The Crazy

I was just on a train with a crazy dude and an old lady in a wheelchair, total strangers, yelling at each other. The fight started because she asked him to stop swearing in front of the children on the train. In the middle bit, he used his "phone" (it was a walkie-talkie) to "call the authorities" on her (from underground) and have her arrested for telling him to shut up (which she never did). Old lady held her own pretty well, but when I got off the train, I could hear Crazy sing-songing, "I can walk and you can't! I can walk and you can't!"

The Call

I'm sitting on a bench in a park (the kind of place I spend a lot of the time I'm not at work, as I gravitate toward any semblance of nature in this lifeless wasteland), and this pretty, bland-looking girl comes up to me. I say girl, but she's at least five years older than me. She's half in tears and frantically babbling in a heavy accent.

"Er...what was that, dear?" I ask politely.

"Blah blah accent accent something about topping off (?) my phone and I need to call my friend to meet me here can I call him from your phone will be so quick frantic panicky blathering blah."

I look her up and down as I assess the situation. She's about five foot five (taller than me) and a size two (miniscule). I doubt she's a good enough actress to fake her current state of distress, but if so, she's quite spry-looking and can no doubt outrun me. On the other hand, I can absolutely take her down before she can take a step.

I figure, hey, what the hell, I'm a damned Good Samaritan and shit, and I hand her my beautiful new phone.

She dials and holds it up to her ear as I watch, calmly waiting to tackle her. She hands the phone back. "It didn't go through."

I am slightly disappointed.

The Season

The Dog

The Highlights

Austin was relaxing. Almost too relaxing. As much as I bitch about the utter unrelaxation that is NYC, being relaxed feels almost unnatural now.

I'm posting a couple Texas pics, more probably never to come. In no particular order:

-There was a giant banner across the road announcing the Austin holiday community singalong. Very sorry I had to miss that.

-The drain caps had cute little fish and salamander and froggie pics on them. Woo hippies!

-We went in a "small" grocery store (about twice the size of an Ohio store and five times a New York one) and I was incredibly impressed by the selection of packaged bacon and sausage products. I had to stand back quite a bit just to get it in the picture. They love them some pig.

-In a store called the "Herb Bar," which was covered on the outside in plants and had a sign asking customers to turn off cell phones, one can buy a medley of herby delights. There are herbs to make you feel better, herbs to make your pets feel better, herbs to make your children feel better, herbs to make your parents feel better, herbs to make your third cousin Larry feel better, etc. Also I heard the shopkeeper telling a customer about how she's recently moved out of her tent into an abandoned building.

-In the Houston airport (layover), there is a monument to George Bush Sr. There's also a Fox News store conveniently placed 50 feet away.

The Hike

My sister and I went for a hike in the woods (still on vacation in Austin obvs; there are no woods in NYC), got lost, and somehow ended up behind a Walmart/Sam's Club. Amazing real-life horror movie plot. I should copyright this.

The Girl

I'm just sitting here eating a bagel, waiting for my connecting flight. I look up, and this small girl is standing about 12 inches away, staring at me. I stare back. She might be 5 or 6 years old.

"Can I sit there?" she asks.

I'm the only occupant of a row of four seats, but she wants the one I'm sitting in. I don't know exactly how her parents may react if I tell her to fuck off (I have no idea where they are but don't want to take the chance)  so I grab my bag and the remainder of my bagel, and I move to the other end of the row of four.

She sits down and immediately begins talking to me. She's one of those insanely hyper children; she can't stop moving around, getting up and divebombing back into the seat headfirst or running up to the window. Every time a plane passes, she yells in her extremely loud baby voice, "There goes another one!" No shit.

She tells me about random snippets of her life. When I ask questions she ignores them. We play counting on our fingers and I-Spy, but she doesn't follow the rules. She invites me to her house to play catch; I politely decline.

After about 30 minutes her parents finally decide to show interest in the pink-haired, leather-jacketed girl their daughter has attached herself to. Her mom comes over. "Is she bothering you?"

"Yes. I hate children, and your daughter is a particularly obnoxious specimen. Take her away before I punt her across the gate and bitchslap you for being a neglectful parent."

What I actually say: "No! We're just counting!"

We've boarded now, and the little girl is sitting directly in front of me with her family. I'm ducking, hoping she won't notice my proximity. Pray for me.

The ThanksGrinch

Things that I'm totally unthankful for today:

Mornings. Proof that God is a sadist.

Sunshine. Don't wink at me, sun. What do you have to be so damn cheerful about?

Children. Should not be taken in public. If you don't stop crying, I will punt you. No, don't giggle either. How is it that there are no children in this city, but the airport is infested with them?

Wine. Unnatural drink. Wine is beer's bitchy cousin who always wears perfume that comes off slightly putrid mixed with her BO.

Man Who Just Winked At Me. I will emasculate you.

Terrorists. Because of you, I can no longer wear hoodies when I fly without being felt up by a 300 pound manlady named Janice.

Guy Who Just Sprawled On The Floor At My Feet. Dude, this is a nearly empty gate. Get a damn seat. See Man Who Just Winked At Me, above.

Dogs. Drooly pointless animals that people cling to to avoid facing the loneliness of their own sad lives. Should not be allowed to bark, and should at the very least be banned from airports. See Children, above.

Pants. Stupid invention, really.

Rainbows. It's a trick of light in your brain. Just because it's a shared hallucination doesn't mean it's not still a hallucination.

Hallucinations. No, wait, I'm actually very thankful for these. Sorry, got carried away.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.

The Bench

The Sign

Giant poster in the window at Century 21 (ironically located directly across the street from the World Trade Center site). At least they're being honest? Because we really need more reasons for people to think we're assholes.

The People

Awesome people of the day:

1. Shoeless dude. His feet are like gnarled tree bark.

2. Mr. Occupy, giving out free stickers.

3. I don't even want to insult her by guessing.

The Launch

There was something about the Wired pop-up launch party tonight that made middle-aged men think it was even more ok than usual to hit on me.

Possibly because I was the only pretty girl there who was actually into the tech.

The Baby

I'm terrified that this baby on the train is going to throw up on me. It keeps gagging up white slime. I have a client meeting this morning; can't afford baby milk vom.

The Exhibit

I just tried to see the Canstruction exhibit at the World Financial Center. I say "tried" because I completely failed to see the exhibit. But I had a pretty excellent failure (obviously, because it's me).

Have you ever tried to walk toward the Financial Center at rush hour, through the masses of suits flocking the hell out of there? I highly suggest it. It's a lot like the Come Together scene in Across the Universe (check out 2:05ish below), where the city is a beautiful mad choreographed mish-mash of people fighting to get around everyone else -- but way messier. I was tempted to grab some speakers, stand on a stool with a baton, and start directing the messy dance.

At the crosswalks on this street, there are policemen at every corner who actually put up chains to stop crazed businessmen from crossing in front of cars. They're like those vested crosswalk monitors at elementary school (I rocked at this duty), but they require giant yellow chains instead of little flags to hold back the angry commuters.

I was way cuter in my crosswalk monitor vest.

When I got to the Financial Center, covered in the sweat of the 1% aspirers (you know, as opposed to us satisfied 99% neo-hippies), the very adorable guard informed me that the building was unfortunately closed to visitors for the day. Why? Apparently when Bloomberg kicked the protesters out of Zucotti Park this morning, they threatened to rush the World Financial Center.

"Really?" I flirted (or, attempted to flirt), "Do I look like a protester?"

Adorable security guard looked at my now pink-streaked hair, oversized glasses and leather jacket. "Um," he said, in a very politically correct way (making him the new love of my life, for this hour), "well, it's closed to everyone, see. It'll be open again tomorrow. But you can see that sculpture through the window, there."

In the window was a slightly disappointing Amex cube sculpture, which the guard assured me was made of 16,000 cans. Or possibly 1,600; I'm not so great with remembering things like this.

Obviously, after being denied my evening festivities because of Occupy Wall Street, I had to head over to the park to check out how my unshowered, idealistic friends were doing. This, however, is for another post; I have a lot to say about Occupy Wall Street. I do promise that by the time I got home, after my squishy, moshpit-like adventures surrounded with the cologned Financial Center suits and the hundreds of voluntary homeless in Zucotti Park, I now smell like all 100%.

The Stand

Just overheard two guys on the corner of 144th and Broadway, in front of the Majestic Deli (which, by the way, is not majestic at all. Totally your average deli, setting false expectations. I thought about writing a stern letter, but they do always flirt with me, even when I look like a makeupless pajamaed monkey. Can't hate on that kind of dedication). The guys were probably about 19, and definitely awesome:

"My momma had me on a one night stand"
"Man, she was ovulatin'!"

So glad I always take out one earbud when I come into my neighborhood.

The Hanger

I've just watched a man violently blow his nose into his hands, then wipe them on his shirt and sit there for about ten minutes with giant strings of boog hanging out of each nostril.

The Phone

There's a pay phone in the middle of the train platform near work. The phone sits eerily removed from the exit, about 150 feet away (though I am total shit at estimating distances, so that could be grossly off). The platform is a long stretch of dirty white tile, and even during rush hour there's almost no one this far down. It's kind of like the long, drippy entrance to a really lovely dungeon.

So seriously, who makes a pay call in a dungeon?

I've decided there was only one reason for this phone placement: emergency calls for dungeon crime victims.

Or, of course, for the MTA workers to call for removal of the bodies they've stashed down here.

The Pup

Yes, this man is talking to his bag dog on the train. I love the MTA.

The 15 Seconds

Since we are (always) on the topic of intergender relationships in New York City, I have to say my favorite is definitely the 15-second-or-less passionate eye contact relationship.

I'm talking about the kind you have with someone in passing, maybe getting off the train or walking down the street or briefly in the elevator. Your eyes meet. He/she smiles. You smile. Constant eye contact. You probably won't ever see this person again, but for those 15-seconds-or-less, you are totally in moment-love with whatever bit of themselves they are revealing in their face. This is the stuff Craiglist's Missed Connections are made of, if you're a total loony and think it's actually lasting-love (in which case you are completely incorrect and also desperate as hell. Do as the rest of us do and join OKCupid).

He's definitely going to Missed Connections her.

During 15-seconds-or-less eye moment-love, there are certain rules to appropriate behavior.

Firstly, no speaking. Conversation breaks the eye contact moment-love, and brings the relationship to a whole new and more real level. Obviously there are times when you want to prolong and possibly elevate the relationship, and therefore talking is encouraged if you have half a brain and any personality. However, if you are like me and lean toward extreme awkwardness, you have to realize that speaking will do the opposite of elevate relationships with pure contextless strangers; it will ensure that the moment-love comes to a skidding, wobbly end. This is useful if you want to leave in a mood of hilarity, but less so if you want to walk away with any dignity.

Secondly, and this one should be obvious, don't try to make any sudden moves. Don't try to hold the eye contact while you sit down sexily (will not turn out well), or get something out of your bag, or swipe your Metrocard. If you need to do one of these things, I recommend breaking the eye contact at least 10 seconds before. Otherwise you will be Awkward Anastasia (first "A" name I thought of; no offense to any Anastasias out there. But honestly, why would your parents do that to you?).

For the woman, checking out bits other than the face is actually ok and sometimes encouraged. Many sad New York dudes actually like creeper ladies.

There are many things that are acceptable during passionate eye contact. You can, for example, wink or laugh. You can even lick your lips if you're feeling really naughty (but know that it is just NOT a good idea in Harlem. Please. Let's be smart, now). Feel free to be creative and be yourself. Show that you're an awesome person -- with your face. That's a skill, there. They should give out diplomas for that shit.

Sometimes you may have this kind of relationship with a person you will actually see again. This is fine, as long as you are smart about it. There are certain kinds of people who you can encourage in a passionate eye-moment, and some who you should really really not.

People who are great as NYC eye-love buddies:
- Subway train conductors along your commute. You never know when you'll need a door held open for you.
- People who work at ok restaurants near your office. The restaurant can't be too good -- you don't want to get in a situation where you can't ever go back to a great restaurant again.
- Firefighters in your neighborhood. FDNY? Obvious.

Yes sir, my cat is stuck on the balcony. What? I don't have a balcony? I could have sworn I did...

People who you should not encourage eye-moment friendships with:
- Food vendors along a route you take daily. Really, they have nothing better to do -- they will stalk you.
- Your doorman. Don't forget, he is watching all the cameras in the building.
- Police officers in Harlem. Just. Don't. Trust me on this.

Go out, young padawans, and make eye contact. Take all these rules and tips with the giant grain of salt that I have no clue what I'm talking about. I would love to hear your stories of 15-seconds-or-less eye-love success (but especially awkward failure).

The Handshake

As I was walking the block from the train stop to my office this morning, I heard an accented "Hello" from my right. I turned, and it was a fifty-something, silver haired, possibly Eastern European man of some kind of menial profession (judging by his outfit).

I found this hilarious as I'd just been telling my coworkers on Friday how I cannot get away from creepy older dudes lately. That day, a fifty-something businessman winked at me with a "Hi, there" on the sidewalk. The worst incident, which I narrated to them, had happened a couple months before: I was walking down Sullivan carrying a cookie from City Bakery (yum), when, from a bench on the sidewalk, some eighty-something year-old shriveled up old asshole with a cane called to me in a flirty old I'm-gonna-croak-soon voice, "Hey baby, what you got there?"

This is my life. So in comparison, 50s Eastern European laborer this morning didn't seem creepy at all. I responded nicely, and we introduced ourselves (no clue what his name was. I never remember to listen when people say their names. One of my many adorable flaws). He stuck his hand out for me to shake it, which I did automatically. That was my mistake.

When I burst in my office, laughing hysterically and running for the antibacterial soap, my team members understandably were concerned. "It's ok. A fifty-something European menial laborer just kissed my hand in the street, then told me I 'couldn't go to work looking like this.' A normal morning in my love life."

They've decided next time they need to recruit old dudes, they're just going to leave me in the street in a glue circle.

The (Almost) Fight

I almost started an altercation on the train today.

I was pissy. Like, really crankers. I was pretty much ready to go without provocation.

And then, this guy sitting next to where I was standing, wouldn't stop staring at me. Up and down. Like a total slimester, for about fifteen minutes straight.

I almost threw down. Really. But I noticed that he was holding the Koran. I could just imagine the PR: "Young Jewish woman attacks Muslim man on 1 train for 'being a creeper.'"And you know, my people just don't need that right now. So I held it in.

I'm a damn trooper.

The Ride

One morning last week I was on my normal commute to work (at like 9:30am, because my office is super understanding of my morning affliction (aka grumpiness and general hatred)) and was zoned out in an angry way as per usual.

I happened to glance up as two women boarded the train. The shorter, stockier, gingerier of the two caught my eye. She's the kind of woman who one might easily mistake for a ginger boy except that I I seemed to know her, and I knew she was a woman. As I stared, trying to figure out if I should greet her or not because even though I couldn't place her, I definitely knew this woman, her friend said something in an eerily familiar voice. I turned. It was Miranda from Sex and the City (making the ginger woman her wife, not a distant acquaintance of mine).

The ladies shared a subway pole with me. I thought about practicing my flirting skills (sliding my hand subtly down the pole, etc), but decided it might not have been the safest environment.

I switched trains as usual, and in trying to stop the train doors from closing on me, managed to (somewhat violently) stab a middle-aged crazed-scientist-looking man directly in the butt with my ladybug umbrella.

Surprisingly, he was quite pissed.

I had to make a pit stop at Staples, where I complained bitterly to the homeless guy parked outside about the Copy Center door being locked. "Just go to the other door," he told me. Some people just don't understand.

The Chair

Overheard a really hot girl about my age in a wheelchair on Prince and Sullivan: "Yea, I really wanna trick out my chair."

The Patter

I just spent my longest period of time back in Ohio in one go since I moved to NYC. Crazy.

Ohio certainly gave me an adorable little "Thank you, come again" (in slightly offensive fake Indian accent) on my way back home though. I was pulled to the center in the security line for a pat-down. Apparently they are no longer ok when you wear hoodies through security (which is inconvenient, since I almost always fly in hoodies).

The pat-down wouldn't have been a big deal, as I've been through the scanny machine before and thought nothing of it, except I think this was my patter's first time. She was definitely more awkward and twitchy than I was. She made me face away from her, but then stopped to explain for a couple minutes, with my back to her, how she was going to touch my "sensitive chest area" (bahaha), but just with the back of her hand.

Yes, I am a chubby brown woman. With a brown baby in a stroller. But, erm, my patter wasn't actually wearing gloves. Hmm...

When she asked me if I wanted a private screen, as I was standing in the glass bit between the two lines, I said, "No...not unless you're planning on taking my clothes off." The poor old girl had a minor heart attack. I totally should have winked when I said it. There was a slightly creepy older dude watching, but I figured hey, if that's how people get their jollies, let them have it.

I do regret a little not asking Ms. Pattycakes, "So, are you impressed?" when she patted my "sensitive chest area."

The best part was when I talked to Mommy about it afterward. Her objection? "But you had just had Dairy Queen! Your tummy was probably all full! Well, I guess it's ok; you're average-sized in Ohio, anyway." Yes Mommy, twitchy Pattycake lady was totally judging me.

The Comment

My cab driver this morning commented, "You like to enjoy everything around you, don't you?"

This was right after I cracked up at the old man riding a bike with a giant doggie wheelbarrow; the cabbie had said, "You see all kinds of things in this city," and I told him, "Yea, but they're still hilarious."

I didn't let him know that I'm actually a cynical bastard.

The Compliment

Little Dominican dude hanging outside my building with his friend at 4.15am: "Hey, mami. You looks niiiice, baby. I love you."

Me: "Thanks."

The Flower

As some of you may remember from this or other incidents, I love getting stuff done to my hair every now and then. So a couple weeks ago, I had a couple blue streaks put in the front. It looked super hot. For about a week, I was obsessed with it.

It looked kind of like this, only a bit less of the blue area, and my hair is about five times this length. Also I'm not black (except at heart). So, really not that much like this at all. But let's not pick at the details.

This past Friday, my office had a short hiking trip. It was beautiful to be out of the city "in nature." We lunched on the top of a crag (I obnoxiously asked the guide what "crag" meant exactly -- it's a kind of outcropping of rocks), from which we had a great view over farms and out over the Catskills. It was a very nice, sunny, lovely day.

That is, it was lovely until I got home and discovered that my awesome blue hair had turned about seven different shades of LAVENDER in the sun.

Yes, I've turned into a terrifying white librarian with the BEST GLASSES EVER.

I'm going home for Yom Kippur next week, and I look like a gay flower with very tasteless garish petals.

The Extreme Hunger

This morning on the train, I got edged in by people right above a woman openly breastfeeding her baby. She was very much in her own mommy/baby world. She was also a generally empathetic (empathic?) mother; every time the baby whined or squealed, she would whine or squeal back at it. In the exact same tone.

The Pie Man

This morning (afternoon...morning if you wake up at noon) my roommates and I couldn't stop talking about pie. Who doesn't love pie? Pie is delicious. Plus it's filled with anything you like. It's versatile. We started going on about Thanksgiving pies -- you know, homemade apple, pumpkin, etc. -- and just getting generally dreamy about pie.

A bit later, my roommate and I decided to walk to Trader Joe's (on 72nd St...from 143rd St). On the way, there was a little street festival outside Columbia. My roommate HAD to get a street corndog (which emphasizes her place on the "awesome people" list), I HAD to get a smoothie, and then...we saw it. The wonder. The miracle of miracles. Yes, that's right -- there was a pie stand. A stand, just filled entirely with pies of different sizes and varieties. It was incredible.

That's to say nothing (does this phrase make sense?) about the pie man himself. He was really incredibly damn attractive. Plus, he sold pie. And, he was that perfect, sexy kind of disinterested in us and everything we had to say. We were all like, "Holy shit, we were just talking about how awesome pie is!" and he was like, "Um, yea. Duh. It's pie. What can I get you?"

I am seriously regretting not asking him out.

The Website

I can't remember if I've told you this before, but I have an OKCupid profile. I made it in college entirely for hilariousness, but since moving to NYC I go on it only 90% for hilariousness and 10% because it's actually fun (and a friendlier way to meet people in a city where someone's just as likely to say "fuck off" as "thank you").

I don't use it that much because I still think meeting people online is a bit sketchy and sad. Also the people I meet on it tend to be too nerdily similar to me, so the exact opposite of who I should actually be dating. Example: the neuroscience researcher who was plenty chatty via message but much quieter in person; I can be like that, so I don't want to be forced to carry the convo alone. Especially when what you have to say about your job is mostly rat brain surgery-related. He was super sweet and very smart, but please, don't let your only conversational contribution over ramen be ratbotomy.

So any way, I've decided, in the spirit of embracing hilarity, risk-taking, and rebellion, that it would be a great idea to meet NYC-area dudes online and report back to you. That is, if I don't flake out and cancel because something comes up with my real-life friends, which is what usually happens.

The Suburbia Lover

I decided that didn't want to deal with NYC last night, so I ran away to Long Island. Hilarious question of the night: "What is a cool, pretty girl like you doing single in Manhattan?"

The Re-Revival

Beware, friends: we're gonna get into some personal shit tonight. It's going to be corny. Enjoy.

Today at work, my coworkers were talking about the Tamagotchi craze, and I said, "Oh, I never had a Tamagotchi."

Cue gasps of horror and fainting in shock. "You NEVER had a SINGLE Tamagotchi?? You must have grown up in the slums of a third world country!! Why, StaciBeth, why?!?"

"No," I explained. "I was just a bit of a rebel."

One of my coworkers (one who likes to give me a lot of shit) said, "You were? What happened?"

Thinking about it, this actually slightly concerns me. Before I moved here, I used to have passions. Real passions, not like, "OMG I loooooooove those shoes!" I mean, my first two internships were at a performance theater and a grassroots peace organization. I agreed with the great Peter, Paul and Mary when they said, "If you've been to jail for justice, then you're a friend of mine." I was never crunchy, but I was a bit of a hippie in my ideology, and I couldn't care less what anyone thought of that.

Since moving here, it's different. I shop at the terrifyingly pretentious Whole Foods. (I should be over the whole annoying multiple-line thing at Whole Foods, but I'm not. It's dumb. I always inevitably get on the slowest line. Why not just have one long line that winds around the ropes? And why do you treat me like I'm the sad one because I don't know the difference between sprouted and unsprouted quinoa? Think about your priorities!) I think it's normal to pass Betsey Johnson on the street (and know who Betsey Johnson is. She is a scary looking person). I care even less than normal about what's going on in politics, and I haven't volunteered at any "fairs" (art, preferably, or music. Not Ren; I don't like horses). I haven't been in a situation when there was even a chance I might have to go to jail for justice the whole time I've lived in New York.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still me; maybe even with some shiny NYC bits. I'm perkier, slightly less bitchy (slightly), and probably a nicer person to be around. I eat better (thanks, pretentious Whole Foods quinoa snobs). I look damn fabulous when I want to, and I have some really great shoes.

As I am living in NYC (until I get out of this godforsaken city), and I continue to be perkier, healthier, and actually wear shoes based on my outfit, there are some parts of pre-New York me that I want to make sure I keep. As such, I have written a manifesto of my personal non-negotiables, below. These may certainly be added to or changed (after intense consideration) in the future.


My Re-Revival Manifesto -- to stay sane, stay awesome, and stay my rebel self:

-I will have no shame.*
-I will appreciate my kickass surroundings.
-I will only say what I believe -- but I'll say it damn loudly.
-I will decide what is cool (and what makes you sound like an idiot).
-I will be (almost creepily) enthusiastic, but only when I really feel it.
-I will tell you when I have no idea what the hell you're talking about.
-I will wear wife beaters and baggy jeans with glasses and lipstick if I damn well please.
-I will flaunt my passions.
-I will love freely and as much as possible, except when I am feeling particularly bitchy or cynical. Then I will hate with a flaming rage.
-I will say, "What's the worst that could happen?" and then I will jump.

Damn, that felt good.

(Caveat: all these should include, "Except when with clients. Then I will be as fake as I need to be.")

The Revival

Some say you should let dead dogs lie, but that has never been my way.

Wait. WTF does that even mean? What else would you do with a dead dog? Make him dance? Put him on parade? I am seeing this quite graphically and it is getting barftastic. Quick, think hilarious thoughts.

God I love how gimages can read my mind.

Anyway, what I meant to say was that this blog was getting a bit dead dogesque. But will I let it lie? No my friends, I certainly will not. Because I'm still a girl, I still live in NYC, and I still have things to say.

Except not today. I think I've said enough for today. I won't tell you about the crazy man on the train who was eating the bag of Doritos upside-down and screaming at strangers (but actually, I thought the part about eating the bag of chips from the bottom was the weirdest. Who does that?), and I won't tell you how many people called me mamacita on my way home (only two. I'm losing it), and I definitely will save my intoxicated weekend stories for later (especially meeting the way older St. Lucian "party planner" on the train who invited me back to St. Lucia with him). For those, you will have to wait and see.

I'm back.

The Embarrassment

Obviously I have a LOT to catch ya'll up on, but I just had a really embarrassing moment I think needs to be shared with the entire interwebz.

Our business's Managing Director just walked in the office and I am sitting here alone (obvs, it's like 8:30pm on a Friday, who the hell else would be at work), absolutely blasting 90s-era Usher, reading Yelp reviews on NYC spa services and drinking a Hoegaarden (which, btw, I don't even particularly like. Wheat beers are not my thing, but we were all out of the other options in the fridge).

I thought that his comment, "Staci, why are you still here?" took a great deal of self-restraint. If I had walked in on someone else in this situation, my comments would have been a lot more aggressive.

The Return Flight

Written Tuesday afty in the airport:
As I entered the teeny Akron airport, I noticed the line for my airline was much longer than normal. Ok, not a huge deal. I had 20 minutes leeway before my bag HAD to be checked. Then, a hassled airline woman called, "Ladies and gentlemen, systems are down!" Well, shit. The poor airline people had to write everything out by hand (which, when I think about it now as I'm waiting to board, is a huge security risk...)

But still, at least now everyone was in the same boat check-in time wise, and it was the airline's fault. As I got toward the front of the line, a woman who had just arrived in the separate "Elite" line went up to check in before the people waiting. The man in the front of the line politely informed her that we'd all been waiting for awhile (it's never actually polite though), but she blew him off. "Sir, I'm an ELITE passenger." Ugh. Do you want a cookie, lady?

After that, Hassled Airline Woman came over and closed off the "Elite" line so no one else could cut. But it was to no avail -- a couple minutes later, two women tried to re-form the previous "Elite" line. When Hassled Woman told them that they would have to wait in the long line, they got all huffy and indignant.

I finally got to the front and got my bag checked at exactly the right time, although I'm sure they didn't care at this point. Also I didn't even have to pay for it! Nice.

But then I hear the woman who had been in line behind me fighting with Hassled Woman at the check-in a couple stations to my right, yelling, "I was on line the whole time!!! You think you can treat me this way just because of the color of my skin???" (She was black, and the women who had tried to use the "Elite" line but were told they had to join the normal line were also black.) Being me, I obviously wanted to jump into this fight. I mean, come on. I live in Harlem. It's a little different than Akron/Canton, Ohio. However, I decided to hold back and attempt to mind my own business.

But behind-me-in-line lady had other plans. She pointed at me and yelled, "Ask her! That girl! I was behind her the whole time!!!"

And everyone in this giant line was staring at me. "Ma'am, she was behind me in line the entire time," I explained to the (seemingly) racist bitch of a Hassled Woman.

Hassled Woman practically screamed at me, "I just asked her for her ID!"

Oh. Well. Whoops. My b. How was I supposed to know that this was not a case of racism, but random crazy angry yellingism?

Now that I think about it, I don't see the crazy angry yelling behind-me-in-line woman here at the gate at all. I wonder what happened.

Later note: at least my seatmate did not go through any life-altering experience on this flight. But seriously, does weird shit like this happen to everyone?