All the Ways to Survive a NYC Winter

It’s fall now and after fall, as we all know, comes winter! Now, some people love winter! The holidays, the snow, the 18 layers that you have to put on just so you can take off 10 of them when you get inside somewhere with heat! But for me, winter is definitely not my most cherished time of year. Now, don’t get me wrong, I loooove the holidays, the gifts, the cheer, the mirth, and the cookies! And I grew up in Indiana where winter did not play around. We get snowstorms like you wouldn’t believe and basically our roads are just sheets of ice until it gets to spring. Some people don’t even leave their houses because the winter is so bad and they emerge again in the spring! (kidding! but honestly, in some rural parts of the state you never know).  But I quickly learned during my first year there, that winter in NYC is different, in every way shape and form and I am going to tell you just how to survive it.

When I first moved to NYC, I had just come from spending four years in Savannah, GA where the winters were southern winters (a.k.a. mild and friendly) so I knew how to handle them. However, I had survived the 18 winters that I spent growing up in Indiana so I wasn’t scared at all! I could conquer this supposedly horrible New York winter nooooo problemo. I started to get worried though as fall came to an end and there was an overall sense of dread and preparing that was happening throughout the city. It seemed like mentally and physically people were gearing up for something…for what? For winter?!? I was confused! It seemed like that was all anyone could talk about- winter this and snow that and no one and I mean no one was happy about it. I walked by storefronts that sold thermal underwear and tops. One store even sold socks that you could turn on and they turned into little heaters. What was going on!? I felt like I was in the movie the Day After Tomorrow or in Florida before hurricane season. Everyone and everything was battening down the hatches! Even the pigeons seemed to be in survival mode (or maybe that’s how they always are). But still, I knew I could handle winter…I had done it basically my whole life so why should this be any different.

Boy was I just so wrong. Winter didn’t just slowly slide in as I was used to with fall slowly giving way to a cold day then a colder day and finally a snow day. Oh no no no, this winter was RUDE. One day, after a beautiful brisk fall day, it dropped about 30 degrees and we were hit with such a bad snowstorm that most of the subways could not run. I now realized what people were talking about. Since I did not have a car, every time I needed to go somewhere, I would have to go face to face with the beast called winter. I went out the next day and bought an entire thermal underwear set (not the socks though, even though I wanted to...I was afraid of mechanical failure and then an explosion in my shoe). The snow was awful, the wind chapped my face and the cold made it so that even if I tried to text, my fingers would get so numb that they would not last .005 seconds outside my gigantic insulated mittens. I bought a floor length winter coat with a huge fur hood that made me look like the lord of some Norwegian village and stomped my way through the city the rest of the winter.  I was angry ALL the time and I finally realized why everyone was so pissed and scared of this season! Even the windows at Macy’s could not cheer me up, mostly because to see them, I would have to stand outside and risk losing my butt cheeks. I began to tell people who wanted to hang out that they had to call me again when it was warm, because the only time I was leaving my apartment in the cold was for sustenance, work or the opening of a new doughnut place around the corner.  I learned to dodge the endless watery slush holes that seemed to be at the corner of every street. I learned that lesson the hard way, stepping into one thinking it was shallow only to find myself up to my shin in icy slushy muck. I almost lost my left ankle that night….(I didn’t but honestly I wanted to cut it off). I felt my primal instincts kick in (didn’t even know I had them) and every day became just about survival. I began to wear animal skins and chop my own wood for fires! (Ok so that’s a bit extreme, but at that point I really felt like I could have).

But then, something amazing and wonderful happened. March came and I was relieved. SPRING HAD MADE IT. I had survived! I was Tom Hanks at the end of Castaway when he sees the big ocean liner. I had done it! My first New York winter in the books! No lost digits, or butt cheeks and even though I was pale and my skin looked like it didn’t even know what moisturizer was, I was so happy.  Spring, my favorite season, had begun and it was only up from here!! I began to put away my sweaters and thermal undies, my giant coat and huge snow boots. I donned a light sweater and trendy jean jacket, I WORE SANDALS!

And then, it snowed again. So I did the only logical thing that I could do…I moved to Los Angeles.

It's Ok to cry in public, even if you're 25 years old and wearing a pant suit

According to the internet, there are 6 basic emotions (7 if you count contempt) and although I don't agree, I get that ideas and concepts are easier swallowed in smaller portions. But, let's face it people...we have an infinite amount of human emotions!! There are billions of shades of sadness, and endless hues of happiness and if you are a normal every day human being, then I am sure you feel a good amount of these emotions. 

Emotions are tricky because it's nice and healthy to feel, but it also makes you unbelievably vulnerable. Now, let's go back to when you were just a young buck, running around and peeing in your pants because you had the safety and security of a diaper. You bumped into something you ran out of carrots and burst into tears, snot dripping down your face and you did not give a flying F. You laughed whenever you wanted and talked loudly about having to go potty even if you were in a library. You felt things, out loud and without shame. As you got older though, you learn to disguise these feelings, push them down and maybe even block them out and it's not healthy. We are humans and humans need to feel things! I grew up in an awesome household, where being yourself was #1 on the list of important things to remember (we didn't have an actual list but I am sure if we did, that would be #1) and feelings were welcomed in all shapes and sizes. It was welcomed to feel, anything!* (except hate unless you had like a really really good justification ie. you couldn't hate spinach you had to at least eat some of it)

In high-school, I tried my best to have "cool" feelings, ones that weren't too in your face but were still there. I was a teenager and figuring lots of things out (how to wear bras, and not sweat so much through my shirts from sheer anxiety of walking down a senior hallway). It was miserable at times, but looking back now I can have a good ole LOL. College helped free my feelings a lot more, but I still felt somewhat guarded. I was in a new environment with new people and I did not want to let my freak flag fly...just yet. It wasn't until I settled into college life that I began to ride the waves of my feelings. My feelings ran wild and I could feel their tentacles reaching farther outside myself, outside my comfort zone, every year I got older.      

Moving to NYC changed my life, in more ways than one. Living in the city is a whole different enchilada then living in Savannah and Carmel and my emotions went on a roller coaster ride that I think I am still on. I realized quickly that I was ok with crying in public, anywhere really. My first few months, I would sometimes just burst into tears on the subway and more often than not a stranger would offer me a tissue or at least look at me weirdly until they asked if I was ok. I will NEVER forget the first time I started to cry in public. First off, let me preface this by stating that I am a heinous crier. Like nose so red Rudolph is jealous, eyes so puffy people with bee stings on their eyes feel bad for me, skin so blotchy I look like a patch work doll- bad. (was that too many metaphors?...whatever you get the point) Aaaanyways, I felt that feeling right before you're gonna cry and you can't hold it back. Hot pinpricks began to poke at my eyeballs and my chest started to tighten. I was running late for a class so I couldn't avoid the fact that I had to get on the subway...like ASAP. As I headed down the stairs I was SO embarrassed. I put in my headphones and kept my gaze down. Of course I chose the slowest subway in the history of subway-dom and as we scooched along at an impeccably slow pace through the underbelly of the city, I sniffled and tried to deep breathe and de puff my self. I felt like a salty tear faucet that could not be turned off and I kept on crying! IT WOULDN'T STOP. After I lost about 40% of myself in water weight I had to look up to see where I was subway station wise, and a woman a bench down caught my eye. She looked to be about my age but she was a wearing a jewel toned green pant suit and wait for it, she was crying too! Now, we didn't go and run into each other's arms to hug each other and now we are bffs and go to brunch once a week. But we did kinda smile and nod to the fact that sometimes you need a good cry no matter where you are, whether life sucks or doesn't suck or you just feel too much. Crying is therapeutic and figuring out how to be an adult is hard and scary and weird! So from then on, I was never ashamed to cry inside or outside my apartment. I could fill a journal with places I have cried in NYC, both happy and sad. 

I learned that day that it is ok to cry and more importantly, it is ok to feel. Actually, I think that it is lucrative to feel and definitely feel more than just the 6 standard emotions because those are for robots and people who aren't good people (like the one's who don't return library books). So, feel all the shades of mad and colors of happy and I promise that when you do, you will feel world's better (unless it's just all shades of mad because then you will not feel better you will probably just feel more mad so try to feel some happy in there too ok? ) OK good, I am glad we understand each other. Now go out there and feel g-dammit!

Being in the Right Place at the Right Time if You're not Kate Hudson

Being in the right place at the right time is important. Everyone knows that. And usually people relate that saying to someone finding 100 bucks on the street or getting two items from the vending machine when you only paid for one (boo-yah). But what not everyone knows, or thinks about really is that the right place and the right time can also be a bad thing.

Let me break it down for you. Three years ago I was on the beach enjoying my day, laying out catching some rays. (I think there were also Cheetos present making it an even better day). I was at that blissful stage where you're about to fall asleep (cheeto coma) but not quite there yet and if you are woken up you feel so discombobulated. Anyways. I was woken up...not by a person but by a bird. And not by the physical bird but by its poop...landing right on the center in my forehead. "What are the odds?!" I exclaimed wildly to no one in particular. I looked up and I saw the bird flapping away into the distance, not a care in its little bird world. I mean of this whole dang beach, huge wide open sands, billions of miles of open ocean, the bird chooses to air bomb me! Me of all people- from 15 feet above, right in between the eyes! What luck. Now, everyone says getting pooped on is good luck but that is just something people tell you to make you feel better that you have bird excrement all over yourself so I don’t believe it, not for a second.

Ok, I know what you’re thinking. That I was being dramatic and I probably huffed and puffed and went home crying. But no, it wasn't the end of the world. I sauntered to the ocean and washed it off (it was good I needed to wash off my cheesy fingers anyways) and laid back down and tried to complete my nap. But my mind was racing and all I could think about was being in the right place at right time. 

Post graduating college and moving on to becoming somewhat of a functioning adult I have thought about this more and more. I am a firm believer in fate and many things have popped up in my life lately that confirm my belief. I have run into old friends at random on the street, people I used to work with in coffee shops. I have sat on the subway unintentionally with camp counselors from when I was 8. I have gotten auditions because of someone I knew meeting a casting director on a train and talking me up. And I am now dating a wonderful guy who I met 4 years ago because I decided to go to my friend’s lake house on a whim one summer. We lost touch and then by fate both ended up in NYC and reconnected. What are the odds? I’ll tell ya. Each of these encounters was totally dependent on where I was and at what time and place. Each circumstance could have turned out radically different if I had chosen a different subway car or had been 5 minutes late. I also learned another important nugget of info- that there isn't any way to really control right place/ right time because the unexpectedness of it makes it what it is (does that make sense?)

That idea, the one I just said, drives me a little mad because I am the type of person that likes plans. I like things set in stone and plans neatly laid out and organized and this whole "leave it up to the gods!" idea drives my anxiety to a whole new level. But, it also sets me free in a way (yay optimism!). It helps me let go a little and lose control in a nice and controlled manner. The more I think about it, the more it seems like a lesson you learn when you grow up (or begin to grow up- I am not really sure where I am at right now I will have to get back to you). Going with the flow is something my mom and sister are GREAT at. Experts even...gurus I dare say? And I am not. If the flow was a calm river and going with it meant you had to be a wet noodle then I am plywood bobbing down rapids. No really I am. The term "bent out of shape" is something I know super well. 

But, the older I get (each passing minute of each day) I find that letting go and letting fate do its thing is helpful and useful to adulting (thanks ry for this word). Not saying I wake up every morning and I lay in bed waiting for stuff to happen to me like Kate Hudson does for movie roles (she has Goldie Hawn to thank for that)- I still go out and pound the pavement to try and achieve my dreams, step by step. And I realized that a big part of doing that is taking a step back once and a while, taking a breath and letting shit work itself out.

So, whether it's bird poop or a big career opportunity, I take each fateful moment of right place, right time in stride. And I think you should too. 

Losing your Shit (Literally and Figuratively)

We all have lost something at some time and somewhere throughout our lives. Some people are more forgetful than others and to be completely honest, sometimes shit just happens. You can lose a lot of different things (take it from me LOL). You can lose your wallet, your jacket, lose someone in your life, lose a relationship or just lose your shit. This past year I have lost a good amount of stuff both literally and figuratively and these are my thoughts on just that.

I moved to NYC about a year ago and boooooy talk about a whirlwind. I mean, picture this- I came to the city and in four days had to find a suitable apartment and then move into said apartment the next week so that I could begin classes at a film program I was accepted into. Of course with moving comes chaos (not that much chaos...thank you mom for helping me move. I owe you the moon and stars) and with chaos comes losing some shit. Now I mean misplacing some shit but also losing my temper (when every apartment we looked at that we liked was snatched up within moments of thinking about taking it), losing my mind (in Ikea whilst bed shopping for 75 hours), and losing weight (I moved in august and I don't think I have ever sweat so much in my life...ever). Once I was seemingly settled though I realized that another thing I had lost in that move (without sounding too dramatic) was a little piece of my youth **tear**. I had left college and moved into my first apartment in the city to begin "my life" (I say my life in quotes because I was already living obviously buuut I am talking about my adult life here...I hope you understand). I had a left a little piece of myself behind, the college Sawyer and now it was time to be adult Sawyer! This was hard to believe as I made dinosaur chicken nuggets and canned green beans one night for dinner but by god I was doing the damn thing. 

The year went on and other things were lost. The first week I **lost** my phone at a club (it was stolen and that is the last time I ever keep my phone in my back pocket at a club). I lost the bottom of one of my heels so when I walked I half sounded like I had one hoof like a horse...that was fun yet annoying. One of my rings I wore everyday was lost :'( and I also lost my favorite carpet coat on a city bike when I put it in the front basket and it slipped out mid-ride and I didn't see it (that still BOGGLES my mind). I also got hopelessly lost pretty much everyday trying to navigate the city. But one of the biggest things I lost was a relationship. Now I am not going to drone on about this but thinking about it a few months out, I realize this has changed me the most. 

Losing a relationship in your life is not easy. It's honestly just weird because pretty much everything in your life changes. Your world shifts a bit and getting used to that is hard. There is no guide or how to book on how to deal with it but thankfully I have the best friends and family in the world to help a sistah out (don't say yours are better because then there will be an argument and things could get messy ok). I was also thankful I had my VO, improv and acting work as well as two amazing kids I nanny to help take my mind off of it. Oh and working out. I do not care what you say but turning to exercise whether it be pilates, yoga, underwater cycling or dance dance revolution is the BEST. Like I said, it was mostly hard because I had to get used to a part of my life that seemed to just suddenly black out. Like someone switched off a radio and where there was sound it was just silence...and it was jarring but I learned to be ok sitting in that silence and honestly kind of enjoy it. By losing that relationship I found that I grew up a bit and also got to know myself a little bit more. I took time to step back and learn more about me and with that I grew (and am still growing) exponentially.  Big Adult Girl Lesson #426: Heartbreak is sucky and sad and no fun but sometimes it is necessary for growth.

You win some, You lose some is a saying and I am not sure who said it but if I ever met them I would give them a high five (nothing more because I don't want to overly flatter them but just let them know that I agree). I gained some amazing things this last year: an exquisite roommate, a new agent and manager, new jobs, new friends, a new coat (rip carpet coat I miss you always) and most importantly, a new side of myself. I still eat dino chicken nuggets because animal shaped food tastes better but now I use fresh green beans and I will NEVER go back to canned (thank you trader joes). I would not change even a fraction of a second of this last year (ok maybe one fraction like when I got lost in Brooklyn my first week here and my phone died and I sat on the curb of a library and ate candied pecans and cried because of sheer exhaustion) but besides that nothing. This year has been a crazy whirlwind of ups and downs but everyone I talk to who I look to for advice says that is normal in your 20s and I really believe that is true. I guess the biggest thing I learned is that yes, losing your shit (literally and/or figuratively) sucks but sometimes losing it is honestly the best thing that can happen to you. 

The Nanny Diaries

Ok so technically this is my version of the nanny diaries. It is not a diary entry, nor a copyright infringement on the novel...it's a blog post...you know what I am trying to get at. 

I have been a nanny for a few months now and if I could describe it one phrase, it would be "a wild ride". I have babysat before multiple times growing up, but babysitting and nannying are two very different animals. So when I began this new career, it was quite the departure. 

After leaving my retail job at a high end outerwear store in SoHo (such a mouthful) because the hours did not work with my auditioning schedule, I sought out different jobs I could do. I applied for various dog walking websites but the jobs were too infrequent. So, that was when I signed up for Sitter City, which is an online platform where parents can find care takers for their kids. You have to go through a whole process to have your profile go live on the website including a background check and, after that was done, you can apply for jobs you find on the site or wait for parents to find you. I applied for some and parents responded but a lot of the time the hours they needed me and the hours I could work did not match up. Either that or the people on the site that sought you our were just odd. One lady emailed me asking me how skilled I was at "forcefully giving medication in the morning". Thank you but no thank you. With that, I began to lose hope and gave up on seeking out jobs online and decide to wait it out. I figured it to be a bit like fishing- I cast my line (published my profile) and now I just had to wait for a bite. (that fishing reference would make my dad proud...I think).  

Life kept on moving and I figured out ways to keep busy while I was jobless (that was a fun three weeks) and then one day I received an e-mail from a mother who had found me on the website. We emailed back and forth and everything seemed to work with my schedule and what she was looking for etc. I was ecstatic. I felt like I just won a year supply of free chicken fingers but instead of chicken fingers it was a paying job. I went on two interviews and also had a test night with the kids where the parents left for dinner near by and I watched them for an hour or so. I guess it went well and wham bam thank you ma'am the job was mine. 

Starting off, I was super nervous because the last nanny had been with them for 8 years (since the kids were born) and was more of a second mother figure, whereas I was more of an older sister figure to them. So, I quickly tried to learn the kid's quirks, likes and dislikes and their similarities as well as their differences. I tried to make a connection to the kids and be a rule enforcer but **fun** at the same time (which is a lot harder to do then I expected) I became familiar with the area around their home and hung out with the other nannies.***

***quick side note. A lot of the other nannies around where they live are that maternal figure, older and mostly from the Caribbean. There is a huge park right next to their apartment building and all the kids from the surrounding buildings come and play there after camp and school. The nannies usually watch (and yell for the kids) from the nearby park benches while the kids play in the middle of the park. I will sometimes play soccer or run around with the kids but if I am sitting on the park bench I will try and strike up conversation with the other nannies. Sometimes it works grand and we have a quick polite interaction but other times they want nothing to do with me. I am determined that by the end of the summer I will wriggle my way into their hearts and become a part of their nanny clan. That being said I have met some really nice younger nannies one of which has been from Denmark (maybe she will want to start her own nanny clan with me, I'll ask today)*** 

Looking back, this job was nothing like I expected it to be. It is like I am a single mother with two kids every day and yes, it is exhausting but it is also so rewarding. Seeing how I influence and shape these kids' lives makes me extremely happy. My job is unlike any one else's that I know of (unless they are a nanny also, duh). My hours are funky but it works amazing with my audition schedule. My "dress code" is anything I can get dirty and/or be ready to play baby or battle robots in. My calendar is mostly play date reminders and my photos are pretty much all dogs that we see at the park. My bag is filled with wet wipes, bandaids, and snacks (so many snacks) and over all I love it. I have learned so much about the kids but also about myself and it has been such an amazing adventure so far.  

I have an awesome job. I get to play pretend, run around the park, do arts and crafts and help two amazing kids learn and grow everyday. I could go on and on about them but I have to end this here because I have two kids to pick up at robot camp and I don't want to be late. 

Stuck In The Middle

I have always considered eating to be a hobby of mine- because after all, who doesn't like food. I never gave any thought to how much I should or shouldn't eat, that is until I began to grow older. 

***This post is not a rant on weight issues or how messed up society is (it is pretty messed up right now if I do say so myself) but it is more a personal take on the aforementioned subject.*** 

Yes, when you are younger you can eat Twinkies and Snickers bars for dinner (your mom won't approve but hey, live dangerously) and nothing really awful will happen except that you might get a stomach ache that will make you regret everything you just consumed. But as you grow older, a bunch of stuff happens and your metabolism slows down yadda yadda yadda, so you can't eat like you once did as a young buck. Now that you are older and wiser, you have to think before waking up and having a fudge brownie for breakfast. The game has changed. 

I think that it is a gift that we all are blessed with bodies that are different shapes and sizes. As long as you are heart healthy and you are taking care of your body, then I believe that it's perfectly normal to buy a bag of cheese doodles (my personal favorite) and indulge once in a while. But, growing up in the society that we live in now and, especially in the profession that I am in, being perfectly ok all the time with how you look is not the easiest task. 

I have been modeling and acting for a while now- it is what I went to school for and what feeds my soul- it is my passion and my love. Sometimes though, it smacks ya right in the face (love hurts). I moved to New York and, after auditioning quite a bit, I signed with an agent and a manager for voice over work and commercial on-camera work. Hoping to keep feeding my passion, I went to several modeling agencies on open calls and I kept getting the same two answers: I am too big to be a "normal" model and I am too small to be a plus size model. 

I walked away from each meeting or casting discouraged and perplexed. What does that even mean? And who are these people telling me the size I should be? I work out weekly but also one of my favorite restaurants in all of New York is Crif Dog. I am a healthy person who is happy with her lifestyle and I would not change a thing to become a size 0 (I would definitely have to give up hot dogs). I am thankful that I have a strong mental support system and also many friends and family members who have my back. But what about the people who do not have that support? I felt bad that so many girl's, and guy's minds were being poisoned to think they are not the "right" size. 

So, I took a break from trying to be the "right" size for an agency to feel comfortable scooping me up and calling me their own. I am me. I run and do yoga, pure barre and pilates but I also celebrate birthdays with champagne and cake and eat pudding with my friends while watching romantic and sappy movies. I am not the wrong size, I am the right size. I am somewhere in the middle, and for me, that is a fine fine place to be. Now, please pass me the cheese doodles. 

Everything I Needed to Know About Politics, I Learned From House Of Cards

The title pretty much sums up this post and if this was just a page of titles and not a blog I would leave it at that. But, alas it is not and I am going to elaborate on this topic for all you fine people out there. 

So, I recently began to binge watch House of Cards on Netflix because, well why not, and everyone needs something to do while they run on an elliptical. I was skeptical at first because if I am going to be completely honest here (and I am) I do not really have an interest in politics. I think it is important that everyone should have a basic knowledge of politics and what is going on with our government, but I personally do not wake up every morning and race to see what is new in the political world. So I thought, why would a show completely centered around politics be interesting for me to watch? But boy was I just so wrong. 

Within the first 20 minutes of the pilot I was hooked-I couldn't stop, and come 3am, I realized I needed sleep and needed to stop wondering if Zoe Barnes will get that story she so desperately needs. The performances are unreal. I am now a shameless Kevin Spacey fan, and the writing is impeccable. No need to talk about the cinematography (too good, I mean beautiful stuff there). I was scolding the decisions of Sawyer past for not jumping on the HOC bandwagon earlier. But, I had made it and I realized two seasons in that I was actually learning while I was binge watching. (you don't read that statement everyday now do ya?) 

I had to take a government class in 8th grade and then a U.S. history class in high school where I did learn all the basics of our great U.S. government. But again- being honest here- I did not really save all my notes from those classes (shocker I know). While watching HOC, some things came back to me and I also found myself learning even more. Like for example, in the show they always speak about "the hill". When one character goes to see another at their office they might say "Oh, thank you for coming all the way up the hill". I began to wonder what this "hill" was and why it was such a journey to get up and down it. But after a quick google search, I figured it out (thank you google for always being there to answer life's toughest questions). And that was just one small discovery. I began to learn so much more about caucuses (again, thank you google), the Whip, and so many other things about our government. Now, I do realize this is a television show, so things are dramatized and exaggerated, but there still are so many nuggets of educational stuff hidden in each episode. 

So I guess the title isn't completely honest. I didn't learn everything about politics from HOC but I have been brushing up on my terminology and basic government goings on. Like how to sway the opinion of a congressmen or pull a media stunt and most importantly, if you don't like someone poking around in your business (SPOILER ALERT AHEAD), all you have to do is just push them in front of a train. (R.I.P Zoe) 

The Unhappiest Place on Earth

I would like to know the process as to how Disney Land was dubbed the happiest place on Earth because I want to dub somewhere the unhappiest place on earth- and that place would be the United States Postal Office. 

Now, I have been to loads of post offices, I mean buckets of them, throughout my life (I threw up a whole bag of gummy bears there that I had not eaten but inhaled there once when I was a toddler) and each one is essentially the same. This post is not to attack the post offices of our great nation but it is merely my observation about them. I am curious to figure out exactly why it seems that once everyone inside the posts office is so unhappy. It is like a dark cloud of misery looms over their heads and they have no choice but to act similar to the Grinch (pre roast beast and Cindy Lou Who). 

I had the idea for this post because I recently visited my first New York post office and boy was it a trip. First off, until about a week ago I had no idea that the gigantic building down the street was even a post office on account of that it looks similar to what I imagine the CIA building to be or a monument erected somewhere in Washington D.C. I saw people going in and out of it carrying letters and packages one day and the blonde in me finally realized it. It was nearing Valentine's day and I thought, "what better time to lose my NYC post office virginity then by sending off my Valentine's?!" (it was a very exciting thought) Many of my cards needed extra postage, because Papyrus decides each of their cards should weigh about 2lbs, so I couldn't just send them off via mailbox. Instead, I had to get them weighed, extra stamped and such at a post office. I hurried home, signed and sealed my love cards and prepped to deliver them. 

As I bopped up the stairs (there were at least half of mile of these things to walk up- I am telling you this building is massive and it has the stairs to go with it) to enter the hallowed postal service halls I realized that everyone entering or exiting the building looked the same- miserable. I further pondered this observation as I entered to take in the scene. I instantly was overwhelmed. It smelled exactly like if old books and the Smithsonian had a baby and it was colder then an SAT testing room. There were people everywhere and the place was so vast that if you walked from one end to another you could probably complete half of your fitbit steps for the day. 

I left early enough for work that I had time to get lost and/or wait in line so I wandered around a bit before trying to complete my task of sending off my letters. There was a main line at the far end of the building that seemed like a place to go if you needed postal service assistance so I shuffled that way. As I walked, I noticed people who were angry, frustrated and upset. Not everyone but the majority of people were just not happy (there was even a toddler in a stroller throwing a tantrum.) Some were getting mad at postal workers, others talking angrily on the phone, one lady was scolding a dog in a stroller (I wish I was making this up) and everyone seemed to be in a rush.

I got on line and noticed even more angry people because what is more frustrating then waiting in line?! Nothing, apparently. There was a man who worked there helping people who were just getting in line- he was telling them where to go or what forms they would need for shipping certain boxes. He was helping a very disgruntled gentleman who apparently had already boxed something up but wanted a different box....the situation was unclear to me but from what I gathered it involved boxes and of course lots of exasperation. So, I just got on line and began to wait. About 8 minutes in, after his argument with the box man, the worker came up to me and asked if I needed help. I explained I just needed some things weighed and sent off and he smiled and said I should be on line at the OTHER end of the hallway (naturally) at the small mail desk. Now, I had no idea what a small mail desk was, but since he was an employee of our government and of this lovely establishment I trusted him. 

I thanked the man for his guidance and I also thanked myself for always leaving enough time to get lost (because everyday in this city I do). I then gathered my stuff to make the incredible journey to the other side of the grand hall and as I was doing all of my gathering, a women behind me exclaimed, "isn't that just the worst?!" (alluding to my wasted time spent waiting in line). Walking away, I thought honestly about her statement and during my one minute power stride to the other side of the US post office, I came to two important conclusions: 1. Maybe people are angry and pissy just because they want to be and the US post office has nothing to do with it. and 2. That if that was the worst thing that would happen to me all day, then by golly this day was going to kick ass.    

Steps To Take When You are a Sick Adult

I realize now that this title could be interpreted in a multitude of ways, but how I meant it was: what to do when you fall ill and you have just moved to NYC (I could have used that as the title but it is just so long)

I woke up the other day with a sore throat. I realized it could have been a multitude of things: talking loudly, eating coconut (even though it makes my throat scratchy) or scream singing in the shower. I realized shortly after that that this was no usual sore throat but the mother of all sore throats. Yes, the big kahuna of upper respiratory illness- I thought I had strep. I then saw a commercial about spider bites and remembered at the same time my sore throat came up that I got a bug bite on my cheek. After Web MDing for a few hours I figured it was either death by Brown Recluse bite or strep. Either way I needed to see a Doctor. 

Then I was faced with the task of finding said Dr. Where do I go? Who do I see? Should I use yelp? The last option seemed like the best option because since moving to the city I have used yelp for literally everything from Chinese food to where to buy good soap. I found a place called City MD and after inputting it into my maps and getting dressed in my finest sweatpants I set off on my quest. 

I had a set route on how to get there but mid subway ride I realized where this City MD actually was. Conveniently located next to the happiest place on earth- Times Square! Perfect, I realized, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world on a rainy February morning when I felt like death then there. I shuffled through TS trying desperately not to make eye contact with the life size minions or the Micky Mouse with weird giant eyes. (You know I think sometimes they make those mascots creepy on purpose. They want you be afraid of them, and I still have not figured out why but when I do I will let you know.) I had made it out alive and after mistakingly walking into a *very* nice burger king thinking it was the place, I found it.  

I wobbled in and the receptionist cheerfully asked me how I was doing. Ah, I thought, that seems like a very sensible question to ask someone who looks like the plague slapped them in the face walking into a health clinic in the middle of the city. I smiled and said ok. Papers were copied, insurance cards were given and then I was sitting on a giant medical throne-like-chair talking to a Doctor who looked like father time. After swabbing my nostrils and throat and asking a multitude of questions he looked at me gravely and confirmed my worst fear- the streptococcus. I whimpered, he assured me only 2% of people die every year from it, gave me a prescription and sent me on my way. 

Laying in my bed a few hours later, chock full of antibiotics and gatorade I looked back on my morning and felt accomplished. I had done it. I had fallen ill in this big bad city, diagnosed myself (my first diagnosis of Dengue Fever was way off) correctly, called my family to make sure I could not have Dengue Fever and then sought out medical attention. I let out a triumphant "yay", followed by a cough and turned on Grease Live. (which I think you all should watch because although it is not the best it's not as bad as I expected). I then realized, thanks to my Dad, that I should have gone back to that Burger King and warned them that I had the streptococcus, but it was too late now and I could only pray that there wouldn't be a strep epidemic throughout all fast food chains because of me. 

**** I would like to give a shout out to the best roomie a gal could ask for Emily Knapp. She made this incredible soup that made me feel 1000x better no lie. Check out her amazing blog: http://thefreshslice.com/ **** <3

TBA- The beginning

Hello Blog Reader/ette!

Since moving to NYC I have learned and noticed so many things! So many things that I find myself telling various members of my family, my friends, my roommate and/or strangers on the subway about my day and I thought I might write them down. It is more of a my daily journal but not in the way that I will write down what I had to eat that day (maybe I will if it is interesting enough like a weird sandwich or a delicious rice pudding trio) or who I think has a crush on who (my doorman really likes some people who live in my building) but it is just a collection of my thoughts about the on goings of this crazy city that I call home. 

So, I hope you read it and enjoy it. Or read it and sort of like it, don't want to throw around the word love because that is a big commitment, or don't even read it all and lie about it to your friends. 

This is not a fashion blog, a health blog or a blog about micro pigs and their contributions to society (they do do a lot for America) but simply a blog about a tall, blonde, (sort of) adult making her way through NYC.