2 Points For The Pedestrian

Nick's parents came to visit this weekend. We jumped in a taxi from the West Village to the Lower Eastside. I sat in the front of the taxi because the three of them sat in the back seat. The cab driver was an older white male. He seemed to be perhaps Russian or Czechoslovakian. After a 30 second conversation about which streets we would be taking, he honked a bit and swerved a couple times around pedestrians (normal for a cab driver).
But then he said something that I could not believe a perfect stranger would say to me. He proclaimed, (after swerving through pedestrians) "You're allowed to run over and kill 5 Asians per year, and 6 Mexicans a year." I replied, "Oh, is that so?" He said, "Yep, 5 Asians, 6 Mexicans, and next year it'll be the Indians, cuz they're all taking over."
I just have no words to end this one...

What Would You Do?

Last night on our way home from dinner, Nick and I were walking down Lexington Ave a few blocks from our apartment. It was 9pm and there were many people out walking the streets, eating in restaurants and drinking in bars. All of a sudden, in the middle of a busy sidewalk, we see a white male with a 3-foot metal rod in his hands, prying a horseshoe-shaped bicycle lock hooked around the bar of a bicycle and a lamp post. As Nick and I literally walked by this man, within about a foot of distance between him and us, he was prying and pulling and prying some more, to the point at which he was grunting and gritting. For a split second I thought there was a chance this man had just lost the key to his lock and was trying to get it off.
But no. I said to Nick, "I think that guy is stealing that bike, right in front of everybody!" I stopped to watch this event unfold a few feet away from where I was standing.
And then POP, the man snapped the lock off and grabbed the bike. I said to Nick, "Oh my God, that guy just stole that bike! In front of all these people!" Nick responded, "Yep, that pretty much is exactly what just happened." We stood there, watching this man steal a bike. And if there was any doubt left in our mind whether the bike was his or not, we watched him fall over as soon as he attempted to mount the bike and ride away, because it was obviously way too big for him. And to make clear that Nick and I were not the only bystanders allowing this to happen right in front of us without saying or doing anything, there were about 10 other people who stopped and stared exactly as we did in disbelief.
We walked away feeling like huge jerks, that we just witnessed somebody steal somebody else's property and didn't say a word. Nick affirmed, "Well that's New York for you."
Here we are, witness to a crime, and we do nothing. But what would you do if you saw a man with a 3-foot crow bar, who probaby was on drugs, who was obviously a criminal, and you had nothing to defend yourself from a 3-foot metal weapon but your hands?
Seriously, what would you do?

I Need A Job

I need a job, I’ll list my skills
I worked on a trading floor, And popped anxiety pills
I learned how to yell, I learned how to curse
I’m faster than you, I’ll hit that trade first
You won’t find me sitting, You won’t find me peeing
As soon as I get to work, I dream about leaving
I can’t comingle funds, I cannot give a loan
But I’ll spit out my food, To answer the phone
I can lose a quick million, With the hit of a button
I can lose all my patience, All of a sudden
I can come into work, After a night of being stoned
I steal other’s ideas, And sell them as my own
I’m skilled at lying, And bullshitting my way
One minute you love me, Then hate me the next day
I’m greedy and dishonest, I’m in it only for me
I’ll kiss your ass, But you’ll pay, you’ll see
I’ll tell you to fuck off, Or to go fuck yourself
I’m not fucking Santa, Nor one of his elves
If I need money, It’s buy, buy, buy
My commission rate, Runs to the sky
If I need more, It’s sell, sell, sell
I live for the trade, And I live in hell
I hate my job, I really do
So I change my mind, I want nothing from you
I don’t want a job, I don’t want your money
I’m tired of being harassed, I’m not your fucking honey
I’m not your God damn trophy, So take it off your shelf
Why don’t you go and play, Hide and go fuck yourself

Commuting in NYC

This morning I drove around New York City for over an hour and a half looking for a parking spot because I had to move my truck by 8am from where it was parked. There is no parking in New York City. None. Zip. And if there is parking available, you can’t park there between 8:30am-11:00am for street sweeping. So unless I wanted to drive around for another two more hours, I needed to find parking. Well lo and behold, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, is in town today. So to add to my parking difficulties, every single street is being sanctioned, and I am driving 3 mph passing through about 2,000 NYPD. There is no parking, nowhere to go, and nowhere to back up. After driving all the way to the high 70s and all the way through the low teens, I eventually find an hour meter right next to my apartment, allotting me enough time to shower and get back in my truck. I then drive to Yonkers to drop off my truck at Grandma’s, during which I ruin the alignment on my truck thanks to the many pot holes on the FDR Drive.

When Grandma takes me to the train station to go back into the city, there is no train. I find out that there was a fire on the bridge where the trains cross over a river, and all service was suspended in and out of Grand Central. Eventually a train comes, and we are one of the only trains moving. Even though I read on the MTA news “It will not be anytime soon that trains will be crossing over the bridge”, our train apparently decided to be one of the first ones over. I of course believed the fire was due to some type of terror attack, being that the Iranian President is here today, and I held my breath crossing over the bridge, preparing for the train to plunge into the river.

Well it didn’t, and we made it.

I then walked through Grand Central Station to get onto the 6 subway line home. As I walked into one of the cars on the subway, a black man dragging some type of dark plastic bag and cooler walked onto my car as well and said, “Hello everyone, I am your brother Mohammed.” Well I just about fainted. I looked to see if the doors were still open on the subway so that I could quickly run off, but they were not. I immediately thought “f#^%, I am going to die. He is going to blow up this subway, and I have no way off.”

Well, it turned out he was an established street beggar, “offering” “food” for the homeless and accepting donations.

I’m still alive. Nothing like being in the safety of your own home, where Nick and I are no longer the only tenants of our apartment, but we now also share it with a tiny, little mouse.

Home Sweet Home.

Homeless In The News

Newspaper now provides as a clothing accessory, and not just sad news.

Find The Drag Queen

Hey There Sexy

Is that a cooking pot on your head, or are you just happy to see me?

***This IS a MAN***

Art? Or Bad Taste?

Do not try this at home!

Antony Gormley's Event Horizon, a lanmark public art exhibition, as part of Madison Square Art 2010.

The Bronx

Keeping cool in the Bronx

Sweet Hairdo

How do you suppose he sleeps?

Shake Shack

On any given day, at any given time, the Shake Shack in the middle of Madison Square Park will have a line over 75 yards long. That's about 150 people. That's over 2 hours in line from the back, just to get to the front and order the best Shake Shack Burger and Fries you've ever had. And then you have to wait for your food. Add another 30 minutes to an hour for that. But that just doesn't seem to stop anybody. Except me. I only go when it's raining and the line is short.

Gay Pride Parade - NYC 2010

Best parade in NYC bar none

Color Coordinating

Do you think she was going for this look?

Only This To Do On A Hot New York Day

Get in the fountain at Washington Square Park.

The New Fad

This is the new fad walking around NYC, particularly popular in sweat pants. I don't get it. I just don't get it. I'm just not sure whether I can be your friend anymore if you are a woman and sport these pants.

A Personal Word

As Nick and I played Scrabble, it was his turn to pull letters from the bag. I watched him pull one ate a time, and place the letters in a row. Afterwards he said, "Oh my gosh, I have to show you the letters I just pulled, in this exact order."
It was meant to be.

Um...

What part of that Headline does CNBC think has to do with the BP oil spill???

What's With Everybody Peeing In The Subway?

This past Sunday was the Puerto Rican Day Parade in NYC. This is always a fun day for the rest of us trying to get around NYC. On the subway home from Grand Central that evening, there were many drunk, loud and otherwise fanatical Puerto Ricans. As I was standing inside the subway car as it moved, I watched a (most likely drunk) Puerto Rican man standing in between the subway cars (meaning on the outside of the subway cars), as the subway was rapidly moving, peeing into the tracks all the way from 42nd St to 33rd St. This was probably the dumbest and most dangerous thing I've ever seen anybody do on the subway. Idiot.

"Gas Masks. Get Your Gas Masks"

A new way of smoking pot. If you notice, the bong attaches directly into the gas mask.

A Sad Site

Old Yankee Stadium

It's True

New York subways do have rats... And this one happens to be flattened and dead...

Nothing To See Here

Please disperse...
Grand Central Station - Right Aid store - Man Wearing pink tutu and purse

So Embarrassing

Last night at about 11pm while waiting for the downtown subway to take us home from Grand Central, I noticed a black girl, about twenty something years old, running across the platform. I peeked around one of the support columns to watch where she was going and noticed that her pants were all wet. I also notice liquid falling all over the floor as she ran, and she was carrying a red plastic cup. She ducked into an inlet between two columns and I figured that she had just spilled her entire drink all over herself and was embarrassed. But then the liquid kept flowing down the platform into the subway rail. I said to Nick, “I think that woman just peed herself.” She hung back there for a while, and when she came out quickly walking up the stairs I saw that the whole back of her pants were wet too. She clearly pissed herself. And on top of that she was wearing pajama like pants and top so the liquid was very noticeable. Why was she wearing those clothes at 11pm in the first place? And was the red cup full of alcohol or for her to try and pee in? And why was she there peeing in the first place?

Disappearing Into A Pothole

For those of you who have never had the experience of driving in New York City, I present to you a New York City pothole. Just to give you an idea of how big this pothole is, as many others are too, you can see a moving car in the background of the picture. I have seen potholes this size while driving 60 mph on the thruway in New York. I now know why there are so many accidents here.

Once Wasn't Enough

Nick and I had dinner in the Meat Packing District Friday night. We sat outside at a restaurant. In the middle of dinner I watched a guy who was driving a forerunner, back up his car and sideswipe another SUV that was parked on the side of the street. He swiped the side of the car so hard, that he pushed the front of the SUV up in the air and about a half a foot backwards.
The man driving the forerunner then pulled forward, so as to release the SUV back into its original parked position, and walked out of his car to inspect the damage. He then walked into the restaurant in which I’m eating, walked out 1 minute later and got back into his car. He proceeded to back up again, in an attempt to park his car in the space across the street (this was a one-way street), and as soon as his car started moving he slammed on the accelerator, turned his car all the way to the right and smashed in the same car that he just hit two minutes ago. The whole restaurant turned around, as well as everyone else standing about, as the noise was incredibly loud. Six bouncers tending the line at the club behind my restaurant came running out to the accident. It turned out that the SUV this man hit twice happened to belong to one of the bouncers.
I’m not exactly sure if this guy paid off the bouncer or not, because no cops were called, the bouncer drove his car away, the guy’s girlfriend drove away his away, and everybody lived happily ever after.

Is It A Cultural Thing, Or A Stupid Thing?

I took a later train to work one day when I was living in Yonkers. A white man about 50 years old and an Asian woman about 35 years old, sat down across from me. Immediately I noticed the body language was that this man was overbearingly controlling, with an ex-military aura, and the woman did not speak much English at all. I listened to their conversation because he spoke loudly, I’m assuming because he thought by speaking louder she would understand his language better. I gathered from the conversation that they had been on 3 dates. THREE DATES.
All of a sudden I hear, “So, I think it would be a good idea for you to move in with me.”
Her reply: “Mhmm.” (This is her way of semi-agreeing, because one, she can’t speak English, and two, she doesn’t know any better.)
“How much stuff do you have to move?” He asks.
“I have a desk. I have clothes, and some little furniture.”
“Well, I don’t know if you’re going to be able to bring any of that. My place is small, and all of my stuff is staying where it is. So you’ll have to put it in storage or give it away, and just bring some suitcases with your clothes.”
“Mhmm.”
“Are you happy to be moving in with me?” (As he moves closer and closer to her, as though he’s literally breathing down her neck, giving her no option but to say yes.)“Mhmm. But my family won’t allow me.”
“Well, you want to don’t you? I mean, this is what you want.” (He’s now telling her, not asking.) “Your family can’t tell you not to. You’re a grown woman. You can do whatever you want. You go tell you family that you’re an adult, and that you make your own decisions. They can’t stop you!”
“Mhmm. I guess.”
“What do you mean you guess? Of course you can.”
She shyly nods.
It was impossible to not pay attention to their conversation at this point. He cunningly crowded over her as though there was no escape. He just kept talking and talking, and she just sat there, smiled and nodded.
He subtly suggested, “So you go home right now, pack your stuff and you can come back later this week and bring your stuff to my home. You’ll like it there. I will help you unpack.”
“But what if my family doesn’t let me?”
“Then you just tell them you are going anyway.”
I started to become dumbfounded how anyone could be so stupid. I realized that this woman was from a very different culture and that she spoke little English, but even so, how can somebody be so dumb? They had only been on 3 dates! And wait, it gets better. He then asks her, “Do you have an American driver’s license or I.D.? Can I see it? I want to get your address so that I know how to find you if I need to.”
She hands to him her I.D. He takes a look and says, “How do you say your name?”
Wait, let me get this straight. He asked her to move in with him, but he doesn’t know her name?! They start going back and forth saying her name, him pronouncing it incorrectly and her repeating it correctly over and over again.
He then pulls out a notepad from his briefcase, puts his CVS Pharmacy reading glasses on, and begins writing down all the information on her I.D. And she just let him! This woman’s IQ was dropping by the minute.
He finishes writing down all of her personal information, returns her I.D., and stuffs the notepad in his briefcase. The train stops, and of course, he doesn’t let her get up and leave because he just wants to keep talking, even though it’s evident that she does not understand anything he is saying.
I immediately thought if there is a missing Asian woman on tonight’s evening news, I know who did it.

Two Women And A Lady

On the subway ride home today from Coney Island a group of three black people boarded my same subway car. At first I thought they were two women and a man. I did a double take and realized that the man was actually a woman. He was, I mean she was dressed and looked exactly like a thug man. His, I mean her girlfriend looked like a normal woman. Their other girlfriend who sat across from her two friends in the subway car was wearing a blue summer dress. I watched out of the corner of my eye as this woman started adjusting her boobs in her bikini top underneath her dress. Only then to witness this woman pull out her left boob out of her bikini top and dress and look down at it as she grabbed it, only to realize she was actually a man in the midst of becoming a woman. I saw his real boobs. So there was one real she, there was the he that was actually a she, and a she that was actually a he, and I saw her, I mean his, I mean her boobs.

Cast This Man

This poster was put up on the side of a bus stop station near my apartment.

I Know This Is Mean, But...

When a man walks off the subway wearing this...
How can I not take a picture?

It’s So Easy To Get Taken

About 4 week ago Nick and I were stepping off a subway, coming home from a night out. An older, somewhat retarded man, blind man standing with a blind person’s walking stick was yelling out, “Can somebody help me? Can somebody help me? I don’t know where I’m going, and I can’t see!” So I walked up to him and said, “Here you go, grab my arm, I’ll walk out with you.” He grabs my arm, and slowly walks up the stairs and out of the subway station. Nick followed behind as I walked with the man. I then said, “Ok, well you’re out, so we have to go now.” The man replies, “Can you show me where I can get something to eat, I can’t see, and I want to get food.” It was 11pm. Not many fast food joints were open. So we kept walking. As we’re walking he tells me he lives in a halfway home where they don’t feed him. He then stops in front of a pizza parlor and says, “What’s this?” I explained to him it was a pizza parlor and asked him if he wanted to stop in there to eat. He says, “I guess so. Do you have any money?” Nick gave him seven dollars and said that should be enough. The man says thank you and walks in. Nick and I proceed home and I tell him, “Well, either we just did a really good thing for a man in need, or we just got taken by a blind man who was able to pick out a pizza parlor without my assistance.”
A few nights ago Nick and I were walking home and I saw the same man holding onto somebody else’s arm, walking in the same direction. Sucker.

Santa Likes His Liquor

In the month of December, NYC has SantaCon where thousands of people dress up as Santa Clause, Mrs. Clause or Santa’s Elves. The idea is to take over streets and bars with as many Santas as will fit, while drinking as much as you can. This past year many gathered together in the middle of Washington Square Park, singing and dancing, drinking and smoking; yes, the good stuff.
Sometimes Santa can handle his liquor.
Sometimes Santa can’t.

It’s Ok, We’re In Gramercy

Nick and I situated ourselves at a restaurant on a sidewalk table and chairs, behaving as typical New Yorker’s do on a Saturday afternoon, enjoying a few cocktails. We ordered a second round of cocktails, and as it always ends up that Nick’s cocktails always look “fruitier” than mine, I asked the waiter “Is that like a girly looking drink he ordered?” The waiter laughed but didn’t say anything. I emphasized, “It’s just that every time we order drinks, I always wind up with the sophisticated looking drink, and his always winds up being girly looking.” To which the waiter replied, “It’s Ok, we’re in Chelsea.”
The waiter returned with our drinks a few minutes later. My drink was clear and had one lime on the glass. Nick’s drink resembled a strawberry smoothie. I immediately began laughing, and the waiter sarcastically declared, “At least I didn’t include the umbrella.”

Splat

A few months ago....A combination of too much champagne and a very large snow storm promted me to think it was a good idea to run outside in the snow storm and make snow angels while Nick took pictures of me from the 5th floor window.
My mom laughed when I sent her a text message with the picture attached, saying that it looked like I went "splat" right out the window.
Then she said, "What if a car had pulled in that parking space while you were laying in that foot of snow?!" I assured her nobody was driving in this weather.
Two minutes later I sent her this picture:
She said she wouldn't sleep for another week. I was drunk and thought it was hilarious.
Not one of my better decision making moments.

Underwear Say A Lot

A couple of months ago I was shopping at Bloomingdale’s on Fifth Avenue for a birthday present for my boyfriend, Nick. As I was standing at one of the checkout counters, I noticed a man standing on the other side in the men’s underwear section. He was around 60 years old, very well groomed, handsome, slick white and grey hair, a very expensive suit, and handkerchief. I took him for a big shot investment banker. And then I notice him grab a pair of bright tropical blue, almost neon thong underwear. We’re talking the kind of underwear that straight men would not, and should not ever wear. He looked at me to see if I was watching him. I did my best to pretend I was not. He then walked up to the counter and asked one of the helpers if they had that particular underwear in another size. Again, he looked at me to see if I was noticing him, and I again tried to look down and pretend not to notice. And then he started to hold up the thong in the air, checking it out, and I thought to myself, ‘you just never know underneath anybody’s clothes what type of underwear they’re really wearing.’ I guarantee whichever investment banking firm he works for is unaware of his alternative lifestyle.

A Minor Detour

So on my way home last night, I ended up in Queens instead of Gramercy. Yeah, that’s right. I was standing on the downtown 6 train platform, and the subway was taking too long. So I decided to hop on the NRW train line instead. I ran down the stairs, and noticed an N train on my right and an R train on my left. Being that the N train does not stop at my home station, I ran onto the R train, in which the doors immediately shut. As soon as the train took off, I thought to myself, “Wow, this is definitely not the direction of my home.” As my ears popped, I realized we were definitely under water, and we were definitely going the wrong way. Fifteen minutes later I arrived in Queens. I laughed the entire way, cracking myself up that after three years of living in the city; I still do something like this. Good times.

When You Gotta Go You Gotta Go

Was walking home from work today. Looked over to see a homeless man peeing on the hood of a cop’s car. Looked like he was enjoying himself too, swaying back and forth.

Take Me for a Ride

Two years ago I was single, walking my 4 pound Pomeranian down a side street in the Upper Eastside. I noticed a man wearing a helmet and leather gear, washing the side of his Harley Davidson motorcycle. I also noticed he had a second seat. I walked passed him and furtively asked “So where are you going?” To which he replied, “Wherever my bike takes me in the city.” So I asked, “Would you like some company?” He replied, “I would love some.” I asked him if he had a second helmet. He said yes. So I told him, “Give me 5 minutes, I’ll be right back.” I walked my dog home, threw on my Harley Davidson studded leather riding jacket, my boots and my yellow bandana. I walked back to where I had met him, and he was already sitting on his bike with the motor running. I grabbed his shoulder with my hand, swung myself around and hopped on the back of his bike without so much of a hello, and proceeded to ride with this perfect stranger through New York City for the next 3 hours.
Probably not the safest or smartest thing I’ve ever done. But since when does anybody know me to act in any other manner than my impulsiveness?
It was a great day. We stopped for lunch. Had a great time. Then he called, and called more. And constantly rode by my street, and constantly asked if I wanted another ride. Guess I should have thought about what I was getting myself into when a good-looking girl offers to hop on the back of a dude’s Harley.
It was worth the exhilaration though.

It Cannot Get Any Weirder Than This

Yesterday, I was riding the subway to my MRI appointment for my back (not important). While sitting on the subway reading my book (about the fucked up cult Mormons call a “religion”) between the 5 stops it took me to get to my station, an Asian-American woman says to me, “Excuse me, can you please put this on me?” I look at her and she offers to me a tube of Orajel as she pulls down her lower lip to show me a huge cankersore on the inside of her lip. I stare at her for a moment not fully grasping what she just asked me to do. Again she repeats, “Will you put this on for me, I can’t see it?” I stare at her lip, drop my jaw open, and it takes me about 10 seconds to get out the words, “Uh, No.” I turn back and begin to read my book. And again she says, “Well can you please help me and tell me if I’m getting it on there?” She pulls down her lower lip again, tries to point the Orajel tube to her cankersore and says, “Am I getting it??” I look around the subway to notice everyone staring at me, to which I begin to think I was on candid camera. I hesitate for a few seconds wondering what the fuck is going on here, I look at her and say “You’re just about on it, just a little higher,” to which she replies, “Is it coming out?” I say “Not really,” and she says, “Well can you please just do it for me? Please?” I looked at her thinking this has to be a joke. I was literally speechless. She says, “You don’t want to do this for me!?” I look at her dumbfounded and say, “Uh… not really.” She says “Please, it hurts, and I just can’t get to it” and hands the Orajel tube to me. This was quite a predicament for me; everyone on the subway still staring, flabbergasted as I am. I think to myself, this can’t get any more awkward than it already is right now, and so I grab the Orajel tube and say, “Fine, here you go.” I squeeze the tube, and put it on her damn cankersore, hand the tube back, and go back to my reading as though nothing happened. She then says, “Excuse me, I’m sorry to have interrupted you, but thank you.” I stare down at my book and reply, “No problem.” I walk off the subway and think to myself – it cannot get any weirder than this.

Anything Goes On These Streets

I will start with Saturday as I was walking up 7th Ave shopping on my first day off from work this year, I passed by a man. He was tall, good-looking, very fit, with a Marine Corps hair cut, wearing trendy, casual jeans and shirt. A man that might make you look twice, but not because he was so good-looking, but because when I looked at his face, I noticed he was a “woman”. There was a distinct line of tan covering his face from the heavy make-up, painted on eye brows and heavy, shiny eye shadow, with bright red lipstick and lip liner and heavy blush. He was a man in every way physically, but clearly becoming a woman. He strolled into Starbucks as though he wasn’t a pink elephant in the room, and as though this was normal.
This shocked me for about 20 seconds, until I passed 3 men walking down the street openly smoking marijuana, and I proceeded to get a contact high.