Saturday Night Fever

The Boy and I partied like real New Yorkers on Saturday night, as guests of The Lovely Miss M's birthday party at The Delancey on the Lower East Side. The Lovely Miss M celebrated a quarter of a century, while The Boy whooped it up for two score. It was great to see everyone dressed up, and awesome to go to a real New York party at a night club. Fast Fingers Yang kicked it off with Patron shots for everyone. The Boy sewed up the evening by finagling my coat from coat check after he misplaced the ticket during the night. His fast thinking ensured I was warm for the cab ride home!

Dealbreaker?

Seen on the Subway: Man wearing surgical gloves. Why? Is he a germophobe? A surgeon in a hurry? A serial killer? If you got set up on a blind date and the guy showed up wearing surgical gloves, would that be a dealbreaker?

Spotted on the Upper East Side

New York's financial elite - including Diva D, the West Side Beauty, the Little Nolita Lady, Fast Fingers Yang, the Lovely Miss M, the Dashing Duo and the Debonaire Daddy - slinking to the home of The Boy and his Texas Lady for a night of Fashion and Gossip. The Lady Lawhorn made a special appearance as well.

Fummer

The Little Nolita Lady has coined a new term - Fummer. That's Fall Summer, which is what we've been experiencing the last few weeks due to the warm temperatures and humidity. All the warm dampness in the air is making my face break out. I call it the Fummer Bummer.

Not So Free Samples

Experienced my first sample sale adventure today with my friend the Diva-D. A sample sale isn't a sale of the tiny clothes they make for models like I thought. It is actually clothes of all sizes that weren't sold out in stores--and they are usually 50% to 75% off! So when Diva-D mentioned she was going to the Chaiken and Elie Tahari sample sales after work today, I was in.

Time was of the essence, she scolded me, as I loped along. I had to channel my inner New Yorker for this shopping trip. (For my guerilla shopper inspiration, I thought of my Mom).

Sample sales aren't just racks in the back of nice stores, like the sale rack at the back of Banana, either. They are located in nondescript office buildings, usually on the second floor or above. When you reach the space, the first thing they ask you to do is check your bag. Then you walk into a huge room with different types of clothes on racks and signs listing the price of each type of item.

Along with the other shoppers in the room, you are hunting, not gathering, looking for that one great deal you can brag about at parties. Once you've collected your prey, you're whisked to a draped off area to try it all on. No separate dressing rooms. Just a big open space, some hooks, a few large mirrors and lots of flesh and age inappropriate underwear.

I didn't find any steals, but the show was great. Tons of cool, stylish people watching. And, Diva-D brought me a size 2 dress to try on because she thought I could fit into it. Awww. Love you, D!

Underworld

One of the charming things about New York is the restaurant basement bathroom. In Houston, of course, there are no basements, and the restaurant bathroom is just around the corner. But in New York, the restaurant bathroom is often down a nondescript staircase in a dark corridor. Most times, the basement bathroom is just as uninviting as any. But sometimes the virture of that extra space means an unexpected bathroom oasis.

Birthday Over And Out

Perfect birthday week:
o New Macbook
o Surprise Sister Visit
o Pizza
o Jogging around the reservoir
o Brunch with eggs and big BOWLS of coffee
o Shoe Shopping!
o Great gifts wraped in love from Houston
o Dinner at Nobu
o Celebrity sighting (Benjamin Bratt)
o Team birthday lunch
o Tarts from Once Upon A Tart

You Say Tomato . . .

The Boy, The Dainty Drug Dealer and I were at a diner. The Dainty Drug Dealer asks for some salsa for her omelette. They bring her a glass of selzer and lemon. Priceless.

1 Year Anniversary/Happy Birthday

It's easy to keep track of the anniversary of my move to New York. I flew up the weekend before my birthday and started my new job ON my birthday. I remember that even though I was excited, it was all a bit overwhelming. I was wicked sick, away from my family, displaced, and The Boy wasn't here yet to share the challenges. There was no celebration, no cake, no special dinner. As birthday's go, it was a bit of a bust.

So this year was a HUGE improvement. First of all, The Boy is here and that makes everything better. Second, we have our own place. Third, my sister the Dainty Drug Dealer came to visit! And it was a surprise! The Boy told me his friend from college was coming in unexpectedly, and we had to pick him up at the airport at 1 am because his flight was delayed. I had NO IDEA that something else might be going on. Both my sisters, the Dainty Drug Dealer and The Lawhorn, had cooked up more than one scheme to push me off the trail of their deception. After a near slip and a great recovery by The Lawhorn, the Dainty Drug Dealer even called me up crying with shame about how she didn't even consider coming to visit me for my birthday. I bought it all--hook, line and sinker. No idea at all!

So it was super swell to pull up to the airport and see my sister's smiling face rather than one of The Boy's stinky friends.

Plus, I received some rather handsome gifts.

But the best gift is family. Awww.

No turning back now . . .

I "surrendered" my Texas driver's license and now hold a valid New York State driver's license. I also got a new cell phone with a new New York phone number. These changes feel significant. Next month it will be one year since I arrived.

Our New Kitchen

Dig our new kitchen with the rockin' glass tile back wall!

The Gross Whisperer

Walking to the subway after work today, a guy passed me. As he did so, he whispered "sexy lady." Wha?

Tuck and Roll

Our moms recently paid us a visit. We spent several action packed days acting like tourists - visiting the Statue of Liberty, Canal Street, Times Square and such. It's times like that when you really come to appreciate public transportation and the tranquil adventure of exploring the city on foot.

Of course, it also has its drawbacks - ill-fitting shoes can make even a short trip a painful one. And if you aren't used to it, sheer exhaustion simply takes over. The optimistic assurance from the leader, "It's just a few more blocks!" might make you cry. During our first months here, The Boy and I fought exhaustion each and every night. After our mobile commute, we had no additional energy left over.

But the commute can be fraught with other dangers. The West Side Beauty recently found this out when we were walking along the West Side Highway running/jogging/biking path on our way to the gym. An oncoming cyclist zigged and zagged, yelled something incomprehensible, and FWUMP! He took out The West Side Beauty and they both came crashing to the ground.

He, without a helmet, no less, began to berate her. Unapologetic and indignent, he tore into her as she struggled to get off the ground. Unapologetic and indignent, I tore back. "YOU are responsible for controlling your bike around pedestrians! YOU are responsible for keeping your line! It was your fault you ran into her. Now get out of here! And next time, wear a helmet!"

He didn't say another word as he rolled away. Unfortunately for The West Side Beauty, the road took another bite out of her a couple of weeks later. On her way to work, fresh and looking lovely, her shoe got caught in the cuff of her pants as she descended the stairs that cross the West Side Highway to our office. Ass over teakettle she flew, and this time the road won. Hobbled and bleeding, she strode into work. It was no way to start the day.

So yes, whiling away the time strolling through Greenwich Village is great. Just remember to tuck and roll if you make a mistep.

Fall into Fall

While everyone at home is fighting hurricanes and 90 degree heat, New York is experiencing the first twinges of Fall. That means light sweaters and a brand new search for winter boots appropriate for walking the city.

For us, it also means visitors. We are expecting Daryl's Mom and stepdad and my Mom next week. It will be great weather for them to experience the city.

As an added bonus, I somehow scored tickets to David Letterman for all of us. Stay tuned on our star turn.

Sept 11 Blues

I'm afraid to ride the subway tomorrow. I'm going to work from Home. Daryl is driving to connecticut.

The New York-Mobile Phase 1

Since we are about to officially move into the city, and since both the inspection and registration on my car are expired, I've begun the process of trying to register my car in the state of New York.

Sounds easy, right? Well, it's about as easy as catching a greased pig. Perhaps it's because they don't do that much here in The Big Apple that this process is sooo convoluted.

In order to register the car, I first have to have a New York driver's license. Easy enough, as long as you have an out-of-state drivers license with an issue date on it AND a copy of your social security card. And I have neither.

So, the first thing I had to do to prove my drivers license issue date was to order a copy of my driving record.

Check.

Second, since I haven't had a copy of my Social Security Card for years, I had to get a replacement. Thankfully, since I have a valid passport, this wasn't too difficult. But I had to take time off work to schlep up to the Social Security office in Spanish Harlem. Oh what a joyful time I had waiting in line with my fellow Americans for the doors to the office to open! One of them felt the need to share what I think was a diatribe about US immigration policy at the top of her lungs for about 10 minutes.

But after I got inside, I only had to wait a very short while. I already had my paperwork filled out (I thought! At the last minute I looked over the form and realized I needed my Mom and Dad's social security numbers. Fortunately Dad was home and was able to give me that info before they called my name.) and when my number came up, I was ready to go.

A great little guy helped me out and I was out of there in a snap. AND the card came in the mail just one week later.

Phase 1 complete.

This week, I'll make the trek to the DMV to get my new license. Hopefully they don't have too many greased pigs there. Wish me luck . . .

Moving Day Is Set!!!!

We've inked the deal. We are MOVING IN on July 6!!!

Yea!!!

Parking Ticket Update

Remember that unjust parking ticket I got a while back? (see "The Injustice" from March.)

Well I challenged it online, taking advantage of a program that allows a judge to review a statement that you type up.

A few days ago I got a letter in the mail stating that they had received my challenge and they wanted to offer me two options:

• I could go ahead and pay it, and they would knock off $20 bucks (um . . . thanks a lot)
• Or I could do nothing and it would proceed to a judge for review

I chose to do nothing. I figure it's a long shot that it will get dismissed, but it's a chance I'm willing to take, and it's worth an extra $20 bucks to have my voice HEARD!

Memorial Weekend Madness

I had a fun-packed Memorial Day Weekend. The Boy was out of town, so I kicked it off by going out with The West Side Beauty and The Little Nolita Lady.

We started out trekking down to the end of the island to Battery Park Gardens bar/restaurant for a hurried and hot cocktail on the veranda. (Just as soon as we sat down, they began shooing us out to make room for their dinner reservations.)

We left there for the coup d'etat. Dinner at The Waverly Inn. You know the Waverly Inn - it's tres exclusive with no published phone number. Only A-listers apparently have the phone number intel. The only other way to get a table is to go there in person to make your reservation. So The Little Nolita Lady did, and so we did.

It's a great little spot - very old-world European, with murals on the walls and atrium seeting in the back. Food was just so-so, but we developed a riotous rapport with the waitstaff, and fueled by a few cocktails and a bottle of wine- we had a great time!

Our next stop was Diablo something in the Village for margaritas. We talked a little, drank a little. Then it was time to go. Thank goodness for public transportation!

I got home safe and sound about 1 am, and spent all day Saturday paying for my transgressions.

Later, it was off to dinner at Varietal with some H-town friends. The fixed-price ($39), 3-course meal was divine! Service was also excellent. Probably my best meal yet.

By Sunday I was my old (very old) self again and drove into the city by myself for a little run in the park, a little paint shopping for the apt and a little brunch at a place nearby called The Island. I tucked into some eggs and bacon and my New York Times and enjoyed the wafting breeze through their open doors.

I wished The Boy was with me to enjoy. Thankfully, I was picking him up at the airport later that night, and we were able to celebrate Memorial Day together picnicking with friends in Central Park.

Apartment Update

New walls should be up today. The existing walls and trim should be finished next week, and the floors the week after that. We're just able to measure for the kitchen cabinets later this week, so that will take a little longer to complete.

I'm planning to move in at the end of June, but our stuff probably won't follow until July. Ugh.

H-Town Visit Highlights

Went home a few weeks ago to celebrate Brooke's graduation from law school. Here are the highlights.

5. Seeing family and friends.
4. Mexican food and margaritas at El Tiempo.
3. Walking around Rice University with Courtney.
2. Introducing Stacey to my loud family.
1. Witnessing this interaction at the West Alabama Ice House:

Brooke (to hot guy): I graduated from law school today. What did you do?

Hot Guy: I graduated from medical school.

Ouch.

(But he did call her after.)

Hope Lives!

After months of waiting, biting our nails and cursing the system, the apartment renovation is finally under way with a vengeance! Walls have come down, and new ones are starting to take shape. Even the offending pole that we found inside the wall of what is to become our new kitchen doorway has been deemed safe to remove.

The move in date of mid to late June is looking more and more feasible all the time. We might just make it in before next Christmas after all.

Tribeca Film Festival Ups and Downs

After a positive first outing at the Tribeca Film Festival, we were pleasantly surprised when Live! turned out to be deliciously provocative. So, with high expecations, we walked into the screening of Taxidermia.

Well, all I can tell you is that the scene where he shoots a three-foot stream of fire from his penis was the high point. From there, the movie explored masturbation, competitive eating and vomiting (lots of vomiting), and auto-taxidermia and suicide. I don't know why we stayed to watch the whole movie. I think we were in shock. When we left, we felt assaulted. And though I had initially impressed Daryl with my movie choices, he once again judged me a bad movie picker - Taxidermia being so bad, that it completely overshadowed the two earlier picks.

Heard on the Street in East Village

From one man to another, "Hey man, Jesus loves you, even if you do have a small prick."

Finally!

The Board finally approved our renovation request. Yea! Now, barring any issues with our contractor, who has been patiently twiddling his thumbs waiting for the OK to get moving, we should start the demo on Monday. (audible sigh of relief)

Experiencing New York

The Boy and I had a great New York experience this weekend. First, we went to visit the apartment and had lunch at EAT, Eli Zabar’s fancy upper east side diner/picnic food extravaganza. The food was good, but pricy for what it was. Better than most diner food, but we were left unsure whether it was worth $40 bucks for a steak sandwich, soup and sliced cucumbers. However, the people watching was great. Lots of rich UES ladies with perfect hair and hip ensembles.

Later, we headed downtown for a movie. I had gotten tickets to see some movies at the Tribeca Film Festival, and we went to the first one on Saturday.

I picked 3 movies – one I thought The Boy was sure to like, one I thought we’d both like and one for me.

The one I picked out for The Boy was a low-budget horror flick called “Mulberry Street” which is about a rat-borne virus that turns people into giant, rat-like zombies who go around attacking and eating each other.

The movie was OK—not too scary but kind of gross—and the writer and director get extra kudos because it provides subtle commentary on the war, government management (or mismanagement) of emergencies, and greedy landowners.

The best parts of the evening, though, were (1) the anticipation leading up to going into the movie – standing in line with the other people with special tickets, waiting for the theatre to open, and (2) that they had MnMs, so I was able to enjoy the movie with my favorite movie watching combo of popcorn and MnMs (3) listening to the Q&A after the movie with the director, screenwriters and members of the cast. The theatre was packed, but it felt like you were part of something small, cool and creative.

The funniest part of the Q&A was when someone asked what was the most expensive part in making the movie. They said that the rat, shown in the movie’s beginning, was the same rat that appeared in the end of the movie “The Departed.” Renting that rat for a few hours was the most expensive part of the project. “He was the highest-paid actor in the movie,” deadpanned the director.

After the movie, we walked uptown a bit to have drinks at The Modern, the next-door bar and restaurant to the museum. We've had bad service there before, but tonight they were on their game. Some cocktails, a little bread and cheese – it was all good. Then we took a $9 cab ride back to our apartment and dreamed about the days to come when that is the end of our journey. Alas, we picked up our car from the parking garage and drove back to Jersey.

HISTORY Lesson

So I'm a bit of a history buff, and I try to collect history books about places I am visiting or, in this case, places I have moved to. I've been hankering to dig into the Big Apple's lore.

New York has such a rich and fabled history, so imagine my surprise when two trips to the bookstore turned up almost nothing. In fact, the hilarious irony was that I found at least half a dozen books on Texas history!

I did finally turn up a gem - New York, An Illustrated History. I have been geeking out on for the past few days - and LOVING it. It is fantastic. And, to make it even better, the book is a complement to a multidisk PBS series. (Attn, Santa!)

Anyway, I've learned about the lineage of Wall Street and Water Street, the original name of New York and where the name Bronx came from.

Curious?

New York was originally settled as a business colony - not a religious colony like the other colonies in the New World. From the get go, the main objective, was to make money. Under Dutch rule as part of a Dutch Trading company scheme, the area spent the first 40 some odd years of it's life known as New Amsterdam. In order to keep themselves safe from the native Lanape peoples and from the increasingly greedy British explorers, the colonists built a wall around their new community (Now known as Wall Street). Being Dutch, they were also partial to canals, so dug a few into the interior of the colony so it felt more like home (canal st. and water street). When the British took over, they changed the name of the city to New York. The Bronx was named after the man who settled the area - Bronck.

Belly and Burger

It was a beautiful weekend - breezy, sunny 70s. The whole city took on a whole new feel as people previously locked inside ventured outside to enjoy the sunshine. The Boy summarized it like this, "The clouds went in and the belly's came out," referring to the abundance of women we've seen the last few days showing off their mid-drifts.

To celebrate the good weather, we waited in line for an hour and a half at the Shake Shack in Madison Square Park. It was long - but worth the wait. The Boy recommends the Shake Burger, cheese fries and the strawberry shake.

Seen and Heard

Heard in the elevator at work:

4 co-workers enter the elevator.

GIRL 1

(to Girl 2)

Where are you running off to?

GIRL 2

I've got a date. A first date.

EVERYONE

Cool.

GIRL1

(to Girl 3)

What about you? Aren't you going somewhere?

GIRL 3

Yes. I am going somewhere, but it's not anything as exciting a first date. I'm getting a masage.

The group ponders her statement. Then GIRL 1, a conservative looking type, breaks the silence.

GIRL 1

Well, at least you know you're gonna get touched a little.

BOY 1

Yes! Isn't that what everyone hopes for on a first date?

(the whole elevator laughs)

Seen on the subway:

A large troll enters the subway and sits down next to me. He has a bag from Wendy's full of hot, smelly, food. He proceeds to first pull out a cheeseburger and eat it in a loud, smacky style, licking his fingers and sucking his teeth all the while. When he's finished, he rolls the wrapper in a ball, grabs the subway's back door handle by his seat, opens and throws his trash out while we are moving.

Then he reaches into his bag, opens another cheeseburger, eats it loudly, and again throws his trash out the back door of the moving train.

Finally he fishes out a chocolate milkshake, sucks it down, smacking and licking, cleaning his fingers as he goes. He throws it in the bag, throws it out the door and sits there continuing to smack his lips, lick his fingers and suck his teeth until we, thankfully, reach my stop.

I contemplated telling him what a foul and inconsiderate litterbug he was right as I jumped off the train, but he was kind of big and clearly brutish, so I just stewed about it all the way home. What a loser.

Visitors from the Big T

The Boy and I were excited to host a couple of visitors from the Big T, former co-workers of mine in town for a conference.

Martha Stewart's Rival and the Mary Tyler Moore Girl joined us for dinner at Cookshop on Monday, probably one of the better meals we've had in the city. The service was great, my martini was good, The Boy and I shared a great wine called Maverick something, and the food was decent - not as good as The Chef's, though.

Speaking of the Chef, he's offered up a quick tour of his work digs tonight, and then we're all heading to the East Village for dinner at EU.

It's good to see and talk to folks from home!

Umbrella Wasteland

The nasty weather pummeling the country resulted in the deaths today of dozens of innocent umbrellas. The umbrellas, already weakened by cheap plastic, were no match for the swirling sustained winds in a vortex between buildings in downtown Manhattan. The umbrellas were huddled together in their last desperate attempts to stay alive, resulting in a macabre scene of death and destruction. The umbrellas are survived by dozens of wet humans.

Patience

"Shed a tear 'cause I'm missing youI'm still alright to smile.Girl, I think about you every day now.Was a time when I wasn't sure.But you set my mind at ease.There is no doubt you're in my heart now.Said woman take it slow.It'll work itself out fine.All we need is just a little patience. Said sugar make it slow.And we'll come together fine.All we need is just a little patience(inhale) . Patience...Ooh, oh, yeah"

I used to love listening to Guns n Roses. As the days of waiting to start construction on our apartment turn into weeks and months, I'm reminded of their song "Patience." Indeed, I am learning both how to have patience and how to give up a certain amount of control. We waited months to close on the sale. It took weeks and weeks to find a contractor that we trust, 2 weeks to get approval from the building architect, and now as we push into spring, we are waiting still for the building's board to take a cursory look at our request before we begin.

I've had to just resign myself to the process. To take deep breaths. To drink martinis. Nobody is going to rush this process, and emails, phones calls and tantrums aren't making it go faster. Looks like a June move in.

It's kind of ironic. We tried so hard to speed up our apartment buying process on the front end in the hopes we could spend Christmas there. We'll be lucky to celebrate the 4th of July!

No Service, No Sale

As many of you know, The Boy began wearing glasses a few years ago. While his vision isn't that bad - he only really needs them to drive, etc. - he has come to rely on them quite a bit. So after accidentally throwing away his glasses [we think! still haven't found them at any rate!] he spent several days squinting his way around the city, walking into posts at train stations, etc.

So, late last week he had had enough. He made an appointment with an optometrist and asked me if I would meet him later to pick out frames.

Since we moved here, The Fashion Mister and The Chef have been gently trying to resculpt The Boy into a fashionable New Yorker, providing commentary on everything from his shoes, jeans, shirts, underwear and hair. Eyewear was not missed by their discerning gaze.

So The Boy was a little nervous about choosing his new face. He needed an objective third party.

I met him at his office early Thursday evening and we walked over to the store where he had gotten his eye exam. We looked around for a few minutes. I didn't really see anything I liked, but it was hard to tell. See, in New York, they don't have all the frames sitting out where you can just pick them up and try them on at your leisure. They were all in cases and required a salesperson to bring out each pair to show you.

Problem was, the sales person really wasn't interested (or able) to help us. She had another customer. We hung out for about 15 minutes. She finally came over and pulled out only the few frames we asked for. She didn't make suggestions or try to be helpful in any way, and eventually wondered off again, so we did too.

We found a place down the street that had a very helpful sales lady, but even though we found a pair or two that The Boy didn't hate, he got cold feet at the end so we left.

We saw another store right near the Path station - the door was open wide, so we walked in. Their selection looked cool and groovy, and I thought this might be the spot for us. That is, until the salesperson behind the counter coolly told us that they were closing in three minutes, so basically, to hurry it up. He brought out a couple of frames, then wondered off. Another sales person came up and said, "Look, I'll show you just one more pair. We're closing and I want to go home."

Needless to say, we didn't need that attitude! I couldn't believe it. I know New York rents have to be high. And it's not like glasses are a high volume business. One more sale that night could have made their evening.

Instead, we took our business to Hoboken on Saturday to a store called myoptics that was recommended by both The Fashion Mister and The Chef. They had a great selection, fairly helpful service - providing both recommendations and funny commentary. The Boy ended up buying two really great pairs of glasses - just in case he throws one away again!

The Waiting Game

Contractor? Check.
Drawings? Check.
Approval to start construction? No.

We've submitted all of our materials to the co-op board. Now we have to wait 2-3 weeks for their approval before we can crack the first wall.

Will we ever make it to the city?

sigh.

Old Friends in New Places

What a night I had last night! My former boss (Mr. Grateful Dead) from Houston was in town, and I had the honor of joining him and family and friends to watch his son's cabaret show at The Metropolitan Room. The venue was small and full of character (and characters - the original Gerber baby, now pushing 90, was there), the lighting was dim, the martini's were strong and the company was a delight. I bored them with my stories of moving to the city, and we all took turns being impressed by Mr. Grateful Dead's progeny. The show was a two-person cabaret act, taking the audience back in time to enjoy jazz songs from the Prohibition era. With great music and a little bit of history thrown in, I was in heaven!

The Injustice

The Boy and I headed down to the Murray Hill neighborhood to enjoy one of his favorite weekend feasts - a Philly cheesesteak from Carl's Steaks on 34th and 3rd.

We found curbside metered parking on 35th and were in the midst of reading the signs and trying to figure out the new-fangled parking meter when Daryl noticed a meter maid taking interest in our car.

I walked over to tell her we were trying to fill the meter right at that moment. In fact, The Boy was still standing at the meter looking puzzled.

I thought we had narrowly escaped a parking ticket. But I was wrong.

"Doesn't matter. I've already started the ticket. Nothing I can do about it now," said the portly meter maid.

She kept on poking at her blackberry-like tablet.

A civilian acting as her sidekick (why was she there, what was she doing?) echoed her statement.

"Yeah. She already started. There's nothing she can do about it."

"But we're standing right here at the kiosk trying to figure it out. We just parked the car," I said.

"Sorry. Nothing I can do," she said again, disinterested.

"Yeah. Nothing she can do," repeated the sidekick.

At this point, The Boy walks over. The whole scenario is repeated again, with the same lack of care by our apathetic city worker.

So, not having done anything wrong, we're slapped with a $110 parking ticket! Ms. Personality waddles away and The Boy and I fume in the car. Next time we'll just double park. They don't seem to care as much about that.

New York Drivers - Get Outa The Way!

Fasten your seatbelts, everyone. I'm driving in the city - weaving in and out of the unlined lanes, cutting off cab drivers and cursing loping pedestrians. I've discovered the West Side Highway and the FDR to quickly race downtown and I'm honing my parallel parking abilities.

My new relationship

The new apartment is like a new relationship that's getting serious. Slowly, I'm starting to bring over little things - shampoo, brushes, running shoes, beer, soda.

The pace has quickened in the last weeks, and we've even dropped an airbed at the place.

We spent our first night in the city - buying beer and ordering takeout Chinese. The next morning I had a great 5-mile run in the park. Spectacular.

Soon, we'll take the next step in our retail relationship - we'll install a TV.

Things I Like To Read On The Train

1. The Week Magazine Quick, easy to digest summaries of all the previous week's news and entertainment.

2. Time Out New York Updates on what's hip and happenin' in the Big Apple. Great for planning your weekend.

3. The Economist Not only does reading it make you look intelligent and cool, after reading it you will be intelligent and cool.

4. Books. A little on the heavy side, but will work in a pinch.

The First Step is Admitting You Have A Problem

Salt is great on food, but it does terrible things to leather shoes. So the Chef and i took The Boy to the mall on a mission to buy him some long-needed winter boots and a new pair of brown shoes. He has been ruining his dress shoes traipsing through the snow and sleet. The Boy needs some new footwear.The Fashion Mister was working, but The Chef was an adequate stand-in for The Boy's 'Queer Eye for the Straight Guy' weekend.

While at the mall, though, I realized I'm the one with the problem. I always knew i loved women's shoes. But hold the phone! I like really nice, very expensive men's shoes too! The Boy put on some Gucci's that were shit-howdy! I was in love again! And The Boy looked nice too.

We got the Gucci's, but couldn't find a passable pair of winter boots, so we changed focus. The Boy was in a trying on clothes kind of mood, so we shuffled him off to the denim dept and made him try on pair after pair of overpriced blue jeans and tightly tailored button down shirts. He walked out with a sexy pair of Seven for All Mankind jeans, a dark blue Hugo Boss button down that brings out his eyes, and some Burberry underwear. He was magically babalicious! So what if we didn't actually leave the store with the item he needed most!

Thankfully, The Fashion Mister has agreed to acquire The Boy some 'rubbers' to go over his dress shoes. Ha ha. Had a good laugh over that.

You talking to me?

It tickles me that "up North" they get just as skittish about a bit of snow as we might have back home. Last week, with word of a big winter storm coming our way, tons of people took Friday off or left early so they wouldn't get stuck in the city. I thought these folks were supposed to be tough. Turns out they're just a bunch of pussies. : )

I'm a lumberjack . . .

The Boy spent the morning shoveling snow. He thinks he's a lumberjack or something. An hour and a half of hard labor, and he's passed out on the couch. But the sidewalk does look nice. And he even cleared a path for the bus riders to stand. He's too cute.

Apt. Renovation Milestone

We FINALLY found a contractor!

We have the contract and are submitting to our board for approval to begin renovations.

Fingers crossed! We are moving in by end of April no matter what. NO MATTER WHAT!

Top Five Broadway Shows (so far)

We were never into the theater or musicals when we were in Houston, but we've actually been heading out to Broadway quite a bit. Here are our faves:

1. Rent. Liked it in Houston. Loved loved loved it on Broadway
2. Spring Awakening. Good music. Story not quite as tight as Rent. But who doesn't love simulated sex and masturbation on stage?
3. A Chorus Line. Unchanged from 1975. Still, it's a classic. Worth seeing.
4. Mama Mia. An ABBA lovefest. I didn't fall asleep. Not once.
5. High Fidelity. Loved the movie. The musical didn't have enough lists.

Southern Comforts

New York is supposed to have everything, right? But here's a few things you can't find:

1. Prepared pimento cheese at the grocery store
2. Smoked beef sausage
3. Constant Comment tea
4. California wine (well, you can find it, but not the variety you get further west. It's mostly French and Italian here.)
5. Kolaches

A Dirty Secret

They pick up trash at night - not during the day. So you have to set it out the night before trash day, and when you wake up in the morning, it's gone.

The Birthday Party

We celebrated the Chef's birthday this weekend. We started early and stayed out until about 1 pm - super late for us.

Here was our itinerary:

5 pm: Burp
Neighborhood: East Village
Address:41 E 7th St between Second and Third Aves
Phone: 212-982-4576
Subway: Subway: F, V to Lower East Side– Second Ave; 6 to Astor Pl
Prices: Average drink: $7.50
TONY Review: Along with a bartender who could stand in as the sixth member of Judas Priest, two “Belgian Brewist Monks” in full friarly garb are always on hand to greet you at this sanctuary of suds. Gregorian chants drone in the background, the painted walls depict “the Belgian Brewists’ story,” and signs advise whispering only. The monastic theme may strike you as gimmicky, but you’ll have to admit that the 250-brew menu is divinely inspired.

Our review: Loved it! It was a little different than we expected, and there were no monks, but the beer (we field tested a brew called 'Kwok') was awesome, and the barmaid did indeed 'shush' the crowd when it got too boisterous. We would definitely go back.

7 pm: Little Branch
Category: Bars
Neighborhood: West Village
Address: 20–22 Seventh Ave South at Leroy St
Subway: 1 to Houston St
Payment: Cash only
TONY Review: Milk & Honey owner Sasha Petraske is letting commoners into this candlelit, subterranean spot to sample his legendary cocktails. No reservations required.

Our review: Tiny, cavernous bar with gigantic drink prices. This is a 'mixology' bar, with a changing drink menu designed for sophisticates. The Chef was sophisticated. The Boy and I and the rest of our crew were not. But, we all agreed to try again on a non-weekend night and with a larger open mind.

11:30 pm: Some R&B club down the street from The Blue Note
Neighborhood: West Village
Our review: We had every intention of going to The Blue Note, but the band we wanted to see didn't start until 1:30. We didn't think we were up to it, so we went down the street. For $7 each, we got a mid-caliber wedding singer belting out "celebration." Still, The Boy had a good time.

12:30 am: Some pizza place on the corner
Neighborhood: West Village
Our review: We ended the night in grand style with slices from a fluorescent lit pizza joint. The Chef's "Chick Chef" friend made a pop-in, and we took a respite from the hubub.

All in all, it was a great birthday celebration and a great evening. It was almost surpassed, however, by the Sunday afternoon munch-o-rama of fajitas, chips, salso, rice and other delectables prepared by the Fashion Mister.

The Boy and I hibernated after that. After such a big weekend, we were done for.

Happy Birthday Chef!

An Inconvenient Commute

Dear Al Gore,

As you know, The Boy and I are doing our part to decrease our footprint - we sold our large consumptive house (you should consider this), we sold one of our cars (The Boy's beloved Mercedes SLK convertible with heated seats and an air scarf), and we rely predominantly on public transportation to get around.

I am happy to do this, you know, for the Earth and all. But today was really trying. Today it took me two hours to get to work AND I had to spend one of those hours standing outside in the pouring rain, in the cold, with a malfunctioning umbrella. See, for some reason, the Path train that I usually take to cross under the Hudson river to get to work was malfunctioning. So at the last stop before we go under water, we were unceremoniously kicked off the train and told to go find the ferry. Or whatever. Frankly, they didn't really care. And Al, I know how you hate that!

Most of us had never taken the ferry and didn't know where it was. I followed the crowd outside, into the rain with my sad umbrella. Thankfully I had on my galoshes! (Now I know, Al, they are made of Earth-unfriendly plastic, but they were really a god-send from the water, until my feet started to go numb from the cold, of course.)

So we waited in line to buy tickets for the ferry. Yes! I couldn't beleive it either! After we were so rudely kicked off the train with no other recourse but to stand in line outside for an hour, pelted by the river spray and the side-swiping precipitation, we had to buy another ticket for the ferry! They were not honoring our path tickets! And to add insult to injury, the ferry ticket was $4.50, cash only! Well, I don't have to tell you what a fluke it was that I had any cash on me.

Anyway, I finally arrived to work at 10:30, sodden, shaken and hungry. I know I'm doing it for the world and humanity and all, to be able to breathe air and what have you. But I gotta tell you, Al, today, I would have rather weathered this storm in the comfort of my gas guzzling SUV. Please don't take it personnally.

Well, gotta run. Tell Tipper I said, "Hey."

See ya,
shanda

Heat Wave

The temperature was approximately 35 degrees F this morning on the way to work. Someone in the elevator at my office called it "positively balmy." She obviously has not been to Houston in July.

The Worst Part Is . . .

The worst part of being away is being away from my family. I miss the day-to-day things like having my sister come do a load of laundry or going with my Mom to Central Market on a Saturday. I really really miss pizza night and seeing all my friends and family several nights a month.

The very worst part is not being there when things turn a little out of the ordinary - like when my Dad was in the hospital, or my sister had a break-up, or when both of my number one running buddies went into the hospital. Not much I can do here but make phone calls and send positive vibes their way.

For now, that will have to do.

Cash Only

For the most part, I am enjoying our move here and the exploration of a new city and a new type of living.

However, there is one thing that is REALLY making it hard for me to adapt.

It is the fact that many restaurants and stores don't take credit cards. "What?", you may ask. "Are you living in some type of cultural backwater? Even Bob's Deli in Cleveland Texas took credit cards. Are you saying that Bob's Deli was more advanced than some stores in New York and New Jersey?"

Yes! That is what I am saying. We went to an Italian place in Hoboken last night and ordered baked ziti, spaghetti with meat sauce and a large salad. When I went up to pay, I noticed that there weren't any credit card stickers on the door. A wave of unease washed over me (or a splatter of grease), and sure enough, the slack-jawed cashier cheerfully informed me of their cash only policy and pointed me to the bank across the street.

I don't usually carry cash, and I really don't want to start. Showing up to the cash register with only plastic when they only take cash is not a great way to end dinner.

In a related inexplicable business practice, we've also been to places where they will take the credit card, but won't let us put the tip on the credit card. It's only a matter of time before some poor waitperson gets stiffed because we don't have cash on us, or the time or inclination to find some.

Sigh. New York is home to the World Financial Center. I really expected more commerce savvy. I never expected Cleveland Texas to show them up. Here's to you, Dad.

Renovation Saga Continues

After many conversations, we have contractors willing to entertain our price range (you know, the one NOT in the stratosphere.) The boy and I are trying to get to Brooklyn to look at cabinets for the kitchen because they are apparently cheaper out there. But still, no start date or move in in site.

The weather warms up this week, but this project is still stone cold.

The Year Of the Pig

Happy Chinese New Year! We celebrated in big style with a gaggle of Food Network foodies at the Golden Unicorn in Chinatown.

About 40 sat down in tables of 9 or 10 to ring in the Year of the Pig with 7 or so courses including soup, lobster, chicken, pork, rice and noodles. Each had a symbolic relationship to the pig and the New Year.

We had two pigs at our table, a couple of roosters, sheep, monkey, dragon, etc. Not surprisingly given that wild kingdom variety, we escalated into the rowdiest zoorama ever. With two lawyers, an actor, 2 marketers, an architect and a fashion buyer in tow, the conversation moved from 'What's your passion," to 'When did you lose your virginity" and everything in between. The jokes and the wine flowed freely.

Afterwards, the boy and I annoyed our friends by running and sliding on the ice in our shoes. The sheep and the rooster CAN live in harmony. : )

Mailer Call

Happened upon a book reading by Norman Mailer the other week while I was waiting for Daryl to finish work. The Barnes and Noble - 4 or 5 stories of books, a coffee shop, etc. - features readings by authors several days a week.

Mr. Mailer was reading from his new book on Hitler's upbringing.

It was packed, and I barely caught of glimpse. When he was done, there were questions. Someone asked, "How do you know when to stop writing?"

Mr. Mailer said he applied the same standard as he did for boxing, making love and climbing stairs. He stops when he runs out of wind.

Perspective

It's official. I've lost my mind. I now think that it's not really cold until it gets below freezing, and that the mid-40s is "pretty warm."

The First Winter Storm Is Here!

The first winter storm of the season is here, and I truly delighted in the new adventures of getting to work today. Those of you in Texas will be happy to know that they don't just take the snow in stride here. In fact, the reaction was much like what happens back home when the flurry white stuff appears - jacked up traffic, power outages, sullen commuters, strangers bonding over the face-stinging sleet. Good times.

And, you may never have thought of it, but an umbrella is not only good for keeping the rain off. It works for snow as well. But, just as in the rain, a mighty wind can turn the whole contraption upside down and have you hopping down the sidewalk trying to wrangle it back in. While trying to look cool and nonchalent, of course.

So I set out this morning with the snow falling hard - like a hard rain in Houston, but snow. I found that quite interesting since we haven't really had a proper rain since I've been here. It mostly spits and mists.

I tromped down the sidewalk with my layers on and my waterproof boots, jauntily holding up my umbrella and trying not to slip on the squishy parts of the street. When I got to the light rail at the bottom of the hill we're currently living on, I waited and waited. The crowd got larger and larger, crammed under the roof of the outdoor waiting area. Then the speaker came on and they reported a power outage. There was supposedly no train going to my normal station to catch the subway into the city. Bollocks! But just as I began to fear the worst ("Sorry, boss, no way to get to the city. Guess I'll have to stay home . .") a train pulled up on the opposite track, going the wrong way, and told us all to get aboard. Double bollocks!

Once there, I scooted through the snow to the next station. No bag checks there today! Then patiently waited for the train. When I got to my stop and out into the air, i crunched along with all the other poor saps. It really wasn't that cold, so I was pretty comfortable, but I put my umbrella up, you know, just in case I might save some vestige of my early morning hair primping.

Then it hit. A vortex of wind so strong! And cunning! It brought with it biting sleet that pelted my face. I tried to shield myself, but between the gales, the runaway umbrella and the sting of the sleet, all I could do was numbly move forward. To the door. To the door. But ack! It was blocked. So many people. I had no choice but to stop struggling and wait for an opening.

Once inside was like stepping into a vacuum. And once I had my piping hot hazelnut cafe au lait, life was good again. I had survived my first winter storm commute. Now I just have to worry about getting home.

How much?!?!?!?!?

So we got the first bids for renovating the apartment. The 650 square foot apartment. They want more than we spent on our whole first house (1800 square feet) to renovate this apartment (650 square feet)! Hello? Have you lost your freakin' mind, Mr. Contractor? Did you smoke some crack when you wrote up the bid? Needless to say, we are scaling back significantly.

That Cheerful White Stuff

It finally snowed yesterday and last night. The best two parts?

1. Watching the snow fall and looking across to the Statue of Liberty outside my office tower
2. Throwing Meow out into the snow before work this morning. Eeek!

Judgement Day

The day arrived without fanfare. The day that The Question would finally be answered. The day we had been waiting for for a month: would we or would we not be accepted into our co-op?

We had been told to:

• Dress like we were going to an interview
• Answer any questions about renovation vaguely (in case someone on the board lived next to us and didn't want to suffer through the renovation noise)
• Prepare answers for why we had come to New York, why we chose the neighborhood, etc.
• Be our wonderful selves
• Ensure we weren't late!

The meeting was at 6:30 in the apartment of one of the board members. To ensure we weren't late, I met The Boy near his office at about 5:20. We arrived at the station near our new home at about 5:35. We had some time to kill, obviously. Even during rush hour traffic, we had made good time!

So we headed to a near Starbucks and reviewed our financials over a couple of mocha's.

At a little after 6 pm, we started walking up to our building. We hung out in the lobby until 6:28.

The Boy called up 11F and they buzzed us in. We were greeted and shown inside to an apartment on the same line as ours, so identical in every way except this one had been renovated. And it wasn't purple inside.

We were introduced to everyone and sat down, waiting for the interrogation to begin.

"Why did you move here?"

They asked the question I was supposed to answer while I was in the bathroom, but The Boy did an admirable job. It worked out for me, though, because some additional board members arrived and I had to answer the question 2 more times before we were done.

"What kind of work do you do?"

"Why did you choose this neighborhood/building?"

"Are you planning to renovate?"

We decided to be a little more open about this question because we are, in fact, planning to practically gut the place. But they seemed really open to it, and our host even showed us the updates she had made to her place.

They asked us if we had questions. We asked a few and that was about it. Meeting over. The management company would let us know the next day.

And so we were judged. Were we found worthy? We were. We close next week. Yea!

Cold Weather Hazard

When I left Texas, one of the things I was most concerned about was the cold weather. I had no real experience with it or context for how to prepare for it. I worried endlessly about having the right clothing, shoes, accessories, etc. My first purchases after moving to the city were footwear, a new coat, turtlenecks, sweaters, etc. Then I cooked more than a few times in the subway and on the crowded elevator at work after having layered on too much clothing. Sometimes I'd swear I lose one or two pounds of water weight each time I cram my bundled body into the elevator for the 10 minute ride up. Indeed, I probably resemble the haggard little brother on "A Christmas Story" waddling around in his snow suit.

Ironically, the winter in Texas has been much more frightful than the one we've experienced here. In fact, I think Austin got a coating of snow before we did (finally) yesterday and today.

The difference, of course, is that in Texas you bundle up and move quickly from your heated home to your heated car to your heated office. Your time spent outside in the elements is minimal.

Here in New York, with the temperature averaging in the 40s and 50s so far and now beginning to dip into the 20s and 30s, we're wandering around every day in the cold, the damp, the windy, the rainy or the snowy.

So far, though, it hasn't been that bad. Except for one thing: Coldfinger.

Coldfinger occurs when you take one finger out from your mitten (or Thumb - resulting in a similar form of this problem called Numb Thumb) to text message.

So there you are, walking up and down the chilly aves, one finger or thumb akimbo, texting like mad. Eventually, you begin to notice a problem. Your finger is freakin' cold! Numb even!

That's when it's time to put your electronic toys away and stick your mits back in your mittens. No message is worth losing a finger (or thumb). You heard it here first, folks. Beware.

A Night At The Movies

During the run of Seinfeld, I was always intrigued by the episodes where they went to the movies. So I was excited when we finally got a chance to attend our first New York movies.

All in all, it wasn't that different. You've got the popcorn. You've got the butter. You've got (if you're lucky) the M-n-Ms.

What did stand out, however, were the crowds. New York movies are CRAZY crowded. We've gone to two theaters so far - one in Union Square and one on the Upper West Side near Lincoln Center.

In both cases, we got to the theatre at least 30 minutes early, which ensured a good seat. Another time, however, we drove into the city with The Chef and The Fashionmister, only to find that even an hour in advance on a Saturday night, all the seats for every movie starting between 6 pm and 9 pm were sold out. Wah.

So in NYC, Fandango is not just a bunch of cute paper bag puppets singing and dancing, it's a real necessity.

As we sat in the theatres to see Casino Royale and The Good Shepherd, we noticed something interesting about the crowds. Forget about personal space or the 'buffer seat' we were used to in Texas. The crowds started creeping in and proceeded to take up the seats directly next to us. We thought this was strange until the whole theater filled up. By the time the Coming Attractions came on, there was nary a seat to be had.

So far, the days of slipping into an almost empty theatre at the last minute seem to be over. The magic, as I've come to see, happens before the movie, watching the innumerable quests to find the perfect movie seat - or for those late arrivers, any seat at all.

A Good Ride

One of the concerns we had before moving to New York was whether or not we'd be able to continue one of our great loves - long distance bike riding. As some of you know, Daryl has a multi-year experience participating in the MS 150 Ride between Houston and Austin, and we've committed to a week long cycling vacation in Provence in September. So it was very important that we find a place to continue our training.

Now odds are, we could easily have picked up a few spin classes here and there and been just fine for the trip. The daily mileages are pretty doable, and there is a sag wagon that follows you every mile. So if you'd rather take in the country side with someone else doing the driving, it's certainly an option.

But there's a catch. The Boy has a nemesis. Cycling Dude.

Cycling Dude was originally a running friend of mine. Then, when we all started cycling, including The Boy. That's when The Boy's good-natured competition with Cycling Dude started.

Together, they are easily the fastest riders in our group. I mean, Cycling Dude didn't even let non-hodkins lymphoma take him down. And The Boy never gave him a pass, even when he was taking chemo.

Now that Cycling Dude has beaten the Big C, our group decided to celebrate in a big way by planning the trip to Provence.

So that brings me back to our training concern in New York.

Would we find a place to train that would enable The Boy to stand up against Cycling Dude in the Fall?

Happily, we did. Just about a 30 minute drive from our place in Jersey City is the Palisade State Park - 10 miles of the most lovely scenery bordered on one side by the Palisade cliffs and on the other by the Hudson River. Beyond the river, the City rises up in majestic opulance. The beautiful native fauna frames the whole scene, rising out of the stony cliffs and casting a lustrious shadow over the path.

We start just south of the George Washington Bridge. Then we ride all the way through the park, and out to Hwy 9. There is a large shoulder and manageable traffic. So far we've gone as far as Piermont, NY, about a 35 mile round trip.

Now, you might be saying that 35 miles isn't very far for a guy used to doing 50+. But there's a catch with this training ride. There is one mile-long climb up a very steep hill. And another less steep mile-long climb out on the highway. The route is punctuated by several shorter climbs, with just a couple miles of straightaway.

Altogether, it's a beautiful and challenging route. One that The Boy hopes will leave him fully prepared to engage his nemesis in the fall.

The Blow Job

Many of you who know me understand that I'm a little bit of a germ-o-phobe. Not in a terribly obsessive way, but enough that The Boy teases me about it quite a bit. I do appreciate bathroom doors that can be pushed with a covered shoulder rather than opened by a handle that's been abused by the non-hand-washers. And I like the dual functionality of mittens in the wintertime as both a warming device and anti-bacterial shield (at least in my mind they are).

So, as you might expect, riding the subway is a little bit of a gross-out sometimes. I don't like people touching me, especially my hand, and obviously, of course, my butt or boobs. But the worst, germ wise, has got to be the coughers and snot-slingers. You can just feel the germs alighting on your person after espaping the mucousy prison of their previous host. Yuck!

But today I met another germ offender. It was more subtle, but gave me a good dose of the germ-e-jeebies.

He was, oh, what to call it? He wasn't sniffing. It was an anti-sniff, really. Unsniffing. I guess technically, he was blowing. And this blow job didn't have a tissue.

I guess he wasn't trying to express a lot of . . . fluid. He just must have had a tinge and was trying to flush it out, if you will. Unfortunately for me, he was doing so in close proximity to me, within earshot as we were walking. With each step it was

Un-sniff. . . . Un-sniff . . . . Unsniff . . . . Unsniff

I couldn't get away! I was envisioning all the germs flying toward me with great abandon with every snortling step he took. Ack! Save me!

I tried to maneuver away, but just as I would think I had succeeded in evading him, I would hear it again in my hearing periphery - Unsnif . . . . Unsnif!

Finally I succeeded in putting some distance between us, then thankfully lost him in the crowd.

When I got to work, the first thing I did was wash my hands. Of the whole thing.

Seen in Chelsea

While The Boy and I were walking to a party near Union Square a few weeks ago, we happened upon a gang of Santas - men and women all dressed like Santa Clause's or Clausettes. They were parading through the streets with their red, white and velvet, beards blowing in the wind.

We paused for a moment to take it all in when a coven of female santas in frilly santa skirts walked toward us wielding kindergartner-sized candy canes. They arched the candy canes over our heads and ordered, "Kiss, kiss, kiss." We were more than happy to oblige. We didn't want any trouble.

The Best of New York

10. You don't have to drive to get where you need to go.
9. You can go out and have a few drinks and don't have to worry about driving home.
8. You get to see lots of weird and varied people on the subway.
7. You can get a lot of reading done on your commute.
6. There are tons of cool restaurants to try.
5. There are tons of cool shops to shop at!
4. There are great cycling trails just a half hour from the city.
3. You have an excuse to buy lots of coats and footware.
2. You don't have to worry about buying more furniture!
1. You can spend quality time with your hubby while you commute home - no tv or other distractions.

First Snow

The first snow is supposed to appear this week. Yippee! Do you think I'll be as excited about it when the second snow arrives?

Excuses

Does living in New York now provide me with an excuse to be rude? All my life, I’ve heard the stereotypes about rude new Yorkers. Their colorful candor is almost expected. So recently I’ve noticed that when someone is walking too slowly up the stairs from the subway or they stop short on the sidewalk, I have the sudden and disturbing urge to play the rude New Yorker card. So far, I’ve suppressed the urge. And rationally I believe that this kind of behavior just isn’t right! But where does this come from? What is this need to hide bad actions behind a perceived expectation? To stand in the shadow of a stereotype and exploit it – just to be mean. And why do I want to do it? Especially when my own experiences with the city so far have been nothing akin to the stereotypes. Where’s my head?

Perfect Days

Saturday
Vietnamese brunch in downtown Jersey City . . . shopping all day in manhattan . . . sample sales . . . designer clothes at Scoop and Jeffrey . . . late afternoon coffee and a much needed rest . . . drinks on the roof of a bar in the meatpacking district.

Sunday
Brunch at the Boathouse in Central Park . . . shopping at Ralph Lauren . . . meeting new friends on the Upper East Side.

Wardrobe Malfunction

I've learned that location doesn’t just have an impact on your neighborhood and amenities. It also has a bearing on the types of clothing choices you make. I’ve talked about the need for practical shoes and handbags. In Houston, for example, I could easily wear high heels to work and carry a small purse. In New York City – not so much. The city is also less forgiving of ill fitting clothing choices as well. In Houston, I could have easily have gotten away with wearing ill-fitting clothes. But in New York, such a choice can have an embarrassing effect.

Take this experience a few weeks ago. The cooler weather in NYC provided the opportunity to pull some of my old tights from the back of my sock drawer. I hadn’t worn them in over 10 years (!) but they were still good, so I thought, what the heck.

Well, their good condition was misleading. The years in the drawer had reduced the elasticity of their fibers. That meant that my tights just weren’t tight enough - they didn’t have quite the staying power necessary for walking about town.

As soon as I left the house looking fashionable in a grey sweater, black skirt and black tights, I knew the rest of the day would be a challenge. Almost imperceptibly at first, and then more urgently, the tights began inching their way down. I would discreetly pull at them, paw at them, pretend I was scratching my leg or adjusting my coat. But my efforts didn’t have much effect. At one point I was afraid the crotch would appear below the hem of my skirt or worse, that the tights would come slithering down with uncontrollable speed as I ran to catch the train.

I spent much of the day trying to keep my tights above see-level. Just another hard-won lesson in the city.

An Arm and a Leg

We got the word yesterday that our board package has been submitted to the co-op board. Now we wait 4-6 weeks for it to be processed and reviewed before we are called for an interview. Then we wait to see if we are 'accepted.' Here is what we had to provide in our board package:

• A copy of the executed contract of sale of our house in Houston
• A certified financial statement with supporting schedule, including bank account statements, 401K statements, stock portfolio overviews, etc.
• Employer's reference letter stating lenght of employment and annual salary
• Bank commitment
• Disclosure Statement
• AZTECH Form Recognition Agreement
• Bank reference letters for savings and checking accounts, stating type of account and amount on deposit
• Three personal reference letters
• Three business reference letters
• Present landlord or managing agent reference letter
• Most recent 1040 tax form
• Lead based paing disclosure form
• An application fee of $500
• A vial of blood (just kidding!)

National Lampoon's Moving Adventure

Scene 1.

Fade in.

A house in the suburbs of Houston. A handsome man in his 30s is drinking coffee and talking to his mother - a beautiful, blond woman - and his Aunt - an equally attractive redhead. It is his last day in town before he moves to New York.

Mother

What time is your flight?

Son

In two hours. I just need to put the cat into her carrier, and we can be on our way.

A ruckus from upstairs disturbs the tranquil morning peace.

Mother

What was that?

Son

Oh no! It's the cat!

The son rushes upstairs as fast as he can go. In the bedroom, he hears the hissing and spitting of his beautiful but misunderstood cat Meow, but doesn't see her. A less attractive younger cat darts out the door just as the son walks in.

Mother

What happened? Has she gone mad?

Son

I think the other cat upset Meow and now she's hiding under the bed in a rage!

Gingerly, he reaches under the bed to try to coax her out, but she spits at him like a mountain lion.

Son

This won't be easy. Get me a towel from the bathroom. There's only one thing to do.

Mother

Are you going to wring her neck?

Son

No, i'm going to cover her head with the towel and hope that will disorient her long enough to get her into the crate. But you're gonna have to pull the bed from the wall. It's the only way I can reach her!

His aunt and his mother pull the bed from the wall, and the son throws a towel over her head.

Son

Gotcha! Now, to the airport! My flight leaves in an hour! Hurry!

Scene 2

The family lets the son off at the airport. He carries the cat to the animal check in section. He grins with pride at the new cat carrier he just bought.

Airport Personnel

I'm sorry, sir. You can't use that cat carrier.

Son

But I just bought it and I'm so proud of it!

Airport Personnel

Like I care. Give me your credit card and I will charge you for this 'deluxe' version that is the same size, but I get a kick back.

Son

Ok. Fine.

Scene 3

The son arrives at the airport lugging two large suitcases and the gigantic, overpriced cat carrier. His telephone rings. It is his wife.

Wife

Hi honey!

Son

Hi!

Wife

I have a surprise!

Son

What?

Wife

We are picking you up at the airport! You don't have to take a cab.

Son

Great! I wasn't looking forward to lugging all of this stuff. Where are you!

Wife

We are outside!

Son

I'm outside. Do you see me?

Wife

No. Do you see me?

Son

No.

Wife

What airport are you at?

Son

LaGuardia. What airport are you at?

Wife

Newark.

Son

Sigh.

The End

Chestnuts Exploding On An Open Pyre . . .

Just a note on giving thanks. I'm thankful that my friend The Chef wasn't maimed when a terrorist chestnut he was frying exploded, raining his kitchen, face, ear and hands with hot grease. His wounds have basically healed. Only his pride was singed. : )

His sacrifice was not in vain. I truly enjoyed the stuffing that the arrogant chestnut wrought.

Elevator Cat Walk

Working in New York is not that different from working anywhere else. BUT working for a really large company has distinct idiosyncrasies. Take, for example, the level of security. Both a badge and a fingerprint check are required. Pretty space age.

But the really interesting part of the Big Company scene is just the sheer number of people showing up for work every day. Throngs and throngs of people pouring out of the subways, marching like little pengins to the various office buildings in the financial center.

So many are heading toward my company alone, that there are two distinct traffic jams:

• one at the 8 or so security kiosks
• one at the elevator bays

For my floors (38-52), there are about 10 elevators. Starting at about 8:45 and lasting through about 9:20, people line up to wait for elevators. This creates an interesting "elevator cat walk phenomenon."

People group themselves near a certain elevator, waiting for it to open so they can ride up. Because of the huge numbers of people, there's no way you can be stationed across the bay and expect to make it on an elevator at the other end. This creates a kind of "cat walk" or "receiving line" by which everyone can see and be seen in the morning - checking out who's wearing what, who is arriving when and who is talking to whom. It's a veritable society breakfast/new york fashion (or un-fashion) show, as the case may be.

It certainly makes one pause while getting dressed each morning and asking the question, 'How will this outfit fare on the "elevator cat walk."'

You Old Bag

Those of you who have known me for a long time know of my fascination with purses. After my grandmother died a few years ago, I became enamored of purses (a great pleasure of hers), and changing them daily to match my outfits. Now while I sometimes dreamed of Louis Vuitton, my purse collection didn't necessarily have to be comprised of (nor did it in reality include) tres expensive designer bags. Instead, my focus was on unique and hip handbags, of the smallest size possible. In fact, a small purse was a source of pride. No stereotypical bottomless purses containing everything, including the kitchen sink, for me.

Well, folks, those days are gone!

Today my purse in more akin to a diaper bag. My new commute necessitates that I carry something that:

• is large enough for a spare umbrella
• can accommodate a pair of shoes
• can fit a couple of reading material options
• is waterproof

Alas, while I still try to match my massive bags with each outfit, 'fashion', I'm sad to say, has been replaced by boring practicality.

Where has my feminity gone? Bad shoes, lame bags, headgear. Is New York City, the fashion capital of the universe, going to kill my fashion sense? Will i become the bag lady whose bag is --literally -- a large, black trash bag, simply because it meets the above requirements? Where will it end?

A love letter to NYC - on foot

I supported a friend of mine this past weekend on a 26.2 mile love journey around all five borroughs of New York. It was the third time I have completed the New York City Marathon, but the most memorable. We took our time, and I enjoyed seeing all parts of the city at a steady trot.

After an unbearingly cold morning, race temperatures were fine. I ran the marathon not as a visitor, but as a New Yorker. What an awesome status.

I don't know if I'll every participate in the full race ever again, but every step of this one affirmed my decision to move here and my love for this city.

The Power of Routine

A couple of posts ago, I talked about how surprisingly mundane life in New York is. I may have sounded a bit disappointed. I guess I wanted every walk in the city to include two beautiful gay men - one tall and blond, the other tall and black - holding hands while the black guy sings at the top of his lungs, " I have a Dutch man. He is my Dutch man. I hold him every night. I hold him every morning. Because if I don't. He will find someone else."

No, every walk does not have a soundtrack like that. So while I lament the lack of some of that freshness each day, I have to give the power of routine it's due. Without a strict routine to keep me grounded, I am a walking disaster.

You remember the wallet incident. Since then, I have consistently left my phone at home or at work (it's really not a good idea for someone like me to be wandering around the city without my phone), left my lunch at home and left my iPod i don't even know where. I'm not generally this forgetful, and I've decided that it's the lack of routine that's causing all this turmoil.

Unfortunately, i've got several months to go before my long-term routine will kick in. First I was squatting at my college roommate's house. Now I'm renting his neighborhing rent house. There has been ongoing renovation at both locations, necessitating extended living out of suitcases, on couches, blow up beds, as well as teeth brushing in the shower. Odds are we won't close on our new apartment until January, and then when we finally move in, we are going to quickly rip up the kitchen just to keep things interesting.

So, if I seem to be a bit scattered, it's with good reason. I've got a lot going on. I can't wait to indulge myself with bit more obsessive routine - Although i hope it comes with a liberal amount of "I've got a Dutch man . . ."

Life and Death

You've probably heard that they found more remains of Sept. 11 victims at Ground Zero. Family members and others held a rally last week to protest what was in their mind a quick and shoddy search process, and to demand that building on the freedom tower be suspended until a more exhaustive search is completed.

I happened to be out and about that day, off to the attorney's office to sign my life away for a tiny, expensive New York apartment in Carnegie Hill, when i came upon the rally. It was set up near the Ground Zero viewing areas, at the mouth of the P.A.T.H. station that I frequent each day to get to and from New Jersey. It also happened to be set up in front of a farmer's market that sprouts up twice weekly to sell natural and organic wares amidst the concrete and dust.

What I found interesting was the juxtaposition of life and death. Here you have a mass grave upon which both the sorrows and aspirations of a new generation are being built. Amidst all of that sadness, greed and turmoil, there was also this very affirming symbol of life and goodness.

I thought this is one of those great examples of the fabric of human life - the good and the bad - stitched over one another like a beautiful sunset made possible by polluted air. It was a nice moment, and one I was happy to get to see.