Hi guys!! How was everybody’s week? Mine was extremely eventful. As you’ll see below! I only wish it had been a scoonch warmer, you know? It’s so hard to get dressed this time of year. It’s freezing in the mornings, warm during the day and chilly again at night. It’s not warm enough for bare legs, and yet I hate the idea of wearing tights into April.
I guess an answer would be to wear tights to the office and then take them off…just maybe not in a public place, like this person did:
Yes those ARE a pair of ladies’ stockings sitting on top of our communal office microwave. Gross? UM YEAH. What the WHAT?! I don’t even want to know how this happened. I swear these aren’t mine, guys. You know I’d tell you. And even I’m not THAT weird.
What’s up for everybody’s weekend? My half marathon is tomorrow morning. AAAAAH! I’m so excited. Slash nervous. But mostly excited. But mostly nervous. Just kidding, I”m excited!’ Right now the weather channel is calling for rain during just the exact hours while I’ll be running. Adorable, Mother Nature, truly charming. But I won’t let it get me stressed. I will race in the rain! If Garth Stein can do it, so can I.
(Fist bump to any nerds who get that reference!)
I’ll wait until after I finish to wax poetic about my new found love of running, and how empowered it’s made me feel and how I’ve become the sort of person who can talk about say “empowered” in a totally serious way. But I will state right now, on the public record, that even if I don’t finish the race (which I totally will!) (But just in case!) that I am so dang proud of myself for undertaking this challenge. Just in the training, I’ve pushed myself farther than I thought I could go and it feels so good. I’m shamelessly patting myself right on the back.
You go, self!
Ok enough of this mumbo jumbo. I have to start carbo loading immediately & I have MUCH to share, so let’s cut right to the chase and take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.
But I couldn’t remember if I truly did unplug it after half-assedly ironing a shirt on Monday morning so instead of taking a gym/lunch break, I left my desk at 9:45 AM, took the subway all the way back to Brooklyn, reassured myself I was not burning down the apartment, and returned to the office.
Nuts? Maybe! Possibly yes. know it seems a little crazy, but I couldn’t shake the anxiety and I knew I’d get no work done if I didn’t just quiiiickly check. I’m working hard to manage my emotions and not let my worries get the best of me, but usually my worries are totally abstract and insane, like, if Brian doesn’t respond to an email for a little bit, I assume he’s either dead, or cheating on me. Or BOTH: he’s cheating and was just murdered by his mistress in a fit of lustful rage. Or if I have a weird throat tickle, I instantly assume it’s, at best, a viral infection, at worst: fatal cancer.
Those sorts of mega-fears, I can quiet, convince myself are not true, but leaving the iron turned on, smoldering my apartment into a fiery blaze? TOTALLY within the realm of possibility.
I have no regrets! Except ironing in the first place. Next time something’s wrinkly, I’m just throwing it in the garbage. Ain’t nobody got time for this!
This faucet spray nozzle thing is an excellent tool, especially when rinsing out the sink or blasting especially hard to clean dishes, like the inside of the reusable plastic straw from your travel smoothie mug. To make it work, you turn on the regular faucet, pull out the spray nozzle and push a button and WHOOSH! Power blast. As soon as you release the button, the water once again runs just out of the regular faucet.
Why am I even going into this? Y’all know how to use sinks.
I, however, do not.
I always wash dishes first thing when I wake up, while Brian’s in the shower and the coffee’s going, it’s all part of my slow wake-up routine. The other morning I must not have been awake enough, or like, at all, because I used the spray nozzle and then tried to put it back in its holder without removing my finger, effectively SOAKING myself.
And once again, may I present a real-life counterpart to a fantasy. I like to sleep in Brian’s old button-downs because they’re really comfortable and also I imagine that they’re super sexy. Like, you know that scene in basically every movie and TV show ever where the male hero sleeps with a new woman and then wakes up in the morning and there she is, wearing his oversized shirt and nothing else, leaning against the doorframe with a mug of coffee, bathed in the morning sunlight smiling like a perfect, sensual angel?
Andd then we have reality: oversized shirt, usually buttoned incorrectly so it hangs crookedly, atop a pair of 1 zillion year old pajama bottoms, messy grease-mop of hair, smeared mascara everywhere because NO MATTER HOW MANY HOURS I spend trying to take off my eye makeup, I always wake up with smudges under my eyes and water everywhere.
A perfect, sensual angel!!!!
This Bus Seat:
This weekend Brian & I were in Philly visiting my sister for Easter and we took the city bus uptown to the Art Museum area to spend some time outside. When we got on, we found three empty seats together and promptly plopped our booties down. Point two seconds later, I felt a weird wetness seeping onto my thigh, and realized my seat had a wet spot right smack dab in the middle.
I leapt to my feet, touched the now wet spot on my running tights, smelled my hand to assure myself it wasn’t pee (it wasn’t! I swear. Maybe it was but I say it was just water and I’m sticking to that story) and the three of us moved up to the next row of seats all, mercifully, bone dry.
Our new seats were right above the ones we’d just abandoned and at the next stop a man got on and immediately went to sit in the wet seat.
“That seat is wet!” I squawked, not wanting to anyone to suffer my same fate.
He thanked me and moved to another spot.
At the next stop a young woman got on and where do you think she headed? You know!
I blurted out another warning: “That seat’s wet!” and she nodded in thanks before even beginning to sit.
The next stop…repeat! And repeat and repeat and repeat for essentially every single stop on our 15 minute bus ride. I had somehow become the de-facto guardian of everyone’s butts. Once I’d warned one passenger, and then a second, the pattern had been established. I couldn’t just stop warning them…I knew the seat was wet AND everybody else on the bus knew I knew the seat was wet because I told them when they got on, so not only would I knowingly allow someone to soak their bottom, but everyone would know my deceit and oh, how they would judge.
Being a good Samaritan is exhausting, guys.
Also, just for my own sanity, could you all please reassure me that it was totally just water and not pee?!
This Liquor Store:
So Pennsylvania has these ridiculously strict liquor laws about how and when and where and in what quantity alcohol can be purchased and consumed. One positive result of this is that the majority of restaurants in the Philadelphia area are BYOB and thus, fabulously affordable. However, a negative consequence of this is that it’s nearly impossible to find a place to purchase said B. In NYC, at least in the yuppie, gentrified neighborhoods I frequent, wine and liquor stores are as easy to come upon as Duane Reades and Chase ATM’s and you can buy beer at bodegas, grocery stores, even CVS. But in Philly, there are like three state-run liquor stores, all spread across the city and they’re only open from like noon to five on Saturday’s and you have to buy beer at a special beer distributor and it’s just a whole hot mess. I know this next sentence is going to make me sound like some kind of raging wino and I swear I’m not, but whenever I’m in town I get very stressed about where and how we’re going to purchase wine. The pleasure of BYOB dinners are instantly negated when you have to add on a 4 mile trek to the nearest State Store just to get your $8 bottle of Rex Goliath Sauvignon Blanc.
I’m getting stressed now just thinking about it!
So anyway, blah blah, last Saturday we were in Philadelphia with Margerie, like I mentioned above. At about 3 PM we had just finished a 10-mile run (humblebrag) up by the Art Museum and were heading back to her home in South Philly, many miles away. We had 9:30 PM dinner reservations at a (BYOB) Italian place on her block and decided we’d spend the time between sitting on her patio, soaking up the sun and sipping homemade sangria. We just needed to pick up some wine! We figured it would be easier to grab while uptown than back in her ‘hood, so we used our trusty smartphones to search for the nearest wine distributor.
“There’s one just a few blocks away,” Maggie told us, looking up from her Google Maps. “And right by a bus stop, too.” And off we went, following the map to the address they’d listed: 1814 Kater St.
When we got to Kater Street, we were dubious. It appeared to be entirely residential, a small alley flanked by identical townhouses. 1820, 1818, 1816…finally we came upon 1814 and it was not a wine store or a store of any kind, but a private residence. The map told us we were standing in front of Vinocity Events but we were quite clearly not.
A man was outside of the house next door, playing with his adorable children. He saw us looking lost and asked us what we were looking for.
“Wine!” we replied in unison.
Totally normal. This man is just trying to enjoy a day with his kids while strange winos dressed in workout gear roam his pleasant residential street.
He gave us a few addresses and sent us on our way, but we decided to just take the bus back to Maggie’s and try downtown.
Upon our return, we asked Maggie’s roommate where the nearest wine store was located (Maggie doesn’t know her nearest wine store? Are we even related?) and she gave us some convoluted directions to walk a few blocks to the Safeway, through the parking lot and “it’s right near the Home Depot.”
Sure? Marge seemed to understand what she was talking about so off we went! We trudged through Maggie’s cute neighborhood, then a sort of shady area full of gas stations near the highway and then came upon the Safeway, nestled among a smattering of strip malls. We walked through the parking lot and scanned the storefronts – FedEx, Dress Barn, Krafty Korner…but no wine. We came to the end of the parking lot and saw the Home Depot in front of us, but still hadn’t located the wine.
We were standing on the street corner next to a pop-up tent selling Easter flowers, looking lost, when suddenly we heard a voice.
“Hey ladies. You lost? Looking for the gym?”
We turned around. The flower seller must have spotted us from his tent and assumed from our running clothes that we were headed to work out.
“The opposite!” we replied. “We’re looking for the liquor store.”
“Liquor! Niiiiiiceeeee” he leered, looking us up and down. “What are you guys drinking? You partying tonight?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a small child lingering in the flower tent, probably his own son. Real classy, dude. We tried to extricate ourselves from the conversation, and fast.
“Can you just tell us where the State Store is?” we asked, avoiding eye contact.
“Oh yeahhhhh…you just take a left, walk past the safe way and over to the Meinike and you’ll find it. If you go under the highway, you’ve gone to far. You ladies have a great time partying tonight, drink up, yeahhhhh.”
First of all: GROSS, DUDE, GROSS.
Second of all: WHAT THE FUCK, PHILADELPHIA!?! Why are you making it so hard to buy wine! Why do we have to wander around in car repair parking lots and under highways just to find the nearest liquor store?! I don’t know if the state thinks that by limiting alcohol vendors they’ll reduce consumption but this whole excursion is DRIVING ME TO DRINK.
Finally we found what we were looking for, hidden behind a Jiffy Lube. We grabbed a family sized jug of Barefoot and a smaller, more sophisticated Cupcake to bring to dinner and hightailed it out of there.
At this point we’d run 10 miles, walked about 1 more to get to the “Vinocity Events” aka some man’s house, then walked at least two more to find this stupid godforsaken liquor store and we still had to get home. We had no water. My legs were cramping, I wanted to cry.
I suddenly understand why Frodo is such a whiny brat throughout Lord of the Rings. Epic journeys are exhausting!
Next time I go to Philly, I”m B-ing my own B all the way from New York.
Annnnd the end. What a week, you guys. WHAT A WEEK! What’s everyone up to this weekend? I hope you have plenty of wine, whatever it may be.
I’m off to eat 36 bagels, refresh Weather.com repeatedly and pretend to be calm. Wish me luck!
xoxo Liz Ho