No, you cannot overpack for the holidays

Merry Christmas to all my loyal followers! I'm assuming if you're reading this family time has gotten the best of you and cabin fever is threatening to kick in, the only answer being a quick anecdote to bring you back to everyday normality as crazy as that may be.  A few days ago as thousands of people excitedly left their homes for a long vaca and even longer journey to get there, I too made my way to JFK where a flight to Florida awaited me.  As I walked through the JetBlue terminal a couple of people rushed by me; first to pass was a man hauling a luggage carrier with at least 8 - 10 bags atop, making what should have been a quick run into more of a slow jog.  On his heels was a woman pulling behind her another luggage while carrying two duffel bags and yelling 'Excuse me!' down the entire corridor.  It took me a second to realize that the 'luggage' she was hauling actually carried very precious cargo- their 2-year old son who bounced happily along in what was really a booster seat, none the wiser to what all the rushing was for. 

A few minutes later I stood in the baggage line when I noticed this ill-fated family at the self check-in kiosk.  The dad was feverishly entering their boarding information while the mom coerced the luggage carrier into the line behind me.  I watched to see if they could actually pull it off, preparing to let them go ahead of me if it all worked out.  Unfortunately just as the kiosk printed the tickets the luggage carrier finally won the battle, causing an avalanche that took out the entire maze of ropes and almost their first born.  This is a classic holiday scene at the airport but luckily they made it through security in time, little boy in tow who was more than likely wondering why he can't bring his parents anywhere.

No, you cannot jibber jabber

Going to the movies is all about the experience- the popcorn, the cushy seats, the big screen.  I went to see 'My Week With Marilyn' tonight (which I highly recommend, btw), arriving a little early to get a good spot.  As I started in on my bucket of buttery goodness, the pre-previews were interrupted by two chatterboxes across the aisle.  I looked over to find an elderly woman barking orders loudly at who I assume was her son; it's one thing if people are too noisy in a place that is clearly meant for 'inside voices' (i.e. libraries, churches, theaters), but it's a whole other problem if this issue can be avoided by making obvious choices.  In this case, the obvious choice would be to sit in the same row as your movie-going partner; how else do you whisper your opinions during the film or ask for another jujube?  It's not that hard to get this one right, either sit together and whisper away or keep your face stuffed with popcorn to avoid being those people.

No, you cannot shed on my Mac

Apple opened their largest retail space yet in Grand Central Station this past Friday, bringing out every Macthusiast from the tri-state area and beyond.  Along with those techy nerds and product lovers came their equally eager pets, decked to the nines for the occasion.   My co-workers spotted this lovable pooch hanging out in the MacBook Air section; nothing like a few stray fur balls caught in the keyboard of my brand new $1,000+ machine.  Poor guy, probably thought he was on his way to audition for position of Grand Marshall in the Christmas Day parade and only ended up semi-impressing a few commuters who thought the MTA made a short cut to the 5 train through the main hall.  If it makes him feel any better, at least his owner didn't dress him like this...

No, you cannot force me to eat with a reptile

These days more public places are allowing owners to bring their pets inside for a visit.  Most of the time you see cute puppies and a kitten or two, usually on leashes or in pet-safe carriers.  Though this is the case, the world wouldn't be complete without some crazies that take it to a whole other level.   A friend sent me a photo today of a woman who brought her boa constrictor to lunch.  There really is no excuse for this; I'm pretty sure you can leave a snake at home- in a cage, where it can't escape and eat small children and squirrels- without it feeling all too lonely.  What do you do with the reptile when you're parking the car, ordering, or even have to make a quick run to the bathroom?  The description I found on this specimen includes, "they first strike at the prey, grabbing it with its teeth, then proceeds to constrict the prey until death before consuming it whole."  If you don't mind, I'd like to just eat my sandwich please.

No, you cannot be that PC

Everyone grew up with Crayola- markers, colored pencils, kid-friendly paint and the ever popular crayons.  I remember getting the special case that held up to 250 crayons at a time (yeah, I was that kid- winning coloring contests and taking names).  At some point, the company decided that good ole' ink and wax just weren't cutting it and started making more interactive toys, which I personally feel cause kids to be less imaginative.

To fuel this fire, in 1992 a new line of Multicultural products were released.  The company's website describes these as "an assortment of ethnic-sensitive color palettes."  I'm sorry, when did 6-year old's become so aware of being politically correct that creating an entirely separate box was necessary?  I don't recall ever being presented with this set of shades as a child and I colored just fine, it taught me how to mix to get the result I wanted.  My only options were Apricot, Peach, and Tan-  this line offers the aforementioned colors along with Burnt Sienna, Mahogany, Sepia, and Black and White for blending.  To top it off, these same colors are all included in the 64-pack. Now you've got the poor kid trudging around their 250-pack plus the PC 8 crayons which obviously is the only way to color in your character without getting judged by your friends.  Oh wait, your friends are probably too busy picking their noses or playing with the next best thing.  Pass the Razzmatazz, please.

No, you cannot break the pool rules

Growing up in Florida you spend a lot of time at the pool.  The advantages of this, as most good things in life, come with a few choice rules.  Don't run on the pool deck, don't bring glass containers in the pool area, no diving in the shallow end- pretty standard across the board.  A friend was at a Ft. Lauderdale pool when she spotted the regular signage, though this one had some extras that need not be said aloud.  Read down the list- you decide which is the most disturbing; I'll go ahead and give you my opinion:

1) The maximum water temperature of the pool at 104 degrees Fahrenheit also happens to be the regulation maximum temperature for a hot tub- these things are not used for the the same recreational purpose, therefore they should not be the same temperature.

2) If you are having unpredictable bowel movements, you should not be any where near a body of water.  No floaters, please.

3) Shouldn't they warn you that the water is recirculated prior to the whole feces situation?

It never ceases to amaze me what people will do in public; obviously there is a reason they had to update this sign with unconventional criteria in the first place (exact address of pool to come- Floridians and tourists alike, enter at your own risk).

**UPDATE**

Received a tip-off from an angel of a friend in SoFlo. Pool is located at Bahia Cabana - 3001 Harbor Drive (A1A), Ft Lauderdale, FL 33316.  SB 2012 anyone?

No, you cannot count my calories

There's something about going to a restaurant and ordering things that are clearly not good for you, yet somehow this reality doesn't exist in the moment you choose the onion ring appetizer or three-cheese enchiladas topped with cream sauce.  I employed this way of thinking when meeting a friend for breakfast at the new IHOP located on 14th street in Manhattan.  Unfortunately, the New York City Department of Health decided in 2008 to force food establishments with 15 or more locations nationwide to display all calorie information prominently in menus.  This would not be an issue if IHOP offered anything- besides a glass of orange juice and half of a grapefruit- for under 1,800 calories.  Country omelette- 1,100 calories; Breakfast sampler- 1,450; White chocolate chip mint holiday pancakes- don't even go there.

At some point my eyes meander to the bottom of the page where a disclaimer which could save one from a low-grade heart attack states, "The USDA recommends that adults limit caloric intake to 2,000 calories per day... stated nutritional values are approximate; values obtained by laboratory testing may be different."  Though I'd love to only have a Belgian waffle and half of a scrambled egg count as my day's worth of food, the silver dollar pancakes on the kids menu somehow seemed much more appealing.

No, you cannot fill your own cavity

Fixing a leaky faucet, changing your car's oil, haircuts- some things are better left to a professional.  Case in point, my co-worker told me she was in the toothpaste aisle at Walgreen's when she came across a product that is blatantly inappropriate to offer consumers.  There next to the dental floss and canker sore medication was Dentemp One Step, for repairing lost fillings and loose caps.  Not only does this company enable people to perform their own dental work for the low price of $5.99, but makes them believe this is actually a good idea with quotes like "Recommended by Dentists" and "You can eat on it!" sprawled across the packaging.  Directions include "remove as much of the old cement from the crown as possible"; I can just imagine someone laboring over their bathroom sink wondering why they didn't go to dental school- they're basically a pro!  Fast forward a few days when that pro work ends in a massive toothache and gaping hole in your mouth; guess the 8+ repair promise left a lot to be desired.

No, you cannot check my carry-on

I've learned for my wallet's sake, and overall sanity, to pack lightly to avoid checking luggage on short trips.  For a recent flight I strategically chose a seat near the cabin door in order to quickly escape back to my apartment and get ready for the week ahead.  Note to self: when closest to the exit you are last to board.  As the plane filled with noisy passengers, I saw one last spot in the overhead compartment that should fit my suitcase just right.  As I attempted to stuff it in the shrunken space, I was dutifully notified by my neighbor that it wouldn't fit due to the plane's life boats located in the same small area.  In a failed attempt to keep my luggage in the cabin, I walked halfway down the aisle looking for an open spot, creating quite the pile up and gaining zero new friends. 

Fast forward to Baggage Claim 2 where I was sent to wait with the tourists ready to pick up their recently-purchased, unnecessary amounts of Disney-themed paraphernalia.  The only thing worse than the flight attendant prying the luggage from me was hearing the shrill sound of the bell which notifies passengers of luggage arrival.  A few renegade strollers and a strangely shaped instrument later, my suitcase came around on the carousel begging to go home.  I understand the need for the life boats on board but I suggest a less crowded place to store them, like in first class and/or the cockpit.

No, you cannot produce snow in October

Snowtober, Snowpocalypse, Snowlaween- no matter what nickname was used, it was completely unnecessary.  The weather man warned that a random nor'easter storm would blow through the Saturday before Halloween.  I had yet to see one leaf fall (note the green foliage) and barely broken out my autumn wardrobe, it surely was not time for gloves.  Nonetheless, the rain froze on its way down and the wind was beyond cold; this was obviously Mother Nature's cruel joke on all girls who decided to dress up as a sexy cop, sexy nurse, or other form of generic costume in which you can place the adjective 'sexy' in front of.  So please keep your snow until at least December, I cannot be expected to enjoy a good pumpkin ale in 3 layers of clothing- it's just not natural.

No, you cannot make the street dirtier than it already is

If you live in Manhattan you can tell the difference between a city bus, delivery truck, and a taxi cab just by the very distinct and ostentatiously loud noises they make.  Every Tuesday and Thursday on my walk to work I am greeted by the New York Department of Sanitation's beloved street sweeper, a monster truck that comes trudging down the streets and avenues of the city, weaving in and out of cars who decided not to follow the alternate-side parking codes that day.  One would assume that this vehicle is used to clean the mean streets, leaving a shiny finish for pedestrians to stride upon.  Unfortunately, assuming that would be incorrect because this truck does nothing but slosh around the trash and grime pitted near the curbs.  Not only that, whatever 'cleaning fluid' comes out of the super-sized scrubbing brushes positioned below does not look at all sanitary.  Anytime I hear the roar of the engine approaching, I shimmy up against the closest building as the brushes spew out the fluid infusing with trash juice and debris, which in turn splash on to the sidewalk in attempt to soil my cute fall boots.  Once it finally rides by, the aforementioned liquid now gives the street an aroma of fresh garbage peppered with 5 dogs walked in that very spot that morning and lo mein left for the mice the night before. I didn't think it was possible but I'm pretty sure the street sweeper is actually making the street more soiled; how about we suspend service for a while so I can save my tax dollars and walk to work in undisturbed filth?

No, you cannot run a pet store on the street corner

Only in New York can a simple task like dropping a letter in a mailbox render difficult because of an unexpected obstacle. Today I crossed the street in front of my office to perform this everyday errand; if you time it just right, there's a few seconds of leeway to cross and return within one stop light cycle.  I've got this down to a science but was prevented from completing my usual mission when I noticed a crowd near the drop box.  There on the sidewalk were a multitude of animals accompanied by a man unpacking his cart full of their various cages, beds, and toys.  I stepped over a cat and dog fight and nearly tripped on a leash just to reach the mailbox.  Why yes, there's the pet store owner himself with 2 dogs, 3 cats, a canary, and the always necessary gerbil.  (Surely the gerbil has it best as his bed consists of a Cinderella pillow positioned atop a cardboard box pedestal.) 

You may be wondering why the man decided this was a prime location to park his furry friends?  When I walked by later on a coffee break, passerbys thought it sanitary to pet the animals and even compensate the man for letting them do so.  Oh the ways people find to make money here; if only I had a turtle and a few hamsters, I could quit my day job.

No, you cannot press the button after me

It’s a frequent trait that every human displays: impatience.  I myself do not fall short of this flaw; I’ve certainly channeled by previous road rage into walk rage on the streets of the mean city.  Though if ever there was one thing that brings out the antsy in us all it is waiting on an elevator.  We somehow believe by pressing the button multiple times in a row that the floating box will come down more quickly.  Along those lines of thinking, if you press the button harder the second, third, and fourth times, the doors may just be willed open faster.  I’m totally on board with this theory because, if anything, it routes my angst to the button rather than the wait time.

One unspoken law in the elevator waiting game is pressing the button when it’s already lit up, on its way to retrieve passengers.  Worse than standing idle is when some rando walks in and presses the button after you already have the aforementioned four times.  Do you think I like to hang out in lobbies staring at myself in the mirrored elevator doors while others whip by me with somewhere to go?  Do you assume that I am such an unpracticed citizen that the first action I take when walking into the elevator area is NOT pushing the button?  Confirm your building mate’s competence by hanging out like everyone else for a second.  If a couple of minutes pass and there seems to be no activity on the front, permission granted to press the button another six times; surely the sixth round will make all the difference.

No, you cannot forget your manners

I don’t know about your office but mine has a constant need to clean the bathrooms, which is timed perfectly to occur at the exact moment my morning coffee meets my bladder.  Though the sinks and porcelain thrones receive multiple wipe downs a day, I cannot figure out at what point the room becomes a disaster. Toilet rolls unraveled on the floor stretching across stalls, non-use of the seat protectors, stray paper towels clogging the sink- it’s amazing what professional women are capable of with only 2 minutes between meetings to take a bathroom break.

My friend was at a doctor’s office last week when she noticed a sign placed at eye level on the back of the stall door.  It’s not so much the reminder to clean up after yourself that is unyielding; it’s the use of the phrase ‘nasty ladies’ to address the female population and far too many exclamation points that makes me wonder if this was approved prior to posting. My plea to professional women everywhere is to remember your manners and practical rhymes learned in kindergarten- “If you sprinkle where you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie”; life advice that will always apply.

No, you cannot match your doll

It’s always a fun moment to open my email and find a gem like this.  My friend forwarded a photo taken on the subway of a man looking completely comfortable wearing a pair of python pants and a turtleneck while holding a doll in his lap with a matching ensemble. 

That was a sentence loaded with things that are wrong. 

I’m not sure which to address first, the outfit or the doll.  Let’s ignore the turtleneck, as torturing and unnecessary in September as it may be; no sane grown man should feel at ease walking out of his apartment in a number like this with a twin mini-me doll in tow. I wonder if the man is jealous that they happened to have a full python outfit to fit the doll but not one in his own size?  I venture to assume he made the outfits himself because I have yet to come across a store in New York that sells this type of pairing, though I’m sure St. Marks has something very close.  I would also like to note the innocent subway riders seated nearby, who seem to be trying very hard to ignore the fact that they are in the presence of a person with agalmatophilia.  As strange as it is, this is just another example of a moment where you almost allow yourself to get worked up about the ridiculousness of the situation, then remember you’re in New York and, frankly, this isn’t the strangest thing you’ve seen today.

No, you cannot leave me barefoot

The month of August was a whirlwind as I was rarely in the city.  I was sure in all of my travels that the stories of real people doing really ridiculous things would flood in, leaving me with a mean case of temporary carpal tunnel from all of the blogging to be had.  Funny enough, it took coming back to the city that never sleeps and hearing a co-workers morning commute horror story to confirm that New York never fails to deliver great material.

It was Friday morning; everyone woke up praising the weekend Gods because, though it was a short week due to the Labor Day holiday, four days is really all any sane person can take.  As I was logging into my email and getting the day started, I overheard a co-worker relaying a story about the shoes currently on her feet and how they were not her favorite.  Never missing an opportunity to distract myself with a convo on shoes, I asked her why she wore them if they did not suit her taste.  It was not the time to be asking this question.

Earlier that morning as she stepped off the express train to cross the platform for the local, a distracted commuter stepped on the back of her shoe, causing it to come right off her foot and fall through the very small space between the train and the platform.  The almighty subway voice is continuously reminding people to ‘mind the gap’ when stepping off the train, which is virtually ignored seeing as the ‘gap’ is really only 5 inches wide.  The man pushed right past her running towards the closing doors of the local train, not even offering a quick yet heartless apology.  As it starts to compute what has just happened, my co-worker was faced with a fight-or-flight situation, options including:

1. Catch an uptown train back to her apartment, where the station is five blocks from her front door. 
2. Make a mad dash for the local train as previously planned.
3. Jump on to the track, retrieve lost shoe, and use super upper-body strength to propel back on the platform.
4. Cry.

Because New Yorkers tend to take the fight rather than flight options, said co-worker goes with #2, giving the consequences of this choice a few more stops to set in until reaching her final destination.  Once in Union Square, she is forced to hobble onto the platform, up the subway stairs, and through the concrete jungle they call a park, all with one shoe.  Every female in Manhattan knows the cardinal rule: you may be out on the town in your cutest pair of 5-inch stilettos, to which no surprise will kill you 2 hours in.  You will form blisters, wobble at the ankles, even chance mild bleeding, but at no cost will you take off your shoes and walk barefoot through the streets of New York.  This is not college, people; there are REAL germs here.  Knowing this, my co-worker really had no choice but to hobble to the nearest store to obtain an intermediate pair of anything in order to get through the day.  Being 8:30 am, the nearby H&M’s and Gaps of the world were not yet open for business, leaving just one option- the Payless Shoe Source an avenue and 2 blocks away.  Though the possibility of contracting a mild foot fungus was high, she walked tall- past the Green Market vendors, past the bum outside of the McDonald’s, past the piles of trash which had been leaking their guts onto the sidewalk since 2pm the day before.  She just kept walking.  Poised as a petunia, she was almost there when a naysayer with no heart yelled, “Hey, where’s your other shoe?” as he passed her by.  Clearly this woman did not leave the house and forget one shoe.  Did this man also yell to the guy who walks around with a cat on his head or the woman who pushes her rainbow-colored poodle around in a shopping cart? Did he ask them why they did these strange things?  No, he did not; he decided to zero in on the one thing that, though odd, was more than likely not the product of crazy town thinking.  Ignoring this defeating question, she made it to the Payless where the cheapest, work-appropriate shoe left much to be desired.  After shelling out unnecessary cash, she finally found herself in the office, explaining a story about why these shoes just weren’t her favorite while I questioned why her foot was not currently soaking in a vat of hand sanitizer.  In hindsight, knowing where the original decision to catch the local train would take her, I’m pretty sure the slim possibility of death in option 3 now seems more appealing.

No, you cannot take a nap at a concert

There's nothing like a country concert in Jersey- the boots, the cowboy hats, the guidos and guidettes who seem somehow out of place.  It was an overcast day at the New Meadowlands Stadium, home of the New York Jets, where a slew of interesting tailgates were occurring.  Looking around, I wondered whether some of the people there actually liked Kenny Chesney or simply had heard there was an outdoor party they should attend in the parking lot that day.

Upon entering the packed stadium, we made our way to the third tier with all of the other broke 20-something Manhattanites, finding our seats along with a few empty around us.  As the Zac Brown Band sang us a little Chicken Fried, two men claimed the seats next to us, though their sureness of this choice looked unstable as obviously they were not supposed to be sitting there.  When the actual owners of the seats came a few minutes later, the nomads moved on to empty spaces a couple rows below, along with five other friends.  There they proceeded to smoke and carry on, disturbing our fellow concert-goers who simply came to have a good time and hear some great music.  Eventually, those seats were also taken by the actual ticket holders and all but the original two gentleman (word used loosely) were left to watch the show.  I suppose all of this moving rows tired them out- one of the men left the show completely, while the other, as you can see in the photo below, decided to take a little snooze.  I can't comprehend how one can fall asleep in a packed audience of 55,000 and blaring live music, but this man quieted my nasaying as he proved it can be done.  Saddest part is, his friends left him there and did not return to make sure he was conscious and/or had a ride home.  If the music bores you that much, it's probably safe to say you should have stopped the party at the tailgate.

No, you cannot display your full moon in public

In 1992 New York's highest state court ruled that women can be top-free in public; fortunately during this unnecessary case they did not approve of baring the bottom half, as I'm sure this would have resulted in naked people roaming Manhattan at all times.  While out in the Lower East Side this weekend, my friends and I spotted a large fire engine and 12 firemen standing idly on the corner.  You'd think there was some sort of emergency with all of the commotion, but alas they were a little too preoccupied to be putting out any fires.  There, standing outside of Spitzer's, was the real show stopper- a girl with her ass completely hanging out, dress flapping in the wind.  Best part was not only had she been standing there for quite some time, but had fully mooned the entire squadron of FDNY Engine 9, Ladder 6 without one of them pointing out her wardrobe malfunction.  I felt bad forcing my friend to stop texting and start taking some photos, but this moment doesn't come often enough to go without notice.  Let's learn something from our illegal friend here, shall we?

1. Avoid dresses made with back closure apparatus 
2. If you feel a breeze in places you usually don't, it's probably a good idea to assess the situation
3. And most importantly, always sport cute underwear because you never know who may see it

No, you cannot pimp your child out at a bar

If you've ever been to the Hamptons, you've been to Cyril's.  If you've been to Cyril's, you were more than likely there on a Saturday afternoon- sun shining brightly in the midday sky, drink in hand, 20-somethings with next to nothing on.  This my friends is a beach party; you don't come in your Lily dress, wearing heels or a bow tie, and you certainly don't bring your child.  In the backyard of this seafood spectacular is where you can find a bar dedicated to concocting only BBC's (look it up) and a live DJ ready to let that rum topper go to work.  Apparently this man saw the non-sober afternoon soiree as the perfect place to introduce his 1-year old son to the ladies.  As you can tell by the faces of the men surrounding the dance circle, they were not happy about this small but lethal competition.  Just as the dance-off had begun, the tiny tot was scooted out into the middle of the floor, abounding encouragement coming from whom I assume is his father (though alcoholic uncle attempting to pick up chicks is a viable second thought.)  Don't get me wrong, it was absolutely adorable watching the little man get into the music with a crowd egging him on, random girls picking him up and slinging him around the dance floor, aka gravel.  It just seems this would be more appropriate if at a wedding or a child's birthday party, not in a popular bar full of unruly frat boys and girls 3 sheets to the wind roaming around.  Just saying.

No, you cannot be a seat hog

I've been through my fair share of airports in the past 6 months, taking witness to the good, the bad, and the unnecessary.  I don't believe you can step foot in one of these flying facilities without seeing an off-beat character or two, making for some of the best people-watching hubs around.   Take my friend Jami, who just last week was traveling when she came upon a man in quite the precarious position.  Waiting in the airport for hours at a time can make one tired, tired enough to take a short snooze before the second-delayed flight of the day finally decides to board.  (Viable option, though I would recommend using this as an opportunity to visit the bar kiosk conveniently located near the gate for functioning alcoholics and parents with screaming children alike.)  If a nap is in order, it is commonly performed in the upright position as it is not polite nor sanitary to get creative in this environment. 

Unfortunately for Jami's fellow traveler, the decision to take up an entire seating section only ended in personal dismay.  He was too late in learning that this was not his comfy futon at home but rather three seats separated by narrow arm rests which were intended to only rest arms, not serve as a McDonald's play place for grown men.  I wasn't there to bear witness, but I'm assuming after this man realized he was stuck, a large power struggle commenced which ended in the chair's victory.  I would also like to note that he has become so comfortable in his horizontal hover that apparently shoes were no longer needed.  The take-aways here are obvious:

1) Don't hog the seats at the airport; there are far too many people that don't want to sit next to each other for you to take up an entire row.
2) Wearing shoes in public places is mandatory, not by the Department of Health, but rather by your body's immune system and the prevention of nightmares regarding foot fungus.
3) This could have all been prevented if he would have stopped by the aforementioned bar, as shoes and common sense are enforced when drinking in public.

No, you cannot claim a circus tent as your umbrella

On a rainy day in the city you can expect to find numerous umbrella casualties in the trash bins on every street corner.  For some reason or another, the wind whipping between skyscrapers does not lend for friendly conditions on your protective shield.  Umbrellas come in all shapes and sizes, colors and patterns, but there is an agreed upon code between New Yorkers which says, when in the open state, umbrellas can extend a maximum of 18" - 24" inches from the dry person's body.  It is when a person breaks this unspoken rule that things get a little messy.  Sidewalks are only so wide here, not to mention the random piles of trash bags, scattered puddles, and scurrying puppies to avoid.  Then you run into the man who feels that in order to stay completely dry it is necessary to carry a golf umbrella the size of a small kiddie pool over his head.  Or better yet the old lady with a monstrosity in her hand flailing around in the wind, coming straight at you with no regard for personal space or possible eyeball loss.

Take the two men pictured below who both ricocheted off of my regulation-sized umbrella under an unavoidable scaffolding during after-work foot traffic.  I personally do not appreciate your gargantuan cover up; it may keep you dry but tends to take out the rest of the population as you stroll by.  An umbrella is meant to be a small and portable protection from rain, not an apparatus which could serve as a carnival ride for small children.  Lucky for you, also found on a rainy day in the city are pop-up stations selling the correct size umbrella for $5!  Do yourself a favor and invest in one, which eventually will end up in the corner trash bin, therefore allowing me to avoid being inappropriately groped by your poor choice of collapsible fabric.

 

No, you cannot interrupt my precious work out

My friend Kathryn is a semi-professional Yogi and lately has been telling me about the unnecessary behavior of her fellow classmates.  Smacking gum crassly in a serene studio, belching loudly in the middle of a downward dog, organic moans during a full wheel pose- all forbidden interferences while attempting to become one with your inner self.  I take a group class here or there and have found not only excess noise as a disruption, but also the general population's inability to follow a beat.  Growing up as a dancer, I am versed in the practice of a congregation of individuals collectively moving as one.  I completely understand that not everyone has had formal training nor is going to a class for any other reason than good ol' fun exercise.  Though this is the case, I would like to consider asking all gyms to require at least partial rhythm as a prerequisite to entering the room's threshold.

Nothing ruins a workout more than when class has begun, there's a good flow of energy in the room, and WHAM!  there's that random person who walks in 10 minutes late, not only looking surprised that there's no where left to stand, but also creating a ruckus while attempting to collect a mat, body bar, and various free weights to participate in the proceedings.  This person can never find a space on the perimeter of the room so they meander their way into the middle, (somewhere closer to you, nonetheless), laying their mat down inches from where valuable floor territory has already been claimed.  20 minutes into the 45 minute class they are finally ready to synchronize with the others; though they try their darnedest to step onto their right, hop on their left, and spin around quickly, they remain 4 counts behind the music for the remainder of the course.  No sooner does the latecomer get on track when you notice the flailer that has been in the front corner of the room all along.  This person is legitimately making up their own moves with no regard for the instructor's direction or the downbeat of the music.  You then realize you were thankful for the distraction of the latecomer; personally, I'd much rather watch somebody catch up in the race with some sort of uniformity than flutter aimlessly until they reach the finish line.  Sorry flailer, if I was the one checking rhythm and comprehension skills at the door, you would have found yourself on a stationary bike far away from the group exercise room.

No, you cannot force your pet to support gay pride

It's Gay Pride week here in the Big Apple, which is basically an enormous outdoor party that gives anyone in the LGBT club free reign to act a fool in public while wearing 60% less clothing than usual.  I happen to live in Chelsea, the epicenter of these shenanigans, which year after year forces me to either stay in my apartment all day or take the chance of over stimulation by rainbow-colored things accosting my eyes. With the passing of the same-sex marriage law this week in NY the party grew to immense proportions, causing every Tom, Dick, and Harry (or is it Harry Ann?)  to come out in support. 

While walking in the West Village from brunch the day before the parade extravaganza, my friends and I noticed a small group of people stopped in the middle of the sidewalk staring into an apartment window.  Sitting in the window was a white cat straight out of a Fancy Feast commercial wearing a gay pride-inspired jester collar, complete with tiny bells, around her neck.  She was staring at the passerby's with a look of utter disdain, sitting so still I would have thought it was a statue if not for the assumption  that nobody would actually buy such a ridiculous window ornament.  Personally, I'm not a big fan of cats but after surveying the annoyance being fired out of every pore of this miserable animal's body I actually felt a little bad for her.  It's one thing if you want to support gay pride week by donning rainbow apparel and belting the YMCA at the top of your lungs, but it's a whole other ball game if you get your helpless animal involved who has no formidable opinion  on the matter.  Unless you've seen your cat batting for the other team with the neighbor's feline out in the alley, I think it's best to leave her out of it.

No, you cannot groom yourself in public

Brushing hair while walking down the street, painting fingernails in bars, even picking a wedgie or two- all personal things I've seen performed in public that can be dismissed as semi-passable.   Then there are the things you should only do in the confines of your own home.  Take for instance the time I was riding the Long Island Rail Road when I heard a faint snipping sound coming from a few rows in front of me.  After craning my neck into the aisle to figure out what it was, I was appalled to find a woman clipping. her. toenails.  Not only was she clipping those suckers off, she was letting them fall right onto the floor to mix in with the other various articles of filth.

My friend Alex stumbled into her own unsanitary situation on her flight to New York this morning.  Being sequestered on a plane for over an hour with no sign of take-off leads one to look for alternate forms of entertainment.  While searching for something more interesting than the Sky Magazine stuffed into the seat pocket in front of her, she noticed that her neighbor had too decided to find a distraction.  Compact mirror in hand, this woman took to shaping her eyebrows with a pair of tweezers, all while buckled as the seat belt light was still on.  Listen, nobody wants to see signs of a unibrow but there is a time and a place for erratic tweezing and a seat 5 inches away from a place that I cannot escape from is not that place.

No, you cannot solicit something as free that is already free

Sunday was a gorgeous day in New York, all the better to partake in outdoor activities.  My roommate and I decided to take a leisurely bike ride in Central Park (which is actually not so leisurely towards the hills around 106th street.)  About half way through our 2nd lap we decided it was time for a mandatory margarita break.  We sat on a terrace in the park, listening to some random man play a piano covered in aluminum foil while sipping on our overpriced limey libations when we noticed a woman with a sign that read 'Free Hugs'.  Although her poster offered a complimentary cuddle it seemed no one was taking her up on the proposition.  Even her friend/manager sat down in defeat as the scheming to get innocent park-goers to hug a jovial, sweaty woman only proved to be done in vain.  You have to give her kudos for being such a good samaritan, though I don't think any sane person is going to give or receive hugs from strangers in this city when it will more than likely lead to a mean case of bed bugs.  No time for hugging lady, my 2-hour bike rental is up and the awkwardness of this situation is far too inevitable.

No, you cannot use my AC unit as your brothel

Living in close quarters in New York City you come to expect various unavoidable disturbances.  For example, the grocery store aisles are never wide enough, you have to fight for a washing machine every time at the laundry mat, and you get to know far too much about the guy next to you on the subway.  Yes, you may even expect to hear your neighbors through the paper thins walls, but that's where I draw the line.  While watching a movie in my apartment one night, my roommate and I heard a strange cooing noise that was far too close for comfort.  We've heard this noise before yet it sounded like there was a pigeon about to come straight through our living room window.  Upon further investigation we deducted that the pigeon MUST be stuck in the window AC unit.  Since that did not seem logical, we ran to another window facing the unit to get a better look.

That's when we saw it.  There was not one pigeon. There were two. And to stay they were stuck is an understatement.  Soon the cooing turned into a full-blown mating session- wings flapping, feathers flying in a wildly choreographed rumpus on the window ledge below our air conditioner.  While leaning into the alley out the12-inch wide bathroom window we were able to secure photographic evidence of the culprits in action. If you see these menacing detriments to society, stare at them disapprovingly while they continue their walk of shame around the city.  Just because it's currently pigeon mating season doesn't mean you can utilize our space for your antics. Sorry pigeons, we pay a lot of money to live in this apartment and if you choose to shack up here, we'll have to start charging you rent.

No, you cannot casually sport a fur costume

While making my way north on Broadway like a baby salmon swimming upstream against an unpredictable current, a furry creature caught my eye.  You don't see many of those in NYC unless they are on four legs and a leash, but this was quite a different case.  It took a moment for my brain to comprehend what was coming towards me; I fully anticipate this sort of spectacle in Times Square where the occasional knock-off Elmo or Mickey are on hand for a photo op, but not when strolling the narrow streets of SoHo.  Better just to show you what I saw...

A typical New York scene- police barricades, road work, hoards of people... and a Care Bear.  Not just any Care Bear, mind you, but TenderHeart, the one with the large heart on its belly.  Even as a semi-seasoned New Yorker I couldn't help but stop dead in my tracks and watch as the character made his way into stores, greeting patrons for what seemed no reason.  He wasn't asking for money, he wasn't performing, and he certainly wasn't doing the Care Bear stare (don't even pretend like you don't know what that is, you totally had the VHS tape.)  I decided to do a little research on this six-foot teddy and boy does he get around...

TenderHeart has been all over this great city and clearly has no shame.  Google image search confirms that he has volunteered at charity events, gone sightseeing with the best of them, and even snagged a girlfriend while on rendezvous in Coney Island.  TenderHeart, if you're reading this- I suppose Disney World isn't the only place where normal people and furry costume people can walk amongst each other nonchalantly, but last time I checked I didn't have a fanny pack on or a turkey leg in hand so please use your magical rainbow to return to a theme park from 1986.  Thanks.

No, you cannot allow your child to run amuck

I do not have children but if I did I would make a conscious effort to ensure they remain as germ-free as possible.  My roommate, like any sane person, feels the same way so when she saw this scene go down in the train station yesterday she knew there would be immediate entry to my blog.

"I was waiting for the train when my thoughts were disrupted by a rambunctious little boy, no more than 5 years old, flailing around in the middle of the station.  Of course when you see a child by themselves in public, your first reaction is to look for the responsible party.  After scanning the crowd of rushing travelers, mindless tourists, and bums asking for change, the only logical choice was a woman standing a few feet away staring at the train schedule, though she did not seem at all concerned with the boy's actions.  I figured I should stick around to see how this played out, considering my other options were to also stare at the train schedule or make nice with the bums.  

First, the boy practiced his worm which resembled more of a beached whale, but kudos for his effort.  Then, he seemed to get a little tired, laying his head on the floor for a quick nap. (Don't worry, the woman is still facing the other direction.)  At this point I knew I was working with some great material and started snapping photos of his 20-minute acrobatic act.  As if this child has not yet contracted some sort of disease that comes with wallowing on a floor filled with parasites from the streets of New York, he felt the sudden urge to lick the floor.  Yes, LICK.  As I held back my impending vomit, the woman finally turned around and caught him in the act.  Though this warranted some sort of disciplinary action, the woman decided not to douse the boy right then and there with as much antibacterial hand sanitizer she could find, but rather that it was simply time to go- she took him by the hand and walked towards their train.   I'm sure being responsible for a child with endless energy allows for the occasional slip-up.  Excuses aside, if this was my child, I would still be sitting in the emergency room waiting for his tongue to be bleached."

No, you cannot pop wheelies on the L.I.E.

Happy Memorial Day everyone!  I imagine your weekend involved some sort of travel; if it did not, count yourself amongst the lucky ones.  I'm not quite aware how fate figures it out, but surely a shuttle company, 3 airports, all taxi drivers, and a hotel clerk cannot be in cahoots to make my life more difficult.  After taking every mode of transportation to get back to Manhattan today except boat and horse, I was welcomed by a ban of night riders with minimal regard for the flow of traffic or life in general.

My trip home post-two delayed flights included being squashed in the back seat of a shuttle van with 12 fellow travelers, an erratic driver jamming to Taio Cruz, no shock absorbers and about 3,124 potholes.  As we came off of an exit ramp on to the Long Island Expressway we were greeted by four motorcyclists who apparently thought using the highway as their personal practice field/possible funeral at 6:30 pm on a holiday was a grand idea.  Our driver was attempting to be cautious, though I could tell his NY driving skills were telling him otherwise.  As we finally make it on to the L.I.E. the group of motorcyclists end up directly in front of the van where practice was set to begin.  One popped a wheelie, receiving a gasp from some of the passengers, a 'Really...really?' from most.  As one leads, the others will follow and before you know it I felt like I was at the recital of the Evil Knievel Trick School, which unfortunately was not actually on my list of things to do this evening.  A few tips to the band of misguided riders:

1. The Long Island Expressway is not your playground; if you would like to practice your fancy moves please take to the New Jersey Turnpike.
2. Pissing a whole lot of people off in traffic does in no way, shape, or form make you look like a badass.  I would personally like to get home in one piece and also avoid seeing your body in multiple pieces, if possible.
3. If you must perform tricks in front of a wide audience you could at least be a little more creative and ride backwards with no hands or something.

Moral of the story is the actual traveling aspect of a holiday weekend is always zero fun, but if people could refrain from public annoyance just long enough for me to get to my destination it would be much appreciated.  Until, of course, I get dropped off in front of Penn Station and realize there is no avoiding public annoyance while walking past the cluster mess they call the taxi line.

No, you cannot leave enough space for a mack truck to drive between your legs

Remember as a young lady when your mama reminded you on a daily basis to sit like a lady, sit up straighter, cross your legs...basically sit differently then you are currently sitting?  Some people were not lucky enough to receive this goodwill badgering which is why dangerous cases of drafty drawers occur on a regular basis.  Take this woman for instance, who I'm sure is a very nice person, and hey, even tech savvy using 2 phones while on a subway underground...?  Either way, she has left a substantial amount of space between her legs while wearing a skirt which is a cardinal no-no in the ways of a lady. Sometimes, a little mystery is a GOOD thing... no one on this train paid for a ticket to the free show.

No, you cannot sport a grandma mullet

A friend of mine snapped this winning photo while walking in NYC the other day.  This grandma took the mom haircut to another level, schnazzing it up a bit with a silver mullet rat tail thing.  Definitely a prime example of 'party in the back', though I'm not sure that this extra appendage really aids her in climbing the social ladder of Manhattan.  It would be helpful , however, if say she only had dental floss to use as a hair tie, children in the park were in need of  a rope for tug-of-war, or whilst attempting to recreate a Rapunzel scene off the Brooklyn Bridge while her lover stands below.  She may just be starting a trend...

No, you cannot accost me on my morning commute

This story comes from our very own Sasha Fierce via a co-worker who had an interesting morning...

"I woke up a bit late today- showered, got dressed, grabbed my umbrella and tried to catch the 8:30 am train. As you know, around that time the subways are packed with people but to my delight the car I entered was barely full. Early morning victory!  Short-lived...

The doors open and 6 - 7 people flood in before me.... the car is getting full so I try and wiggle my way through to the middle where there is open space. As I get on I notice a man in a wheelchair, who couldn't have been more than 30 years old, on the opposite side of the car. He was dressed in a black Ramones t-shirt, tattered jeans, and had a chlorine colored Mohawk, fairly normal for the New York crowd.  A plus to my morning, he was attempting to sing off of a piece of paper; judging by the mood of the commuter crowd, the tunes were not welcome. Around 23rd street his voice started shrieking as more people entered the train; unfazed, I began walking towards the middle of the car trying to get to open space. Unfortunately, his wheelchair was in the way, and in order to get to the middle of the car I had to step past him- a common move on a busy train.

He was singing as I made my first attempt to step past him but he suddenly stopped, bent over, and put his hands right in front of my shins to stop me. I looked at him puzzled for a second, but he didn’t say anything, just kept his hands there. I said excuse me but he still didn’t move. Determined to get to the middle of the car, I again attempted to step past this crazy a-hole. He then went completely insane.

He started punching me in the calf and thigh then swung at the family jewels, at which point I pushed aside my compassion for his situation and knocked his hands away while running in the opposite direction. Keep in mind there are 30 - 40 other people in the car all watching this insanity occur. I was completely bewildered by his actions and asked him what the f he was doing. He looked at me and then... spit in my face. The on-lookers let out a collective gasp which lead to a domino effect of screaming throughout the car.

I didn’t know what to do!  I wiped the spit off my face and tried to collect myself before I did something I would regret.  A couple of nice ladies gave me a wet nap so I could remove the filth from my face.  After about 2 minutes of the crowd screaming at him the mood calms and people are asking if I'm alright.  Meanwhile, the insanity continues as he wheels around asking for money for his sub-sub-par performance.  The New Yorkers live up to their stereotype and tell him to go f himself, while one large, scary looking guy says to him, "If you even look at me I'll kill you."  He stops and sits humming to himself for the remainder of the ride. We stop at 59^th street.  It's not over.

As I turn to walk out the door a small Latina woman who saw this whole thing go down tears the umbrella out of my hands and proceeds to BEAT THE GUY OVER THE HEAD WITH IT!! Unreal. She started screaming and smacking him with it; as wheelchair guy tries to take it from her, life-threatening scary man comes over, rips the umbrella out of both of their hands, then PICKS UP THE WHEELCHAIR AND DUMPS HIM OUT OF THE CAR ONTO THE PLATFORM!

At this point it’s a giant scene @ the 59^th street station with everyone on the platform stopping to get a glimpse.  I try and sneak out the other end of the car and go upstairs when I see out of the corner of my eye the wheelchair coming at me full-speed, trying to run over me like a battering ram.  I jump out of the way and he slams into the wall....I tell the psycho that I wasn’t even the one who hit him, but he’s foaming at the mouth and tries to attack me again. Jokes on him, though; guess he didn't factor in the many staircases up to the street in his final plot to stop me from passing him on the train."

WOW.  Seriously, 8:30 in the morning is far too early to wage war on an innocent commuter; I'm assuming the end of this story for the crazy includes a few missing teeth and a short dangle over the tracks until MTA security intervened.  Let's hope.

No, You Cannot Bring Your Pony on the Train... and other abnormalities of the great city of New York

The name of this blog was inspired by a man in Wales who attempted to bring his pet pony on a train at the Wrexham General station last weekend, only to be told NO by the conductor.  He then later continued his acts of ridiculousness- first attempting to buy two tickets from the ticket booth (one for him and one for the pony), then later seen at a hospital asking for treatment for his pony (*Note: this was a human hospital).

It is people like this strange soul that make me wonder what possibly can be going through his head?  Everyday in New York City I see similar, if not more ghastly, examples of unforeseen farce from at least a handful of my 8 million + neighbors.  I am taking this opportunity to share these anomalies with my readers, whoever they may be, as I am sure everyone has a comment to add.  With that being said, feel free to send your stories of wanting to tell a complete stranger NO- the more material, the better.  I highly doubt I'll ever run out of material living here.

xo,
Lowe