I-phone alarm sounded like church bells.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
...Pining
Dear Customer Service,
I miss you. It seems like not so long ago that we spent time together. You would help me shop, bank, take care of my car, even serve me coffee. Where are you? Where are you, CS? I miss you.
Sometimes, I'll walk into a Duane Reade, not thinking about you at all, them WHAM! like that it hits me...your complete absence. I ache at your loss... at my loss of you.
Today, I was in a Budget Rental Car. I almost expected to see you there, but no. You were no where to be seen. The rep almost gave me a Grand Marquis. She didn't ask if I wanted an EZ Pass, she tried to overcharge me, and when I politely refused insurance she replied "On this holiday weekend? I hope you get there."
Sometimes, I call your number but it must have changed. Someone in India answers. They're very nice, but it's just not the same. That person and I don't speak the same language. Remember that, CS? We used to speak the same language! You seemed to understand me perfectly but now...
I tried talking to someone online, but you can't have a relationship with a computer.
Maybe I need to move down south. Last I heard you were still there.
I miss you, CS. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
Very sincerely,
Molly
I miss you. It seems like not so long ago that we spent time together. You would help me shop, bank, take care of my car, even serve me coffee. Where are you? Where are you, CS? I miss you.
Sometimes, I'll walk into a Duane Reade, not thinking about you at all, them WHAM! like that it hits me...your complete absence. I ache at your loss... at my loss of you.
Today, I was in a Budget Rental Car. I almost expected to see you there, but no. You were no where to be seen. The rep almost gave me a Grand Marquis. She didn't ask if I wanted an EZ Pass, she tried to overcharge me, and when I politely refused insurance she replied "On this holiday weekend? I hope you get there."
Sometimes, I call your number but it must have changed. Someone in India answers. They're very nice, but it's just not the same. That person and I don't speak the same language. Remember that, CS? We used to speak the same language! You seemed to understand me perfectly but now...
I tried talking to someone online, but you can't have a relationship with a computer.
Maybe I need to move down south. Last I heard you were still there.
I miss you, CS. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
Very sincerely,
Molly
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
... A Collector
My Grandad is a painter and a gentleman, a Civil War enthusiast, a lover of Chocolate milk shakes and oreos and a kind man. He is going to die soon and I'm sure it's for this reason that my mom googled him. What came up was an article that he had written for Reminisce magazine about his 1933 baseball card collection. He collected the cards as a kid, got rid of them, then as an adult worked to collect 239 of the 240. He still has the cards (including 3 Babe Ruths).
As I get ready for my Grandad to go I'm assembling my own collection of memories. I've got #192 the smell of pipe smoke and #2 a roll of Peppermint Certs, a #14 the time he tripped carrying me into the house, fell and scraped his hands, #77 drawing lessons before school, the priceless #98 monkey face he'd make at the car as we'd drive away from his house and a #263 apology for not writing more letters. I've got the 1986 trip to Cape Cod and a rare 1998 "Pitch Proud".
I am so sad to think that my collection is nearly complete, but I'm proud to say that my Grandad was truly in a League of his own.
http://www.reminisce.com/2011/08/i-organized-a-big-league-of-my-own-in-the-1930s/
As I get ready for my Grandad to go I'm assembling my own collection of memories. I've got #192 the smell of pipe smoke and #2 a roll of Peppermint Certs, a #14 the time he tripped carrying me into the house, fell and scraped his hands, #77 drawing lessons before school, the priceless #98 monkey face he'd make at the car as we'd drive away from his house and a #263 apology for not writing more letters. I've got the 1986 trip to Cape Cod and a rare 1998 "Pitch Proud".
I am so sad to think that my collection is nearly complete, but I'm proud to say that my Grandad was truly in a League of his own.
http://www.reminisce.com/2011/08/i-organized-a-big-league-of-my-own-in-the-1930s/
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
...Crying over New York (Magazine)
WARNING: With a post about threatening Astorian men yesterday and a 9/11 post below, this might prove to be a serious week. If you're looking for laughs check out http://www.mypreciousroommate.com/ If you think I'm taking myself too seriously don't worry. It's temporary.
November 2002 marked my first and only trip to New York (prior to moving here). Two friends from college were interning at not-for-profit theatres and I decided to take have an adventure before my own year long theatre apprenticeship started. I remember going to Ground Zero and feeling like an impostor. There were still missing persons posters hanging on chain link fence.
That trip I saw 5 shows, learned nothing of New York geography and fell in love with fried egg sandwiches. I went with one friend to look at apartments and was mistaken as a New Yorker by the realtor. I railed against a show in a heated debate with the other friend only to be startled, followed and scared to death by a homeless man. I was a kid.
Labor Day, four years later, I moved to the city. A week and a half later was the 5th Anniversary of 9/11. I remember laying in bed listening to planes descend toward Laguardia, terrified I would hear a crash. My roommates had been in college on Staten Island 5 years before. Their dorms faced the city. My fear was insignificant in comparison to their sadness.
Today, I got my New York Magazine, a special double issue of all things 9/11. As I turn through the pages I'm struck by how many stories I've never heard;The Falling Man, the last survivor pulled from Ground Zero, the impostor widow...
Today, catching up with a friend from home we discussed our work, our families and friends, her engagement and at the end of the conversation she asked me expectantly, "Well, do you still love New York!?!"
Love her? I hardly know her.
November 2002 marked my first and only trip to New York (prior to moving here). Two friends from college were interning at not-for-profit theatres and I decided to take have an adventure before my own year long theatre apprenticeship started. I remember going to Ground Zero and feeling like an impostor. There were still missing persons posters hanging on chain link fence.
That trip I saw 5 shows, learned nothing of New York geography and fell in love with fried egg sandwiches. I went with one friend to look at apartments and was mistaken as a New Yorker by the realtor. I railed against a show in a heated debate with the other friend only to be startled, followed and scared to death by a homeless man. I was a kid.
Labor Day, four years later, I moved to the city. A week and a half later was the 5th Anniversary of 9/11. I remember laying in bed listening to planes descend toward Laguardia, terrified I would hear a crash. My roommates had been in college on Staten Island 5 years before. Their dorms faced the city. My fear was insignificant in comparison to their sadness.
Today, I got my New York Magazine, a special double issue of all things 9/11. As I turn through the pages I'm struck by how many stories I've never heard;The Falling Man, the last survivor pulled from Ground Zero, the impostor widow...
Today, catching up with a friend from home we discussed our work, our families and friends, her engagement and at the end of the conversation she asked me expectantly, "Well, do you still love New York!?!"
Love her? I hardly know her.
Monday, August 29, 2011
...Just Walking Home
There is a new trend on Broadway (in Astoria) of men talking to me late at night as I'm walking home.
2am Friday, a 5'4" Egyptian guy asked me the following questions in this order:
Are you Russian?
Where are you from?
What's your name?
Are you drunk?
How old are you? (When I asked him why he wanted to know he followed it with : "Just to be safe")
Finding myself not threatened by his stature, the fact that he was smiling, my Midwestern tendency to respond when addressed and I don't know... a confidence that I would walk in the opposite direction once I got to the intersection by my house I answered his questions and asked them of him. When I got to my place, I pointed down the opposite block and said, "I live that way."
"I'll just walk with you." He replied.
"No, I'll walk by myself."
"No, I'll just walk you."
"No you won't. I'll walk this way." I replied, and headed up the block in yet another direction that was not my towards my place. I ducked around the corner, waited to see if he had followed me, then headed home.
Today, I was returning the 3 blocks from my friend's apartment to my place. Two somewhat meaty guys were 8 steps ahead of me when one of them karate kicked a box of recycling. As my pace was faster, I quickly caught up to these guys.
"Hey, how are you?"
"I'm good, thanks." I said curtly, passing them.
"Well, thanks for answering me at least. Most people don't respond. Why is that?"
"Well, I'm walking by myself." I offered with an accompanying look over my shoulder; subtext "Dumbass".
"What, do we look like thugs?"
"You never know!"
"Yeah, things are changing, the first well dressed thugs!" he said, somewhat threateningly.
Now I've been told that in the case of the Egyptian, the thought process could have been, "What if?" What if he met this leggy, non-Russian, walked her home and she invited him up. What if it actually worked?
How about the beefy, box kicking guys. What was their aim? There's no way it was "What if it actually worked?"
In both of these cases, these men approached me to assert their dominance (especially tonight) and I am disgusted and angry that I feel threatened so close to my home. In pursuit of excitement, arousal or just a good story, these men leave me on the lookout for rape, stabbing, or at minimum objectification.
I know it gets way worse. I know these were mostly forgettable blips on my weekly radar, but the rapid succession of the events makes me think. Why can a man still so easily threaten a woman? What kind of man would treat a woman this way? Are people going to think me a reactionary wimp for writing this post?
"You have to be safe." my mom would say.
"You never know." my friends would say.
"Fuck these assholes." my heart tells me. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more.
That'll work right? Only respond with movie quotes?
2am Friday, a 5'4" Egyptian guy asked me the following questions in this order:
Are you Russian?
Where are you from?
What's your name?
Are you drunk?
How old are you? (When I asked him why he wanted to know he followed it with : "Just to be safe")
Finding myself not threatened by his stature, the fact that he was smiling, my Midwestern tendency to respond when addressed and I don't know... a confidence that I would walk in the opposite direction once I got to the intersection by my house I answered his questions and asked them of him. When I got to my place, I pointed down the opposite block and said, "I live that way."
"I'll just walk with you." He replied.
"No, I'll walk by myself."
"No, I'll just walk you."
"No you won't. I'll walk this way." I replied, and headed up the block in yet another direction that was not my towards my place. I ducked around the corner, waited to see if he had followed me, then headed home.
Today, I was returning the 3 blocks from my friend's apartment to my place. Two somewhat meaty guys were 8 steps ahead of me when one of them karate kicked a box of recycling. As my pace was faster, I quickly caught up to these guys.
"Hey, how are you?"
"I'm good, thanks." I said curtly, passing them.
"Well, thanks for answering me at least. Most people don't respond. Why is that?"
"Well, I'm walking by myself." I offered with an accompanying look over my shoulder; subtext "Dumbass".
"What, do we look like thugs?"
"You never know!"
"Yeah, things are changing, the first well dressed thugs!" he said, somewhat threateningly.
Now I've been told that in the case of the Egyptian, the thought process could have been, "What if?" What if he met this leggy, non-Russian, walked her home and she invited him up. What if it actually worked?
How about the beefy, box kicking guys. What was their aim? There's no way it was "What if it actually worked?"
In both of these cases, these men approached me to assert their dominance (especially tonight) and I am disgusted and angry that I feel threatened so close to my home. In pursuit of excitement, arousal or just a good story, these men leave me on the lookout for rape, stabbing, or at minimum objectification.
I know it gets way worse. I know these were mostly forgettable blips on my weekly radar, but the rapid succession of the events makes me think. Why can a man still so easily threaten a woman? What kind of man would treat a woman this way? Are people going to think me a reactionary wimp for writing this post?
"You have to be safe." my mom would say.
"You never know." my friends would say.
"Fuck these assholes." my heart tells me. I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any more.
That'll work right? Only respond with movie quotes?
Sunday, August 28, 2011
...Carrie Bradshaw Part 2
Perhaps every single woman who moves to New York
I awoke on Tuesday at 10am. As soon as my eyes opened, I first thought about the bad dream I had had and then realized I had overslept, not moved my friend's car, and now had a $40 ticket. That explained the bad dream. I rolled out of bed, threw on some jeans and went to check on the car. Sure enough there was a $45 ticket.
Or, in my case, come home, write a check for $45 and get back in your boxers to write. Determined to have a fabulous week, I put on my Carrie-esque attitude and thought about how I could spin this minor calamity. Sure I was out of $45, but I saved myself 30 minutes of driving around looking for a spot and I wouldn't have to move that car again until Friday.
The car taken care of I had time to focus on the goals I had set for myself on Monday.I had given myself the task of participating in 5 fabulous activites and one presented itself on Tuesday night.New York
Stunned by how opulent my treatment was at Blue Fin (most of it for free) I was happy to practice Lesson 2
Lesson #3 came when I finally checked something off my emotional to do list. A toxic ex had been trying to reconnect over facebook and after a couple messages it was clear that absolutely nothing had changed. I decided to end it (again). My message was concise and above the fray. I was satisfied. Within 30 minutes he had written back. His response was petty, mean and completely unnecessary. My message was final, but I guess he just had to have the last word. So, I defriended him on facebook. If this were tennis, the score would be 40-love.
One of my Sex and the City goals from Monday was to dress fabulously all week. My go-to outfit is usually a pair of jeans and a cute tee shirt. There would be none of that this week. I would construct my image. No throwing things on. Instead I would savor cut, color, texture… I would plumb my wardrobe for fabulous pieces and pair them in interesting ways…and I did! Tuesday, I wore my cream Kenneth Cole blouse, army green shorts and big floral ring. Wednesday was this pink, beaded top with jeans and a low slung belt…ok the truth that was Thursday’s outfit. No rememberance of what I wore Wednesday and the fabulous flew out the window end of week…BUT I did learn…
I realized that I have all these pieces that I’m saving for nicer occasions. Like what? Why not wear and enjoy my more interesting clothes. It felt good to get compliments this week. I felt comfortable eating in Blue Fin in my dressier get up and I didn’t spill a drop of food on anything! So why not wear my clothes? Why leave them nice and spotless and going out of style in the closet?
I did get a hair cut this week. I did wear heels (now counts, right? Cause that’s it.) and I did identify a Miranda and a Charlotte for myself. I may know a Samantha, but we never hang out… And brunch at my favorite crepe place today was tasty.
Plot- wise, this week was chock full. I survived an earthquake, a hurricane and the toxic spill from my ex. I had a great week at work, went to a late night faux wrestling themed, improv comedy battle, and spent 36 hours having a co-ed sleepover with friends. My “Charlotte
I started this week asking myself, how I could best be Carrie Bradshaw. After setting cosmetic goals of wearing heels and being fabulous I immediately realized that I would never be exactly like Carrie, never wanted to be exactly like Carrie and had no desire to beat myself about failing in my Carrie-ness. (Recognizing what I want and who I am... Huh. How very Carrie.) So, I who never wears heels... I, who quite often goes 3 months celebate (gasp!) I learned the greatest lesson that the show has to offer:
What could I learn from Carrie Bradshaw and her friends?
When life gives you tickets, throw a ticker tape parade.
Or, in my case, come home, write a check for $45 and get back in your boxers to write. Determined to have a fabulous week, I put on my Carrie-esque attitude and thought about how I could spin this minor calamity. Sure I was out of $45, but I saved myself 30 minutes of driving around looking for a spot and I wouldn't have to move that car again until Friday.
The car taken care of I had time to focus on the goals I had set for myself on Monday.I had given myself the task of participating in 5 fabulous activites and one presented itself on Tuesday night.
Lesson #1: Never turn down an opportunity for fabulous freebies
And Lesson #2: Tip fabulously
Lesson #3 came when I finally checked something off my emotional to do list. A toxic ex had been trying to reconnect over facebook and after a couple messages it was clear that absolutely nothing had changed. I decided to end it (again). My message was concise and above the fray. I was satisfied. Within 30 minutes he had written back. His response was petty, mean and completely unnecessary. My message was final, but I guess he just had to have the last word. So, I defriended him on facebook. If this were tennis, the score would be 40-love.
Lesson #3: End toxic relationships, to make room for new ones.
Lesson #4: Clothes do no good hanging in the closet.
I did get a hair cut this week. I did wear heels (now counts, right? Cause that’s it.) and I did identify a Miranda and a Charlotte for myself. I may know a Samantha, but we never hang out… And brunch at my favorite crepe place today was tasty.
Plot- wise, this week was chock full. I survived an earthquake, a hurricane and the toxic spill from my ex. I had a great week at work, went to a late night faux wrestling themed, improv comedy battle, and spent 36 hours having a co-ed sleepover with friends. My “
Lesson #5: Listen to your own narrator.
I started this week asking myself, how I could best be Carrie Bradshaw. After setting cosmetic goals of wearing heels and being fabulous I immediately realized that I would never be exactly like Carrie, never wanted to be exactly like Carrie and had no desire to beat myself about failing in my Carrie-ness. (Recognizing what I want and who I am... Huh. How very Carrie.) So, I who never wears heels... I, who quite often goes 3 months celebate (gasp!) I learned the greatest lesson that the show has to offer:
This, above all, to thine own self be shoe true.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)