No Walking

I’m a city girl, ok? Yes, I know that I’ve spent more than half my life in Long Island, but the years I spent in the city were transformative.

no walking thumbnail picture facebook grab this one please

just out in my walking skirt, apparently

Anyway, I’m a city girl and city girls walk places. I mean, we also have the subway and taxis and the ferry and zip cars, but, for the most part, if it’s under a mile and not separated by a body of water, I’m walking. Sometimes even if it’s 2 or 3 miles and I’m not in a rush. Occasionally 5 or 6 miles if I feel like taking a long walk home to Brooklyn.

Even New Yorkers that aren’t big into walking do it more than they think. Here are the basic NYC Walking Rules, as I’ve been able to determine them:

1. Walking 10 or 20 blocks is no big deal. (Equivalent to walking 1 or 2 blocks anywhere else.)

2. If it’s only 1 subway stop, we’re walking.

3. If it’s two avenues, F that. Cab it.

avenues vs blocks

It doesn’t even matter that 10 blocks is farther than 2 avenues.
Avenues are the worst.


 
4. (Personal rule) If I’m wearing heels, you’d better let me take a cab or I will ruin everyone’s night.

Anyway, the real reason I’m gaining weight is not because I’m married, as Daddy so politely suggested. It’s because I don’t walk as much now that I’m in the suburbs.

As such, I’ve tried turning Huntington into my own little metropolitan center, to the confusion of some most.

For example, I like to go to the library or Starbucks after work sometimes and walk home, at 11pm latest. Daddy doesn’t think I should be walking home so late at night. (Did I not used to live on my own in a slightly shady part of Brooklyn? Just checking.)

And last week, when I actually went out in Huntington for my friends’ birthdays, everyone thought it was weird that I wanted to walk home, even though it was about 3.5 blocks. However, it was 4am, and that cab ride I ended up bumming from Adri was pretty sweet. Hey! We have cabs in Huntington! See? It’s metropolitan after all. Oh wait, but you can’t hail them, so it doesn’t count.

Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be transforming Huntington into a walking culture any time soon. And, let’s be honest, if NYC had ample parking, walking would cease and the median BMI would go up to Philadelphia levels. (No offense, Philly. If I’d said “Houston levels”, you’d know I was exaggerating.)

Jay Z Speaks

I never really gave an update on the amazing Jay Z concert I saw a couple weeks ago at the Barclay’s Center. Here’s the short version.

Tom and I took the drunk train in. Since the LIRR is always awesome, our train from Huntington was late to Jamaica so our transfer left without us. While waiting for the next train, I bought a Grolsch, which opened with the sound of a champagne cork popping and all the drunks around us cheered. Tom was drinking coffee like a nerd.

paper bag = class


The concert was, as I tweeted, a religious experience.

Then Tom and I luckily just made the 11:55 train. But when we got to Jamaica we realized that there wasn’t a train to Huntington for over an hour so obviously I fell asleep while waiting for it.

Blah blah, another LIRR story. Really, I just wanted to pass on some advice from Jay Z. 

He referenced the media having reported his owning only a small percentage of the Nets and gave some words of wisdom ending with…

“Don’t let anyone diminish your accomplishments.”

Church! Then he launched into “99 Problems” which, in case you forgot, is awesome.


Got any wise words from a random source?

Becoming Bridge & Tunnel

Let me start by saying that the drunk train as immortalized by How I Met Your Mother’s episode “The Drunk Train” is completely a thing.

HIMYM reps NYC (even if it’s filmed in LA)

I try not to go into the city on the weekends. Let’s face it: at a certain point, even going into Manhattan from Brooklyn became a chore. But a couple times recently, I had the occasion to take the drunk train.

The most recent time was this past weekend. Rachel and I decided to be young and give in to excitedly jump on our friend Rae’s invitation to go dancing.

Oh and since the LIRR is awesome, when we got to Huntington Station, we found out there were no trains from Huntington and had to take a shuttle to Hicksville. We rolled with it but the old man on the bus with us was pissed.

kind of like this… or something

Usually I’d go for beer but, this time, my trank (train-drank) was 5 Hour Energy, which just barely lasted until we got home about 5 hours and 15 minutes later. I blame my work/commuting schedule for conditioning me to get tired early, therefore making me drink harmful caffeinated beverages when I should be drinking alcohol.

We met Rae at Culture Club. This is where I crossed the line into Bridge & Tunnel.

For those of you that aren’t from here, Bridge & Tunnel (B&T) is a term we snobby New Yorkers use to refer to those overdressed drunks who are bussed (train’d) in on the weekends from such God forsaken places as New Jersey or (heaven forbid!) Long Island. B&T bars are the last place you want to be seen. And I’m pretty sure Culture Club is B&T Mecca.

Culture Club


So, why did I go? 
Was it the $25 cover? (No, I’m not joking.)
Was it the $13 drinks? (Includes a plastic souvenir cup.)
Was it the crowd? (A unique mix of bachelorette parties, middle-aged women, and a few creepy guys trying their odds with either of the above.)

The truth is: I secretly think Culture Club is fun. Bombshell.

sorry

But… ok??

Evidence:
1- The 80s room is akin to singing into your hairbrush with your girlfriends at a sleepover.
2- The 90s-00s room lets me relive my high school and college dance party days.
3- Plus, thanks to the high female-male ratio, I can mostly avoid the creeps. Except for those that came with my friends (*ahem* Rae).

That said, it bears repeating… $25 cover. Therefore, never again. Never. Um, maybe just except for a bachelorette party or something but that’s it, I swear.

Quick Life Update + Beyonce

I apologize that my posts have been a little less frequent but I have good reasons, which are:


a) I’m moving;

b) I’m working on script writing; and

c) I left my bag on the LIRR that had a bunch of Tom heads in it (another story) and also my memory card reader so now I can’t get all the awesome blog photos that I’ve been taking off my camera and there’s only a Staples Express by my office and they sell cameras and memory cards but not memory card readers and I should have just ordered another one on Amazon but I was dumb enough to think the LIRR Lost & Found might function as intended and ugghhhh….

But I promise to all my loyal readers (I know you are out there even though you never leave comments or any trace of your existence but then when I talk to you in person you tell me you’re reading so I’ll take your word for it) that I will get out at least two posts a week. And this one doesn’t count.

This has been a very train-of-thoughty announcement.

And now, a photo collage of Beyonce from Saturday’s Jay Z show at the Barclay’s Center…

Ms. PC ♥ Ms. KC

MTV has an awesome photo gallery that I was afraid to steal from. More about the concert later.

Futon Week

And now…

The suckiest things about futon week (as it shall henceforth be known):

1- Having no TV in the living room. Don’t worry, I survived with a combination of Netflix and the TV in my bedroom. Close one.

2- The futon. It wasn’t so uncomfortable, but it was so not like a bed that I couldn’t sleep at all the first night and slept crappily the rest of the week.

3- Packed our curtains + position of the futon + position of the sun relative to the earth this time of year = sun directly in my eyeballs starting at 7am.

Doesn’t capture the true blindingness of it but you get the idea.


4- When my procrastination paid off and I had to stay up all night packing/moving, hopped up on Jamba Juice energy drink and Wendy’s iced tea.

5- I miss Frosty! (My sister took her to their new apartment.)

 mrrrow.

Bye Brooklyn!

Marcy Ave train station


North Williamsburg ferry stop

Crashing on Our Own Futon

As I mentioned, we moved the majority of our stuff last Sunday, but we still had a few things to move. Ok, so maybe we had all this to move…


Ugh, I realize now I got my bra in the shot but I don’t have photoshop and
really? It’s a bra. Get over it, my god.

…and more.

So while Tom packed and I procrastinated packing, we spent our last week in Brooklyn on our old futon that we then left at the curb.

Couch and bed?! What an invention!

Note that my husband built that “table” all by himself (oh, and he cooked).

More to come…

Meet the Neighbors, Part I

Sunday at 9am, our super-efficient movers arrived. These guys were, like, serious. The one guy wrapped all our furniture in blankets and some special… movers’ wrap?… before the two of them carried it out, and the whole thing took less than 1.5 hours.

Ok, so you’re like… um, yeah? That’s what movers do? Know-it-all. 

I only hired movers once before and they definitely didn’t wrap my then Ikea furniture and they were way more expensive. Anyway, I was impressed. They’re called Bee Moving, Inc. if you’re interested.

Before I left, I ran into this older lady from down the hall that I sometimes see when I’m leaving for work in the morning.

Lady: You’re moving? Getting out of this dump?

Me: Oh, yeah… we’re moving in with my dad to save some money, so…

Lady: Good, you’re young. Get out of this dump.

Me: Um, yeah… kind of…

I didn’t know what to say to that. 

For the record, I’ve never called this building a dump but it is kind of crappy. But I’m young/sometimes-broke and living in the second-most expensive city in the US (and working in the first-most) and I’ve only ever lived in crappy apartments, so I’m used to it. I’ve just always been grateful that this building doesn’t have mice or rats (like my Hoboken and Morningside Heights apartments, respectively).

And I didn’t want to be all… yeah, the building in which you are continuing to live is a dump… but she seemed pretty determined that it was and I didn’t see the point in arguing.

There’s more to this moving story but to jump ahead a little, my dad is having a plumbing problem so we’re camping out in Brooklyn for the rest of the week, then next week we’re crashing at my mom’s while she’s away.

Everyone I’ve mentioned “plumbing problem” to has had a similar reaction, so I won’t be offended if you made this face…


Packing

We moved today! Well, most of our stuff, anyway… we have until this Saturday to be completely out.


I’ll get to the moving story but, first, here are some gratuitous shots of my sister’s cat, Frosty (who has lived with us until now), helping us with the move…

helping me pack my shoes

helping me pack my suitcase

helping my sister, Amy, move her mattress

having a sit-in on the boxspring
For my husband, who said my first post was “cute” but needed more pictures. Ya welcome!

Pilot Post

This Sunday, some professional movers (see? I’m a grown up) are coming to take my husband’s and my stuff from our beloved Brooklyn apartment (“beloved” is too strong, but it’s ours) and move us to Huntington, Long Island.

In the words of Snooki (and probably baby Lorenzo) “wahhhh!”

After living not with my parents through college, business school, working… I’m moving back home. Why? To save money! (Surprise! Bet you thought I was doing it for fun!) Well actually, before I can save money, I have to pay off my credit card debt from the wedding and honeymoon. whoops.

My husband, Tom, and I are going to be staying with my dad because my mom’s house is too small and my mother-in-law’s house is too far from work. And, after all, moving in with her divorced dad in the house where her parents’ marriage fell apart is the dream for most new wives.

In case you can’t tell, I’m not super excited about this move. But it’s happening.

Won’t you join me in seeing how this drama unfolds?