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Adding insult to injury

Last night, at undoubtedly the best show I've seen all year (I was formerly ambivalent toward the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Their show with Sonic Youth last night sealed the deal - incredible.), I realized I had misplaced my driver's license. None of the stores I've called in Manhattan have seen it. Neither has the fried chicken place where I used the ATM on the way to yoga in my neighborhood.

I've modified some ID cards from some reputable granting institutions. I'm not sure which one will be most compelling at happy hour at my local water hole.

I did feel better afterward.

I threw up on the subway platform yesterday. I know. Gross.

I've gotten in the bad habit of going for midday runs when it's really hot and just prior to needing to head off to work or some other appointment. Yesterday was more of the same-- 5 miles in Prospect Park followed by a quick shower. I wasn't feeling that great after so I consumed the following:

Cold water: it was really hot
V-8: it has carbs; I love it.
Saltines & peanut butter: carbs & protein - what more could a girl ask for?

I bought a Sprite at my subway stop for further preventative action. Sweltering is an understatement for the weather conditions there. Like we said in Houston, "It's not the heat; it's the humidity." Luckily an airconditioned train wasn't long in coming and I made it to the next station to transfer. It was pretty bad there too, but my D train came quickly and I thought I was in the clear. Until I realized someone was eating perhaps the most offensive hot food possible on my car --- some sort of warmed-up vending machine burrito/Hot Pocket type food. Seriously.

I made it to the West 4th street stop. It was like being underwater in a greenhouse. I found the exit and made it to the middle level of that station. Upon seeing a long trashcan in the middle of that hot empty room, my stomach quickly indicated what was coming next. After revisiting all my post-running snacks, I made my way up one more level and out of the station, considering my options for working that night. As luck would have it, I ran into my nanny family dad and daughter on the way out of the turnstile. And that was that.

Small favors

The temperature dropped like 17,000 degrees in the last several hours.

We have hot water again.

It's a beautiful, beautiful evening.

So I went to LA last weekend. It was fun. It was busy. I did manage to find a place to live when I return. Although I haven't actually been inside yet, I think it's awesome.

Every one of the 4 flights it took me to get to LA and back had some kind of sports team flying on it. The parents/coach of one were especially obstinate and obnoxious, however the 88 degree weekend I have to look forward to leaves me too full of bliss to remark on how they should be banned from ever travelling beyond the borders of their suburbs again.

Fivel stays put + near death by grooming.

There's a mouse in my roomate's bedroom. It's small and brown. I dislike things running lose in my place of dwelling. I brought home the class hampster over Christmas Break in third grade. It escaped from its cage. Horrors! Hampster in cage = cute and cuddly; hampster on the lose = menacing predator. I never really liked the idea of Santa creeping in during the night either.

On two occaisons my roommates have spotted Fivel before me. When one of two people freak out about an intrusive and potentially disgusting pest, the second person, by default, must assume the role of calm and confident crisis handler. After a brief spell with no signs of mouse activity, it was hoped and assummed that Fivel had moved along to new environs. Last night I noticed the tiniest movment near a pair of shoes. Sure enough, it was followed by the scampering of our little brown friend across my roommate's floor. Hooray - spotted it first and braveness avoided! It's still on the lose. No one wants to kill it. Catching it isn't the most pleasing prospect either, because then we'd have to see it up close.

My coping strategy for this problem is leaving town. As such, I scheduled some grooming services prior to a brief visit to Los Angeles. I'd read that having one's eyebrow's threaded allows for more precision and is 'healthier.' Someone also told me that it was less painful than waxing.

Not true! Even though I'm happy that the threading person only cleaned up what my favorite L. A. brow lady does so well, I'm not happy about how I paid someone to torture me. It felt like a thousand very sharp fingernails pinching into my skin in rapid succession. Next time Sally Hansen and I will get by just fine on our own, thank you very much.

I'm an idiot + the trifecta in shipping.

Yesterday I returned from visiting my family in D.C. for the weekend. I had already looked up directions to 'the park' where I had been invited to a birthday celebration for a recently bicoastal friend I know from LA. I stop on the way to pick up a bottle of wine. In the grocery store I begin to wonder if perhaps 'the park,' isn't "The Park" and maybe this isn't a nighttime barbeque afterall. I play it safe by purchasing a four pack of easily tote-bag stashable Mike's Hard Lemonade brand "Mike-a-ritas." Park, it turns out, is a cute indoor/outdoor bar/cafe/restaurant in Chelsea. I'm glad I didn't bring chicken.

This morning the FedEx woman buzzed up with a package for me. Because Claire so kindly fetched that package, I went down when the U.S. mail truck buzzed up. It was a package for our other roommate Kal. The third buzzer was UPS, with a package for Claire. If only every day could be so symmetrical.

Parents' Week

Someone more insighful than me recently suggested that the reason people like my parents are overwhelmed by places like New York City is because they assume that they have to interact with everyone they encounter.

I met my parents at Penn Station yesterday. After several remarks about person density compared to their East Coast origin D.C., we got into a hotel-bound cab. After paying for what my mom later referred to as a "wild cab ride" (too bad she missed out on the one through the Costa Rican bananna farm with the beer-drinking driver), my dad gave the driver an encouraging, "Great job!" for safely navigating the "traffic jammed streets" and waved goodbye to his new friend from the curb. Later, my mom insisted that we tip the apathetic 30-something server more than 20% for barely passable service because he might, in fact, be working two jobs to support two babies at home. Clearly, my sister's insistence that they see the play Nickel and Dimed paid off.

The entire afternoon was peppered with such exchanges. It makes sense for earnest, friendly people like my parents to live in a small town. They'd never get anything done around here for all the sincerity they exuberate.