Oh! The Pressure.

So it’s been 2 years since my last post…

ehhhhhhhh…

In the true spirit of, me, LB (remember me?) how about we all just, well…think about that tomorrow?

Sounds good to me.

Because this won’t make the most sense I’ll start with today–there is really no better place to start.

(we will get into where in the hell I’ve been later)

I’m currently looking out my apartment’s window.  I live in Harlem above a very busy street corner; busy of the bus, train and people variety.

Last month I moved from a little further uptown where I had a very busy corner; busy of the drug dealer variety.

But no matter what corner you live at in upper Manhattan you are going to get your fair amount of comments from your lovely neighbors on the sidewalk (or yelled from cars, or shouted from across the street).

Here are some of my favorites from the past year, in no particular order:

– “Hi, snowbunny”

– (as it’s raining) “Oooh girl.  No raindrops should fall on you, you’re too beautiful”

– “WELCOME TO HARLEM” (said sarcastically)

– “I’d marry you twice” (5:30am on a weekday, as I’m headed to work)

– “You know I like me some vanilla ice cream too”

and a personal favorite, because I am entirely unsure of what he meant…

– “Ooooh girl. You look like a CHAMPION”

There are much more Harlem stories to share…but this is just one post.

Just the beginning.

And the beginning, is a very good place to start!

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Back to Life, Back to Reality

I have to admit, my first job out of college did not exactly put me into the “Real World.” It was more like, my real world or what anyone would ever wish the real world to be.

It was fun.

Probably too much fun…if that’s even possible.

I traveled the country for a year, on my company’s dime. I saw 30 states, met amazing people, crazy people and even got to meet up with friends from coast to coast.

It was simply amazing.

There was a lot of eating, drinking, playing, sightseeing, sleeping and not sleeping.

Now, I am currently unemployed! For the past 6 days I’ve done laundry, had lunch with my PR mentor, applied for a couple of jobs and made some money babysitting and ironing.

I have not unpacked.

Maybe I don’t want to, maybe I can’t bear to figure out what to do with drawers. WHAT ARE THESE THINGS FOR? I’ve lived out of a suitcase for a year!

I haven’t made my bed, where is the housekeeping in this joint?

Apparently no one is going to clean my bathroom either…

Weird.

But the truth is, although I had an amazing 12 months touring the country I have always had this one dream:

To live in N.Y.C.

So let’s blog toast to me getting on my grind grand hustle and moving from CT to NYC by August!

Here we go! Followwwww me, I’m making moves Blogworld!

Taxi Drivers, My Obsession

I am beginning to believe that there is no one more interesting than a Taxi Driver.

In Richmond, VA I met Mohammed. Mohammed is from Morocco and loooooves him some Pop music. Not Britney Spears though, I asked. Mohammed loves Nickleback. A lot. He also keep thousands of dollars (I think) in change in a cooler between the driver’s and passenger’s seat in his mini van. Mohammed doesn’t own this particular taxi company but we were 100% in obtaining him as our driver for our entire stay in Richmond, I guess you could call us lucky. Mohammed visits Morocco once a year. He is married to an American woman from South Carolina and together they have a son. Neither his wife or his son visit Morocco with him. His wife hates to fly, but he offers to buy her a ticket each time he plans a vacation. She refuses to go but takes the plane ticket money and goes shopping. He mentioned that he likes to have a lot of fun in Morocco. I applauded his love of fun and asked if it made him sad that his family did not come with him, he said, “What happens in Morocco, stays in Morocco.” I swear that is the slogan for a certain sin city in the good ol’ U.S.A…but Mohammed speaks the truth, and I believe him. Stay classy Mohammed, stay classy my friend.

Then there was Mohammed II. Strangely enough, also from Morocco. I asked him if he had relatives named Mohammed in Richmond, he doesn’t. Well, MII is a shuttle driver outside of D.C. Really nice man. As HDC and I get into the shuttle he starts complaining about how the driving laws have changed. I drive for a living so I questioned him. “You used to be able to drink and drive all the time, now you can’t.” That was his complaint. The man who was currently driving me. The man who drives other people around (hopefully safely) for a living. Awesome. I told him that it was wildly inappropriate to drink and drive because there are shuttles (i.e. what we were in), taxis, buses and the metro which take you everywhere in D.C. He explained to me that he used to do it all the time, until the cops started cracking down on the drunk drivers. One night MII was sober and got pulled over, the first thing he said to the PoPo was “Of all the nights I’ve been drunk  you pull me over when I’m sober.” Gotta love an honest man. The last night MII was my shuttle driver he told Texas that I was what the French call “poissant” ( I couldn’t find the actual spelling of the word on the good ol’ internet but that’s what it sounded like, apparently it is some kind of slang phrase). Poissant means crazy woman. Thanks, MII, it was a pleasure.

After arriving in D.C. I landed a taxi driver named Walter. Walter loves sports, but doesn’t watch them on T.V., although for a split second he told me that he was an Oakland Raiders coach. Let’s keep in mind he is a Taxi Driver in Washington D.C. He later retracted that statement and decided to be a golf coach for whippersnappers, which I totally believe and appreciate because I use the word whippersnapper all the time. We had a lovely chat about the time he started talking like Fog Horn Leg Horn to get the whippersnapper’s attention. As I exited the cab he said, “Who would have thought that two people who both use the word whisppernapper would be in the same cab together?” It was a pure miracle, Walter.

There was also the cab driver in Seattle that said I looked like Paris Hilton after he told my very Italian, very white coworker that she looked like Beyonce.

Case(s) and point…aren’t these guys the most interesting people in the world? And to think all of this information was divulged in a less than 15 minute cab ride.

Advice: Sit in the front seat and control the conversation…you never know what will happen. But it will be GREAT.

Lessons in Love

In the good ol’ Derty Jerz I made some 5th grade friends. They were sweet little skateboard boys who were all about 10 -and-a-half and owned iPhones.  Isn’t that just adorable?

And just not necesarry…anywayssss….mustbenice.

They were all chirpin’ about the YMCA dance they were attending that night.

Ooooooooo, do you have dates?” I asked.

They started cracking up, apparently they all do except for one Playboy. I high-fived him and pointed out that now he could dance with allllll the ladies, no need to hold yourself down brother!

Amen!

Texas then asked the premature daters, “Did you get your dates flowers?”

They looked at us blankly. They didn’t laugh. They looked nervous. They knew they were about to learn something.

Adam reminded them they they would not be getting a kiss if they didn’t bring flowers, they replied with a loud, annoyed “EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.”

In that moment, I knew I liked these guys.

They were disasters. They were sweaty, tiny, dirty and grimey…the boys were in desperate need of a shower and a growth spurt. And now that I heard the “no flowers” news, they needed themselves a Mama.

I looked at the pack for a second and then formed them into a single file line and walked them directly to the florist department of the grocery store. During the walk I told them that they had to act like humans when we were in the store.

“Keep the giggling to a minimum, don’t yell, DO NOT TOUCH A SINGLE THING,” I said lovingly.

I showed them boquets of flowers that were $3 each. I explained that we could break down these boquets down and add some filler, greens and baby’s breath to make their dates mini-boquets. I had them pick two boquets to use.

2 gentlemen picked Pink and Green flowers.

2 gentlemen picked Red Carnations

I already know what you are thinking…dundundun….

I explained that different colors mean different things.

Pink = Caring/Friendship

Red= LOOOOOOVE

They stood by their choices, even after I made fun of them for the “declaration of love”  flowers.

As we stood in line (and as they tried so very, very hard to stay as human as possible) I could tell my “Love Flower” boys were uneasy about their decision. So I had to intervene…

This is an intervention.

“Guys, I was going to let the whole carnation thing slide, as you are 10 but…Carnations are an absolute no, no. And the red just creates a hot mess of carnation and love, two things you never want to combine.”

They nodded solmely and picked some beautiful yellow flowers.

I felt like I had already helped them.

So the florist whipped together four boquets for the price of $12.88. A small price for me to pay in the hopes of molding four young men into become flower giving gentlemen in the future.

As we headed through the automatic sliding doors of the grocery store I made the boys promise that they would NEVER EVER go on a date/dance with out bringing flowers.

They promised. And I made them pose for me.

 

 

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Autograph: Boy #3

I totally forgot about this guy! And he is yet another, old man!

As I was heading home for Christmas, after 14 hours in the aiport/ sleeping on the floor in the Las Vegas Airport…first timer at that…not fun…

So as you can imagine I was looking pretty damn good at this point in the day and I am sitting slouching there in my sweatsuit just wanting to be in CT, not in the Cleveland Airport when…

The gentleman that pushes all the wheelchairs around the airport comes pushing a wheelchair directly at me, so with earbuds in ears I smile;  in an attempt to say “YO! I’M SITTING HERE DO NOT RUN ME OVER WITH THAT WHEELCHAIR!” and then he said:

‘Well, Hello! You goin’ to Hollywood? Cuz I need yo autograph!”

I laughed and said, “Nope, but apparently you are my biggest fan!”

He was a sweet old man with just the right amount of creepy…

Cx3 Day 7

One week! One week of working out hard! And I am sore kids, I am sore!

Today’s Workout : 63 minutes on the bike, difficulty level 11. And then three sets of 12 of three different tricep moves and one chest.

What I learned this first week: Unlike the marathon this is NOT about endurance this is about speed and building up my muscles to make it up hills. So instead of increasing my time on the bike I am going to increase my mileage for that time…hopefully consistantly. I need to research what the average time for a 12 mile bike ride is…if you know help a girl out!

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Food Log:

Bfast: 1 Slice whole wheat toast with honey, yogurt with granola and raisins

Lunch: PB and J

Dinner: Chik Fil A Grilled Chicken Sandwich and FRENCH FRIES…uhhhh

Dessert: Skinny Cow Ice Cream Sandwich

Water Count: 4 bottles of water

PhotoShoot

So I had a little photoshoot, with ummm myself, to capture my new hair!

img_1628With my hair up in a ponytail.

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So that is the new hair. I looooove it! I am still getting used to it, but that is the fun part. The 2009 version of LB!