Getting away

All the cliches are true. You've gotta get away from home to appreciate it. Or really, to see it at all.

When all you know is one thing, that is your default. You have to see something else to realize there is more than one way. I'm really glad to have seen a few "something elses" and hope to see a few more.

So I grabbed my suitcase, made sure my three types of mouse traps were set, took the elevator downstairs and wandered over to the streets where more cabs run by (not easy to find one that early in the morning). Hailed one.

"To JFK?" I said to the driver through his rolled down window. He nodded.

"Pop the trunk," I said and threw my stuff in, knowing he wouldn't charge me the tourist rate because my lack of "please" and "hello" had qualified me as a local.

Then I sat back in my sleepy state and watched a blur of 7.5 months of Manhattan memories fly by the window. Memories of the hostel when I got here with nothing but one suitcase, a bunch of fears, and a lot of hopes. A blur of sharing a 10-person room (and 1 bathroom) with people from around the world (and an occasional rumored rat) for three weeks. Lugging that damn suitcase up so many flights of stairs.

I sat on the plane, still feeling in the New Yorker mindset. The girl next to me was loudly talking. I sat back into the Jet Blue seat (which truly is large and spacious for coach) and closed my eyes.

I remembered eventually finding an apartment in the East Village. Walking into my first Manhattan Bar at The W and hoping my boots were "okay" and having cute financial boys flirt with us.

Confusion about how one hails a cab (light on means hail it, off means occupied), how to use the subway (which way do you swipe that card? strip towars you), where is 42nd street? (Streets get bigger as you go north, Avenues bigger as you go west). And so on.

I looked out the plane window at bodies of water and trees and couldn't locate where I was. I remembered boots with skinny jeans tucked in. Tunic tops over leggings. Ballet flats. People asking three questions: what do you do? Where do you live? What is your rent? Walking 5th Avenue with $2000 outfits walking by me left and right. Fake bags in Chinatown.

Moving two blocks away. Negotiating with Craigslist "guys with vans."

Ordering delivery in less than 10 words. "For delivery. Number 10. My phone number is _____." When you hear "click" you take that to mean "thank you for your order and we'll be there shortly." The seconds they saved with that polite phrase means the food arrives almost immediately.

Buzzing people up like on Seinfeld.

Taking the elevator up to my first swanky dark club like those that you see on TV. Nice restaurants with intimidating shell fish, brunches on the patio, wine and no driving home, little deli grocery stores enclosed in plastic doors that I couldn't figure out how to open, confusing fashion, buying coats, scarves, snowboots, running through pouring rain without an umbrella. Tripping and falling and dropping 10 shopping bags in front of a hot little bar. Using maps (badly). Ending up in Brooklyn accidentally. Freezing through central park, but being amazed that I was here, alone, in this wonderful city.

Meeting bankers and ad people and actors and hearing accents from all over the world every day. Subway performers, fear of being muggled, learning how to carry three bags of groceries home five blocks without falling over.

Eating soup inside on a freezing day. Iceskating in Rockerfeller Center. Broadway shows. The Planetarium.

Rats. Mice. Bugs.

Leaves falling off trees and then growing back. Heat. Humidity. Hot salsa clubs dream-like in their intensity, Central Park lounging, tanning and eating snacks on a blanket as people play frisbee. Sailing (on a boat), laying out on the roof, going to the beach.

I accepted my drink and snack from the flight attendant. It was a smooth flight. Closed my eyes again.

Movies filmed on neighborhood streets, amazing pasta, pizza, Little India, Dim Sum in Chinatown, random street performers. Disgusting things on the sidewalk. The East Bunny walking down the street. Tiny dogs in raincoats, snowcoats, tank tops.

Crowds so big you have to cut off your conversation as the sea of people part you, only to talk again as if nothing happened. Crowded subways. Soccer in Central Park on a hot day.

As we flew closer to home, the ground looked strange. So brown. The only water was from the man-made lake in Tempe. This was the first time that Arizona looked like a desert.

As the plane landed, something happened. It occured to me I no longer needed to take long confident-looking strides on the sidewalk to detour muggers. Maybe I'd even take a really long time to put my change away after a purchase.

The minute the plane came to a stop, the girl's loud voice next to me seemed strange -- and I realized that she, not me, was now the one who wouldn't quite fit in.

In the next days, I saw cacti, bushes, large areas of dirt, mountains, prickly pear, blue mountains in the distance, bright blue skies, sunsets, saguaros, or all of the paintings of cowboys in dentist offices and restaurants -- I'd never seen any of this before. It all seemed so normal, I was blind to it.

Somehow, I didn't miss New York right away. Being home was like a Sunday afternoon before a busy week.

And after the intense city life, I could appreciate the slow pace, wrinkled clothes, and lack of fashion.

In fact, it's been nice. I can now see this is just the other side of the coin -- not the only side -- and now I can just let it be.

I appreciate my sweet friends, loving family, and all the places I used to go.

It's been great to get back on the highways and drive. Dried my wet hair on the I-10 like I used to and it dries in about 5 minutes in the 110 degree heat. Dry feels good. You just don't sweat here really, which I guess is why people die a lot in the heat. Still, it's nice to not have humidity.

Went out in Scottsdale like I used to every weekend.

Realizing there is another side to the coin, and soaking up East Coast culture in addition to Southwest style, has only made me want to see all the other sides. I think NYC is a starting point. Where it ends, I have no idea.

Fluffy dogs vs. rats -- what would you choose?

Life is sometimes like a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book. If you had a choice between a fluffy dog, a rat and a bug, which would you pick?

I never really minded bugs. But then again, I never really saw any bugs. Maybe a cricket once a year? Never roaches. Perhaps an ant? A tiny little ant.

But after my new friend has moved in, I've re-thought this. I mean, Mickey seems friendly enough. He came out five times last night to introduce himself. Of course, I screamed at him to "get back in the wall right now!" He listened. But then he came out again and casually walked out my door, like he did it all the time. Great.

I armed myself with a broom and a bowl (maybe I could throw it on him from a distance?) and sat watching from my bed.

Mickey is a smart guy. He walked carefully around the traps, avoiding the cheese. I then moved the traps closer to where he'd been, and he again avoided them. He probably thinks I'm kinda dumb. He's grown up on the "streets" of Manhattan apartments after all. Watching his brothers and parents go down the sad route of cheese addiction. A little cheese, and whack. Dead. A good example for Mickey, who hasn't touched the cheese since.

On vacation I plan to set about a gazillion traps.

In addition to Mickey, I had another little friend. A giant crawley bug thing. Sorta like a spider. Sorta like a centipede. Kinda like a cricket. Maybe 2 inches long, beige-colored, with super long brushy legs sicking out each side. Not short centipede legs. Long spider legs. But many of them. Luckily my roommate got him. Well, almost got him and then he ran across my floor. My other roommate screamed and I jumped on the closest thing possible, a closed toilet, and stood on it. He caught him again, didn't kill him and put him in the trash area. Hopefully the bug is a "he" and he won't breed in there.

Who knew something so small could shoot waves of terror through someone so much larger. If only I could have this affect on something, like, a rhino. Or evil corporations. I don't think a rhino would care if I was around and I'm sure he wouldn't jump up on something to avoid me. He'd be like "eh..."

So, to clarify...I dislike any and all bugs. So much so, that I'm questioning whether I like animals in general.

I was anyway, until I was walking down avenue A, past the school on 6th street and this little boy said "That's a mad fluffy dog!" I thought to myself, "yup, I agree." The fluffiest dogs are the cutest. Let's all start saying "mad" also, k?

Then there were several dogs with the tiny short legs, but they seemed to be some sort of mix. They were also fluffy.

I then saw -- what appeared to be -- people in relationships. In line at American Apparel. The girl had a big photo of her and the guy in her wallet. My first thought -- wow. I wonder how long they've known each other? And what do her other dates think when they see her wallet? I then remembered that in other parts of the world, people do date each other in relationships. They then asked directions from the cashier. It made sense.

But then he told her that her head was "too big" for a headband. "What? You have a big head," he told her. And I was no longer jealous.

It is so unusual to see people in relationships in New York. It's because of all the models. You see these models with very so/so looking guys. So then the cute guys get even bigger egos. It's like the whole city is dating the whole city all at once. I saw a couple with a baby today and I did a double-take. I actually wondered if they were together full-time, or if he was dating others on the side. Then, I figured they'd probably just sub letted a room instead of paying for a hotel (a popular option). They were probably from Minnesota.

Unlike Minnesota, it's been really hot. And Humid. I never gave humidity the respect it deserves. I laughed it off when people mentioned it and told them, "yeah, but it gets up to 120 where I'm from." Little did I know. Sometimes you have to admit to being wrong. I now agree. Feeling disgustingly sweaty within 20 seconds of being outside? Not so fun.

I'm actually looking forward to the dry heat when I visit AZ!

"Wow, you have an enormous package. Is it Christmas?"

So much weird stuff happens. It is fascinating, but kind of exhauting and hard to keep up with it all.

Right outside is that really famous "little person" guy with the brown hair and a beard. I forget his name, butI definites recognize him. He is walking a huge dog. He gives the dog to a lady and the dog starts jumping all over her. Must be the owner. Then the guy with the package (read below) walks up to him and says hello, stands there with the dog, the lady and the little person famous guy. Then the package guy gives the white box to the girl. And they all walk off together.

I salsa danced last night. It's nice because there is a place two and a half blocks away from me, so that is fab.

My good friend here is dating a male model, and now they are bf gf. Is there anything in NYC that was not covered in a Sex and The City episode?

I'm watching strangers from a coffee shop again. This ones in the EV, 9th and 2nd. There is a guy with enormous hair. The front bangs part is enormous and reminds me of Bob Dylan. It seems to stand on its own without gel. It works on him.

Get this. In walks an enormous square white box, tied with a white piece of string. Behind this, is a tall good looking guy, carrying it. It was like something Willie Coyote would carry, and put down for the roadrunner to investigate. I wondered if he read some mag article that said to carry something unusual as a conversation starter?

Before I could answer my own speculative question, he ran into his male friend (also very attractive guy), who was wearing plaid shorts, but somehow they looked okay. And his friend hugs him and it's now clear they're gay (darn), and his friend says to him, "Wow, you have an enormous package -- is it Christmas?" And he says it in all seriousness "No, it's blah blah.." I try to not giggle.

In the reflection of my latptop screen, I see a guy. Stops and leans against the window outside where my latop is, and drinks something from a thermos. It should be a cigarette that he's holding, but he makes the thermos seem just as cool.

I sometimes watch all the shoes on the sidwalk and wonder what percentage are actually comfortable. I know mine aren't. They're cute black leather ballet flats with flecs of gold showign through this sorta imaginary snake skin stuff and my pinki toes are pink and unhappy at the moment.

I just can't keep up with it all. Half the time I can't seem to dress myself just to go to Union Sq. (a pretty casual area).

I'd say probably three out of every ten girls are models or appear to be. One out of fifty appear to have a good chance of being a supermodel. The guys, at least half of them, are pretty attractive also, but a third of that half are gay. And let's keep in mind, there are four or five girls to each guy. So, add that up and the result is several models and/or super models for each average looking straight guy. The gay guys seem quite happy here as well, as there are so many good looking ones. Also, it's nice that (at least in the EV) people are more accepting. I've seen at least three couples holding hands. It's nice they can do that.

Outside the coffee shop window everyone always looks like extras to me. The uptown girls rushing after work, the hipster guy pushing a clothing rack across the street, a weiner dog with a diamond collar being walked, some kid on rollarblades skating in for a drink, some guy nodding hello as he holds the door for a blonde girl carrying one too many things.

Then, three asian guys walk in, rocking the style of the original rappers from back in the day. A baseball cap sits on the very top of one guy's head, and I wonder how it stays on, his friends wearing big beads around their necks, baggy pants that narrow at the ankles and a patent leather black backpack (shiny). They look like they're about to bust out in some rhymes. Okay, I really should not talk about anything rap related, as I don't know the lingo.

Russian girls wearing tunic tops as dresses (when they are rather clearly tunic tops and not dresses). Another girl walks in with a female friend and the second friend pauses in the doorway and does a ballet arabesque thing (where her leg is completely back behind her). Why? I dunno, it's New York.

An ancient police officer whose uniform barely hangs over his probably 80-year-old frame asks to sit at an asian guy's table as he eats something.

A tall guy carries a furry dog like a stuffed animal and says hello to a girl with cowboy boots. A guy wearing a frank sinatra hat with skinny jeans.

They're filming movies all over. My friend's apmt. was in one movie that just came out. However, no matter when you walk by though, they are always setting up. I never see actors. Just equipment, crew people and tables of cheese danishes and snacks.

On a less happy note, the other day I heard this awful sound. It was a woman wailing in pain, in this sort of constant way that almost sounded like singing. I'd never heard anything like it. It was about 11pm at night and I was walking by the park. Across the street, next to the fence was this woman sitting down and a guy like holding onto her.

Then there was a cab in the middle of the street, and several men were screaming at the driver, who was throwing his arms around gesturing, as confused passengers sat in the back seat.

Then maybe 15 people were hanging around, one on a bike, etc. Mass confusion. All I could think was that the woman had just been hit by a car.

On the brighter side, I have not seen the mouse again. But it seems just about everyone I've talked to has a "mouse in the house" story. I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.

My new little, uh, pet?

So it finally happened. That dreaded thing that I had chalked up to rumour and folklore. A mouse. In my house. Or, sub let apartment, rather. But that doesn't rhyme with "mouse."

I got back around 11:00 on a Monday. Walk in. Open my door. I see a tail! A 3-4 inch tail vanishing under the long strip of heater that hugs the left side of the floor.

"AHHHHHHHHHhhhhhh!" I scream.

Of course, no one is home, so that didn't help much. I run into the living room. I have never had a mouse in any house (except a rumour of one at the hostel, and that wasn't my problem).

I go downstairs and two blocks away to the deli that luckily is open late (drugstores are closed). Within a block from my apartment, I notice a RAT (not a mouse) scurrying along someone's enclosed patio. This was large. Like a sewer rate. Or a small cat. Or Splinter from The Teenage Mutant Ninga Turtles. I could easily see a rat this large leading a lecture, course, or group of mutant turtles in the ways of the world. He moved quickly. Seemed to know what he was doing.

I hurry into the store, uload my mouse fears onto the nice, but barely-English speaking two asian men, who hurry to throw down the traps from the top behind-the-counter shelf. I buy the only moustraps they have -- sticky little pads that the feet get caught on. They don't have the more attractive mouse boxes that keep you from having to look directly at Mickey. It's something I'm afraid to witness. I don't know what that would do to a person, to see something like that. (It's a good thing I'm not going to war, if I'm saying such things about a mouse).

Anyway, I bought two boxes, and the asian guys were cracking up laughing at me and my mice terror. They only took cash and luckily I had $5 left in the bottom of my bag, otherwise I would have been sans sticky mouse traps and rather screwed.

I got back and the mouse appeared to have retired back to the heating unit for his night of slumber. I placed the sticky pads ALL over my room. So far I've stepped on three, and yeah they did get stuck to my shoe. Hopefully the mouse is not smarter than me!

My hope is that he stays in the heating unit and never comes out again. Perhaps he has found a Minnie Mouse inside there and they have a lovely home? Let's hope for that. Let's hope he is that mouse in that motivational corporate book who is used as an example of a person who is afraid of change -- the mouse who will accept the status quo and not venture out to find new cheese! This is the kinda mouse I would like. No scavengers, no risk takers, no innovative mice for me, please! Stay inside and chew away on that moldy cheese. No need to look for anything better mouse. Stay in. Rent a movie. Enjoy your heating unit mansion with free rent.