A little realization

I'm pretty sure I'm my own biggest fan. Not in a vain way, and not even in an overly confident way. Just in the "I'm the one who cares most if I'm happy, healthy, and well read at the end of the day."

I might Facebook stalk myself a little bit, too.

One Man's Trash

Last Saturday, my good friend Alex and I went on an adventure. I first heard about Dead Horse Bay here, and I knew that I needed to visit this place when I moved to the city. I never assumed that I'd be able to find someone as intrigued by treasure hunting as I am, but Alex is definitely that kind of guy. We set out just a little after high tide (unfortunately), but we still got a great glimpse of the bay and all of the washed up rubbish.

**Brief history**
Dead Horse Bay got its name from nearby horse rendering plants in the early-mid 19th century. When horses from NYC could no longer be used to cart around people and supplies, they sent them out to Brooklyn to make them into glue. Well, the plants shut down, but the name stuck. Then, in the late 19th century, the area transformed into a landfill, and it remained as such until the 1930s when it was capped off. Something happened in the 1950s, and the cap burst, spewing a century's worth of garbage all over the bay. Unlike most dry landfills, the garbage in this place has been floating in and out with the tide for over 50 years, and although I still wouldn't consider it "clean," it wasn't nearly as smelly/gross as I thought it would be.

Everything about the day - the weather, the skies, the breeze - was absolutely perfect. Our walk through the overgrown grasses and trees leading out to the bay felt almost magical. It transported us out of New York City and into a world unlike anything I've ever seen before.

Old glass bottles, bricks, and leather shoe soles littered the beach. Since most people have never heard of Dead Horse Bay (and let's be honest, the name is a little intimidating), we had the beach completely to ourselves.

 We filled up a garbage bag with our own beachy treasures and took it all back to Alex's place to sanitize and polish. All-in-all, we came away with some really cool things, and I stare at my broken dishes and bottle of grape juice and wonder just who used them back in the day. It was such a uniquely awesome experience, and I feel even more connected to this city after rummaging through its garbage.

All of these pictures are courtesy of Alex, whose photography skills far outshine mine. Fortunately for me, his phone died in the middle of our trip, so I coaxed him into taking pictures with my phone as part of an elaborate scheme. 

A Portrait of Two Men

Man one:

He's vaguely obnoxious, and yet adorably so. As we ride in the crowded subway from Flushing to Manhattan, he uses his friend/lover as a make-shift seat, aware of this annoyance and yet no better after getting shoved off. I overhear bits of scrambled conversations - plans for the upcoming week, a reflection on the US Open, and a general mockery of the guy he is with. In fewer than ten minutes worth of observation, I know his personality, and I am grateful that I shared a car with him.

We pull into Times' Square, and he prepares to exit the train by facing himself toward one set of doors. Those aren't the doors that will open when we stop, though, and he lets out an exasperated sigh at his failed attempt to thwart the subway system.

"Seriously?" he challenges.

"You must not be from around here," I retort. I don't usually interact with strangers on the subway, but this was an exception. I knew my sarcasm would serve me well.

"HA!" He laughed, half sincere, and half smart alec, and we walk in different directions down the platform.

Man two:

After dinner at Carnegie Deli, my sister and brother-in-law each had half of their pastrami sandwiches left in takeout containers. We hypothesized about sharing the food with the less fortunate, but only I was 100% serious about the task. When we tried to enter Gershwin Theatre with the food, the ticket-taker said we had to dispose of the half-pastrami half-rueben outside, and I knew it was time to fulfill my mission to feed the homeless on a Tuesday night. I took the sack and began a triumphant walk down 51st Street, looking for anyone who looked to be homeless and who also chose to stay out in the rain, instead of crowding under Starbucks awnings or retreating to the underground. He sat - half-leaning - on the brick wall, strands of wet hair peeking out from his loose wool cap.

I walked up very casually and explained the situation. The way his face lit up, you would think I offered him a lot more than somebody's meager leftovers, but hey, a meal's a meal.

"Thank you, and God bless you," he expressed as we turned back toward the theatre.

 Now, I always want to share my leftovers with the homeless.

Home Cooking in the Village

 Greenwich Village is one of my favorite neighborhoods in this city. Everything is so eclectic and homey, and the quaint cobbled streets are adorable. 

The other day I decided to go to Chelsea Market (which, as the name might suggest, is actually in Chelsea... but it's close enough to also be considered the Village). With a mix of Anthropologie, gourmet cooking shops/grocery stores, fancy restaurants, and a fantastic bookstore, I was basically in Emily heaven.

 

I wandered through aisles of delicious-looking vegetables and exotic truffle oils before remembering that my kitchen is literally 20 square feet big and currently infested with roaches.

That won't stop me from dreaming about a time where delectable meals are a regular occurrence at my house. You're all invited to squeeze into my (slightly larger) living room to partake of something delicious.

My Life, the Movie

The other day I decided to walk home via Riverside Park. It was my first time, and I quite enjoyed the leisurely stroll down the tree-lined sidewalks. However, next time I'll definitely wear more practical shoes for my 3-mile jaunts.

Anyway, the story goes like this. Right as I meandered past the 91st Street Garden, I swear I heard someone off in the distance yelling "Brinkley! Brinkley!" I didn't see Tom Hanks appear from behind a tree, but it was one of those split-second moments where I definitely felt like my life was a movie.

I'm sorry for all of the continued "You've Got Mail" references, but seriously, this entire movie takes place only a few blocks away from me. I love it.

Into the Woods, Then Out of the Woods

Once upon a time...

My roommate and I decided early last week that we wanted to get tickets to Shakespeare in the Park. I did research on how to go about getting tickets, and we decided to go at 9:00 on Tuesday morning to stand in line for the 1:00 distribution. Little did we know that "Into the Woods" and stars like Amy Adams and Donna Murphy draw a rather large crowd, and by the time we arrived, the line was far too long for us to be sure we would get tickets. We didn't want to wait without that assurance, so we went home and decided to try for a date later in the week. Friday was that day.

The night before, we discussed our plan of attack, much like post-Thanksgiving mommies plan how to get Xboxes and iPods on Black Friday. We planned to leave long before sunrise, and my mother worried from 2,000 miles away that I would be murdered on the streets of New York City while I tried to get tickets for a silly play. It turns out, though, that most people who ride the subway at 5:00am are headed to work, and they all looked about as sleepy as I felt. I didn't get pictures of our preliminary line, but you can rest assured that we weren't the only crazy ones who decided to line up on Central Park West before the park even opened. At 6:00, the Shakespeare-line-security-man led us inside, and he designated the queue for all of us stalwart theatre patrons. Simini and I got a cozy place on the dirt, where we would spend the next seven hours waiting for tickets. Yes, I said seven.

At first, time moved rather slowly, and I was glad to catch about a 45 minute nap as I got used to the uncomfortable ground. I nibbled on my snacks and talked with my roommate, and we befriended the group of girls waiting in line behind us. It turns out that you can become pretty good friends with someone when you're forced to spend an entire morning together. By 11:00, we felt pretty good about the task, and I counted down the minutes until we'd have our tickets in hand.

Then, it started raining.

At first, we thought we would get away with just a couple scattered showers. I didn't mind them, because they kept the temperature reasonable. At about 11:30 (mind you, 90 minutes before ticket time), the rain picked up, and in a little under fifteen minutes, I was soaking wet. I neglected to mention that my preparations for the day included anything necessary for spiking my blood sugar, but nothing for keeping me dry. I huddled under my sheet and prayed that the rain would end to no avail. Soaking wet doesn't really describe it accurately. You must remember that I was sitting on the dirt - now mud - and that my sole mission in enjoying/enduring the rain was to keep my purse/phone/book dry. I huddled over the poor thing, wringing out my sheet and trying to brush the mounting dirt-mud off my hands. By the time we were ready to pick up and move toward the box office, I looked like I had just rolled around in the mud. Really pretty.

But, we got the tickets! We ran back to the subway and took the non-air conditioned car back to 125th. I didn't even mind the heat of the underground, because I was so rain-chilled. I even took a hot shower for the first time since arriving here!

For the play, Simini and I met up with our other roommate Molly and my friend Patricia. We had decent seats, and the security lady came and told me that I couldn't take pictures of the set. Boo. It was gorgeous, though, and everything about the evening made up for the less-than-desirable morning. Amy Adams (Baker's wife) was awesome. Donna Murphy (witch), fantastic. The little boy (narrator) was adorable, and Glen Close as the Giant was crazy. We even got to meet up with some of the cast after the show, and Amy Adams was nice enough to take a picture with us! I had such a good time, and I'm glad that everything came together so that I could have an awesome story surrounding my Into the Woods experience. With all the mud and rain, I might as well have traveled into the woods. I'm just glad I didn't meet any wolves. 

The end.

bad/good

Bad news:

I ate (almost) an entire package of Oreos in a little over two days.

These Heads or Tails Oreos rock my world. Seriously.

Good news:

I (assume that I) walk off all of the calories by perusing the neighborhoods of New York City. Today alone, I covered the Upper West Side, Central Park, and the Upper East Side.

This was actually from yesterday at Washington Square Park. It is definitely one of my new favorite spots in the city.

Just a quaint house on the Upper West Side. I try to mimic the life of Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan) in "You've Got Mail," sans 1990s dial-up internet.

Good news:

While I'm completely ecstatic to start my new job at Columbia University, I will miss the lazy days of exploring the Big Apple and familiarizing myself with this wonderful city. Seriously, there is no better place on earth.

Tourist in My Town

I moved to New York City yesterday.

It still hasn't quite sunk in that I'm here - in the city - indefinitely.

Perhaps it's because I don't have a job yet, but I've spent the last two days doing a lot of the "touristy" things. In between unpacking, grocery shopping, and a job interview this morning, I've also been able to hit some of the sights that I missed during my previous visits as a tourist.

I looked nice for my job interview. This is pre swoopy, cat-eye, nasty bangs that come as a result of high humidity. I've come to the general conclusion that (most) people in New York have a continuous bad hair day. I will be one of them.

I spent my evening at the MoMA. Thanks Target for letting me get in for FREE on Friday! Also, I love ironic art.

And Van Gogh.

If you're like my dad and need to know what type of restaurant this is, let me refer you here. This is right across the street from my (potential) new employer. I'll let you know how the food is once I have job.

Stay tuned. There is much more to come from this crazy place I now call home.

snippet

I’m a hoarder. I collect memories in jars by my bedside. Some have gathered dust, and others brim the top of the narrow neck, spilling out over the edges of Mason glass and onto the smooth dark wood of my night table. I separate them into useful categories – needed for future generations, stories for parties, mean things I’ve said, old locker combinations and tacky birthday presents. And in the morning hours, dawn shines through the jars of my memories, casting a rainbow around my bedroom and inserting fragments of truth into the fiction of my dreamland.

Just my luck.

One of the cruel(est) ironies of life is that two extremely good-looking fellows start working in my office two days before I move 2,000+ miles away.

Classy... or Not.

Things I do that make me classier than you: I left these for some other poor housewife to check out.

Things I do that make me less classy than you: I got these instead.

Glimpse

I just want to catch a quick glimpse of myself in the future. It doesn't need to be years or decades from now; all I need is three months. Is Emily in October happy? Is she comfortable? Is she on her way to success? Does she have it any more figured out than I do, because if she's as unsure as I am today, I really feel for her.

Mid-day Mantra

Most of the time I can be happy for people who seem to have it all. Congratulations on your new house/car/job/baby! You're awesome, and I'm proud of you!

However, there are a select few people with whom I feel like I am in a constant, stiff competition. If they get a new phone, mine must now be obsolete. If their job pays for them to travel to another city, then my job must comparable to the Cache Valley Booting Service guy's (you know, a job straight from hell). While I'm at it, I might as well drink a pint of pickle juice, because I surely cannot afford any San Pellegrino, like some people can.

Why am I like this? What makes it so difficult for me to appreciate my life without comparing it to someone else's? I've got a job/car/apartment. Actually, I don't want for anything (except maybe a new pair of shoes). My life is good, and I shouldn't complain.

And so, today I posted this new mantra in my journal:

Get over it...

Someone will always be smarter, funnier, prettier, richer, more "with it" than you. Don't fault them for their successes, and don't think yourself a failure for the life you have. The only person you need to be better than is the person you were yesterday. Live your best life, and celebrate other who live theirs.

Just a happy picture to round out my bitterness.

Happiness is...

Seeing the boy you might/maybe/may have a crush on at the grocery store, and having him ask if it is "uncouth" not to use produce bags when buying apples. I love English majors.

all dressed up and nowhere to go

It's one of the cruel ironies of life that I look the best on the days that I never leave the house.

random

Some of my favorite things include the sound of rain outside my window, reading an inspiring book, and snuggling up under warm blankets. I'm experiencing all of those things at this very moment, and I can't imagine anything more relaxing.

I've made the decision to open my eyes to the simple pleasures in life - inside jokes with good friends, a favorite song played on the radio, the spring blossoms and budding trees. I am awake to the goodness of this life, and I'm grateful for the chances I have to share my thoughts with others.

It's a good day.

a few good things

Today:

• I spent at least an hour of my work day blog stalking Josh and Naomi Davis and their fabulous NYC life – before they moved to DC. I want to be as well-to-do as they seem to be. I also want a husband as attractive as Josh.
• I applied for another three jobs. Sometimes it becomes tedious, but I just keep hoping that one of these leads will be my ticket out of here.
• I went for a jaunty run and worked out my arms. I'll be sore tomorrow. I love it, though.
• I packed up a lot of the unused stuff in my closet and loaded up my car for the trip home this weekend. I'm planning to do some preliminary NYC packing to see if my eyes are bigger than my suitcase.
• I baked two dozen chocolate chip cookies (and ate four of them), negating all that hard work I put into running.
• I got nervous for my job interview tomorrow, pushed those feelings away, and then had them rush back again. This is a really big deal for me, and I'm just so grateful for the littlest glimmer of hope that my dreams are about to come true.

Mad Woman

In honor of the return of Mad Men to AMC this Sunday evening, I have my first official interview as an advertising executive in New York City!

Daylight Spending

For the past five days, I've had to listen to a coworker talk about how much her life was disrupted by the time change last Sunday.

I don't give anything - least of all an hour of sleep - that much credit for the ultimate feng shui of my life.

In addition, the good weather, the birds chirping, the fact that it stays light past 7:00 - I'd gladly give 60 minutes of my day to have those things return to my life.

I'm planning to give two hours to the City rather soon, and I don't blink twice at what that feature-length span might change in the whole scheme of things.

When it comes down to it, that hour is really a blessing. If I lived in Arizona, I'd have to change my clock three hours when I move to New York.

303 Months

Yesterday, I realized that I have been alive for exactly 303 months. It wasn't anything monumental, but in my numerical mind, it was refreshing to notice just what turned me into the 25-year-and-3-month-old I am today.

I've spent 117 months in public school.
I've spent 36 months in college.
I've spent 2.5 months in Europe.
I've spent 4 months in relationships.
I've spent the past 24 months in the workforce - the last 6 of which have absolutely flown by.

It's pretty simple to whittle all of my major life events into a calendar list, but it also makes me excited for what I have left to achieve.

Most of all, I've realized that not knowing what I'm going to do in the next 303 months of my life is completely okay. I hope that within the next four months I'll be out of Logan or that within the next 36 months I have my car paid off, but other than that, I'm pretty clueless.

It just takes one day at a time to figure it all out.

Schedule

My typical day goes something like this:

• 6:45 – wake up.
• 7:45 – off to work, listening to NPR after finishing my 10-minute regimen with the Today Show.
• 8:00-5:00 – work. It's so boring that I don't have anything else to say about it. Besides this. And, I get an hour for lunch, during which time I've started coming home to watch Ellen. That might be the best hour of the day.
• 5:00 – come home, work out (as of late), fix dinner, eat dinner, watch Jeopardy, debate my “plans” for the rest of the night.
• 8:30-9:30 – realize that the only place I really want to be is in my big, warm, comfortable bed. Hop into my pajamas and get in that place. Watch a TV show or movie/read a book/write on the computer/blog stalk.
• 9:30-10:30 – succumb to fatigue and hit the hay.

It sounds so utterly unproductive, and really it is. I don't care for anyone but myself. I only just started looking for volunteer opportunities and other social outlets that will get me out of the house for more than just my 8-hour workday. Here's the truth, though: I've become a homebody. I'd rather be doing stuff that I love to do than getting froofy and poofy for someone else. I would rather not socialize with the people of Logan (in general; I do have a few friends whom I love dearly). I'm happy (enough) here, and I'm not worried about what I'm missing by staying in. That's all there is to it.

Also, I might have just admitted to watching way more TV than is healthy. Oh well.

ThankYouMorePlease

I haven't written in two months. Nothing has changed.

But, I decided today - after watching a fabulous film - that I need to alter some things. I need to emit some more positive energy towards the universe, in hopes that it will - hopefully - return that energy to me.

So, I'm forgetting about my broken car and my silly job and all the stresses and obsessions that plague me daily.

Instead, I'm choosing this face.

I'm choosing good music, played loudly over my car stereo.

I'm choosing a comfortable bed, chocolate truffles, and sleeping in.

I'm choosing to love myself. To get loved.

Thankyou. Moreplease.