It's just a little crush

Wow.  What a trip.

I'm sitting in the airport, waiting to board my plane back to LAX.  For the record, JFK is wayyyyyyy nicer than LAX.  JFK feels more like a European airport, and LAX feels like a third world country in comparison.  When flying out of the LA area, I greatly prefer Bob Hope Airport (BUR), but direct flights to New York are rather hard to find for a reasonable fare.  But enough about my travel preferences...  If I went into detail about everything that happened this week this would be a huge post, so I'll just list off some of the most interesting moments, things I learned, and a few photos as well.

First of all - my flight to NYC was going well and I was napping like a champ when the captain came on and said, "Well folks, as those of you who are in the coach cabin know by now, we have a passenger disrupting the flight.  We will be diverting to Kansas City so that we can remove this passenger, and then we will continue on to JFK."  Yup, I was on that flight.  I happened to be sitting in the bulkhead on the opposite side of the plane, so I was as far as could be from the lady and her atrocious singing and I'll be damned, I didn't get to experience her craziness until she walked by in cuffs surrounded by MCI airport police.  But I do remember seeing her in the airport as we were waiting to board in LA and got a weird vibe from here and thought to myself, "Um, that lady is weird."  My gut instinct was right, apparently.

New Yorkers are WAY more friendly than everybody makes them out to be.  From the kind folks we met at Nancy Whiskey Pub where I slated my thirst with Brooklyn Lager and my hunger with a small pizza, to people just walking around the city, most folks were easy to talk to and had the coolest accents.

Poor sad dejected sweatshirt on a subway grate

My handy dandy pocket guide to the subways was invaluable.  Even if I went the wrong direction a couple times, and had no clue which way to walk once I got out of the subway, at least I was on the right train. 

Speaking of the subway and other public transit - both Megan and I are going to have to learn how to manage our time better.  I have no clue how long it takes to get anywhere yet.  The shortest distance can take 30 minutes to walk, and express trains are super fast.

Manhattan is not nearly as large as I had imagined in my head.  Maybe because I'm from the great metropolis of Los Angeles, which is 503 square miles and Manhattan is only 33 square miles?  All I know is as I was wandering around SoHo/Little Italy/Chinatown/Financial District, I traversed back and forth across the island pretty quickly.  Here is my first view of Manhattan Bridge.

Taxi drivers - nice, they accept card willingly, and are easy to hail.  But one big difference - they wanted ME to tell THEM how to get where I was going.  Whaaaaaat?  I was counting on the cabbie knowing where to go when I said "Clermont and De Kalb," but nope!  Thankfully I have a fancy smartphone with Google Maps.

One World Trade Center was capped while we were there, and it's now 1776 feet tall and is the tallest building in the country.  The city is still greatly affected by everything that happened on 9/11, and the memorial is beautiful, haunting, and a wonderful tribute to all of the lives lost in that horrible tragedy.

You can be whoever you want to be in New York.  For the day, for the week, for the moment, you can be anyone that you can possibly imagine - including exactly who you've always been all along.

Everyone walks everywhere, and flat shoes rule amongst subway grates, cobblestone, and crazily crooked sidewalks.  And maybe I'm just not as slow as I once was, but I didn't think New Yorkers walked especially fast - but Megan informs me I just wasn't in the right area.

Times Square is NUTS!  Bright, loud, full of tourists and panhandlers, it reminded me a lot of Vegas.  Oh, and that's Matt, our roommate!  We had so much fun together through the week, and I am so grateful to have another west coast transplant (back to the coast he grew up on) along for the ride.

The rats really are as big as cats.  And I will scream if they get too close to me.  Yuck!

Central Park is ridiculously beautiful and again, not as big as I had imagined, but is huge indeed.  I think in my mind I pictured a more flat, organized, boring park, but this place is awesome!  Lakes, paths, restaurants, softball fields, museums, and an awesome bike/running path!  Megan and I ran 11 miles in and around the park for one of our last long training runs as we gear up for our half marathon.  I definitely wasn't bored with the view!

People generally know how to walk/run in a polite way - they tend to stay on the right side of the path or sidewalk, and pass on the left like cars.  I like that.


Thunder is REALLY REALLY loud when it echoes off of skyscrapers.  And the rain in NY is no joke.  Just minutes after we finished our run, we were famished and thirsty and looking for food, but the sky opened up on us.  We found some shelter under a food cart's awning (where this photo was taken), but the rain didn't let up so we ran to the subway and headed back to Little Italy to nourish our bodies at Mulberry Street Bar with pizza and beer - essential runner's food.

Oh, and yes - the bagels really do taste different in NY.  Something about the water... But apparently that's just an urban legend.

The pizza is amazing though.  Here Megan and I are toasting our signature cocktails - a Maker's Mark Manhattan and a dirty Grey Goose martini - at Lombardi's Pizza.  Lombardi's claims to be the first pizzeria in the United States, and all that practice has definitely helped out.  The pizza was delicious and thin and crusty.  I do adore thin crust pizza.

I survived jaywalking and actually became comfortable standing in the street waiting to see when I could cross.  One way streets are best for this.

New York is loud and full of honking cars and hurrying people of all sorts, and I LOVE IT!

Brownstones are beautiful and I love the front stoop, but dang are they small.  The old character they bring is pretty cool though.

When bars don't stop serving at 4am, seeing the sun rise becomes significantly more probable.

And, with just a little bit of work on the Internet, and the luck of the draw, this might become your new view:

Yup!  We found a place to live.  We'll give you the full details soon, but suffice to say - it's bomb diggity.  And this photo really is from one of the bedrooms.  Holla!

All in all, I really had a fantastic time in New York, exploring the city and neighborhoods on my own and with Megan and Matt.  While it already seems like a dream, I can't wait to get back here in a month and a half and fully immerse myself in this amazing place, and I'm already falling in love with NY.  Now my number one priority is finding a job!

Late Night Train Rides

I sit in solitude in my hotel room and all is quiet.....well, sorta.  Inside the only sound is of my keyboard-addicted fingers incessantly pounding the keys on a mission.  Outside, the bustling frenetic NYC sings an unending chorus of car horns, sirens, rumbling subways, music.....indescribable and defining humming of the big city that makes a white noise all in and of itself.  I am intrigued.  Sold.  Laser-focused.  Slightly addicted and obsessed with her.  This vast unknown territory that I cannot wait to dive in and immerse myself in.  I look forward to the culture shock.  Shock me baby with your multi-dimensionalism.  Show me what you are made of!

My pillow beckons, yet the ever-present and unstoppable (even on a Monday &/or Tuesday night!) and consuming nightlife yearns for my company, whispering sweet nothings injected with promises of potential love and adventure.  But I resist both and I take this night in to myself, resisting temptation to join the surprisingly poppin' scene outside and the early slumber inside, to memorialize my first [now old news] night of reconnaissance in the Big Apple.

Alright.  Enough with that poeticism because I know Kelly will comment on how I need to stop trying so hard.  Pfffft.  I am feeling so creative and inspired already.........and I just cannot hide it!  Before I start another stanza, let me just preface my current and future blogging by stating that I loathe contractions.  Not the birthing process, but the lazy part of English grammar that allows for shortening of two words into one.  For example, don't, couldn't, I'm.............I mean, how much shorter can 'I am' possibly get?!  SO LAZY!  End rant.  For that is not what this pots is about.  Just wanted to proclaim that I will not be using contractions if I can help it.  However, because they are ingrained in my speech and writing of English, I might slip and become a hypocrite. But I won't, I shouldn't, I couldn't, and I don't want to!  =P

More importantly and somewhat back-segueing to my first two stanzas, I must not only commend myself for surviving my first night in NYC here, but I must chastise myself for it.  What did I survive you ask?  Oh, just a 3-hour subway journey via 4 trains from JFK.  WHY on earth would I put myself through that you ask?!  "Adventure".  Getting my hands in and getting my New Yorker on.  Was it wise to ride the train solo, lugging 50 lbs. of luggage + my proprietary work-laptop in tow through the undergrounds of NYC?  That would be a no.  But I did it, I have the callouses/broken skin on my hand from lugging that damn rolling suitcase to prove it, and I lived to tell the highlights.  Thank you Jesus.  What. An. Experience.  My life has been one huge journey, with many unbelievable twists and chapters of colorful experiences.  Someday, someday I will write this book using a nom de plume, so that all can read about said experiences. Thank you Lord for lighting my path and guiding me through it all, because it has been a riveting and ongoing saga, getting better with each chapter.  I digress x 3...........

So per the reco of our new bi-coastal friend Laura (her name has been changed for privacy.  Wait, did we already call her name out?  Ruh roh.), instead of taking a taxi and/or reserving a car (which I WILL be doing en route home), from JFK at 1a.m. I took the AirTrain > E  > 6 going the wrong direction, discovered this after one stop and got off the next stop > 6 other direction (my sense of direction is completely out of whack for the time being until I get my NYC bearings) > N > taxi to take me .5 mi to hotel because it was 3:50a.m. and I was pooped!  Taking the subway as a female, any subway, at that time of night, ALONE, is not recommended in fact strongly discouraged in fact very frowned upon by anyone and for anyone of either sex and at any age.  Bad, bad, bad mistake.  And I knew it at the time, but was deliriously excited to try out the subway and find my way into SoHo all by my little self.  Would it have been a better idea at 3:50p.m.?  Yep.  Totally fine.  :::slaps forehead:::

Needless to say, God was definitely surrounding me with his bright white light and warding off the evils that lurk in the shadows during the 'witching hours'.  Oh brother I sound like my mother.  But let us be real here for a sec.  Evil lurks everywhere, at any time of day, in any city.  But it is one thing to avoid it, and another to lay out the welcome mat.  Stupid, stupid girl I was that night.  Naive?  Yes.  Brave?  No.  I must sheepishly admit that I was definitely naive in thinking that my amazonian-height and crazy look in my eyes would ward off the other crazies (sometimes I will even talk to myself and flail my limbs thinking this deters the crazies as well).  But I survived the NYC subway in the dead of night by myself, I survived the rats, the urine stench, the bumbling wanderers, the loss of direction, the breaking of my luggage because I carried it by the pull-out handle downstairs to the subway when I could have easily taken the elevator, and thank God I am here to talk about it today.  Within the first four hours l learned a few serious lessons about my future home.  And that is how I typically learn lessons.  The hard way.  Twice-over.  But at the end of the day, for all of this 'adventure', I like to believe I am stronger.  And that is part of what I want to get out of NYC: strength/determination/assertiveness/thicker skin.  And soooooooo much more.  ;-)

Up, Up, And Away!

I sit at LAX this afternoon and wait for my delayed flight to the other side of the country - the other side of the world as far as my family is concerned - and I take it all in from my perfect window-perch conveniently situated next to outlets, propped up by a pillar, and within site of the gate.  Perfect way to start this reconnaissance trip is to collect myself and be still before anything but, before the freneticism and electricity of NYC consumes me.  It is intoxicating, I will admit that much.  And some might say it's suffocating if that's all you know.  But THIS is all I know and even though I frequent the quieter trails of the sleeping giants aka SG Mountains, I feel I am running low on oxygen and definitely low on perspective.

I have a small attention span.  I get bored easily.  I am all over the place and am known to have 20 browser tabs open simultaneously.  And I know this, son.  I have accepted it.  Perhaps it is how I multitask so efficiently.  But will I get bored of NYC?  While I hardly think so, truly only time will tell.  Have I gotten bored of LA, of Pasadena, of the comfort that cradles me like a mother to her newborn, wanting to protect her from all that lies beyond the security of her arms?  Why yes, yes I have.  I feel like a newborn in many ways and I am ready to spread my wings.  Ready for a new perspective on life.  Because this baby knows that there is so much more to life than what lies under this security blanket.

My gaze stops on a lonely crow outside on the tarmac, eating something out of a flooded crack in the ground.  I relate to that crow in this moment in that I am headed up in a 747 to carry me magically away up, up, and away in the mysterious skies towards uncharted seas [for me], chowing down on the unknown.  And while what bit I am chomping at may seem unfathomable and undesirable to some, to me it is delicious and satiating.  Consider my appetite whet.  As Kelly puts it, "We have been bit by the travel bug", and we are ready to be taken up, up, and away. 

Oh, I forgot to tell you!

Wednesday night, Lisa, the gal that found Megan's phone, came over to check out Condo Perfecto and chat with us about NYC.  It was really a blessing to speak with her, she gave us a lot of insight, advice, and encouragement about moving to NY and fitting in, etc.  Plus, her perspective was that of an LA native which was really great to have.  She owns a huuuuge home up in Westchester, NY and shared some stories about a recent girls' trip where her girlfriends came out to visit.  Lisa has a son in high school, so she also rents a place here in Pasadena so she can be here for him as well.  She's still checking out a few places in Pasadena, but keep your fingers crossed that she loves Condo Perfecto as much as we do!

While Lisa was here, we got to talking about Megan's upcoming trip to NYC.  I was just going to stay home, but after chatting between all of us, I decided that it was at least worth seeing what airfare looked like.  I was able to find a nonstop, round-trip ticket for only $400!  So next week I will also be bopping around NYC, getting to know the neighborhoods, checking out potential places to live, and exploring potential employers as well.  I'm able to crash in Meg's hotel room (woohoo!) and then might need to find a hotel or something for a few days but we'll see how everything pans out.

I'm very eager to see this great city, the Big Apple, and start my courtship of her.  It'll be nice to be on my own during the day and then join up with Megan (and our future roommate Matt) at night.  That's right, our future roommate mister Matt will be in NY as well, coming in a few days earlier than planned.  What great timing!  We'll discuss what we're looking for, non-negotiables, and all of the other little intricacies that come along with living together.

I'll be sure to bring Norma the Nikon and take LOTS of photos and document this wild adventure that we're starting.  Hooray!

Driving down memory lane

I went to get my hair done today in our hometown of La Verne.  I love my short hair, but man I definitely notice when it grows out and I had to cancel my appointment last week due to jury duty.  I found my current hairstylist through one of my BFFs, Candace, and I've been trekking to La Verne for over a year now.  Brianna does a fantastic job with my hair, she's a young twenty-something, beautiful and nice and she always listens to what I want and executes flawlessly.  My mom always says that I should go back to blond, that blond is my natural color (my natural color is more like a light brown), but I really prefer my hair a bit darker - it brings out my features more and goes with my skin tone.  The color of my hair is something that my mom and I will forever agree to disagree about, I think.  Here's the outcome:

 

Shout out to my cat Rufus for the photobomb there.  Thanks, buddy.

Anyway, driving out to LV made me think about how familiar I am with this area.  I know SoCal from San Diego up to Santa Barbara like the back of my hand.  I have thousands of stories and memories and photos of experiences in SoCal.  From camping to college to everything in-between, I just KNOW this place.  My dad was a truck driver for most of my life, and his natural knack for driving and directions was thankfully passed down to me.  With little exception, I am able to plan the best route to a concert, avoid traffic if there's an accident, and navigate the labyrinth of freeways with ease.  And as I drive around in these weeks and days leading up to the big move, I'm flooded with memories, especially when I'm in my hometown.

La Verne will forever be etched in my mind, even as it grows and evolves.  As I exited the freeway to go to the salon, I drove down Fruit Street, a street that Megan and I used to go trick-or-treating on as kids.  I glanced to the right as I passed Bowdoin Street (pronounced bow-dwynn around these here parts), down toward the street we grew up on.  I saw our old bus stop and remember the time a coyote sauntered down the street as we waited for the bus, and mom made us yell and clap and make noise in order to scare it away.  I drove past the Lutheran high school and wondered what it was like to go to a tiny little school like that.  I passed by Bonita high school, where I met most of my closest girlfriends and where my life was a combination of sports bras, prepping for AP tests, and wondering when on earth I was going to get my first kiss (not until freshmen year of college, if you really want to know).  I saw the "new" post office, which was kind of a big deal when it was constructed.  I drove down 3rd Street, admiring the beautiful old homes with their lovely front porches, the big oak trees shading the street, and the tiny churches interspersed between the homes.  The salon I go to is right in historic old town La Verne, and I parked in the tiny parking lot right behind Warehouse Pizza.  Oh, Warehouse Pizza... your thick bubbly crust and addictive ranch dressing will always be in my heart (and on my hips, I imagine).  I remember the days in my twenties when I'd stay at Candace's apartment, and we'd walk to old town to have drinks at the three bars that were there - we called it "The Devil's Triangle."  Between pitchers of beer at Warehouse, cocktails at Heroes, and the cheap beer and cigarette smoke that lingered at Nick's Place, we always managed to have a good time (read - get into some sort of trouble, relatively speaking).  The salon is right next to Caffé Allegro, and I recall my mom telling stories of celebrating with her girlfriends when they finished another class in their master's program at University of La Verne.  I also recall the fierce garlic breath that she'd have for three days after eating at Caffé Allegro...  I have fond memories of my dad taking his '29 Ford roadster out to a car show on the streets of old town, and hearing him chat with other car lovers about the great history that the car has.  On my way home I drove past the fire station where I got to slide down the pole when my dad was a reserve firefighter, past Kuns Park where we celebrated many a friend's birthday, past Carls Jr and the endless car wash fundraisers, and finally got back onto the 210 freeway using an entrance that only came into existence a few years ago, when Cal Trans finally extended the 210 out to the 15. 

I have so many memories and stories and experiences in La Verne and all throughout SoCal, I could write a book about it.  And as I realize how familiar I am with everything here, I also realize that I'm soon going to be in a place that I am 100% a stranger.  Well, maybe 95% a stranger, I do watch movies and TV and have friends in New York.

A tiny part of me is weirded out by the fact that I am going to a place that I don't know completely.  I don't know the best pizza place, I don't know where to park so I don't get a ticket, I don't know what kind of people hang out where, I don't know anything really, besides what I read or hear from friends.

But there's the other part of me, the bigger part of me that is excited, overjoyed, and anxious to get there so I can explore a new place.

Over the past few years I've done a lot more traveling, both domestic and international travel, and I've definitely been bitten by the travel bug.  I love making new friends, talking to strangers, figuring out what I don't know, verifying recommendations, seeing all of the important sights and discovering an awesome place that is hidden in a corner.  I know that my love of food, sports (go Houston Texans!), karaoke, live music, and my burgeoning photography hobby will connect me with some amazing people.  I'll build my arsenal of my favorite places to hang out, my secret routes to get me to the subway faster, my list of what neighborhoods to avoid after a certain time of night.  And I'm eager to be exactly who I am now, but with brand new people who have no preconceived notions about who I am or rather, who I was.

Through all of this I keep thinking how grateful I am that I will have one known constant in my life - Megan.  Whatever we encounter, however strange or foreign or unknown it is, we will be able to weather it together.  And mannnnnn will we have some amazing stories to tell. 

Of course, when asked about where I'm from, I'll proudly announce as I always do, "La Verne, a beautiful small town nestled in the foothills, about 40 miles outside of Los Angeles.  It's close to Pasadena, and no, it's not next to Shirley..."