ATC in NYC

The fact that it has taken me almost three months to write a new blog entry is more than slightly embarrassing. Back in the day when I had a Xanga (and I think we all remember those days), you couldn’t keep me from documenting every detail of my mind-numbingly unexciting high school life. I think once I blogged three times in one day. It was downright unhealthy. But I confess it’s also unhealthy to not keep a living, breathing document of the good times had in NYC life. And I am having some really good times in my NYC life.

Case in point: I spent all of last week wishing a fond farewell to someone who has become a very dear friend to me. But instead of it being sad, it was more of a celebration. A celebration of friendships and a celebration of the beauty this city offers when the sun decides to come out. Monday was a Sunnyside game night featuring my favorite new Tetris-meets-Battleship obsession Blokus. Tuesday was a trip to see what I know to be the most innovative new musical on Broadway this season. (Insert heated debate.) Wednesday was another Sunnyside game night. And Blokus made an appearance. But so did Uno Stacko. And some really gross fruint punch. Thursday was a hiatus but then the weekend kicked into full gear with Bourbon Street shenanigans on Friday, Penn Station-area fun on Saturday and a truly lovely Washington Heights Sunday brunch topped off by an incredibly blissful day in Central Park. Blokus made an appearance. And so did a bagpiper whom I now hate.

This city moves so quickly that you barely get time to recognize what an awesome time you’re having let alone blog about it. But may this serve as my promise to you, dear reader(s), I will make this the summer of blogging. I am going to fill your life with so many inane thoughts about and images of life in this city that you’re going to wish you could revert back to the days when all I blogged about was my junior year AP English paper. Which I posted in its entirety. And you may find here.

Inclement Weather Is Front Page News | Like most other cities, New York is prone to predicting massive life-shattering amounts of snow for the next day and then the next day comes and absolutely nothing happens. So then the following day when snow actually does fall it is the equivalent of the King of Pop being elected president of Tiger Woods’ extra-marital affairs in terms of news coverage. A.K.A. roving news reporters will go to Coney Island and do a live remote for hours upon end without a single piece of newsworthy business to discuss except the fact that, oh hey, it looks like there’s frozen rain falling from the sky.

Traveling To and From This City Is a Breeze | That is… unless you’re attempting to fly in the midst of the aforementioned blizzard-like conditions. In which case I pity your soul. But if you’re not, I defy you to show me how getting in and out of this city is anything but a piece of cake. I had the pleasure of taking an impromptu working trip to Boston thanks to this show wherein I purchased a train ticket one day and found myself coasting along the Cape the next, arriving at my destination in the time it would normally take me to do my laundry on a Saturday. It was so quick. And so peaceful. And I didn’t even have to check my bags. I heart train trips.

Nicholas Sparks Movies Suck | Okay, so maybe this is more of a well-known fact, but I actually kind of liked The Notebook. Regardless of that admission, this really cool friend of mine talked me into seeing the new one with the girl from Mamma Mia and Mean Girls and that one guy from Step Up and… Yeah. It was really bad. And not really bad in the sense that, “Oh, they could have done better.” But really bad in the sense that nothing could have saved a story this bizarre and unlikeable… not even Meryl Streep… or free puppies at the door. In fact, it was so bad that we had to cleanse ourselves of its illogical stench by buying another exorbitantly priced movie ticket (read $17.50) on something that didn’t suck so bad. It was worth it.

You Always Have Friends In New York | A lot of people think that moving here means you have to wade through a sea of unknown faces until you find some wayward soul to call your friend. I have found the opposite to be true. There are indeed a lot of people here, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the majority of them are complete strangers. (Well, actually, the majority of them are… but that’s beside the point.) I count myself very lucky that I have more pals around this city, in my office, around the corner, up the street, etc. than I would if I still lived elsewhere. New York is a hotbed of social opportunity. You just have to embrace it as such.

Nothing like a little R&R to put things into perspective. I spent the better part of my Christmas break adrift on the high seas with my madre and padre. It was just the stint I needed to come back and face the ridiculous New York cold with renewed energy.

The cruise itself was pretty fun. I’ve never been on one before and I liken it to summer camp for adults. You’re holed up with a bunch of people you will never see again for the rest of your life but you resolve to become best friends for seven days if only to make it through the mirage of organized games with some semblance of sanity. Next time I go, I’ll probably bring an entourage (or a good book… I caught up on TV movies and season 4 of “How I Met Your Mother” this time around), but the white sandy beaches and Caribbean air were just the ticket to relaxation. Which I needed. Like wo.

Now that I’m back in the city, I have to decide which one of my one trillion New Year’s resolutions I’m going to keep. I usually don’t make any, but this year I thought there’s so much I want to do that there’s no harm in at least saying I will do them and and if I don’t follow through no one will be the wiser.

One of them is to blog more. (I’m well on my way!)

Another is to use the one-year gym membership I spent a pretty penny on last summer and have neglected ever since. They sent me an e-mail this morning saying that my first six months with them I only got 6 out of a possible 24 new member medals. Wah Wah. As if I needed a reminder of my laziness. Or of my failed bid at this year’s Winter Olympics. It will get better though… as soon as it’s warm enough to walk to the gym every morning. Soooooo… April?

I also want to grocery shop instead of eating out all the time, learn the entire Adobe creative suite, take more pictures, go to church more, resurrect my other blog, go out more with new friends in this wonderful city, keep up more with old friends via phone and snail mail, get back into literature and floss daily.

Sound doable?

I think I figured out why New Yorkers are so much skinnier than the rest of the country. It’s not because we walk everywhere or eat “greener” than everyone else (though those reasons do figure into the equation somewhere); rather, it’s because no one ever eats a darn thing up here.

When I first started my Big Boy Job, I would quietly laugh to myself as my coworkers chained themselves to their desks and refused to eat lunch or (on a rare occasion) allowed themselves a quick 10 minutes to grab an exorbitantly priced sandwich. But I have lived the life of someone who fears coming back to an insurmountable inbox of e-mails. I watched the remainders of my sanity flicker. And, in short, I was afraid.

Case in point, today for “lunch” I had a cup of coffee and a chocolate chip cookie, stolen in a covert 5-mintue break from the computer. At 3:30 pm.

It extends even further than just the inability to escape the clutches of Microsoft Outlook. In corporate America, I have discovered that shunning food is often the proper way to say, “I am a professional,” right up there with using words like “Best,” or “Regards,” at the end of your e-mails. Take a catered board meeting for example: if there is a heaping tray of delectable treats with which you would otherwise be shoving your face if you were at home on your couch watching nine straight hours of Bravo TV, you must refrain from doing so because you are in the company of your working peers. And busy and important people never show that they love food. Nay, they scoff at baskets of mini muffins provided for working breakfasts.

Will these trends ever reverse themselves? I wonder this in sincere Culinary Carrie Bradshaw fashion. If they never do, I hereby deem this The City That Never Eats.

I was on the phone with Liberty Mutual this evening, trying to explain to them that they had made yet another error in my insurance bill (don’t worry, kids, they have great customer service) when it dawned on me: I spent so much time and mental energy on prepping for my move to the city that I forgot I was undergoing another big transition… becoming an adult.

I have decided that being an adult is no fun because you have to pay for things you don’t want to pay for. Like prescription medication. And airfare. And socks. Wasn’t it only a few months ago that these things appeared miraculously out of thin air? I mean, I always reminded myself that I was really lucky to have my parents foot the bill on so much stuff during my formative years, but I don’t think I could have really grasped the full extent of that coup before having to hash through the specifics of my flexible spending account withholdings with the human resources lady at work.

In all honesty, though, I have always suffered from an eternal case of oh-my-gosh-I-hope-no-one-finds-out-how-young-I-am. I mean, how adult can I be if my Monday alone featured a snack break to Duane Reade for Mountain Dew and a jumbo bag of Peanut M&M’s, a double-header viewing of “Gossip Girl” (I am proud) and “Dancing with the Stars” (no, I am not proud) with my lovely roommate, and two (yes, as in the majority of my day’s) meals comprised solely of Eggo waffles?

Maybe this assessment does more to prove my ever-stellar dietetic intake than the absence of this so-called adulthood, but you get the picture. Just because I have to remind myself to make dentist appointments and pay for my own dry cleaning does not mean that I have necessarily grown up.

And, in some ways, I hope I never do.