Category Archives: Strangers outside of New York

My new year’s resolutions and a word about people who camp out at Times Square on NYE wearing adult diapers

Happy New Year! I paused Married at First Sight just to check in because it’s been awhile.

First, a word to the people who just had to see the ball drop last night. Please take a long, hard look in the mirror. Is this who you want to be? Let’s start with the fact that you spent your vacation in New York at Times Square. I know you don’t live here because nobody who lives here goes to Times Square EVER (except in the case of real necessity), and never ever ever on New Year’s Eve. Also, you stood in the cold for hours and hours so you could watch a ball drop, a ball you could have watched on TV like I do every year, and it was so vital to your happiness that you wore Depends. If you didn’t wear Depends, you waited around in your own filth for hours and hours, or you have the strongest bladder known to man or womankind. Next time you come here, please do me a favor and hit up a dive bar in the Village. We’ll all be happier.

And now for my resolutions. Last year’s didn’t go so well. I resolved to write non work-related material for at least one hour a week and to compliment myself once a day for the sake of my self esteem. Resolution 1 broke down around February. I think resolution 2 went a bit further, but once I started paying myself compliments like “resilient liver,” I decided maybe I don’t have 365 amazing qualities. This year I’m going for more attainable things like:

-Eating meals off of proper plates rather than out of containers

-Eating said meals at appropriate meal times rather than snacking around the clock

-Crying less (I’ve only cried once this year so far, so things are looking up!)

-Buying new clothes no more than once every three months

-Keeping my orchid alive (this is the first one I’ve ever gotten to re-bloom, so fingers crossed)

12317391_929618697118589_646534779_n

-Figuring out why my laptop keeps waking up in the middle of the night after I put her to sleep/stop worrying that she’s going to attack me

-Maybe stop naming inanimate objects and referring to them with pronouns like “she” and “he,” but probably not

New Orleans: where people drink like they just got their first fakes

I had the pleasure of visiting New Orleans for the second time last week. This time was better. The number of drunk people in the streets was roughly equal (high).

One night, my friend and I ate dinner at a distinctly New Orleans establishment, where we were crammed into a picnic table next to an extremely drunk couple in their mid-forties. They drove all the way to Alabama for a funeral and stopped in NOLA on their way back. I know all this because they told me. Here are just a few statistics about our hour-long interaction (I’m calling them Fred and Candy for the sake of anonymity, and also because despite our being best friends FOREVER by the end, I’ve already forgotten their names):

Number of times Candy showed us pictures of her hotel room: 3

Number of times Candy ran her fingers through my hair: 4

Number of times Fred crapped all over New York: 3

Number of times either of them seemed sad about whatever friend or relative had passed away: 0

Number of times I had to justify being a vegetarian to them: 2

Number of drinks Candy imbibed during this one hour: 3

Number of drinks Candy had likely consumed prior: 5?

“I’m a hairdresser,” Candy told me as justification for touching my hair. Okay, but she’s not my hairdresser.

Fred: “New York is so dirty.”

Candy: “There are so many homeless people here.”

Fred: “Show them the picture of our hotel.”

Candy: “The bathroom looks like my grandmother’s bathroom.”

In fairness, it did look exactly like my late grandmother’s bathroom–all blue plastic toilet, seashell soap.

Later in the evening (20 minutes later): “Look at this picture of our hotel.”

Candy: “Our nineteen-year-old daughter is too good. She never gets into any trouble. She always makes curfew.”

My friend: “What’s her curfew?”

Candy: “Well, she doesn’t have one.”

Candy: “That pasta looks so good. It almost makes me want to be a vegetarian. But I love meat. I’ll eat anything.”

Fred: “No you won’t. But you’ll drink anything.”

Candy: “That’s true.”

Candy left her sweater on her chair. They were already outside by the time I caught up with them. I’m glad I did, because I got an eyefull of Candy’s six-inch leopard print heels. Also, they both hugged me after the sweater exchange.

I think my favorite comment was uttered by our waitress when she brought us the check: “So those people were real sober.”

I’m not as excited about Boehner resigning as you might think

John Boehner and I have a few things in common. We both cry a lot, for instance. Republicans think we’re too liberal. (Admittedly, one of us is probably a little more liberal than the other.) We’re both into the government funding Planned Parenthood (Again, one of us may be slightly more excited about that than the other.) That’s probably where the similarities end. But now that the Boehner is resigning because the GOP is like, “You aren’t exercising enough control over women’s uteruses” (or is it uteri?), I’m concerned. Mostly because I’m terrified to find out whom they will choose next. Wikipedia tells me that Kevin McCarthy, the most likely pick, was one of the three founding members of the GOP Young Guns Program, which I didn’t even know existed but sounds scary as fuck. Also, he has pledged to vote against any Global Warming legislation that would raise taxes (as you do). And finally, homeboy wants to ban all abortions foreva and eva, pinky-swear. Where did they find this guy? It’s almost like the GOP crafted this dude out of clay and imbued him with a wish list of attributes Pygmalion-style.

Anyway, I’m foreseeing a future in which he is Speaker and Marco Rubio is president, and now I need to practice the deep-breathing exercises my therapist taught me.

Chatty Kathy’s visit to San Francisco, and also mine

Guess what, kids? Annoying people exist everywhere! I learned this when I visited San Francisco recently. As I waited for the Muni, a very loquacious lady struck up a conversation with me. Apparently this is something people do on the West Coast.

“I’m visiting from Berkeley,” she told me (what an adventure! That’s like me visiting Queens.). “And I never drive here. The drivers are just terrible. When I first moved here I got into an accident, which was my fault, but it was with a kid my son’s age.”

So much to unpack here. So the terrible drivers to whom she was referring would be herself, who lived in the Bible Belt before (we covered a lot of ground in these four minutes), so it’s not really San Francisco’s fault, now, is it? I don’t think the city requested her presence.  Also, the accident was San Francisco’s fault because it was with a kid her son’s age (which I presume is young)…so somehow that’s worse even though she caused the accident, so it could have been with anyone? Like it should have been his fault even though it was hers?

Anyway, I commented that the driving was worse in New York.

“You’re from New York?” she asked.

I told her that I lived there, but originally came from New England.

“Oh, that must be why you’re friendly then.”

However, the people on the West Coast still aren’t friendly enough for Chatty Kathy. Apparently everyone in big cities is cold.

“They have Muni in New York, too, don’t they? Or what do they call it?”

“The subway.”

“Right!”

My ex got fat and I got happy

I may be a little late to the party here, but let me tell you about this amazing Facebook function where you can search for photos of someone with whom you are no longer friends. My brother showed it to me last night, and we discovered that my ex from five plus year ago is now fat. Anyone who’s not Jesus knows how thrilling that is.

A few months after we broke up, my friend ran into him and told me he had gained weight, but I assumed she was just being nice to me, which I certainly appreciated. Now I have confirmation in the form of pictures from (get this) his graduation. As in, it took him nine years to finish college.

In conclusion I won that breakup.

To the people who stand up at the fireworks to “get a better view”

You’re not getting a better view by doing that. The fireworks are in the sky. You look dumb.

Here’s why Roberts is worse than scalia

Scalia is like that villain on your favorite tv show that you’re supposed to hate. S/he is so one dimensional that it becomes boring and cliche to hate him or her. Like Franny on Greek. Or what’s her face on Orange is the New Black season 2 whose name I can’t remember. Or Bill O’Reilly. Anyway, Scalia is that person. Like, okay dude, we get it, you’re a dick. You’re SCOTUS’s Dick Cheney.

Roberts is that asshole who thinks he’s a genuinely good guy. In my opinion, that’s the worst kind of asshole. He sits there all Aryan and condescending, and says things like, “It’s really great that people get to celebrate today, and I don’t want to put a damper on that. But FYI, it’s also super wrong in the eyes of the constitution.” You know he’s that guy who’s always saying, “I have lots of gay friends. I just don’t want to have to see them being gay.”

What really bothered me was his attempt to shame gay rights advocates today. Putting an end to same-sex marriage bans is not up to the Supreme Court, he argued. What we really need to do is try to convince our bigoted peers to see our point of view, and maybe they’ll come around. Because that’s been working so well. Everyone knows if we just talk it out we’ll all agree in the end.

That’s why Roberts is worse than Scalia. Of course nobody cares today, but I worry that because he comes across as rational, he’s dangerous as an evil person.

But today is a good day, so I’ll put the loathing on hold. I’ll leave you with a final question: if you were in a bar and Ruth Bader Ginsberg happened to walk in, what drink would you buy her? She seems like a scotch on the rocks kind of girl to me, but maybe you feel differently.

White shirt guy, you’re not playing tennis

Last night, while riding the subway home, I happened to be sitting across from a man roughly my age, which is 25 plus 24 months, and he was such a ridiculous human being that I just had to take out my phone and write down a description of him. This is what I wrote:

The man sitting across from me is wearing white mesh shorts with a white striped polo shirt that says H2O. Oh, and white sneakers. It doesn’t help that he has super blond hair artfully done up in one of those Justin Bieber styles that’s meant to convey stylish nonchalance, even though it obviously took hours. I hate him. He’s sitting with his legs spread wide apart, big feet firmly planted on the ground. He’s probably going to scratch himself soon. He’s not reading a book because duh. He has the stubble of someone who hasn’t shaved in days, but you know he’s grooming that facial hair. Now he glances at his Rolex.

Then, I started thinking about how I strongly dislike so many strangers in general. For example, tourists. I live in New York, where tourists are the worst, but I can imagine they’re pretty bad in other cities, too. As a person who lives in New York (I’m not allowed to call myself a New Yorker yet, because I haven’t lived here for ten years), I avoid Times Square like the plague. But sometimes it’s unavoidable, like when I have to take the bus from Port Authority. These people stand in the middle of the sidewalks with their cameras taking pictures of the M&M store, because they’re never seen an M&M before, or a billboard, because they’ve never seen an ad before, and I have to walk around them because they’ve never used sidewalks before, and Sweet Moses it’s so annoying.

But people who live in New York are also the worst. Everybody is the worst here.

So I’m looking at this as an outlet for my rage about people I don’t know. Do you hate people you’ve never met, too? If so, let’s be friends.