"mommy loves you, now get out of the cupboard!"
Working late tonight I realized that the only reason I haven't become one of those people who calls home several times a day and leaves voicemails for their cat is that I don't own an answering machine.
I'm not as approachable as you think.
People ask me for directions every day because, for whatever reason, I seem really approachable. Unfortunately, despite how approachable I am, I am terrible with directions. If my left hand didn't conveniently make an L, for "Left" I would never be able to get anywhere. So I give bad directions, and also I like to make sarcastic comments because they amuse me. Sometimes I combine the two together if my day is going slowly.
Like today when an irritating woman asked me where BBQs or Johnny Rockets was, but she didn't even know the name of the street they were on. I told her I had never heard of BBQs but I knew where the Johnny Rockets was . . . in Philadelphia. (it's on south street. the waitresses sing.) This made her think i was an idiot, but also got me out of the conversation so that I could cross the street before the light turned red. Which was the goal.
Tourists also always stop me and ask for restaurant suggestions because they expect every one who isn't visiting from Oklahoma to be a walking Zagat guide, an expert in the New York Experience. Even when you do suggest something nearby they'll start asking about the wine list, gluten-free options, and whether or not they have high chairs. If they really wanted to know what it is like to live in New York than they would follow me back to my tiny apartment in Brooklyn to eat macaroni and cheese straight from the pot, watching American Idol in my bed with the cat.
Grumpety.
The worst part about being a Grown Up is how after you've already had a bad day and you find yourself in spinning class next to a fat guy with loud gas you have to put on your Grown Up Face and pretend you just didn't notice.
If you're still a Non Grown Up you can raise your hand and asked to be moved because the boy next to you "smells gross."
Still grouchy from everything I started walking to the subway, humming the song "I Hate Everyone" softly to myself. Just as I got to the chorus ("all the people on the street, I hate you all") someone stopped me and asked if I knew where Waverly Place was. "Its around here." I said. He waited, apparently expecting more information. I turned and looked downtown (didn't see it), and then looked uptown (didn't see it), and then looked downtown (still not there), and then (for good measure) looked uptown again, and looked back at him. "Its that way," I said pointing uptown. "Its that way?" he repeats back, pointing uptown. "I'd give it a 60% chance." I respond. Not a gambling man, he headed downtown to find someone else to ask.
Two blocks uptown I found Waverly Place and turned back to find the guy, to make sure that he found it too. He had his headphones on so I whacked him on the arm and pointed at the sign that said "Waverly Pl." before toddling off on my way, still humming, "oh, i hate you all."
Somewhere, someone is writing on his blog about how he just needed directions, and then this rude, mean girl hunted him down and whacked him on the arm to prove that she had been right. New Yorkers! Crazy!
talking to strangers is highly underrated.
Waiting for the L train today, an older man started telling me about how he used to live in a teepee in the middle of a desert and he made himself a loincloth out of a rat pelt.
He kept talking for awhile, something awkward about going to the store on a windy day in a loincloth, but i was still pretty stuck on the rat pelt.
you find amazing people everywhere.
Last night featured a comedy of errors involving me needing to get to the Lower East Side via the L train and the F train, while unfortunately the L and the F were running on a schedule that essentially came down to “This train is running on a normal schedule, except for the stops you want to get off at. We’re skipping those, while giggling softly to ourselves.” So I ended up on the exact opposite side of town from where I needed to be, 30 minutes after I needed to be there, and jumped into a cab.
The driver was playing soft Indian music and when I got in he asked “How are you doing?” I told him I was well, and how are you, “I am doing great!” he replied. “It is a beautiful night, and I am so happy to be alive and well.”
He was humming softly along to the music, and began telling me the story of the singer when we were stuck at a light on West 4th and Broadway. The singer had been killed in India by her stepsons who did not want her to have half of their father’s wealth when he died, it has been 5 years and they are still not in jail. The cab driver continues to talk to me about the horrors of murder, how it is the worst thing in the world, and how those people don’t deserve to live in such an otherwise beautiful world.
A homeless man came car door to car door at the next intersection, collecting change in a jar.
The driver rolled down the window and handed the man change.
“God bless you” the driver said, and you could tell that he meant it.
We eventually made it to my destination and I leaned forward to pay him.
“Have a good life,” he told me.
“Good luck in everything in you do, learn to appreciate every day.
God bless you.”
“God bless you too.” I said. And he could tell that I meant it.
I love this city.
Why dating me can be a challenge.
It has been suggested that I have a little bit of a listening comprehension problem, as exhibited below. (The comments below were taken word for word from recent escapades.)
<>He says: “Is it ok if I don’t call you tomorrow?”
I hear: “When I say ‘tomorrow’, I mean ‘ever’, because I am a terrible, horrible, heartless person.
Everything I have said to you up until this point was a lie.
Also, I keep 14 year old girls locked in a dungeon in my apartment, obv.”
<>He says: “Everyone has skeletons in their closet.”
I hear: “I killed a man.”
<>He says: “Oh no thanks, I don’t drink”
I hear: “I’m a recovering alcoholic who used to go on lengthy drug and alcohol fueled binges, I was a drug runner in
Mexico, and also I killed a man.”
<>He says: “I’ve always liked high heels on women.”
I hear: “I’m the creepy guy on Craigslist always offering to pay women to come walk across my naked body in high heels.”
<>He says: “Do you want to come upstairs?
I have . . .um . . .
ice cream?”
I hear: “ICE CREAM!!!”
my first bad date! mazel tov!
You know that moment during drinks, some time half way through your second vodka tonic, when it suddenly strikes you that your date seems to have a foot fetish?
Oh, you don't?
Cuz I do.
And then HE told ME that he wasn't going to call. I'm sorry sir, let me try to make this a little more clear.
It's not me. It's you. Now stop looking at my feet like that.
My little stilettos have never scampered down the subway stairs so fast.
classic kt moment.
I have a date tonight, but due to the bad cell phone reception I get at work, I have absolutely no idea who it is with.
