Sleep? Good luck.

I decided to try something new last night -- sleep. It has been two months since I've gotten a full, restfull nights sleep. So at 9pm last night, I put on the many "sleep sounds" CDS I had bought.

After about five minutes, I hear the first argument between a boyfriend and a girlfriend. Screaming, crying, etc.

Then a group of about six guys stand outside my window yelling at eachother. For about an hour.

The weiner dogs decide to bark at anyone walking by (loudly bark). So you can add in barking every half-hour or so.

Then there are sirens, and a huge loud garbage truck comes along and makes a beeping sound for close to half an hour.

I finally start to go to sleep, when I hear "You're a bitch! I don't want drama, bitch!" And then crying and screaming "You abuse me! You hurt me! You abuse me!" And then more calling her a bitch and then he kicks the metal thing where the trash goes a few times (which is quiet loud). Then "I'm not dropin' you. I don't wanna fight with you!" And the screaming continues.

The sleep CD seagull sounds are faint in the background, "caw, caw..." and weak in comparison to the loud room-filling screaming.

It continues like this for most of the night.

Dogs bark again. People scream. Guys cuss walking by. These are not a few of my favorite things.

Finally I get to sleep for a bit longer and then my roomate gets up (all rested I imagine from being across the apmt. from the sounds), puts on music and talks loudly to the weiner dogs and gets them to play right outside my door (so they are barking and growing) and then loudly talks to them more. "Play with the frog! Play with the frog."

I wonder if I will ever sleep again.

Steps, yelling and sleep

First, the crap:

So a few days ago it was raining like crazy close to 11pm and I was trying to carry my heavy laptop home from Starbucks (at least six blocks away). I stumbled a couple of times because the sidewalk is so uneven and slippery, but thought nothing of it.

Then last night I notice my left foot is really hurting. I must have stepped down on it wrong and bruised a bone, or possibly fractured it a tiny tiny little bit.

In any event, it is now very painful to walk. As in, "step. owww. step. owww. step." And this is a walking city.

Worst of all, my knee had just healed. The first week I was here I stumbled on some stairs and pulled a ligament in my left knee, so it hurt a lot with every step. I got a knee brace and limped slightly and after seven weeks it had finally healed.

And now I have no idea how long this is going to take to heal. I certainly can't afford $20 cab rides every day. And the subway is more than 10 blocks from my apartment.

My goal is to try to sleep it off, so I bought a bunch of CDs that I'm going to blast to mask the constant noise from people outside.

Now I'm listening to some guys yelling at eachother outside my window about how they "can't get no fuckin' bitches." One of them kept insisting that "I tried! I tried! I tried! I tried!" And the other mumbled something about how her friends wouldn't go out. That must suck for them to not be able to get no fuckin' bitches. Somebody is having a worse day than me! Wait, now there is a female voice. Perhaps she will fill the void of the fuckin' bitch category? Perhaps my night is actually worse than theirs...

My radiator was shaking violently last night. It seriously has issues.

Now the better stuff:

On the bright side, the internet has worked for two days in a row (with the ethernet cord stuck in my laptop). But knowing its track record, its just a matter of time before it gets bitchy again.

The dog that my roomate is dog sitting is cute. A female weiner dog. Her feet look like a ballerinas in first position when she stands still. And her body reminds me of a seal.

There are fabric stores all of the village and I bought some random funky fabric to cover my desk chair with. I got a staple gun too.

There was some random guy in the path to the L train playing the beatles and he was smiling, as if he was on stage, as all of these pissed off looking New Yorkers walk by. I don't know how his self-esteem can take it. He actually sounded really good, but no one even makes eye contact, poor guy.

I saw a homeless man who had taken pieces of newspaper and twisted them into curls and attached them to his jacket, so he looked like some sort of prehistoric character.

I can now easily spot tourists. They get very confused trying to walk down the street.

"You mutherfuckers! bye-bye. Shit." I hear this from outside. I don't know it that is a happy or a pissed off goodbye. A lot of people here seem pissed off but they always talk like that. I fit in better when I don't greet store clerks. If I stare blankly at the wall after putting my stuff down, they are much more receptive and friendly. If I say "hi" they look at me suspicously.

I also fit in better with an excruciatingly painful foot. It makes me look more pissed off and also makes me walk slower and sluggishly, which gives me that general "life has pushed me down too far and I can't lift myself up any higher" New York vibe. Of course, parts of New York have the opposite people...girls with stilleto-heeled boots who somehow are immune to pointy-shoe foot pain and seem to float above the grime of the subway with their perfectly tailored A-line white coats with belts and burberry scarves. I'll never understand it.

While I was gawking at one of those floaty girls, tourists asked me whether they should take the uptown or the downtown 1 train. For once, I could actually give them the correct answer.

EDIT...so I couldn't find a white noise machine anywhere today -- kmart, Macy's, an electronic store, etc. So I purchased large amounts of new age background music that I plan on blasting all night to drowned out the street noise. I hope those bastards walking by shouting and cussing get an annoying ear-full of seagulls, dolphins swimming and Kenny G-ish smooth jazzy piano. I hope it makes them so sick they reconsider being so loud! It's already making me slightly annoyed and I just put it on.

umbrella ettiquette

Today when I walked out into the rain it was gray and cloudy. My first thought? Better turn my headlights on. Then I remembered I don't own a car.

If you have a huge umbrella that looks like it could cover a storefront or protect a small village -- don't carry it on the street.

Also important, when walking past strangers with an emormous umbrella, you will need to raise the umbrella high in the air. Otherwise, strangers will need to dart into tree wells, trash bins and curb-side puddles to avoid you and "the thing."

Apparently, everyone has listened to the Rhianna song "Umbrella." Because I'm seeing non-stop cute couples huddled under umbrellas looking way too content.

"Now that it's raining more than ever...Know that we still have each other...You can stand under my Umbrella -ella, -ella -ella (and then she makes a manly noise that sounds like a frog burping the words "hey"."

For my sake, if you're half of a cute couple and you must walk in the rain, sharing an umbrella, please, at least pretend to not be happy about it. Pretend to hate the rain, and not be all "I don't care if it rains and snows and hails! As long as I'm under an umbrella with you baby!" Please, please don't. Please. Have some consideration for the single people around you.

I sorta like walking in the rain because it gives me something to do. It gives me an easy-to-accomplish goal: don't step in puddles, don't trip, don't drop anything, use umbrella. You get a real sense of accomplishment from this stuff. I kinda like these challenges. The harder life is, the better it is.

The bitchy internet continues its tirade

I finally broke down and called Time Warner. Again. I had dealt with the bitchy bastard internet for far too long.

I reluctantly picked up the phone and called the company I had told myself I still wouldn't call "if it was the last internet provider on earth." And yes, it was the last internet provider on earth. In NYC at least, Time Warner is the only option. A handfull of other companies pretend to exist, but they charge you $15 more a month to set up the Time Warner cable for you. How has Time Warner managed to become the last Internet Provider On Earth? I don't know. But do I need internet? Yes. So I made the call.

After I had the devil on the phone -- I'd side-stepped the 4-hour typical call by dialing the Tier 3 Phone Tech number I'd found by googling -- I was told my modem was bad. Bad? They just "installed" it a few weeks ago. Why did they install a bad modem in the first place. They had refused to install my "good" nicer modem I'd bought online -- cussed me out for even asking.

"Just pick up a new modem at this location," says the guy. I pick this option over having a tech come over. The word "tech" is synonymous to "psycho-murderer guy who is about to fly off the handle at any minute and pull out a machette." So yeah, picking it up is no problem!

I trek across town, walking ten blocks in the rain, transferring to two subways, walking more. Hurrying to make sure I get there within an hour and a half of them closing. I have an umbrella, gloves and hat on, scarf and I'm carrying my modem and power supply with me.

I walk in. There are over 40 people waiting. Sitting silently. Starring straight ahead. Boards with numbers blink. But the crowd somehow does not move. Their corporate model must be the DMV -- and they've expanded on the idea. Creating an enviroment truly devoid of any movement or efficiency. With huge ads on the walls explaining how great their services are!

No one shows emotion. More people keep crowding in from the street. The employees yell at them to not block the door. "Move to the side! To the side!" The confused stock brokers with black coats and suits stumble to the side like lost sheep.

I look around. It's like a stoic funeral for electrical items -- modems, remote controlls, cable boxes. All gripped in the owners hands, anxiously waiting to return the broken crap Time Warner has provided them with.

There is a flat-screen TV with no sound and a crowd of 20 of us huddle near it, watching ads and soundless football games for teams you can tell no one cares about. I count the heads again. Yup. 43 people. My hatred for Time Warner is growing. There must be some way to overthrow them. Power is only power until it's gone. But the apathic looks on the faces of those around me tell me a revolution is not in store. Not today.

I finally get a new modem. It's the same exact modem. In a different box. I'm not sure if it's new or re-used. I ask for my money back, since my internet has never worked. She says they haven't made a note in the computer that it hasn't worked, so she can only give me from now on for free (if it still doesn't work). I give her the list of the reasons this is crappy. Does it get me my money back? No. She gives me a pamphlet with tiny print that outlines the procedure for filling a complaint.

I eventually leave with this enormous orange Time Warner bag made of fine materials. It probably cost more than the tiny modem inside it. Here I am advertising for them, with this bag that is so large it drags on the ground if I hold it by its fine quality woven handle. "Time Warner!" it clearly reads.

Then it starts to pour. Rain is pounding down. I still have two subways to take home and over 12 blocks to walk.

I walk in, disgruntled. I feel like my mail man probably feels -- not emotionally stable. Maybe this is how he got that way in the first place.

I plug in the new modem. It works. For now. In five minutes, who knows?

So my new quest is to develop a business model that would have the effect of simultaneously improving the world as a whole, and overthrowing the Time Warner monopoly. Any ideas?

Return

Gone again
My internet connection
Come back
Do you remember?
When we were so happy?
I would google
you would let me
Happy internet connection
Return to me
Don’t you want to see
Wikkipedia and gmail ?
Don’t keep saying
"can’t display"
you can
You just don’t want to

light’s on
Everything should be fine
But fire walls and error messages
won't let me in

google awaits
Myspace and daily candy
Don’t keep me waiting
please, stop

let me hop the web

like a spider

I can't wait anymore

give me internet

now

Creative writing

Here is some creative writing I've done in NYC:

Go

Oh god
Let me go
Leave me alone
To roam this world
With my own charms
Around my neck
When I close a door
For god sakes keep it closed
When I say no
For god sakes
Just go
I don’t like to sit here spinning
Waiting for you to leave
Dizzy with anticipation of the day
When I will take that step on the street
At night
With the wind blowing just right
When I will paint the things
That long to be painted
When I will meet someone
And we will walk away
Until then
I swim in a sea of uncertainty
Where I walk and think
Too much
Where I only want the bad to leave
And the good, to feel my touch

Back

And this is where I turn my back
And walk out into a forest green
play sweet music in the rain
I won’t think of you
Thoughts are expensive
and my future's free
Let go of your thoughts of me
Because I can hear you think
loudly
Across the country your sentiments
hit me in the face
like cold winter wind

Train

I was just hit by a train
She said
And the wind whistled on by
thoughts are heavy
when they weight on you
She said
pretending to be dead
She spoke
and said all the monsters
kept talking, not stopping
not sinking back
into the crevices of the night
And it all came out
Her bracelet hangs innocent on her wrist
With nice things engraved
From a good time
But now she lays cold
tracking the days
Just waiting for the train

Here is a fictional story. I think this is what it's like to give up dreams for money.

Sitting Outside

Desperation is a funny thing, she though, as she opened the big wooden door. It was the heaviest door she’d ever opened. The wood was peeling, full of potential splinters. The cold metal handle burned her un-gloved hand, as she held the door open and looked into where she was about to go. A room. A simple room. But her heart protested with pounding. But her feet, driven by her intellect repeated to her “step. Then step again. Then step. Then step again.” Her feet obeyed, but her heart stayed out on street. It played in the sunlight like a child, escaping the dark musky smell and the dust-covered surfaces of the small room. Her heart sat on the steps outside, and looked up at the semi-clouded cold blue sky and dreamed of all the things she ever had.

But the rest of her was inside – her body, her mind. And about to do something she’d never wished to. Yes, desperation was a funny thing, she thought. As she sat on a small, uncomfortable old green chair. It looked like garage sale furniture that was purchased ten years ago. Four walls, she thought. She’d been in rooms with four walls before. Everything would be okay. Sheets of white paper slipped under her peach-colored hands. Tiny beads of sweat formed on her palms, as she grabbed a black pen and tried her best to hold it steady.

Her heart sat outside, as the sun went behind a cloud and it started to drizzle. Big drops fell, and her heart slumped on the stairs, waiting for her inside. Wondering when she’d come out to play. It would be a very long time.

She sat in that room. The four walls like she’d seen before. The green chair. The dust soon fell again. Coating cabinets and suitcases and her shoulders in a fine mist of gray. She didn’t notice it, because the walls were gray, like the dust. And the floor was gray, like the dust. And it had been so long since she’d moved from that chair. She hadn’t seen herself in a mirror, but if she did, she would have made a noise, a scream, a sound like she had never heard before. The sound of something dying. As the dust fell on her, her gray skin, it blended right in.

And her heart sat on the steps outside. Like a child waiting to play. Like a child left all alone for far too long.

The room slowly darkened. The four walls. The green chair. The papers under her palms. Waiting, clock ticking, her heart waiting on the stairs outside. From June to December she stayed inside. Outside, were summer love letters and knowing better. From leaves falling and children yelling. From snow tickling noses and big bouquets of roses. Laughing friends running through streets. She sat inside. Forms under her steady hands. Snow falling outside. Dust settling inside. Falling on her nose and the place in her chest where her heart once was. Back when she remembered playgrounds, and brown-haired boys smiling, and cheerios, and peanut butter sandwiches. In that place where she used to live, before she moved. That space, those moments she would never think of again.

She sat in the chair, with her heart waiting outside. Until her skin matched the white paper under her palms. Until the dust that fell was her. She turned to dust, as her heart waited outside.

the internet is being a little bitch

It deserves to be slapped. Or have ice water poured over its head.

"Sail away with me, to another world..." I heard that song on the radio. And I'd like to add "a world with reliable wireless internet." There must be some utopia somewhere, where the internet is plentiful and reliable. Where IP addresses don't suddenly fail. Where modems and cable cords work. Where routers don't blink, but the light stays on. Where tech support is helpful and nice. This world must exist somewhere, but here, it doesn't.

1) First, I was screamed at by a threatening Time Warner Tech guy who refused to install the modem I purchased from Time Warner online, and insisted on installing his crappy little modem. I asked him to install the other modem and he flipped out, started yelling and said "Do you think I give a fuck about customer service?" I called Time Warner, was transferred seven times and said to them, "Can you hear him yelling in the background?" The woman said she could hear it. Did she care? No.

The guy couldn't find the outlet to plug in the power cord. He stood, arms crossed, until I located an outlet for him. "This is your job!" I said. "Where outlet? Where outlet? If no you find outlet, I no install."

So, after nearly calling the police because the guy kept getting in my face like he was going to fight me, I was left with my laptop precariously balanced on this little table thing because the cord he had wasn't long enough.

2) Then I bought a router at Best Buy. Asked them all of my questions. Paid $30 to have them configure the router. Take it home. Set it up. It works for 30 minutes. Then stops.

3) I call Best Buy. They say to return it to the store. Go all the way back to the Soho store.

4) They want to charge me another $30 to look at it, but I insist they don't. They look at it. I overhear the Geek Squad guy asking another guy if he's ever set up a router before. "No man...sure haven't!" The guy nervously looks at my computer, eventually brings it back and says quickly that it's fixed. And he nearly forgot to give me the box back and left my laptop on.

5) Get it home. It doesn't work.

6) I call Time Warner. They transfer me. For two solid hours they transfer me. "Oh, you need internet support, I'll transfer you." I wait 20 minutes. "Oh, you need help in New York, let me transfer you." And so on. At one point, after waiting 20 minutes they hung up on me! After two hours of waiting, I get an option to leave a voicemail. I do, and of course they don't call back. I call back again. They have an automated tech help thing (that instructs you to plug and un-plug everything, which I've already done). I get the automated tech thing twice! It takes about 20 minutes each time and they won't let you talk to someone until you do it. I never get to talk to anyone.

7) I research online. I find the phone number for the Level 3 Time Warner Tech support -- so I can bypass the 3-4 hour total waiting time to "in theory" get to talk to someone. I call. The annoyed guy takes me through various plugging, and unplugging and then declairs the problem is not with Time Warner, but with the router. He nicely gives me the Linksys tech support number.

8) I call the Linksys tech support. I talk to them for more than an hour. They have me type in all kinds of IP addresses and ping things into dos. They tell me it's fixed. It works for about half an hour. Then it stops working.

9) I take the cable and plug it directly into my computer. It works!

10) I decide to give up on wireless and plug it directly into my computer. I go to Best Buy and buy an ethernet cable for around $20. I plug it in. It does not work.

???? WTF!!!

11) My roomates boyfriend tries to fix it. It still doesn't work. It works sometimes on both her computer and mine (when plugged directly in).

My roomate says it may be because the cable cord is so old and I should call Time Warner and have it looked at. Her boyfriend says I should just call Time Warner and get tech support.

Arg.

hooray!

The radiator started working again!!! :)

My bed frame was delivered. .

You'll have to pry that out of my cold, dead radiator -- wait, it's already cold. And dead.

I'm wearing a coat inside. Because it's winter. And my radiator died. It's cold to the touch. I'm pretty sure it's suppose to be warm. After all, that is its only function in life "to heat." It has failed. I hope it feels pretty bad about itself. At least my jacket hasn't failed -- yet. At this rate, the down might fall out of it something. In New York, anything is possible.

I'm wondering if I will have to sleep in the coat. One night in the hostel the heat died and I slept in my black coat. We'll see. I'll just finish eating this huge box of chocolate. Ah, there we go.

In other news, some guys is smoking outside and I can smell it. Creepy.

Luckily, I located a slightly larger grocery store a few blocks away. It has a lot more food than the closet-sized store two blocks from me. I was very, very excited!

I've gotten much better at buying only two or three bags of groceries. I'm now having a hard time remembering how I used to fill up entire baskets in Phoenix, just for myself. Now I'm forced to selectively shop, carefully picking each item like I'm on some strange game show called "If you can carry it home, you can eat it!" Though I have heard about fresh direct, which apparently, ships fresh groceries directly to your apartment. Somehow that just seems incredibly lazy to me though. I have legs. It seems strange to not use them. But I'll probably change my mind after being here a bit longer.

Another benefit of the cold is that you can carry your groceries for a while and not worry about them going bad. In Phoenix with the traffic I was always worried about things melting. But here, the air is at least fridge temp, if not freezer temp.

New York, New York

I've been here a month and a half now. Every day, things seem more and more normal. I no longer am shocked and in awe by how tall every building is. I look at the sidewalk like all the other New Yorkers. I no longer think brightly-colored funky sneakers are ugly. They seem as normal as white socks.

All of that clothing in Arizona stores that never made sense, now makes sense. Why in the heck would anyone buy stretch pants? Or super long shirts? Or hats? Or super warm sweaters? Or really long socks? Ah. I get it now.

I sorta like hats with flaps -- oh god, I never thought I would say that. But after you see a few hundred model-ish people walking around the East Village with hat flaps and braided yarn things hanging off the sides of their knitted caps, you start to want one.

When I see homeless people standing on the sidewalk asking for change, I no longer feel nervous, look at them, look away, and feel strange. I now do what everyone else does. I just keep walking. When there are probably three homeless people per block, sadly, they start to seem like part of the block. A fixture that is always there, no matter what time of night or day.

I never understood that before. But it's just like how in Phoenix, you don't ooh and aaah at every car that passes you by on the highway. If you did, you would crash. And that's how it is in New York when you're walking. It's like driving, only on feet.

I feel strangely safe in this neighborhood. At first, I would size up the potential threat of everyone. Ten big bouncer-type black guys walking towards me next to the projects. Crazy old woman singing to herself and walking zig-zagged. Young kids living in poverty and screaming at each other. Now, it's all part of the sidewalk, as much as the street lights.

Tonight I was frustrated. With the Life Coaching scam, the internet STILL not working, and after putting together a desk and chair I had delivered, I was rather frazzled. My roomate got home and walked the weiner dog that wears a cute sweater, Nathan. And I decided to walk myself.

So I went outside in the cold and just started walking. Every step felt so good. I really need to get back in the gym. The air was less biting cold, and more crisp and refreshing the farther I went. By the time I looked up, I'd walked all the way to Broadway, which is pretty far. At that point, I wandered around these cute little streets with stores and got lost. And had to ask some Indian guy inside the Bank of America which direction East was.

Then I stopped to get pizza. The guys never speak English there, but they look at you like you're the one who doesn't get it. The guy kept laughing at me, I'm not sure why. I asked for a piece of peperoni pizza and the garlic knots. But maybe it's because they all say "a slice to go with garlic nuts." They aren't nuts. They are knots. But whatever. The sign did say "nuts." They also say "to stay or to go," instead of the Arizona way of "for here or to go."

I passed oodles of cute guys on the street on the way home, but they're always rushing off somewhere with their black coats and cell phones. It makes me wonder where they're going. I need to find some places to rush off to :)

I narrowly avoided TWO check scams!

I can't believe it. I have been almost check-scammed twice. I'm including details on what happened, so you can avoid it yourself. Check-scamming is is on the rise -- the fact that I've been contacted twice in the last few months goes to show that is true.

Here are tips from the FTC on how to avoid being scammed: http://www.ftc.gov/bcp/edu/pubs/consumer/credit/cre40.shtm

So now for what happened. The first was a few months ago. I got an email from someone in London wanting to purchase 12 of my paintings off of my web site. They wanted me to ship the paintings to Alabama, or somewhere. I received a check from a different name from a bank in Texas for twice the amount of the paintings. That fit the profile of a typical scam (out of the country person, overly personable in the emails with resonable-sounding story, sends a check that is not the right amount). I was amazed anyone would try to steal paintings.

Then I get an email from a man in the UK who wanted Life Coaching for a family member. He said he wanted to purchase several sessions and send me a check. He even bothered to give me the family member's email to set up the appointment for the first session. I know it's a scam because he refuses to pay by PayPal and insists on sending a check from his "accountant."

If I had cashed either of those checks, I would have deposited them in the bank. The bank would allow me to use the money right away. And then, when the bank discovered they were fake (in several weeks or longer), the bank would hold me responsible for paying the money back. We're talking thousands and thousands of dollars.

Ordinary people are NOT protected at all from these scams, so watch out!

Seriously! Twice in the last few months.

Who knew criminals were so into paintings and Life Coaching? I would seriously love to Life Coach this criminal guy.

"Why is it you feel you need to scam people to make a living?"

"What's an example of a legal way you could make the same money?"

"What do you think is holding you back from earning an honest living? Do you think you deserve it? Do you think you're not capable of it?"

"How does it negatively affect your own life to scam other people? Do you think you would enjoy life more if you were helping others, instead of stealing from them?"

I actually really pity anyone who has sunk that low, to believe that's the only way to get by. So freakin sad. Of course it's awful for the people who are scammed. But can you imagine living with screwing people over every day? I can't imagine what that would do to a person's mental health.

What blizzard?

A big snow storm was suppose to hit NYC. It didn't. Well, there was an ice storm last night. But it wasn't as bad as you would think. It was like walking on a skating rink. And pieces of ice fell down instead of rain. It was like what I would imagine it would be like to walk through a Dairy Queen Blizzard, or a snow globe. But as long as you have a coat and don't slip, it's fine.

If anyone remembers my story about Mr. Eye Licker who I met back in AZ...Well, he lives two blocks from me. How the heck? Manhattan is huge. I met this guy once years ago when he was in town. Now, of all five boroughs, or anywhere in this enormous city, he happens to choose the East Village and the exact segment where I live! Ick. Hopefully he doesn't roam the streets often.

“That’s what you fucking said to me, Mya. Are you going to apologize? No. You never fucking apologize.” That is the length of a conversation I can hear as some strangers voice fades in and out of my room depending on where their feet are on the sidewalk outside. Sometimes I wonder if my windows are really made of glass, or something that looks like glass, but is really air. I don't mind, because it's still a novelty to hear New Yorkers talk. In a few weeks, probably won't be novel still.

I noticed the graffiti sprayed on the top floor of a building that says “you go girl.” I remembered seeing that when I was apartment hunting with my mom and sister. I made a point to remember to look up at that after I get lost, or cold, or lonely.

I went in a Chinese take-out place and the asian girl was small, but had the strongest voice I have ever heard. It was ear-piercing. It sounded rude to me, the way she shouted out the orders, but the cooks behind her didn’t flinch. No one seems to notice things that sound rude. They seem to think they are normal. Perhaps I should just shout things at people. I wonder what they'd do. Not that I would...

I walked by a woman standing on the sidewalk looking at her baby in a stroller, with a man next to her.

“She has her mama’s eyebrows. Her mama’s nose. Sure has her big ‘ol feet.”

I get to my door. A homeless man stands out front and rants in a slightly incoherent, strangely charming way. He is just talking so loudly, it is ridiculous and somehow reminds me of Will Ferrel. I try to not crack a smile, because New Yorkers don’t do that. They make a point to notice nothing. So I look at the sidewalk as he says, “And why do men have to walk on the outside? Why do the men have to die? Women can walk out there by the cars.”

I go inside, sit on my bed. A song blasts into my window and there is an older, slow man outside with a boom box. He plays with the buttons, confused, for a second and then slowly walks along in the cold. It’s a song about how things will get better. And he’s walking down the street like that, blasting it out for everyone to hear.

I sit on my bed and sound invades my room again.

Crazy Mr. Post Man

My postal carrier is crazy. I just hope he never owns a gun.

Today he knocks on my door. I open it. He says nothing. Hands me two packages.

"You should see the note they left some guy outside -- I can't believe it! They have some nerve !" he says with anger in his voice.

"What?" I say.

"The note on the door outside. I can't believe someone would have the nerve to leave a note like that!" He yells.

I'm standing there holding packages, not sure how this applies to me or what exactly is going on.

He repeats it again louder as he walks away backwards, shaking his head in disbelief, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration. As if, he's lived in NYC all his life, but never seen something this hideous.

I'm thinking it has got to be some sort of hate message that insults some group. Nazi's perhaps? Or something else? Or maybe it has to do with my sub-let roomate. Perhaps someone is out ot kill him? I can't take the suspense.

I grab my shoes and keys and go peek outside the main door where the buzzers are.

There is a neatly written note taped to the door.

"Would you please leave packages for apmt. #8 outside of the door. Thank you."

My post man is nuts.

Mondrian is messy and I like that

I was looking up close at a Mondrian painting at the Museum of Modern Art. I noticed a couple of lazy smudges and he didn’t continue those black lines all the way to the edge. Parts even looked messy. I was shocked. I often have messy stuff like that happen that I am also too lazy to fix. And here in this museum with millions marveling over these works, I found lazy errors.

It reminded me that we're all human and paint, as well as life, can only be controlled to a point. After that, it only controls the artist to have to sit there like a monkey and make it perfect and clean up all the smudges. So I took a picture up close of the smudges. I was still about a foot away. The security guy came over and said I couldn’t take pictures that close. I’m sure if I’d asked, he would have said the reason was because it could damage the painting somehow (even though no flash), but I secretly think it’s because the museum doesn’t want anyone to know that Mondrian is smudgy around his edges. My picture came out too blury, so you'll have to take my word for it.

I love art museums though. So much great stuff.

The day of dropping things on my boots

Today was a day of dropping things onto my fairly new leather boots. My boots were like a magnet for anything damaging to leather, including: rain, glitter, and a smoothie. This, just after I purchased boot-protecting aerosol spray. Details below.

But before I get to that, I did my laundry today. I put all of my clothes in a bag and lugged it and a thing of detergent a block and a half. I made a point to wear no make-up and not lint-brush my previously black coat before going. I did not brush my hair. But somehow, I still felt too dressy with the projects next door. I should have worn sweat pants, a black down oversized coat, a baseball cap and a depressed look.

There was one cute guy in the Laundromat with a green coat. Not Kermit green, but that kinda army green that isn’t a very attractive color. I then proceeded to see five more cute guys throughout the day, all wearing the same coat. It must be in style.

Okay, so onto dropping things.

First, I bought some spray stuff for leather boots to protect them from rain, and other things that may fall onto them. But unfortunately, I dropped everything onto the boots first. Then, once I was home and could use the spray, there was really no point, as they were covered in layers of many other things. The little silver aerosol can was mocking me, with its instructions on protecting leather and all.

Things dropped on boots:

1) An original-sized Jamba Juice Cold Buster (with no boost) in Union Square.

I was walking through the benches after wandering through the Chistmasy booths full of jewelry and apple cider and paintings. It suddenly got very cold, and without my gloves on, I think my hand just forgot to do that “hold” thing. The Styrofoam cup exploded upon hitting the sidewalk, spilling an entire full cup of orange smoothie right into the center of the pathway, as cute couples on benches on either side of the sidewalk watched.

“Bummer!” said some cute guy with a model-looking blonde girl sitting next to him on a bench right there at the scene of the smoothie drop. I felt bad about leaving the guts of a smoothie right there, so I was kinda trying to scoop a bit of it back into the shattered Styrofoam pieces.

“Oh look, she trying to like, clean it up,” said the blonde girl, who must have known at that point I wasn’t from New York. But then I gave up and just used my empty greasy pizza brown bag to wipe the orange smoothie off my new boot.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t very embarrassing. It probably sounds worse reading about it, but I was more bummed about not getting the nutrients in my $6 Jamba Juice.

2) Pouring rain.

I had just done some Christmas shopping in the huge Macy’s in midtown, when I noticed the shoppers walking into the store looked unhappy and wet. Damn. This could only mean one thing. Or, I guess it could mean more, but those would be highly unlikely. Yes, it was…rain! Pouring, heavy rain. Big cold drops of winter rain. Did I bring an umbrella? Um…no. I carefully put bag within bag, get out my gloves and hat and wait to see the light change before running out the big glass Macy doors.

I cross the street and luckily am right by the subway that I need. Not so bad! Just a few drops.

Then I arrive in the Easy Village, at least 12 blocks from home. Great. After a few blocks my boots are drenched, and I am too. I will basically die without an umbrella at this point. But luck would have it, there is a CVS across the street! I hurry in, grab and umbrella and wander over to the Christmas cards.

3) An entire box of intensely-glitter-covered greeting cards.

Oooh! Pretty! Glittery Christmas cards. I have walked at least 5 or 6 miles (maybe more) after shopping all day in the cold. I’m still freezing from the rain. I’m admiring a box of lovely silver glittery cards when suddenly, the paper box I’m holding with one hand bursts open (must not have been taped), sending twenty cards flying like snowflakes, where they land far apart, covering the whole middle of the tiny isle. I quickly grab them all and put them in a stack again, and then notice that all of the cards have poured silver glitter onto my black skinny jeans and – you guessed it – onto my boots. The water helped the glitter to stick on.

4) Shopping bags full of stuff

So I walk back onto the street with my newly purchased umbrella. Perfect! I have an umbrella. I’m all set. Unfortunately, the umbrella won’t open. For two blocks I struggle with it, unitl it finally does. At least the glitter has now been washed off of me by the rain.

I walk about ten blocks carrying all of my shopping bags. I’ve stuck bags within bags to keep them dry. While walking by some swanky dark little bar with candles on the tables, I hear my largest bag crash to the pavement, and all of the contents have scattered onto the wet sidewalk as rain continues to pour. Like in some sad movie, I put down my umbrella and gather up all of my now-wet gifts. Luckily, I don’t think anything was ruined. What happened was, the naturalizer shopping bag I had stuck everything else into had a plastic coating, but was actually paper beneath! And it crumbled to soggy pieces.

Luckily for my boot's sake, there was nothing sticky, glittery, or boot-damaging in my shopping bags. But there was lots of rain. Lots and lots of rain.

At that point, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or what. So I just laughed. I laughed silently, in a pissed off kinda way. Okay, so I didn’t laugh.

But luckily, as I tried to get my key out for the front door outside, a few guys were going out and held the door for me – and they were cute. They also had the same green jacket.

Internet is a myth/I can be happy in New York.

Today marks one week in the East Village apartment. I think I can be happy in New York.

• Wireless internet is a myth. It's some lofty, un-attainable goal. It would be easier to install a circus trapeze in my apartment, than to install internet. I've tried for a week and I'm close to just installing the trapeze. ?Por que? Well, I took a field trip to Best Buy yesterday, asked all the questions, got a router. Paid $30 to have them configure it. Spent all day today trying to get it to work. It worked for one hour. Nice. Then it died and disapeared completely. I can't even get a signal. So it's $120 if I want to call the Geek Squad. Or, I could call Time Warner, but I'd rather not have a foreign dude scream at me like that again (see previous blog). AND it turns out, the Time Warner techs get a commission for installing the modems they bring, which explains why he started screaming when I asked him to install another kind (even though Time Warner sold it to me). The bitch. If only I was a huge bouncer-type man. He would have gone down.



• I'm no so sure I like being so close to the projects. I finally noticed them today. I didn't realize they were a few steps from my place. hmmm. When I walk down the street here, I notice I stand out too much with my semi-new clothing and the fact that I haven't had all hope and happiness and my soul stolen away.



• Because of that, I make a point to focus on acting completely devoid of any positive emotion when I walk around (out of fear of getting mugged). I think I'm standing out too much. I try to keep my head down and pretend I have nothing left to live for, because that's what is in the eyes of everyone I pass by. But somehow I still have too much spring in my step. I guess you have to actually live in the projects to project that image. Of walking, but barely moving. I don't think my hostel experience counts.



• I don't know if New Yorkers put this on as an act, or if it's real. But they stare at their feet -- when they're walking, or sitting on the subway. They stare at their newspapers, as if they are alone. They somehow block out the entire world -- and what a sad thing to do. There is so much exciting stuff going on, if they'd only notice it. Don't get me wrong. I understand the need to get away. But I always have to look around to see what's going on. My feet are so boring. I really don't want to look at them.

I still have a cold. I'm sitting here typing with my laptop propped up on my big window sill. Outside the New Yorkers are walking by laughing and teasing eachother and arguing -- as they should -- as it is 10pm on a Saturday night. People calling on their cell phone asking which avenue whatever bar was on. Car and cab brakes squeaking. High heeled boots clicking on the sidewalk. Sounds I like. My window propped open because this radiator doesn't know when to quit. Some like it hot. My radiator does. I don't like it hot. Which is why I moved out of Arizona. But I didn't know about radiators. They are powerful. Even opening a window and letting winter fly into your bedroom is no match for the radiator. It's tank top weather inside.

• But I am still positive. I'm still happy to be here. I'll get internet eventually, even if I have to trek to the New York Public Library every day with my laptop. My cold will go away. Eventually, somewhere between falling leavings from tall New York trees, I'll find my place. I can be happy in New York.

The Day From Hell

Recent Stuff...

• The hostel kids stiffed me out of $40. I put their hamburgers on my credit card and then they took off. Makes me even more mad, because with the exchange rate being 2 pounds to 1 dollar, it was half-price to them.
• I still have a very icky cold.

In this blog...

1. The Evil Mailman
2. The Cable Guy From Hell
3. Don't use Time Warner! Ever.

The Evil Mailman...

Today I woke up again to the buzzer. The mailman again. He has another package for me.

"I can't believe I had to come all the way back here the second day in a row. Packages usually get sent in bunches. I'm not going to come here no more," says the post man.

Wait? So the post man is making me feel guilty for having packages delivered. hmm. Rude. Is this why the New Yorker stereotype is someone running around saying "F you." Mail delivery people like him must be the reason why.

Then I get ready to wait around the house for the four hour internet set-up time slot.

The Cable Guy From Hell...

He leaves and after waiting for four full hours, the cable internet guy comes over. It's a muscular african guy, prob 6'0", who can barely speak English.

I tell him Time Warner mailed me a modem and give it to him.

"What this? I can't install this!" He hands it back to me.

"They sold me this online. Why can't you install it?"

He starts yelling, like seriously top of the voice yelling. I get the message that he only knows how to install the one type of modem he has with him.

"Well how much does that modem cost?" I say. This is ovbiously the wrong question to ask, as he completely loses it. He is flat out screaming at me, like starring me down like he's from some third world country where women get beaten. I don't exactly back down, but don't exactly escalate it either. He has a look in his eye like he's a criminal.

"This is terrible customer service," I say.

"Do you think I give a fuck about customer service?" he screams, and he doesn't stop yelling.

I call Time Warner. I explain that their tech is screaming, and yes, they can in fact hear him in the background. Do they care? No. They transfer me five times and give me voicemail.

Finally I give up and just tell him to use the modem he brought.

"Where your outlet?" he says.

"You've got to be kidding me," I say. "You can't find an outlet? This is your job! Look at the wall, find one!" I say.

"You live here!" he yells. "Where the outlet? Where?"

I tell him I just moved in, I continue to tell him "It's an outlet! You know what it looks like! Find one."

He stands there with his arms crossed and refuses to look at the wall. He will not install it unless I find the outlet.

"Oh fuck!" I say. "It' s not that hard. You just look at the freakin wall and there! An outlet."

He finally hooks it up, but has to run an extention cord across the entire living room and place my laptop precariously on this little thing of drawers way too small for it right by the doorway. This is completely useless. But I just want him out of my place, as I'm seriously about to call the cops. He looks like he's about to fight me.

The point is: Don't use Time Warner! Ever. Unless you like to be screamed at and fear for your life and all that.

I'm just hoping I don't get any more packages. I seriously don't think I can handle it if I get that bitchy mail man again. Then I have to go get the router and hopefully get the Geek Squad to set it up.

I'm pissed. Which means I'm angry, not drunk, the way English people use the word. They also sign emails with an "x" which means a kiss.

Hostel Memories

The night before last I hung out w/ a girl I'd roomed with at the hostel. She brought two more English kids who were new to the room. It was hilarious how much gossip we knew about all the people in the room, after only being there a short time. Who is dating, who hates eachother, which bars various people frequent, where people are off to next in their world travels, etc. It's like a world-wide, hostel version of The Real World. Seriously.

Looking back, those three weeks in the hostel were the strangest in my life. But somehow I adjusted to it and it even started to seem normal. Sometimes I even miss that bunk.

Sharing one bathroom with ten people was strange. Hearing non-stop world accents all day is strange. Meeting new friends in my pajamas was strange. Waking up in the morning to the sound of some guy from Europe asking me out was strange.

So, back to the story. Me and London girl and the two English kids went to The W yet again. They have about six locations across Manhattan. I knew the bouncer this time, because he's the cousin of a guy in my second hostel room who is from Detroit and came here to be a model. I've never known a bouncer, ever. So it was strange to know one after only a few days here.

It's really odd to go from a constant stream of insta-friends from around the world you go out with every night to a regular life again. The regular life makes for much sounder sleep, my own door, sharing a bathroom with only one person (not ten), and no maids flipping on the light way too early. But there is something I will miss about that grubby, stressful little room and the random people who occupied it.

I met 4 people in my pink fuzzy bathrobe

Yup. I met four peeps in my pink fuzzy bathrobe. Why was I wearing that? Because I have a cold. It sucks to have a cold, especially in New York. You have to walk everwhere here and it's already cold. So having a cold makes it twice as cold.

But first, I went to the grocery store for the second time. It seemed bigger this time. I got better at not bumping into people with the one-person at a time down the isle thing. I think I'm getting used to minature things.

It is actually pretty darn cool to walk out my door and in less than a block there is a grocery store! Sure beats a 15 minute drive to the non-ghetto Phoenix Safeway.

Note to self: I must be careful to not eat everything in the grocery store. This is like having a giant fridge a few steps from my door.

Now for the bathrobe explanation.

Today I woke up to the sound of buzzing. I had seen this on TV. On Seinfeld they buzz and and then Jerry says "Come on up!" But I wasn't sure how this actually worked. I didn't see that little box anywhere. I was half asleep and not expecting anyone and quite confused. Eventually the delivery guy had someone else let him in. I heard a knock at the door.

"Is your buzzer broken? You've gotta fix that. It's the Christmas season!" he said, almost yelling. It's weird how strangers tell you what to do here. But on the bright side, my mom sent me a very nice package! With fuzzy socks also. I appreciate socks here. I never even liked socks before, but here you really need them.

So that was the FIRST person I met in pink fuzzy bathrobe.

Then I found the little buttons "talk," "listen," and "lock."

I tried going back to sleep. Rolled over.

"Buzzz!"

This time it was the Con Ed guy to check the gas meter in the kitchen. I was still in the pink fuzzy bathrobe. Strange. This is all so surreal.

That was the SECOND person I met in my pink fuzzy bathrobe.

Okay, so I go back to sleep. I do have a cold, remember? Need to get some rest.

"Buzzz!"

This time, it's the super who came by with an hispanic guy to paint the bathroom. I finally figured out the buttons. Push "talk" to talk, "listen" to listen and "lock" to unlock the door.

I was still in my pink fuzzy bathrobe. Neither of them spoke English very well. It was somewhat confusing, as no one informed me they would be painting the bathroom.

So yes, that was the THIRD person I met in my pink fuzzy bathrobe.

I finally got dressed.

The sub-let oomate was still sleeping.

It's very common here for people to rent out their rooms because you can get like $1000 or more for a few weeks.

So, I met him -- FOURTH person I met wearing that -- as I was getting OJ from the fridge).

I get frustrated with the conformity here. An odd thing to say about NYC I know. But it seems everyone sticks with little sub-groups of trends. There is the professional look I've mostly seen in Midtown, Columbus Cirlce, with the nice peacoat, tall boots or heels and scarf. The East Village look with skinny jeans tucked into beat up brown cowboy boots, vintage-ish stuff, and messy straight short hair on girls, etc.

I don' t see many people who just wear interesting things. Where are the mohawks? Polka dots? Tu-tus? None!

Not that I'm complaining. But it's strange to me. Converse All Stars are alive and well though, Pink plaid. Red cherries. Little sheep. They have them in every color and pattern imaginable!

I don't have internet in the apmt. yet. So that would explain my inability to respond to emails or myspace messages! Sorry! I can sometimes use the neighbors, but it's very unreliable and mostly just taunts me. It says it's connected for about thirty seconds -- just long enough for me to log in and then it dies again. I should have it connected tomorrow though!

My new east village apartment!

I'm offically in the new apartment! I have a bed (or at least a mattress, frame and box spring). You have to have everything delivered here, so I had Speedy's deliver it.

I still need a bed frame, furniture and curtains. And internet to be installed. I'm going craAAzy not having internet. All the cafes here are so hip that most don't have wireless. I wandered all over today looking for wireless and lugging my not hip laptop that is slightly heavier than it should be. Everyone here has Imacs. And I mean EVERYONe. There are three or four in every Starbucks. And they all have the same Itunes also. So much for individuality, lol. The Apple Store carries only these two items, more or less. And all the New Yorkers rush in and debate whether to buy a black or white laptop.

I found this swanky little french cafe with teapots and heart-shaped $1 cookies and plush velvety seats. But unfortunately their wireless wasn't working (as I found out after I'd paid). But it's a cute place none the less. I want to have a tea party there, haha. Seriously.

I have a door now. I no longer have a bunk bed.

It snowed yesterday. No one noticed. But I hadn't seen it in two years (since I went snowboarding last). I had to play it cool and not run around yelling "snow!"

The east village coffee places are hip, but kinda make me laugh. There are lots of intellectual eye-glasses, funky styles such as skinny jeans stuck into cow boy boots and short, straight shaggy hair cuts on girls. All the guys look Bob Dylan-ish. It will take me a while to adapt. I am not this hip. I did buy lavendar all stars though, so that is my attempt at fitting in somewhat.

My huge poofy marshmallow-ish down coat probably isn't so hip. But it's sooo warm though! I choose warm. Even if I look like a marshmallow. No prob. I almost bought marshmallows yesterday during my first NYC grocery store trip.

Okay, I don't understand grocery stores here. They are TINY. Only one person fits down an aisle at a time. A girl was approaching with a cart and had to literally back up so I could get out of the cereal isle. I had a little plastic basket that you carry and had to TURN it so other people could walk by. It's like a mini-store in small land. And it makes me laugh everyone acts like this is normal. Then, you can only buy what you can carry (or fit in a little metal cart you take home, but I haven't bought one yet). So I got a couple bags and the two blocks back almost killed me. I need to find a gym!

Still, it was fun. The grocery carts are smaller too. The size of the Walgreens shopping carts. It's mini-world in the biggest city ever.

But I'm having fun though. Love NYC!