring next-day response into an emergency which requires sudden office departure at 4 p.m. Must have the agility to slip out of the office frequently, wearing telephone headset, to manage personal matters from the men’s room, coupled with the chutzpah to confirm that it’s office related. To fulfill your duty to increase non-productive office time, you must be able to smile while you impede company progress, provide sketchy information, and halt the learning curves of your co-workers. Loyalty not required. Communication skills are essential; we are eager to understand your disappointment for failure to receive your well-deserved promotion to CEO. We will only accept resignations via fax or post-it-note, preferably at times when we need you the most. After you provide your cowardly, ill-timed two weeks notice, we’ll buy you lunch and throw you a friggin' parade. Special consideration will be given to passive aggressive individuals, used car salespersons, televangelists and producers of infomercials.

Sure Enough

My dad used to tell me a story about a man, sitting sadly on a bench, alone. Another man sat beside him and said, “Cheer up, things could be worse.” The man cheered up and, “Sure enough, things got worse.” In the past few years I lost my parents, my pussycat, and a fantastic apartment. I moved from Pennsylvania to NYC to start a new life, despite warnings from friends (“You’re crazy”). On my birthday, I decided that I was almost happy for the first time in quite awhile. I gave up my search for better living accommodations and was okay with keeping my miniscule but affordable apartment in the city (a/k/a ”closet-sized dump”) for another year, while I saved some money. I was thankful that I still had my job, which I loved. Sure enough. . . two days later, my company closed down and I faced unemployment. Worse than unemployment, I had to resort to my dreaded plan B: to return to the practice of law and experience the miserable existence of a NY trial attorney. I would have been on vacation this week from my former (dream) job. Then I was forced to take a health-related leave of absence. The doctor warned that if I continued down the road as a NY trial lawyer, I'd probably have a heart attack. Eventually, I found a slightly less stressful job. Once again, I was starting over. I helped a former co-worker get a job at my new company, thinking she’d be terrific. Sure enough, she’s in way over her head. My boss is unhappy, and I’m stuck hearing her complain in an undecipherable mumble. So much for helping others. It’s one hundred degrees outside, and humid. The inside of my oven is cooler. (Well,it would be if I ever used it). Today’s excitement: frozen yogurt at Bloomingdales. I almost passed out getting there. The air conditioning inside Bloomies created polar arctic condition, which, combined with rapid consumption of regular size Frozen Yogurt (enormous), and subsequent sighting of butt (also enormous-how could that possibly be mine? AUGGGH!)in bedding department's mirror made me shiver. Too cold to stay in the store and shop, I ran outside and almost passed out again. Back at office, my pinky is numb. Did I have a stroke? Am I turning into Woody Allen? Will I continue to live the Seinfeld version of the city? Will I turn into a Real Housewife, marry a cross-dresser, write a terrible book, sing off-key, and humiliate myself on Bravo? [Heaven forbid]. One thing’s for sure: my NY experiences (past, present and future, complete with sarcasm), will be revealed here. I write to keep my sanity. . . stay tuned.