Bon Bon

Last weekend, my best friend Claire came to visit. Claire is a nurse and she owns a house. This blows my mind every time I think about it.

Claire and I have wandered the streets of New York City before - way back during a long fall weekend our sophmore year of high school. So instead of doing the tourist thing, most of our weekend was spent picking up where we left off. We talked late into the night on park benches and ate an entire gallon of peppermint bon bon ice cream in 19 hours.

But one of the highlights of the weekend was overhearing the below conversation in Central Park between a semi-goodlooking man and his cell phone:

"So, we got home and she went into the bathroom to change her tampon and when she came back in I was passed out."

It's That Time of Year

My Grandma Jensen and Weather & Climate professor (yes, I took Weather & Climate in college for a science credit) both told me I would make an amazing Weather Anchor. Actually, my Grandma still thinks she’ll see me on Kare 11 News one morning. I’m 99% sure this will never happen, but here Grandma, I’ll give you today’s weather forecast via Internet:

It’s officially fall.

I know this because the leaves are beginning to come down - they crumple under feet and clog the sewer grates. There are new smells – and to think my nose had just begun adjusting to the sour smells of garbage baking beneath the sun. These new smells of the first day of fall are fresh and clean. Today, people pulled out sweaters and drank hot coffee and stopped packing for weekends away at the Hamptons. More tour buses crowd the streets than they did in June, July and August. Flannel prints and tall leather boots fill store windows and I crave crisp apples and snuggling under covers.

Today I finally got my haircut and walked out into the Saturday morning daylight feeling like so much had been lifted off me. I don’t know what I would do without the change of season. As much as I love routine and using the phrase, “Who moved my cheese?”, I also love this day of change. The day when I realize we’ve moved into a different phase. And even though I’m terrible at science and I don’t even pay attention to weather reports, I do know it’s fall. I know it’s here when I breathe in and out harder and slower - and realize everyone else has shelved their flip-flops but me.

9 to 5

The new job is basically the opposite of the old one. My new company is under a year old, employs less than 50 people, and has very little structure. It's basically a room full of computer nerds and fashionistas(os?) and a warehouse of ridiculously cool clothing. The old one is a $50 billion company with hundreds of thousands of employees, with very structured processes and clear expectations laid out. In the new job, I kind of feel like we're all making it up as we go along. Which is exciting, but can also be frustrating. And although I love the freedom involved with this new venture, part of me misses the security and familiarity of Target.

What the hell am I doing? It's finally hit me. I just jumped off a cliff, and I better learn to fly pretty quick here. Leaving my job at Target was absolutely the most impractical thing I have ever done. But I was following my instincts, and hopefully it will all pay off.

If you ask me, times like these call for a little Cinematherapy. For those of you not familiar with this term, it was made popular by women who read chick lit and watch the WE channel. However, I do think they were on to something. There are certain movies that offer you comfort and validation in some of life's most trying situations.

My prescription for a new career move is either Devil Wears Prada, Working Girl, or Legally Blonde. They give you a nice confidence boost and make you feel like you could cure cancer, AIDS, and world hunger, all within a week, if you put your mind to it. And wear the right outfit.

After a breakup, watch Love Actually. You'll laugh, you'll cry, but in the end you'll ultimately feel happy, and hopeful. Which is exactly what you need.

No matter what kind of dating dilemmas you're experiencing, there are at least two episodes of Sex and the City that you could relate to. Possibly even five or six, depending on the issue at hand. And when you're having an existential crisis, or you just feel like having a lucid dream in which you are a flying cartoon character, watch Waking Life.

There is one movie guaranteed to make you cry. If you're a female, or a male who happens to be extremely in touch with his feelings, it's Steel Magnolia's. If you're a football player, it's Brian's Song.

In the past month, I have watched Devil Wears Prada three times, and Legally Blonde twice. If I owned Working Girl, I probably would have watched that as well. It's been a tough month, with lots to get used to and so many unknown factors in front of me. I'm trying to just go with it, and have faith in myself to come out on top.

The Burn.

On a recent Saturday night, there was an unfortunate incident in my kitchen involving overcooked Stouffer’s stuffed peppers and poor hand-eye coordination. Long story. The result was a pretty nasty burn on my left foot that has rendered me slightly handicapped for over a week now. At the direction of my friend Kelsey, a 3rd grade teacher and therefore an expert in First Aid, I’ve been covering it in Neosporin and gauze. The only footwear option has been flip-flops which openly display the huge bandage, causing questions from friends, coworkers, and occasionally even random strangers. One guy asked me if it was a recent tattoo. That would have been so much cooler, and much nicer to look at than the nasty scar that this could leave.

With unusual injuries like this, I find that people always want to tell you how to take care of it. One woman told me to put slices of raw potato on it. She apparently learned this trick growing up in Russia, where they had an abundance of potatoes but no Neosporin. Another woman told me not to use Neosporin because it makes you resistant to other antibiotics. Preferring to be antibiotic resistant than to have an infected foot, I ignored that advice.

The whole experience has also made me really nervous around hot surfaces, liquids, solids-anything that could potentially produce another 2nd degree burn. My daily coffee has been replaced by iced coffee or sugar free Red Bull, and I haven't cooked anything all week.

It's looking a lot better now. I have switched from gauze to band-aid patches, ditched the Neosporin for aloe, and I've even been able to attempt closed-toe shoes. The real test will be tomorrow's morning trek to work, my first day of the new job. If I'm feeling brave, maybe I'll pick up a latte on the way. Or not.

La Cucaracha

FACT: Cockroaches reproduce quickly. For every one you see there can be 200 more hiding and multiplying behind your walls. Because cockroaches are nocturnal, if you’ve seen one, you haven’t seen them all. The few cockroaches you see by day were likely forced out by overcrowding; a possible sign of severe infestation.
[Source: Orkin.com]

September 1, 2006: It's my first night sleeping in my new apartment. I had originally envisioned myself moving into a permanently dirty basement apartment and am content with my new adorable and clean but living room-less Astoria pad. I don't have my bed frame yet, so my mattress is leaning against the wall. I am sleeping on a futon and my roommate Kayla, is using lawn chairs as bedroom furniture that she found in her Grandma's basement that haven't been unfolded since 1972. Tomorrow is my first day of work. I'm unpacking my suitcase and trying to flatten my wrinkly shirts with my hands because (obviously) we don't have an iron. Then I see it. Tentacles darting back and forth. It is huge - the size of my dad's funny looking thumb. It's perched up on top of my NEW mattress and it's looking out MY bedroom window. I have never screamed so loud. I tell Kayla she has to kill it. She says no, so I do it.

September 2, 2006 - August 2, 2007: I'm not even thinking about cockroaches - totally off my radar. That one we had came in from the Man with a Van who helped me shuttle my belongings back and forth from Nora's apartment. There's no way this clean, empty apartment could have produced such an obese monster like that. No way.

August 2, 2007: Kayla and I get home from the gym. My feet are sweating so I take off my shoes and go into the bathroom. I shut the door and THERE IT IS. Right in the corner! A fat cockroach! I start praying the thing will just explode or disappear or turn into something else, like an arrowhead, a mini Snickers, even a turd. Then I scream and run into my room for my shoes. Kayla comes flying out of her room wearing rain boots because she knows what's happening. And then, when we're both ready to face it with our heavy feet it scurries out of the bathroom and into the hallway closet. We stuff a dirty towel under the closet door knowing this won't keep the cockroach in, but also knowing it's the only thing that will make us feel safe. The next day we buy RAID: Giant Cockroach and spray away until we literally can't breath.

August 4-11, 2007: Kayla and I are leaving the apartment and heading to Key Foods. As she hops down the last step and out the door, I see it. A dead cockroach - right on our pineapple welcome mat. We both agree THAT'S the one! That's the one that got away from us and we trapped in the closet with the towel! Now it's dead. Now we can sleep...

...until we find 4 more dead. Kayla finds most of them when I'm not home - I get text messages that say things like, "ANOTHER ONE DOWN - LEGS STILL TWITCHING" and "I think we should start naming them".

August 12, 2007: We decide to tell the landlords about our problem. They tell us:

A) Bring out your garbage every night and stay clean.
B) We haven't seen any in OUR apartment...
C) Everyone in NYC has cockroaches and if they say they don't, they're lying.
D) We'll sprinkle some boric acid in that crack at the bottom of the stairs and stuff steel wool in there, too.

September 2, 2007: I'm home alone and it's nighttime and I'm about to go to bed. But first I need some water. I flip on the kitchen light and there, in the middle of the floor is a BIG momma cockroach. She's large and in charge and not scared of the light. So, I breath slowly and head back into my room for shoes trying to build my confidence up every step of the way only to find that when I return to the scene, she's gone. I'm crushed. I fall asleep that night in a ball underneath my covers.

-----

Since Sunday, we've had a total of six dead cockroaches and two get-aways. I can't handle putting another tally on our refrigerator post-it note that's keeping our cockroach count.

All of the confidence I possess is yanked from me when I see a cockroach. Cockroaches make me feel inadequate and self-conscious. They make me feel bad about myself. "I mean, I'm not a dirty person," I want to tell them. All of them. Because clearly, according to the Orkin Man, this is a problem. I have more than one roommate. I have like, 200.

I Heart the Marina

Leslie just moved to her new apartment in the Haight, which means an end to our days (and nights) spent in the Marina neighborhood. Over the past two months, this has been our favorite area to roam. Iced coffees, mani/pedis, and browsing the cute boutiques by day. $3 cosmos, overgrown frat boys with popped collars, and Pizza Orgasmica by night.

Another favorite haunt has been the Marina Lounge. Matt introduced us to this place back when we visited in April. A dive bar with an old pool table and a killer music selection, Marina Lounge never disappoints us. Especially on nights when we get the only table in the place, right in the front window, which stays open to allow easy interaction with passersby.


Now that she's in the land of hippies and I'm among the indie-hipsters, we may have a tough time making friends. Both groups seem to dislike girls like us. However, I have a secret love of indie-hipster boys, so hopefully we can win them over.