blogger's guilt

hey. remember me? yeah, the girl who used to blog here several days a week? yeah. hi.

i was made to feel foolishly guilty last week for not having posted to my own blog in...gee, i don't even know how long. so here i am.

i've been busy. like, insanely busy. i'm finishing up my graduate thesis (due in 3 weeks), and the "new" job is totally bonkers. i used to write most of the posts during my other, boring job...so that's partly why i've been lacking any updates.

anyhow, i just wanted to say...

i slipped on a bullet casing just now, going up the stairs from the subway. i (still) love bed-stuy.

overheard in bed-stuy

Nothing makes your morning like hearing a heartfelt welcome on your way to the subway.

"Ooooh gurrrrrl. Welcome to Brooklyn, baby."

enough with this heat already!

So today, our heat wave "broke." By "broke," I mean that instead of being 106°, it's only 95°, which is really no break of any kind if you ask me.

The thing about summers in New York is that, well, anything over 85° gets downright miserable. For example, going underground to the subway platforms adds a degree for ever stair you decend, usually a minimum of 10. And there's zero air movement on the platforms, unless you count the forced hot, putrid air mass that is the pre-cursor of an arriving train.

Then there's the power problems. ConEd, the power company, actually told my office building management to tell us to turn off all "non-essential" equipment to avoid a blackout spreading some 30 blocks. Apparently, this means lights out. Someone went around shutting off all the overhead lights, except those around the outer ring of the floor. This means that people who have window seats are getting sunlight AND flourescent light, and we other suckers are getting neither. How the hell does that add up?

Well, regardless, there's not much I can do about any of it. When it's hot, it's hot. When it's fiery burning hell, it's fiery burning hell. But at least StarBucks gave away free iced cofree for two hours yesterday. I didn't get one, but, just hearing they did it made me feel cool and chilled all over. Not.

so it's not my imagination...

I was just on the U.S. Post Office web site filing a change of address form. When I was done, I got an email with a ton of handy links to coupons, referrals, and...to the census?

Yes, the census. The post office linked me to a goverment census with information specific to my new zip code. And you know what it said?

One Race:
Black or African American: 89.2%
Hispanic or Latino: 8.0%
White: 2.2%

So...clearly it's not just my imagination that I was the only white girl in sight. But it's aight yo. I know they peeped my snowflake cracka ass. I'm bout to get down in dis joint! Holla!

snowflake in the hood

I know. I know. I've been gone forever. I used to blog while I was at work, teary-eyed from editing the most boring content on earth. But I got a new job, one that got REAL busy for me about the time that my last post appeared. I apologize for the neglect -- it's nothing personal. Quite the opposite really. I've missed you. I need you.

So here's the thing: I'm about to have a whole new batch of stories to tell. In a couple of weeks, I'm moving to my new apartment in Brooklyn. Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn. And I tell you with much sincerity that I have, in my last two visits there, seen only 4 other white people -- and one of them was with me.

I tell you this not because I'm scared, but rather amused. Generally speaking, black men love me. They love a woman with an ass, and have even audibly commented before that I'm that elusive white girl in the hood who isn't skinny as a twig. Last week, I got a round of applause when I passed by the 10-12 black guys doing construction on my block. And during my apartment hunt, I had many, many compliments, smiles, and winks sent my way. So really, it has nothing to do with getting more for my money, or moving out of my shoebox studio. It's about self-esteem and feeling good.

So surely, as I adjust to my new surroundings, I'll be starting from scratch in terms of my city smarts. I mean, wearing comfortable footwear and tactfully avoiding remnants of dog poo are skills that transfer, but I know better than to believe I won't be surprised by anything in the new hood. So stay tuned. I promise I'll be back.

one of those crazy nyc days

This morning it took me forever to get to work. This is mostly because I spent about 40 minutes underground, in the subway, locked on a train between stations, going NOWHERE. Due to a "switching problem" and "sick customer" at Grand Central, I sat for 40 minutes in a dark tunnel. And for added fun, I was freezing. I guess to relieve claustrophobia the conductor felt the need to blast the air conditioning at maximum coolness. I was FREEZING.

Several of my friends and coworkers were similarly affected by the lack in train activity. Some were stuck on uber crowded train platforms, others sat on a train in a station with the doors open for eternity. Others yet fought the altnerative: highly overcrowded buses that go half the distance in twice the time. We all have to deal.

And then someone else told me that so-and-so witnessed a girl get mowed down by a cab this morning. It sent her flying into the air and heroic measures were taken to a) detain the cabbie and b) keep the girl's leg in tact.

I tell ya, it's the kind of day that makes me want to walk around in protective gear. What does a girl have to do to get around this city without losing a limb?

stop doing that!

Lately I have this horrible and unexplained habit of eating my own mouth. That is, I have a knack for taking a huge bite out of my own lip while I'm eating. And it hurts, and it upsets me VERY much.

It's that thing, you know, where the first chomp is painful enough to cause you to stop chewing mid-bite, no matter how delicious the food is, or how much it is burning the roof of your mouth. You just have to stop, just for a second, to take stock of the moment and file it away under Stupid Shit I Do to Myself. And then slowly, grimacingly, you run your tongue over the new wound to see if it is safe to continue without oral surgery. Eventually, you long for the food you were eating in the first place, and you chew, swallow and take another bite. Then....

CHOMP! OOOWWWWWWW!! You bite down on the SAME freaking spot 10 seconds later, causing you to whimper under the burdern of not just pain, but your own stupidity. Now you caress your lip with your tongue, pouting and hating yourself, knowing that it's bound to happen repeatedly for the next several days, and you'll be lucking if the gaping sore ever heals.

And then you go through the process of convincing yourself that it is because of ____ that this happened. Because you were chewing too fast. Because you turned your head while eating. Because once you bite it swells and you bite it again. Because of that one razor sharp canine tooth. Because of your misaligned jaw. Whatever, you name it, we blame it.

Point is, I don't know WHY we do this, but I do it all the freaking time and it HURTS. Dammit.