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.