Dirty Days: Laundry in NYC

So you're probably going to find this blog post a little discussing, or possibly repulsive based on your own cleaning habits. But maybe... Just maybe... You can relate?

I hate doing laundry. Always have, always will. This chore is the biggest time suck I can think of and it's typically a solitary task, meaning us naturally extroverted creatures feel as though we must be missing out on something better than our current state of sad affairs.

But that’s not even the worse part! No, the most unfortunate thing about washing your clothes is that the feeling of having "done" your laundry last no more than 12 hours. As soon as the day is done, another freaking shirt is back in the hamper!

Bah! It’s just bad.

And the thing is, this task actually gets even less enjoyable in the city. I simply CANNOT carry that bag of clothes down two flights of stairs and up two city blocks without muttering a curse word.

So I wait to do my laundry.
And then, I wait a little more…
The pile gets a bit out of control,
and I hide the basket behind the closet door.
Some clothes seem to be missing.
I contemplate doing a crucial load.
Oh but then there’s a rainstorm.
So I can’t walk my clothes up the road!
Well, I’ll just try for the weekend.
Oh but I’m out of town!
How unfortunate for me.
Though you wouldn’t see my frown…

And then suddenly out of nowhere, I’ll realize the last time I did my laundry was…

THREE MONTHS AGO!

I know, I know… I shouldn’t have enough clothes to last me three months. BUT I DO! So I’m sticking to my ways suckers! It just comes down to this: You can take the girl out of college, but you can’t take the college out of the girl.

Please though, for the love of plastic hangers, if you have a solution to clothing storage space in the city - LET ME KNOW.



Always counting quarters and waiting.


Can you see my bed? It's there... somewhere. Stop it. Don't make that face at me. I'm sure you too have an oddity that is nose-wrinkleable. Besides... I only repeat wear the jeans. 

Poor in New York

I look over at my flashing phone. A friend? A text? A notification?

No. You wish. 

It's a permanent iCalendar reminder. And oh what a pleasant reminder we get each month...

I want to quote something from the musical "Rent" here, but I'll resist. That would be cliche and corny. And like, so over done.

But...
Well...
Maybe just one little La Vie Boheme shout out wouldn't hurt... I promise I won't do it again.

Just let me have my moment.

"To making something outta nothing" people.
Now raise those glasses!

The Commute

First, grab headphones if you're at work.
Second, push the play button below. 
Finally, read. 

(Editor's Note: You can still enjoy without the music, but it's not nearly the same experience. To truly get that rush, my writing needs a little musical assistance.)



The sunlight’s dancing. Eyes flicker. Wake up.
Routine, routine, get out of bed. Dizzy head. Not enough sleep. Too much sleep? Get dressed… We’re already late. We move like someone pushed "fast forward." Routine, routine, slowly reach for your bag. 
Remember… something? Oh well.
Forget. Forget your umbrella; your homework. ‘Least it’s sunny.
Bread or maybe fruit? Pick your poison, either way we’ve got to go.
More routine.
Lights off.
Bagged lunch.
Heels in purse.
Flats on feet. One last glance. You’re out the door.
30 steps downstairs, then 4 more out the front.
298 steps to the food cart on the corner. Yeah, the one past the Laundromat. White man says go so you go, go, go. Avoid the slow woman in front of you.
Sidestep, sidestep, squeeze by. 
Hurry up the street. Two minutes down Steinway’s all it takes.
That man’s talking to you. Different language. Smile’s creepy.
Ignore button.
Blasé face.
Stare ahead and he’s gone. There’s something sharp in your purse, but no, no. That’s only for the night! Daylight’s for smiles.
Or at least blank looks.
Is that coffee?
WATCH IT! Watch the sidewalk – you always trip there! Two flip flops down, may they rest in peace.
Oh yes sir, we’ll take that. Free sample from the cafe. 
Who could say no?
1,2,3 walk 1,2,3 walk. When did you start counting?
Blue sky.
Warm enough.
Mornings like this make you want to… WALK FASTER! There’s the TRAIN!! You’ll make it if you run.
Past the fish market.
Up the stairs.
Metro card already out.
Thadda girl – you were thinking!
Swipe. Step. Stairs come two at a time.
“Stand clear of the closing. doors…”
No! No! Not if we can help it. Lunge, and your in.
Good.
Breathe deep.
1 train down, 1 train to go. 
Squeeze by, and grab blessed metal. Hold tight. 13 minutes left.
Who’s baby’s crying? That woman’s purse bumped us twice.
Headphones today? iPod’s dead.
Stare straight ahead.
Last stop in Queens. Let’s all smash together now.
Rumble, rumble in the tunnel.
59th and Lexington! Out out out…Excuse me and pardon us.
Rush across the platform. It’s not crowded yet! The train’s coming. But walking on the edge get’s you through faster.
5 more steps till safety.
1,2,3,4,5…whoosh.
There’s the other train. We just made it to the center of the platform. That’s our rush for the day. Oh but wait,
DUCK! 
Man with a large box almost got ya.
It’s okay. Hair’s still in place.
Up the escalator. The left side’s for walking. And of course no one’s walking. MOVE. Don’t you hear the connecting train? Left side for walking, right side for standing…
Blast. 
We missed it. Blame it on the uninformed escalator takers. LEFT is for walking. LEFT IS FOR WALKING. 
Breathe.
Headphones?
No, wait… iPod’s dead.
Bright lights, shuffled feet… next connecting train's coming.
They all pile out.
We all pile in.
Be at work soon.
Doors open and we move. Walk faster! You’ll miss the crowd.
Excuse us! Sidestep sidestep, squeeze by. Through the gate, up the stairs.
Sunlight on your face again – breathe in the day. Take in the city…
Okay, stop breathing.
Keep walking.
Two blocks to go.
You see it? I see it!
Chaos. Foot traffic’s bad today. Bumper to bumper; hip to hip.
Whatever.
 Sidestep… just walk on the grate. Hold down your skirt.
Pull out your ID. Where’s our ID?
We're still on fast forward. 
Orange hand says stop.
White man says go.
Go. Go…
You’re finally there.


You made it. 

Oh No, Oh Snow

I was snuggled warmly in bed.

We’d all stayed up late into the AM the night before. Ivy and I had gone to Brooklyn for a Halloween soirée and then crashed at her place in Harlem. Our plan that morning was to sleep in like the lazy bums we never get to be, walk around the park, and then start…. eh, finish the dreaded thesis.

It was your typical 20-something-grad-student-in-New-York Saturday.

Alas, as I rolled out of bed, something falling from the sky caught my eye. No, it couldn’t be… not yet. Surely not yet.

But it was! It was SNOW. Big fat flakes fell gracefully into the ally, mocking me with their dace-like tumble onto the street.




Didn’t these hateful ice bombs realize they were early!? My mind kept screaming the words “October” over and over again.

“Ivy… Ivy wake up.”
“What, what., what…”
“Snow. Snow… It’s snowing. It’s snowing.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Snow?!” she said sitting straight up and then quickly walking towards the window. We stood there for about two seconds, looked at each other, and then screamed like we were cued for a movie:

“NOOOOOOO!!!!”

Don’t get me wrong. I used to love snow and I still enjoy it on occasion. The city is never quieter or cleaner in the midst of a blizzard, and who doesn’t like a little white Christmas?

But. It’s October. Walking 15 minutes from the subway in icy slush with holey shoes, tights, and a dress is… well, I’m whining and I know it, but it was freaking miserable! Ivy let me barrow some winter necessities (thank you!), and yet I still resembled a chattering, blue fool by the time I reached my apartment.


Last winter in New York was unbearable. In fact, we don’t talk about it because it was slightly scarring. Every other day in January we had ice storms that would knock you down on the street, and wind that would cut through your coat - especially near the river. Subways got stuck for hours and my constant walk, walk, walking turned into a routine worth repressing.

Winter wonderland, you are reluctantly welcome back in December. Please stay away until then. You must let we New Yorkers get mentally prepared... or given time to evacuate. 


Mail Bag


Yesterday I got a letter! A big thanks to Anne in Virginia for the encouraging words and actually sending me a hand-written note about my article. That’s a big deal… and it made my night.



If I haven’t already bothered you about it - my first national print byline came out in the November issue of Parents Magazine. Whoop whoop! I helped write the Best Toy Guide of 2011, and yes, we did get to play with the merchandise throughout the summer. (PS - Some of those games for 8 years+ are actually quite difficult… especially before coffee. Should I be worried my own children will be smarter than me at 8!? Eh... I was never very good with numbers.) 

Another big thank you to Anne!

Poor in New York

This arrived in my mailbox over the weekend…


WRONG.

But I’ll probably donate to their charity anyway because I feel bad for laughing so much at this ironic little letter. 

Poor in New York

This is exactly what you want to see in your email. 

Didn't I just add $100 bucks to my account? Where did my money go New York?

I retraced my steps... bought a bagel, some coffee, maybe picked up some milk? No, I didn't even do that.

Where the h*** was my money going?

I'd never gotten an overdraft email/text/alert before.

'Twas a bad moment for Britney Fitzgerald. 

Then I get a call from my mother later in the evening...

Turns out she was trying to be helpful by giving me a little cash for some tickets home. Alas, she pushed the wrong button and BAM - stole my moola!

Not to worry, she eventually remedied the situation. But during the debacle, I was simply left starring at my bank account, planning out the next PB&J.

And that is when I decided:

 I must really love this dumb, crowded, expensive, smelly, lovely, cultural, beautiful, exhilarating city because I was totally willing to fast until my next paycheck ;)

My Creepy Neighbor

So my neighbor is a clown. 

I have only seen him in makeup once. His face was painted, and he wore a wife-beater while his tiny black poodle growled at people strolling by. 

Yeah. That was enough for me. 

Unfortunately my creepy clown neighbor likes Halloween. It seems to be the holiday he most relates to, thus the rest of the block must put up with frightening exhibits of oddness... like this new addition to our hood:

Meet Evil Clown Pirate. His ship is a fire hydrant, and his prey are any who exhibit fear. Walk tall Astorians! Do not be fooled. He is only a stuffed mannequin.

But do beware...

When you pass Evil Clown Pirate, resist from exhibiting any form of emotion. With a quick glance to the left, you will see the real evil clown, peeking out from behind his curtains, looking for exactly such a response.

Ah, New York. 

I love you and all of your peculiarity.