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Monday, February 11, 2013

Tex in the City


  So I know most of you will not read a single thing I write but living in a 480 sq ft apartment in New York with little human interaction; creates somewhat of a Jack Nicholson Shining situation for me. So rather than succumbing to my inner serial killer, I have decided to revamp my long lost blog and write about my NYC experiences as they happen. I will try very hard to keep up with it because in this city, there is nothing but comedic material and I have realized how cynical and borderline suicidal my Facebook status updates have been since I have moved. Hopefully this will save my Facebook friends the agony of reading these depressing thoughts and provide an outlet for my rage. I travel a lot still with my job so there may be some stories from different states but regardless, it’s the northeast, and it is funny always.   At least you get an option whether or not to be entertained with my negativity.  I will start the first blog with a quick recap of my first few weeks in NYC.
                So after making a 1500+ mile road trip alone to NY and a biography of Jaycee Dugard on tape, many sing-a-longs, and a couple of mock American Idol auditions, I finally arrived. I get off at the exit to where my brand new (sight unseen) apartment is.  As I am driving up a nice old man with one leg was there to greet me at a stop light asking if I could spare some money. I said I didn’t have cash and he flicked me the bird and went on his way. I think they need to re-evaluate their welcome committee. So I keep driving down tiny streets trying to avoid hitting pedestrians like green shells in Mario Kart. As I approach my building which looks like the outside of an insane asylum, I start to burst into tears. We are not in suburbia anymore toto. I pull into the building and there is a security guard that waves me through, I guess they were expecting me? Pull into the front of the building where the valet is and PHEW it’s actually beautiful! I go inside and it is gorgeous. I get a tour of the property and finally get to see my place. It is surprising very cozy and nice. Minus the view of the crack house across the street but you take what you can get. So fast forward to furniture delivery day! They come put all my stuff together then leave. After careful inspection I noticed my dishes were broken, they got the wrong rug, and most importantly they forgot the wine glasses. UNACCEPTABLE. So I make trip back to Ikea to return the items. I am a 95lb girl carrying a huge rug and an 18 set of dishes…I’m struggling. So I see a bench so I get out of the return line to put my stuff down and get back in line to wait my turn. I smile at the lady that was behind me like us southern girls like to do. Well I hear the attendant after 15 minutes say “38” and I looked around to see if there was some kind of number dispenser. So I grabbed a number and continued to wait, never hearing another number of the two people in front called. The lady in front of me left and I grab my stuff and took it to the counter. When finished I turn around to head back into the hell that is Ikea. The lady behind me then proceeds very loudly to tell me that I did something bad “ECUSE ME! YOU DID NOT EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE THAT WAS NOT YOU NUMBA” “Um Ma’am” I replied. “You saw me put down my heavy objects and get back into my spot because you were standing right behind me” “THAT TIS NOT DE POINT! YOU DID NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THAT WAS NOT YOUR NUMBER!”  “Um I am sorry but are you yelling at me for you thinking you have the right to cut in line because you have a number?” At this point I can’t exactly wrap my head around the fact people are so idiotic they need a number to tell them where their place IN A STRAIGHT LINE is, this isn’t the deli section of Walmart. “YOU DIDN’T HAVE DAT NUMBA!!” uh yeah I think we’ve established that. Maybe it was the fact this is my second day here, maybe it was the fact I was in Ikea and would rather lick a homeless mans foot than be there but I replied “Oh, I am sorry I can’t count and I am sorry I fucking ruined your ENTIRE day!” and then walked off and spent the rest of the trek through Ikea ducking and covering from her like she was going to whip out an AK. So yay second day and I have already cursed a stranger out.
                The next night I pick up my friend Bethany for a night of much needed fun. As we are driving back from her place to mine, we have to drive through the projects to get to the hood (where I live). Apparently there is a difference and the “hood” is actually a favorable place over the projects…who knew? So we are trying to use GPS but there is a ton of construction and no street signs so I am driving a bit slower and have to slow down to see the roads. We get up to a stop light and all of a sudden I look over and a lovely young lady and her, I am going to go ahead and assume “baby daddy”, in a 1993 Mercedes are very upset.  She is in the passenger seat, arms flailing with her middle finger aggressively pointed upward on both hands. Do these people not know ANY other hand gesture? Anyway, she is yelling expletives I didn’t know even existed. I refuse to roll down my window which will later prove to be the wisest thing I could have done.  “LEARN HOW TO f*&%^$& DRIVE YOU C*#&! YOU PIECE OF S*&# B@&%$! F*&# YOU B*#%^!”  Wow she is really angry, someone didn’t take her happy pill today. So through my closed window I am mouthing “I am really sorry not from here, not sure where I am going” while Bethany is responding with “what is her problem?” now in Texas, you know not to talk crap while driving because there is a 90% chance that other person has a gun in their car. In New York there is no conceal and carry so people all of a sudden turn into a 7 foot tall mafia boss linebacker. So I look away ignoring it and getting ready to make my right turn and go about my day. Well Trina had a different idea and definitely wanted to have the last word. So I look back to  make sure I was clear to make my turn and all of a sudden a water bottle is spewed and thrown all over my car. Thanks for the free car wash future guest on Jerry Springer. So we drove away, both of us obviously shaken up and second guessing our decision to come to the Devils playground. We make it back go to a wonderful swanky restaurant where a bar fight then ensued with 6 guys vs a 9 foot guy who is Mickey Rourke and Bruce Willis’ love child. The night ends with me helping to clean the blood of the floor and taking a $50 cab ride home.
                It is getting better day by day minus the whole hurricane and being without power for 6 days. THAT was fun too! Hopefully Christmas time will turn this around but for now, New York needs to be sending me flowers and chocolates and buying me tickets to Jet’s game as an apology.  I asked one of my dear friends from high school who is a former resident of NYC and it was the best advice I have ever received so I thought I would share…
“Don't take furniture off the street, it has bedbugs. NOTHING GOOD happens between 2 and 4 at the morning. Do not do coke at Beauty Bar, you probably don't do coke, but again, nothing good happens between 2-4 and the morning. Make a gay friend, (one from TX would be good), the gays in New York have the most fun parties, they are actually like what Stefan talks about on SNL. Get galoshes. It doesn't matter if your coat is ugly. Freshdirect.com will deliver you groceries. Go to date-a-firefighter speed dating with a girlfriend. You are going to meet a lot of rich guys that want to date you, so get ready for that. That's about all I got!”

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