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).