Let me just say, today was a pretty big day. One, I had more competent moments than incompetent moments at work, and two, I didn’t even feel the need to wear gloves on the walk home from the subway to my apartment. If those two things, plus discovering a vegan sushi stand downstairs from my office in Chelsea Market, don’t constitute a good day, I ask you, what does?!
I mean yes, my apartment still does not have wifi and yes, I did almost cry today during a video conference after being blinded by an ungodly amount of San Bruno sunshine seeping through from the other side of the screen. But all in all, I’m giving this city two thumbs up.
I’m no expert; just ask the guy who sits behind me at work, or the guy I buy bagels from, or the girl I bought sixteen snow sweaters from on Saturday. But being a noob at city life doesn’t mean I can’t still make observations, and so here they are! Hot off the presses! You’re welcome.
The cutest boy in the world is always behind that closing subway door on opposite subway platform.
There is nothing more true in the world than this fact. Except that I am exceptionally bad at going down subway stairs at any sort of speed. Seriously, are they closer together than California stairs? Are my ankles just too weak? Why is this activity so challenging?
But I digress.
Down in the subway, everyone’s vision is clouded with what I like to call “subway goggles.” These invisible blinders can only be described as a mixture of beer goggles, and I’m-in-middle-school-and-everyone-is-so-hot goggles, with the influence of the physically murky subway windows. But day in and day out, just when the train car in front of you is about to close its doors, there he is, your soul mate. Just a train away. Then in a blink, he’s off, back into the world where he will eventually transform back into a 40-year-old balding investment banker or if you’re are lucky, the bagel maker at Bergen Bagels. Stay strong kids, it’s better to have loved briefly, than never to have loved at all.
Snow boots are awesome … if you pretend they’re space boots.
In California, when you decided to go out, you simply put on your shoes and leave. The preparation is minimal and I mean no socks necessary, throw cash in your pocket, and scram. But in New York, it’s a whole process that starts at least 28 minutes before you have to leave. First comes the sweater, then the scarf, then the snow boots, then the snow jacket, then the gloves — which are promptly removed because you left your metro card in your bag and can’t access it with your mittens on — and finally ends with a beanie, a chest bump because you’re too fluffy to hug anyone and you’re out the door, vowing this is the last time you’ll ever leave your house. But to me, the snow boots turn everything around. I credit the rubber sole or the extra height they provide, but the minute I pull those babies on and hit the slushy streets, I am bouncing along like an extra from Interstellar and I don’t hate it one minute.
Snow jackets provide the ultimate personal space bubble.
Have my opinions changed about rush hour subway traffic? Slightly. There is still no personal space anywhere in New York until you lower your standards so dramatically that you realize, Aha! My snow jacket is so puffy, I’m constantly surrounded my own minuscule personal space bubble! What a gift! #blessed for days and days!
Yes, this is a real mentality I now have probably due to a severe shortage of vitamin D.
Ice tea is not a big thing back here. This does not agree with me.
Many things have been sacrificed in the move back to New York City: My bed is back to being the size of a matchbox, my bangs have adopted a flat personality in protest of always being shoved under a beanie, and my skin resembles a transparent film due to a lack of sun exposure.
But mark my words snow and sleet and ice rain, I will never lose my love of ice tea. Ever. This strong political stance I’ve taken continues to be tested each day by the lack of support, and quizzical looks from baristas, each time I announce I’ll have a large ice tea with no water. But at Day 11 into my New York City adventure, I continue to stand strong in the name of tea lovers everywhere. We will have tea … and until my last breath, it will have ice.