Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Last week I attended a friend’s show at a basement theater off of Times Square. It was a warm spring day and something inside told me to let my hair down and get a little crazy…so I ordered a virgin strawberry daiquiri. I have never had a virgin strawberry daiquiri before so I thought the bold taste that burned down my throat after my first sip was odd but probably normal. I set the drink in front of me and forgot about it for a while. After a bit I remembered how hot and thirsty I was and mindlessly downed half of my drink. That’s when I came to the conclusion that the burning was not a normal sensation for a virgin drink. My head wasn’t supposed to feel that hot, my ears certainly weren’t supposed to be on fire, my eyes were involuntarily wide and I couldn’t wipe that surprised expression off my face. I sent the drink back and continued the evening feeling warm and relaxed.
And that was my first experience with alcohol. I definitely understand what it means now to “take the edge off” and it was actually quite delightful.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Nothing is better than a nice, anesthetic induced nap. I woke up in my mom’s hotel room post-op feeling absolutely refreshed. I flipped on the tube and stretched my body over the entire bed and felt something foreign around my mid-section. Bewildered, I felt on my stomach an elastic waist band that wasn’t there before. I flipped up my shirt to reveal, a giant pair of granny panties…that I hadn’t gone into the operation with. I was mystified. How on earth do you wake up one morning (or afternoon in my case) wearing random underpants up past your belly button? I called my mom demanding answers to my mystery drawers.
As it turns out, my drug induced self demanded that I needed new underwear after the operation. My mother, trying to get me back to the hotel, had a hard time getting me in a cab and watched me march straight into CVS. I walked directly to the Hanes and picked out some briefs, debated on a pair of socks and proceeded to check-out. She tried to convince me that I probably didn’t want that kind but I insisted that they were perfect and made the purchase.
So, lesson to be learned…anesthesia makes me want to change undergarments. I should carry an extra pair next time I have an operation so I don’t end up in a drug store with over-sized grandma underwear.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Last week I went to Prohibition to blow off some steam with friends. It's one of my favorite places to frequent with a fun atmosphere and great music and as usual, hilarity ensued...
I've been hanging out with this guy Chad for a bit now. I am intrigued by him and have decided that I would like to figure out how he feels too. The problem: as I've stated before, I am a little awkward and shy when it comes to expressing myself and unlike most people who eventually swallow it up, I often find myself concocting elaborate schemes to get myself a beau and unfortunately they have about a 40% success rate. And why should this be any different? So in usual form I thought that I could pretend to be a little high on my pain-killers (I am actually 100% drug and alcohol free) and let him know that I'm interested.
Upon arrival I did my best 'high' act which includes: slight drowsiness, low eyelids, a smile and an abnormal amount of giggling...I think. I should've realized that about 20 minutes into my scheme I'd come to the conclusion that this was a bad idea, I always do but by then I'm too far in to back out.
So I went for the gold. As he wrapped his arm around me, sitting in our booth, I turned to him and said in my slightly 'stoned' voice, "hey, hey...I like you." He chuckled, I held my ground and for some reason though that repeating myself would really get my point across. "Hey, hey...I like you." Pause. Pause. Not a good idea.
Luckily, gal pal swooped in to save the little bit of dignity I had left and whisked me home. I was actually more relieved to drop the whole 'baked' act then anything and have vowed to myself that the scheming must come to a halt. Until next time, there's always a next time.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Case in point:
I spent a fabulous six months dating this guy named Jared. We had a great time together and we laughed all the time. He let me talk his ear off about my obsession with Musicals and David Bowie's hair from Labrynth and I think he actually enjoyed it.
At one point in the relationship I left the city for a month to visit family. During this time things got weird so I'd do some Facebook stalking (you all know you do it) and noticed this girl commenting on his page all the time. While sitting on my parents couch, cotton balls in between toes and bag o' chips in tow, he asked me if I'd noticed this girl writing on his wall. Instead of the obvious answer (YES!) I decided to be the 'cool girl' and lie, lie, lie, lie, lie. So I said no. He told me that it was nothing anyway and not to worry if I ever saw it.
Another few weeks goes by and it gets increasingly awkward, so I finally ask him in my most casual voice what is going on. I get the story from him that he doesn't know, feels bad, wants to work it out, blah, blah, blah and I suggest that if there's anything going on with the FB girl then he should explore it, I don't want to hold him back. He said that he had no desire to and that's when I said what I didn't mean, and nobody wants to hear. I said "Well, I can go either way." Silence on the other end.
'I can go either way?' as in, "Hey, wanna go to the movies tonight?" "Oh, I don't know, I could go either way." Or "Hey, how do you feel about Mexican or Chinese for dinner?" "Hm...could go either way." NOT "I really like you and want to work this out," "Well, I could go either way."
Sheesh. Brilliant Shelley, Brilliant.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
About five years ago I attended The American Musical and Dramatic Academy. After leaving a dance class one evening I found myself caught in the rain. I was running to meet friends and decided to hop on the crowded train to get me there faster and dryer.
Once I got on the train I did what I like to call “the seat scan” where you scan as quickly as you can for an available seat and then high tale it to claim the seat before anyone else can get there. I was happy to notice one available seat in the whole car, so I wove myself in and out of people to sit. Upon arrival I realized that the reason it was an available seat was because there was a very smelly, very loud homeless lady one seat over. But I didn’t care. I was sitting and that’s all I wanted. I discreetly put my hand over my mouth to mask the smell as the lady got up to walk through the car. And that’s when I saw it…a puddle on her seat, a puddle that was leaking its way over to my seat. I bolted up to reveal homeless lady urine all down my sweater. I ran off the train at the next stop, tried not to vomit and threw away my favorite sweater. When I finally arrived to meet my friends I was soaking in nothing but a leotard and jeans.
Oddly enough, I was applauded for my bold fashion sense by my friends and kept the secret to my style until now…
Monday, March 22, 2010
While down in Times Square, my friend asked a random passerby to take our picture. As we’re getting read y to pose, sweet friend asked the photographer to make sure the Eiffel Tower was in the picture. I let out a petty laugh and informed her that we weren’t in France and that we’d actually like to have the Empire State Building in our picture if they could find an angle to fit it in. Duh. The photographer stared at me for a moment and replied that it was actually the Chrysler Building but yes, they could fit it in the photo. Awkward.
So I vowed to myself that not only will that never happen again, but I will also know random facts about the two buildings to look like I know even more than everyone else.
1. The Empire State Building was originally designed to be a landing platform for Blimps but was decided against due to the wind blowing through the buildings.
2. In 1979 a woman jumped off the 86th floor of the Empire State Building to kill herself but the wind blew her back into the 85th floor and she only broke her hip.
3. There is a race every year called The Empire State Building Run Up that goes from the ground floor to the 86th floor. The record is currently held at 9 minutes and 33 seconds. (Seriously? That’s nuts..)
4. The gargoyles at the top of the Chrysler building were modeled after the hood ornaments on Chrysler automobiles.
5. The original design for the Chrysler Building featured a 12 story base of glass wrapped corners to give the illusion that the crown on top was floating but proved to be too expensive.
Last summer I was wearing a strapless sundress much like this one from Anthropologie. It was a hot and muggy day, and I was desperately trying to wear as few layers as possible, so naturally I decided to go solo up top (ahem…no bra). As I was sitting on the train, I realized the ridiculously handsome guy sitting next to me. The rest of my train ride was spent focusing on how to discreetly angle my iphone so I could see his reflection. Without realizing it, I was about to miss my stop. I jumped out of my seat also not realizing that the person on the other side of me was sitting on part of my dress. As I bolted out of my seat, my dress stayed under the persons rear sitting next to me…and thus I showed the entire busy-afternoon/just-off-of-work train my tots. Oh and it was my birthday.
So the next time you’re throwing on that strapless dress and discarding other (essential) layers, keep in mind the laws of gravity! It could happen to you!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Furthermore, The American Academy of Pediatrics reports that 83%-95% of individuals in a new environment will experience symptoms of homesickness. This means that nearly half of New Yorkers could be experiencing nostalgia. How funny is that?
My 18 year old self went through some similar motions in a more extreme way...my first day in New York didn’t prove that promising. After a sleepless night resulting in endless vomiting, my new roommate begged me to make a Bed, Bath and Beyond run. I couldn’t fathom leaving the apartment but she was one persistent bugger so I agreed to go on the condition that she pay for us to take a cab to the store and back.
As we’re breezing down Central Park East, I began feeling a little clammy. Suddenly I got hot flashes, a familiar lump was rising in my throat, and I quickly realized this was a bad idea. I frantically searched for a bag, any bag, as my mouth started to water. I really, really didn’t want to hurl in a cab. I started rolling down the slowest window I’ve ever encountered in my entire life and as soon as I found a clearing for my head to fit, I let it run in all God’s glory. And there I was, my first day in New York City, projectile vomiting out the window of a cab going down Fifth Avenue. Not one of my finest moments, and I dearly hoped this wasn’t a foreshadowing of my future life in the city.
Unfortunately, it’s been an accurate reflection thus far.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Last week I went to the doctor due to some recurring stomach pains. While my car salesman-like doctor was poking my abdomen, he began making obligatory small talk. Upon revelation of my mid-western roots, he questioned how I feel about living in the Big Apple. After replying that I love this place, he said, “Well, you’d have to love this place compared to Utah. I’ll bet there’s nothing to do there.” Well, there may not be Broadway and the Met out West, but what about the Mountains and the Lakes? What about the great outdoors? There’s a lot to do in a place where you can see a canopy of stars, build a tree house and at one point in time, even sleep with your door unlocked.
After this conversation I voiced my concerns to the nurse that I would pass out during my blood work. She objected and declared that she could hold my interest and then asked me to elaborate on who I thought was better looking, Vin Diesel or Paul Walker…Bless her heart.
I left that office hoping I never become so Gotham centric that I consider New Jersey the epitome of western living. While I am fully capable of admitting how naïve I am, New York can be a little naïve as well.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I moved to New York City almost eight years ago from a little old place called Farmington, Utah. As a child, I dreamt of living in a place that was thriving. Even at the mention of New York City, I would grow starry-eyed and tongue-tied. I always imagined myself as a sassy, metropolitan woman, working at a demanding and powerful job, making a fat paycheck and wearing fabulous clothes.
Imagine my surprise when I stepped off the M10 bus in front of my brand new apartment on 107th street. My young self assumed I was moving to a glamorous building since it was right off Central Park West and my new roommates mentioned that we lived on the top floor so naturally, I assumed it was a penthouse. How could I be so lucky? And that’s when the record player came to a scratchy halt. My building smelled rather stale, my bedroom could hold only my twin blow up mattress and the only views I enjoyed were of the building next door and the airshaft covered in pigeon poop. But still, I vowed that I would conquer this city!
Well, after eight years of life as a New Yorker, I realize that I’ve only really conquered my four flights of stairs and my speed dial full of take out bodegas (they cancel each other out…right?) Maybe I’m not that high-powered woman and perhaps I’m a little naïve but that’s okay. Not all New York women are super heroes; in fact, a lot of us are still trying to figure out which way the subway is, although we’d never admit it.
Welcome to my world! Let’s explore the harsh yet hilarious realities of a naïve girl living in the Big City.