NYC

Make New Friends But Keep the Old?

If you were a little girl scout growing up you know the song. It sings of silver and gold, circles that never end, and friends forever. It’s a wonderful creed to live by, and one I seemed to do well at. . . until I moved to New York.

It’s not that I haven’t tried. And I have made a couple new friends, but they are the people I work with. With how much we are around each other I would hope we would become friends, if not, I don’t think the job would work out! My husband and I have also been fortunate enough to know a couple people from the past that happen to live in the city. Some have been people we had kept in touch with before, some were rekindling of old relationships, but either way, the friendship is there. But new friends, the kind that you just happen to meet at the gym or in a coffee shop, were something I was really looking forward to.

The first sign that making new friends was not going to be as easy as it had been in Utah came the first time I went to the gym. I joined a gym down the street from our place largely in the hopes that I would meet like minded people there who would be interested in getting together outside of the gym. I picked a some classes, and for the first couple weeks I went at least 10min early. I would go into the room and just sit myself among the women who were chatting away. The first class nobody seemed to even take notice at first, even after a, ‘good morning’. Not being a shy one, I eventually found a spot where I could interject an introduction. I mentioned that I had just moved here (the response of which I am used to hearing/giving in Utah is, ‘oh where from?’/how do you like it here/etc). I got – nothing. First day of class, I’m the weird new person, it’s ok, it will get better. That class didn’t.

Yoga was a bit harder to just open my mouth as you come early to class to do a little meditation. Still, I figured that with enough time I could start a conversation with someone after class, or that someone might notice I’m new and ask me where I was from or if I was new. What I got, rather, was people being in such a hurry to leave that there was clearly no time for conversation.

My husband and I discussed this and laughed a bit. We joked that it was a good thing we were just in our first year of marriage and still liked hanging out together all the time. But as time has worn on and we approach our six month mark, we have openly wondered what it is that makes making friends so hard. Perhaps it is just that we are odd. We love hosting parties and making people dinner (which is apparently not normal here) and we love having new people over and making people feel comfortable and welcome into our life. New York is not like that.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not saying New York people are mean. Quite on the contrary. Everyone I have met has been nice, cordial, friendly – but there’s a line. People will smile back, say hello (when prompted), but you can tell there is nothing else there. They have their life and there is no need to add other things to it. It’s something that I just do not connect with.

While I may not be meeting any New Yorkers to add to my friend circle, I am still blessed to have all those that I do. The closest ones may not be in New York with me, but that just means I can work on rekindling and strengthening relationships with former friends (or new ones via my husband). And perhaps one day I’ll get a New Yorker into my circles of silver and gold.

NYC, Super Bowl 48

SB48

I live in the Big Apple. Everything in the Big Apple is bigger. The buildings, the voices, the honking horns, the rent. . . New York does it big. It should come as no surprise then, that putting on Super Bowl XLVIII (48) was going to be big.

It started on Sunday, one week before the big game. Tents were being erected, sponsors began to pour in, streets began to close. From 34 St. Herald Square to 44 St just above Time Square there was walking room only – this was Super Bowl Boulevard. There was ESPN, CNN, Fox Sports and CBS Sports. There was GMC, XBox and Papa John’s. There were field goals to kick and toboggans to slide. It was quite the site to see! Macy’s has an entire floor dedicated to everything Super Bowl and NFL, with some crazy auction items to boot (did you know football players once-upon-a-time wore onesies!?).

Then I got to MetLife stadium.

Security was intense (a little over-the-top), and the crowd was split down the middle in blue and green or blue and orange. Each seat had a ‘goodie-bag’ of sorts waiting for their occupants. A seat pad with a pouch attached that included gloves, a hat, hand warmers, a two-way radio, even the hand-warming pouch you see the quarterbacks wear! Everything was a big production (with the millions that go into it I guess it should be). And I’m fairly certain there were as many camera men there as there were players on the field!

The game got off to not the best start if you ask me (however my husband would say it was ‘amazing’), and it didn’t seem to get any better. But as the good sport that I am, I sucked it up for a couple minutes and even put on a Seahawks jersey (that’s what you get when you marry into a Washington family I guess).

The creation of the halftime show happened incredibly quickly. No sooner were the players off the field, there before us sat a stage. A beautiful children’s choir led way to a very impressive performance by Bruno Mars. The Red Hot Chili Peppers made a short appearance ( I remembered them being much better in times past), and a shout-out from our troops with Bruno Mars serenading us all with, ‘Just the Way You Are’ almost ended the half-hour performance perfectly. I say ‘almost’ only because there were the fireworks. Boy did they do well with the fireworks.

The second half held nothing exciting, just more beating. Three buckets of water doused Pete Caroll, the team rushed the field, and confetti blasted out, creating the perfect surface for confetti angels. We cheered and screamed for the champions of the USA in football as they were handed the Vince Lombardi trophy and, eventually, we made it home (let’s not go into details, that’s a whole blog in itself).

Our walk home revealed that New York had fully embraced the west coast winner. From every angle you could see a building with lights of blue and green shooting into the sky.

The Emerald City had come to New York, if only for the day. The memories made, however, will certainly last far, far longer.

NYC

Comin’ Home

“I’m home”, I tell myself as I make my way down the jetway. I’m not sure of my intonation. Was it stated as a question? Disbelief, dread, excitement?

It had been three months and three days since I had been to JFK. As I saw the airport come into view my stomach started fluttering. I wasn’t going to see my immediate family, but I was going to get to spend time with my new family, I was going to get to hang out in the grass (Yakima, Washington had no snow yet) and I was going to go SKIING!!! Freedom! I was finally getting out of the city. I was finally going to be able to workout outside and feel like I was in nature again, something I was sorely missing. Then something strange happened – after the rush and excitement of Christmas I started to miss my new home. But what parts was I missing? That I wasn’t sure about.

You see, I have been getting the question, ‘oh my gosh, don’t you just LOVE New York!?’ My first reaction is a sideways glance and the immediate thought of, ‘you must not have ever lived in the city before’. So what could I possibly be missing if this was my gut reaction to that question?

We returned briefly to the city for New Years. I had been told by numerous people (including those who live in NYC) that after our first year we are going to want to spend New Years elsewhere. Not many people I know get to say they were in Manhattan for NYE, so I figured we needed to do it. We had some friends over, watched fireworks while dancing to music in Central Park (I wasn’t standing in Time Square for 13+ hours), and watched Sharknado until the wee hours of the morning (now there’s a movie to ring in 2014). But we were only back for a couple days before making our way to Park City (the fantastic, amazing Christmas present from my husband). Returning from there was when ‘coming home’ really hit me.

Getting off the plane my husband looked at me and said, ‘we’re home’. Meh, I don’t know about that. But as we got closer and closer to our apartment I got more and more excited. Walking through the doors of our apartment I realized what I missed. It wasn’t the big city, the bright lights or the towering skyscrapers that I wanted to see. It was the comfort of a home that I had finally made our own that I missed. Through countless hours of painting and decorating, making sure every picture was in place, every dish organized, I had made a place that felt a little like being tucked away in the mountains while being 18 stories high.

While I have not reached a ‘love’ stage for the city, it is home. I have made my happy place. It’s one small step outside the snow globe into this wild adventure that is now my life.

Grocery Shopping, NYC

From Farm to Table with the Click of the Mouse

Growing up, if you needed groceries you went to the store and got them. The only people I ever heard of getting their groceries delivered for them were elderly people. Anyone else who sat on their computer and ordered groceries was just completely lazy. . . then I moved to New York City.

While on our search for a place to live this summer I tried taking all the little outside things into consideration. I wanted to know what kind of stores surrounded me so I knew how far I would have to travel for certain things – such as the closest grocery store. Imagine my delight when I discovered that we were not only close to a Whole Foods (and by close I mean three buildings down from us), but we also had a huge Food Emporium about three blocks away and a D’Agostino about the same distance in the opposite direction (because I definitely can’t buy all of our food at Whole Foods if I want money still in my bank at the end of the month!). I had this perfect little image in my mind of me taking my little grocery bags to the stores, getting what I needed for a couple days, then walking home (haha yes naive, I know).

While making this perfect little picture in my head while roaming the streets of our neighborhood I would see this truck that said ‘Fresh Direct‘ on the side. I was quite in awe when I learned that this company delivered people’s groceries to their front door. I mean, I know this is a big city, but with that comes some kind of little grocery store at every corner! My husband suggested we try it out for our first load and I had to agree with him. I could just picture my first grocery run, asking the store if I could just keep returning for bags as I shuffled my way between our apartment and the store (what a non New Yorker thing to do). But I knew I would only do it that once. I didn’t need a website to get my food from!

While I have only ordered from the website twice, I’ll admit that I’m completely converted. I probably spent a good hour and a half my first time ordering just looking at all the options I had. Then there was the local options. I could pick areas and farms, read about them and their methods – I knew exactly where my food could be coming from! I finally got my first order in and delivered and it still made me chuckle seeing them at my door. Thanksgiving came around and I knew there was only one place I was going to go for the essentials – Fresh Direct!

While I still enjoy going to the grocery store, Fresh Direct is definitely bookmarked and will be used frequently. And with so many local options (and yes, I know grocery stores are great at local as well), it’s helping make this big city a little bit smaller – just what this Mountain Girl needs!

NYC, Uncategorized

Finding the Words

The Statue of Liberty stands tall and proud, welcoming all who want to live here but warning them that living here doesn’t come without hard work. She is the gateway to America and she is not to be messed with. This, along with the pride of a city, was on full display Monday, November 11 – Veterans Day. Bugle’s bopped and drum-rolls rat-a-tated and dress uniforms were on full display. You could feel it in the air, a pride that was infectious to all. We could all stand tall today.

All weekend I thought about what I could, what I should say. Veterans Day came, with a parade down 5th Avenue and people in uniform everywhere I looked, I figured that I would surely get inspiration. Nothing came.

Then it dawned on me. There are thousands of things I could say to show how I feel, on how proud I am of people like my grandfathers and my father. Then again, no matter how many words I said or how many hearts I may reach, I could never say enough.

WWII Names

Growing up I loved looking at all of the Navy memorabilia from my father. His pilot helmet often adorned my brother and my heads, and we loved freaking out our friends with his ‘live’ ammunition of bullets. One of my grandfathers served in WWII, the other in Korea and I wish they had told us more stories. I have been to military Balls with friends in college, dressed up in my dad’s flight suit for halloween and told my dad I would be the first female Blue Angel (pretty sure that duty was fulfilled by the time I was 13, but hey, a girl can dream). While I never chose to join the military myself (although to this day I still wonder ‘what if’) I honor and love every single person who chooses to serve in any way, shape or form. Anytime I see someone in uniform I just want to run up and give them a big hug. I want to thank them and sit and hear their stories.

I’m pretty sure randomly giving people in uniform a big hug is not socially allowed and would probably get me in trouble (or physically injured) somewhere down the line, but that’s how I feel. But that’s what I want to do. I want to show them all how grateful I am for their sacrifice, their service. And while I may not always agree with the places they go to fight, I always support them. In my mind a mandatory service in the military, like many other countries require, seems as necessary to me as does a job in the service industry. They are both service, one is just putting up with the ignorant, annoying person you are serving food to while the other is serving the people who call this place home yet would only defend it through a video game. Yes, I understand that I have never served, but let me say again that if told that one person from each family needed to go I would in a heartbeat. And you are welcome to comment, ‘well then stop talking about it and go now’, but I am at a new phase of my life where that just can’t happen.

I love the military. I love the order, the tradition, the history. I love the Navy a bit more than the rest, but that’s because my father, a former Navy Fighter Pilot, made sure I had the bias. I know the songs. I can play them all on my clarinet (nerd, yes). But most of all I love the people in each of those branches. I love that their heart and their conscience was strong enough to go there. I love that they will literally do ANYTHING to protect this country and all who inhabit it, no matter the cost.

I could go on and on about my love and respect for my veterans, but I will never say enough to convey my feelings and gratitude to a level I feel they should be. So please, let me just end with

I Love You. Thank You.

NYC

Living the High-rise Life

Now that our couch and dinner table have FINALLY been delivered I feel like I can quite literally sit back and share this moving experience.

When we first met I was temporarily in the Financial District. Knowing I was going to be on the East Side before coming to New York was a system-shocker enough, the Financial District was a whole other beast. Needless to say, I was quite relieved to be out of that confusion. . . until I realized what I had signed up for being the ‘home setter-upper’. This task included, but was certainly not limited to: painting (which turned out to be the entire place!), organizing, folding, buying miscellaneous items, organizing, folding. . . did I say organizing and folding?

A little color to brighten up the other white walls!

My husband and I had felt pretty good about the amount of ‘stuff’ we were bringing with us to New York. While we both had some separation anxiety with items we left behind (or forced each other to get rid of), we headed east convinced that we really didn’t have that much. After move in day I decided I needed to meet a minimalist and have them impart their knowledge and organizational skills on me.

Our clothing pile kept growing with each day I put things away. It was like those fall days when you go out, breaking your back to rake up all the leaves you can, only to come out three hours later to discover that while your pile was still there, nice and neat, a pile twice the size had manifested itself in red, orange and yellow scattered angrily across your yard. Yes angrily, because really how else do you describe something that won’t go away, that even though it’s inanimate, you want to scream at it to get its act together – angrily.

The kitchen is something I really couldn’t quite understand, and I am convinced that my husband snuck in items that I had specifically said ‘no’ to. We had just gotten married! Thanks to our wonderful friends and family we had a whole new kitchen practically. That meant that all of our old college life dishes we had collected over the years could finally be passed on to the next generation of starving college students. Apparently my husband is a big nostalgic?

People kept telling me that months would go by and there would still be things you discovered you needed to do or to get for our new place. I thought, “psh no way. We are organized and on top of this, we’ll have this down in two weeks max!” Oh so young and naive. Here I am, almost a month post move, and two other furniture pieces have just been delivered. We still have two more things coming (hopefully within the next week, fingers crossed). We have almost finished putting up the new blinds we bought – which, let me say here that if you ever buy blinds, paying the Home Depot guy the extra $180 will be money well spent – and at some point this week we will mount our TV on the wall (now that we have a couch we can properly get the height the TV should be at). So. . . yeah. . . did I say two weeks? I’m sure I meant two months.

As stressful and mind boggling as this whole situation has been, I must admit that I am finally starting to feel at home – at least while I am in my apartment. I can honestly say that I did not think that would happen, or at least not for quite awhile ( six months minimum), but this apartment is becoming my happy place in the city.

Now if it could only fit my piano. . . oh well, a simple place to truly call ‘home’ is a great start.

NYC

Disregard the Surgeon General

Step, step, drag. . . step, step drag. . . step, step drag. . .

No this is not the rhythm to a dance, this was the rhythm to the woman walking in front of me today continuously smoking her cigarette. It made me chuckle while simultaneously shaking my head in disgust that she must smoke AT LEAST one pack a day if she continues that rhythm for the whole day.

Yet she is just one example of what seems to be happening with everyone around me. Since when was it again ‘Cool’ to smoke cigarettes? I see it everywhere, from people of every age, and an astounding number of my generation. Correct me if I’m wrong, but for those of us in the 20-35 age group, did we not have the fight against Joe Camel? I distinctly remember entering a poster making contest in elementary school about putting Joe Camel in jail! Are we not the generation that has grown up with more anti-tobacco adverts than ever!? And yet now it’s OK to smoke!?

I had friends in college who started smoking, claiming they only smoked, ‘when I’m drunk’, and that they weren’t actually addicted – they could quit whenever they want. . . I’m pretty sure this habit has extended post-drinking – sure you’re not addicted?

I must hear or see at least five commercials or adverts on smoking and it’s dangers a day. The havoc it reeks on your body is tremendous (trust me, I’ve seen the lungs in a cadaver lab) and no dopamine high is worth it. So why then is EVERYBODY doing it? You can make as many excuses as you want – tell me it’s only when you’re stressed, that you’re just doing it to lose weight, blah, blah, blah – none of them are good or legitimate excuses.

Now here I go making a ‘west coaster’ bias, but I swear I did not see that many people smoking out west. And no, I am not just referring to Utah (definitely an anomaly state), but to Washington State, California, Oregon, Colorado, Wyoming, etc. Yet in my travels to Europe I have seen a ton of people smoking (especially in France and Italy) . It’s as though the farther east you go the more smokers you find.

I have seen smokers of all types. The fashionista with her DD in one hand, cigarette dangling gently from her other. The ‘badass’ with his pants so low he looks as though he has ridden a horse for the past five days straight, taking long drags to then blow out big billowing clouds. The mom (& nanny) smoking as they push along their little one (um, secondhand smoke issues?). But my favorite has to be the women I have seen lighting up after walking out of the gym (or to it). I am fairly certain you have just canceled out any good you have done (or were going to do). Oh, and you look absolutely ridiculous trying to be ‘cool’ in your Lulu Lemon and likewise ‘cool’ with that puff of smoke around your head.

New York, I’m sorry, but I have finally found something to disenchant me a bit.

NYC, NYC Subway

NYC Subways: The Ultimate People Watching

Constant. Always in a hurry to get somewhere- which is often to push past you to get to the platform and just stand there when you knew the train wasn’t coming – never in the mood to talk or even look up.

They say one of human’s number one fears is public speaking, but sitting in a subway in the morning makes me think tight public spaces are right up there. Of course, this awkwardness and seeming inability to even meep (although cursing with your face down seems easy enough) makes for fascinating people watching.

In my two weeks of living in New York, I have discovered there are two VERY DISTINCT groups of subway riders – morning riders and after 1pm riders (because I am amazed how many people seem to Start their day around noon!). The morning riders look like this:

Notice that this picture is by the subway door. Because like your massive college lectures, the thought of actually moving to the middle and being near another person you don’t know – nuh uh, forget it! Most are silent, for many that silence is broken very faintly by the constant texting they seem to be doing (or perhaps it’s email, but even so, how in the world do they have service!?). If you are crammed right next to these types, they look at you like, ‘um, excuse me, why are you touching me?’. Getting a smile out of people is almost impossible.

One of my favorite things to do in the morning is see who I can get to smile back at me. Ridiculous I know, but it’s quite amusing when you look around, taking in people’s mannerisms. Judging whether they actually got to shower this morning, or if it was a, ‘shoot I shouldn’t have had those five drinks after work’ kind of mornings. I would say 2.5 out of 10 actually smile back (the half being that half smile while quickly looking away’. Most people, however, avert their eyes so quickly as though they were a two-year-old told not to peek but they just couldn’t help it. By the time I get to work, the crowds have significantly thinned and only the texters and students remain with me – so still no conversations to be had.

The afternoon/evening crowd is quite different. Maybe that’s because their fifth coffee of the day has finally kicked in, or maybe they just realize they are actually going to survive this day. I am definitely 9 for 10 on return smiles, and even ‘hello’s and ‘how are you’s are shared often. But the best are when conversations start. Here is what I have learned so far from personal conversations or evesdropping:

“There is nothing for me to be unhappy or unsmiling about because I am here and that makes today great” (elderly man who sat right next to me – 40years in NYC from the ‘DR” (Dominican Republic) three kids and two grandkids later – life is grand)

Not everyone can read a map that’s right behind them (as I’m trying to explain where to get off for Times Square while pointing it out on the map behind the woman’s head. The next stop she got a little scared – we were still 6 stops away – thinking they had missed their stop, obviously paying attention to me)

There seems to ALWAYS be some trivial thing to complain about (thins usually has to do with work and gets old to me really fast so I tune out rather quickly).

Adults just have no idea how things actually work and some video game teaches you so much more than you’ll ever learn in school (honestly had to try so hard to not crack up at these high schoolers on their way home from school).

I’ve heard people ask for money because of hard times in their lives and had a man come serenade our car with beautiful spanish singing and guitar. And while this wasn’t on the subway, a Mennonite choir sung beautiful Psalms that echoed throughout every corridor (it was so beautiful I missed the nest two trains to stop and listen.

As I continue to ride the NYC subway I hope to strike up more conversations with as many people as possible and to improve my 25% morning smile return. Until then, I’ll continue in partaking in personal bubble breaking in the mornings and making new temporary friends in the evenings (or at least getting good, juicy gossip 😉 ).

Carnival, Governors Island, NYC

Cotton Candy and Carousels

Gracefully galloping, always poised in perfect pose. Side-saddle or straddled, taking control of the reins or waving gracefully at passerby. The gentle tinkling of music plays softly, the wind blows through your hair. The smell of sugar and the sound of laughter is in the air. . . la vie est parfaite!

Governors Island, just half a mile off of South Ferry, has many wonderful sights to keep you entertained for the day. A military base for the US Army and Coast Guard for nearly two centuries (so yes, almost 200 years!), 150 acres were given to both the city of New York as well as the state, while the rest (just over 20 acres) was preserved as a national monument. From the ‘castle’ of the military fort, (used to both hold prisoners and look out for intruders trying to make their way to land), to the antique (but still functioning) French Carousels surrounded by classic Colonial houses, magic and imagination runs wild.

One of the many beautiful carousels on display.

While the ‘castle’ and other military buildings were quite fascinating, I’m not going to lie – my focus at Governors Island was Fete Paradiso, the French Carnival. Restored carnival rides and games from as early as 1850 twirled and danced. A woman in 1930s clothing (think classy french pin-up) sat elegantly side-saddled upon a beautiful white mare while another sung seductive French jazz on the pavilion. Children danced and giggled – almost as loud as the adults accompanying them! With the bistro lights hung overhead it was truly a trip back in time.

While I did not ride any of the carousels myself (my husband wasn’t ready to stand in line, obviously I hadn’t gotten his imagination prepared well enough), there was one other carnival staple I was sure to not leave without. So my husband and sister-in-law headed to the wine bar while I waited patiently, bouncing like any child might, for freshly spun cotton candy! Sugary and sticky, I feel it is a necessary indulgence if you are going to go to a carnival. Who doesn’t enjoy being a big little kid sometimes?

This island definitely is going to need another tour, and not just for the carousel ride I’m going to take. But for trip #1, it has definitely caught my interest. New York City, you continue to impress. Now excuse me while I go wash the sugary-spun sweetness from my face.

Au revoir.

NYC, Uncategorized

Festivals and Food Poisoning

Celebrating our first weekend in the Big Apple I wanted to do something to really bring us into this new life. Fortunately for me, the city responded tremendously Saturday with celebrations and festivals galore. From an Oyster Fest across the street from our place to the San Gennaro festival in Little Italy and more, New York gave us plenty to take in.

As we headed out for a morning run, my husband and I saw tents and signs going up across the street from our place. My husband got really excited as we returned when he noticed the signs read ‘Oysters’. While my husband is a fan of food in general, oysters, clams and crab are three things that he could eat for every meal, every day (won’t he be excited to hear that this festival continues this weekend)!

Research has told me that this annual Oyster Festival is a New York staple celebration. Nestled on Stone St, a brick-laid avenue lined with restaurants and bars of all types, it takes one look to realize that may be an understatement. I’m rather certain the Park City population of 10,000 was crammed into this one brick-laid street with Snyderville Basin overflowing onto Pearl St. I didn’t know that many people could fit into such a small area! So my sister-in-law and I headed into the chaos, coming out 40minutes later having shared a bottle of Prosecco with some wonderfully nice strangers and finally getting the two beers we went in for, while my husband satisfied his oyster craving (he even saved us some!). Satiated and slightly overwhelmed, we left the crowd to the locals.

Fast forward to dinner and we found ourselves in another massive group in the heart of Little Italy. If I thought Stone St. was crowded I don’t even know what do consider this! Rather than one street, it was simply people as far as you could see in all directions. Eventually we found a place to eat that didn’t have an hour wait – turns out there may have been a reason. While our food was delicious, our stomachs didn’t think so later in the night. I guess quantity comes over quality when at the demand of 100,000 people. Our stomachs didn’t turn before our personal bubbles popped however, and we quickly decided moving two feet every two minutes wasn’t quite worth it. However, we did not escape before trying Deep Fried Oreos! Shoot they were so good. Thank God I don’t go to fairs often, I would be in trouble!

Even if my stomach didn’t agree with all of the choices I made on Saturday (and yes, it was the Italian dinner, not the Oreos dang it!), I am slowly getting closer to the realization that this is my permanent residence (not quite ready for the ‘H’ word yet) and that’s not horrible – just a bit of sensory overload.

Just A Mom

Showing that one is never ‘Just a Mom’ if you love fully, laugh often, and live life to the fullest with creatively, deep breaths, and a glass or two of wine. Oh. And chocolate. Always chocolate.

Category Archives: NYC