Put Your Trays Up and Your Seats Back

Riding the New Jersey Transit train has been interesting--although there are no panhandling bums, no rats running along the tracks, and (rarely) any cat fights (you know I have already witness one, but that will be another post). What interests me most is that everyone has their own entertainment system in their seat--almost like flying.

There's the iPad, blackberry or iPhone (or both if you're like me), the Kindle, and a laptop to name a few of the tech toys people use. And I am guilty of it as well, I'll switch between playing Words with Friends on my iPhone, reading a book on my Kindle, and checking my blackberry for early-morning emails from my clients in Europe--all within a 35 minute train ride. But when does it go too far?

One day I was sitting next to a man who was probably in his mid-50s. He was a little disheveled and I wondered where he was going to work looking so rough. I was in the quiet car, as usual, and was enjoying writing in my journal while listening to my Ellie Goulding station on Pandora.com. All of a sudden I felt my neighbor's elbow hit me.

I tried to ignore the slight jabs against my arm but my curiosity got the best of me and I turned to my left to see what he was doing. I jumped and my eyes bulged in shock. His fingers were gliding fervently across his iPad and I looked down to discover that he was "playing" the piano on the screen! His hands moved left to right as he was deep in the moment of music making and had not noticed that his elbows were plunging into my personal space. Was this Garage band for the iPad or a new piano app?

Who was this guy? A great composer? An obsessed musician? I had no idea, but that day I learned that "train time" can be the key to playing a new tune.

Leaf Me Alone

Culture shock from city slicker to suburbanite is a totally valid feeling, and that is what my husband and I went through when we first moved to South Orange. Besides the initial feelings of typical "New Yorkerisms" such as: "where are the duane reade stores?" or "how do we buy groceries for a week?" we had no idea about service providers.

On move-in day, one of our very nice neighbors came up to me and introduced herself. She quickly ran down her family tree and number of kids she had, and then offered to give us numbers for services. "Services?" I asked innocently.

She nodded her head, "That's right, snow shovelers, leaf pickup, gardening, roofing..."

My mind was spinning. I totally forgot we had to take care of a lawn! I looked over at my new front yard, and it was FILLED with dry leaves (whereas all the neighbors had perfectly manicured leaf-free grounds).

Fast forward one weekend later and I was on the phone with Servicemagic.com (our savior) to look for a lawn service. Now don't get me wrong--I have no problem doing, actually, let me correct myself, I have no problem with MY HUSBAND doing lawn work (haha). But after 20 minutes of raking a season's worth of leaves, he gave up.

A few days later I was hanging out in my living room with an old friend. Suddenly, she looked at me funny and said, "There's a random man in your back yard!" I turned and sure enough, there was a stranger walking around. He looked at me through my living room window and picked up a pile of leaves, then dropped them and continued to shuffle around. If I had been alone I would have freaked out!

I ran to the backdoor and peaked my head out to see what was going on. The man looked at me and said, "Hi, you called me for a quote on leaf pickup? You're Mrs. White, right?"

"Um...no. I am not Mrs. White but I might have left you a message for a quote."

"Oh sorry, wait...isn't your husband out of town on business?" he asked.

This was starting to get weird. My friend I stayed in the doorway and I replied, "No, you must have me confused with someone else. My husband is not away." (Nor was he home at the time, but I wasn't going to admit that!)

The guy scratched his head. "Well I can give you a quote on leaves if you want it. I will call you later, okay?"

I could tell the man felt really embarrassed--especially since I had no idea who he was before he decided to walk around my backyard unannounced throwing my leaves around. As an ex-New Yorker, I couldn't help but be suspicious at first.

So, I ended up hiring a young teenage boy who goes to landscaping school. I guess they teach how to make house calls too because he rang the bell when he showed up for a quote!

Where Have I Been?

Hello world!
It seems like it has been ages since I've blogged (because it has I guess!). There have been a lot of changes in my life, mainly that I no longer live in NYC (see move-in day pic below). I am now an official Jersey girl, living in South Orange (it took us 4 grueling months to close and 2 years to find our dream home!). With that said, I have had no time to blog.  

I've decided to pick things up a bit now that I am more settled--crazy things happen in the burbs too you know and I still work in the city! Also, I am working on a series of short stories and may post excerpts here from time-to-time to get your feedback. So, cheers to a happy, prosperous new year! I think this is going to be a great year!



xoxo,
nubia

Unbearable Sameness of Being?

For the first time in months, I walked the streets of New York City and I was in the moment. It was sudden. I walked out of the 86th and Lex subway stop from a different exit--I went left instead of right--and at once, it was a new experience.

I overheard snippets of conversations: a group of 20-somethings laughing, a single woman chatting on her invisible hands-free phone (so I assume), a child complaining to his dad. It all took me by surprise (I forgot how loud and busy the streets can be after work).

The reason I had gone east out onto 86th street was that I had decided to get this month's book club reading from Barnes & Noble. The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood. It's atypical that I have time to run errands or really do anything after work because either I am A. too tired, B. the store is closed or not on the way home, or C. I am rushing home to cook dinner. To keep up with my non-traditional post-work escapade, I did something else differently.

The Barnes & Noble checkout clerk, who looked like your typical bookstore employee (vacant face, worn sweater, socially awkward) asked me flatly, "Do you want to be a member of Barnes & Noble?" As if he were thinking, 'I know you will say, "No" so what's the point asking anyway?' After years of declining, this time, I actually said, "Sure!". It almost surprised me as much as it did him. I could have sworn he wiped dust off before handing me the application.

My days are so cyclical. Wake up, shower, eat, commute, work, commute, eat, sleep, wake up. I have been in a ring. Taking the same walk to the train station, standing in the same spot on the platform, the same route home. It's so easy to get into a pattern. When I walked out of the store, I had a choice: left towards the same route home I always take down Lex ave OR go right and walk down 3rd ave. I chose left because it was probably 1 minute faster--I guess change will have to be a work in progress for me. What about you?

Cheers to Unattainable High Hopes: Thanks for nothing MTA!!

I have a new commute; I exit at 28th street instead of 42nd Grand Central, which really just means I get to be around crazies a little longer each morning.

On my second week going to the new job, a 50-something wily Caucasian man entered at 66th and yelled crazily, "I need a SEAT! Where's a SEAT?!" A path cleared for him as he dragged himself to a tiny slit along the row of seated commuters.

"I need to get to City Hall!!!" he continued, yelling at no one in particular. We ignored him.

I looked at the woman standing next to me, who happened to be an off-duty MTA worker. She glanced over at the man, then turned to me and rolled her eyes. "They need to take all the crazy people and let them ride on a separate train..." she said in a low, exasperated voice.

I laughed and nodded in agreement. As the old man continued to angrily ask the train if we were in fact on our way to City Hall, there was another interruption at 59th street: two women with large strollers were forcing their way into the over-crowded train, yelling at everyone to "MOVE IN!!!"

The tired MTA worker glanced at me again and shook her head. It looked like she couldn't wait to get off. And neither could I. At 42nd street, she looked at me as if to say, "Good luck!" and she got off.

So here we are, on the cusp of 2011 and MTA fares have increased to $104/unlimited monthly from $81. I hope the MTA puts that extra $23 per person to good use in 2011: I want cleaner trains and stations (like in Spain!), no weird substances dripping on me while standing on platforms, and the option to eject annoying commuters from the train at the push of a button. Here's to a happy, healthy, and fun 2011! CHEERS!

(photo: my favorite jam band in Madrid's Anton Martin metro stop)

Pump It!

Hellooo everyone! It has been a busy Oct/Nov and I apologize for lack of posts--between quitting my job, getting a new job, and a Spain vacation, it has been crazy! I will write a great Spain-themed post shortly, but first, I would like to share an odd weekend I have had on a controversial theme: breastfeeding.

Saturday I was Xmas shopping and stopped into a mommy breastfeeding store because my sister-in-law's belly is about to pop out a baby any moment now. I walked inside and immediately felt out of place...breast pumps, nursing tops, and nipple creams were everywhere and I was a deer caught in headlights.

When asked if I needed help, I stuttered, "I um..well..I am not pregnant, of course, haha! But, um..my sister-in-law is and..." CRAP. I sounded like a retard. Plus, I had just remembered that I wasn't even sure if she was going to be breastfeeding! How can you text that to someone: "Hey, you gonna breastfeed your unborn child? Because, if so, I will get you nipple cream for Xmas!"

I just retired to saying, "I am just looking!" And walked to the back of the store in a daze. I heard a male's voice and looked up. It was a TV showing a video about breastfeeding. The man, obviously a doctor, was talking about toddler breastfeeding. Then they video cut to a playground scene where I 3-year-old boy slid down a slide and then ran to his mother who pulled up her shirt so he could quench his thirst! I was horrified!

"Is that normal?" I asked a sales rep. "Yes. Well, mostly for foreigners. Mothers in NYC don't have time for that! Or they do it in secret," She said, laughing.

Unbelievable. Don't get me wrong--I hope to breastfeed my child (if or when I have one) and my mom told me I was breastfed--notice I said she TOLD me. Do I remember? No; and I am pretty sure I would have some psychological issues if I did remember. But everyone is different and entitled to their own parenting styles.

So, I opted to go elsewhere for her gift. It would have been a nice idea but, in the end, it's better not to get in the middle of a mother and her hungry baby.

The Time of Our Lives

Waiting for things: it's a part of life and it sucks. I often think about all the things we wait for: getting on the subway, in line at stores, to grab lunch, at traffic lights, to get a cocktail, at the elevator...the list goes on. Some one calculated that we spend about an hour a day waiting for things--that's a lot of time!

So, that brings me to my encounter. I was standing in line at Duane Reade pharmacy, which normally has HORRENDOUS lines, and the woman in front of me started looking at the impulse items in the line. The short brunette picked up a mini hand sanitizer stick, then quickly dropped it and looked over at me.

"They always put the most absurd things here for us to buy...what are these items called again?" she asked me.
"Impulse items," I replied.
"YES! That's what they are. And look at these rag mags!" she said, pointing at The Inquirer and Star magazine.

But sometimes distractions are good while waiting. Take this morning for an example--I woke up 45 minutes late and got ready in 15 minutes, racing the to train at 9 am. The 6 train was on the track when I slipped through the turnstile; I jumped on the train only to learn that it couldn't depart. I jumped off, ran downstairs to the express 4 train, and it showed up immediately--SCORE! As people got off, the dispatcher said, "This is the last stop for this train!" CRAP!!!!

The number of commuters waiting to get on increased exponentially. We waited. Not knowing why the train had to depart the station backwards back uptown. Not knowing when the next downtown 4 train would come. Many peered their heads impatiently down the track tunnel, looking for a glimpse of light from an oncoming train. Where were the impulse shopping items to look at when you needed them?!

It felt like hours passed. Okay...actually, it was only about 5 minutes, but it felt endless. I finally gave up and ran back upstairs to catch a 6 train that actually DID continue downtown. Total wait time = 15 min; Total commute = 40 minutes. In reality, waiting 15 min for public transportation to arrive isn't bad--we New Yorkers are spoiled, but, in a fast-paced city that never sleeps, every minute counts.