CATCHING THE BUS

I stepped outside onto the back deck of my parent’s house, not wearing shoes. I walked to the edge of the deck and looked over the railing. I saw my Mother standing in my neighbor’s yard, bent over – clipping ivy from the fence.

“Can you drive me to the bus in ten minutes?” I asked her.
She stood up, startled, almost losing her balance.
“We can drive you right into the city,” she told me.
“No, it’s ok,” I told her. “I’m meeting Kristen for a play and have to catch the bus,” I told her.
“Sure. Now?” she asked.
“In ten minutes,” I said.

I went inside. I ate some no-longer-warm chickpeas in tin foil on the stove top and heated and ate a small bowl of brown rice.

I ran upstairs, unplugged my laptop, and put the charger and laptop in my backpack.

I ran downstairs to the kitchen, checked my phone, and saw the bus was “three minutes” from the stop. I live a five-minute drive from the stop. Catching that bus was not likely. The bus after that one was “twenty-five minutes” away. I wanted to make the “three minute away” bus. I didn’t want to be late for the 7:30pm show.

“Where are the keys?” my mother asked. I felt my jacket pocket but did not feel car keys. I heard keys jingle from the other room, so knew she found them.

“I’ll be in the car,” she said, walking out the front door.

I poured cereal into a Ziploc bag for a snack and put it in my coat pocket. I zippered my backpack, put on my black boots, and grabbed my teal running sneakers from under the dining room chair.

I ran out the door.

“Can we go to the stop after our normal stop?” I asked. “The bus is arriving now at the normal stop, so we have to go to the next one.”
“Sure,” she said.
“And can we go fast?”
She started driving. She approached a green light with the countdown numbers at “5”- 5-4-3…
“Make this light,” I encouraged her.
She went through the green light. I looked to my right and saw the bus pulling up at my normal bus stop.
“There’s the bus,” I told her. Keep driving.
“So, we’re in front of the bus now?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.

The bus stopped at a red light behind us, we continued driving. I knew I would make the bus at the next stop.

What play are you seeing?” she asked.
Sweeney Todd,” I said.
“On Broadway?” she asked.
“No. Barrow Street Theater. The West Village,” I said.
“I love plays in small theaters,” she said. “Remember years ago we saw “The Fantasticks,” she said.

“Here,” I said, pointing to the bus stop.
She pulled over. I kissed her cheek, grabbed my backpack, picked up my sneakers, and jumped out of the car.
“Do you need a bag for the sneakers?”
“No,” I said. “Love you. Thank you.”
I closed the door and jogged to the bus stop pole.
“Bye,” she said through the open car window.
She drove away.

The bus pulled up six seconds later.

I got on the bus and headed into the city.

Perfect timing.

HOW I ENDED UP PAYING FOR MY ROOMMATE AND HER FRIEND’S PIZZA DELIVERY

My roommate and her friend ordered two pizzas to our apartment last night as I sat at the living room table, eating vegetable curry from the Thai restaurant, Bangkok 2.

“Can I get two jumbo pizzas – one plain, and one eggplant with mushroom,” the friend said into his phone. “It’s cash-only for delivery,” the friend, sitting on the couch, called to my roommate in the kitchen. “That’s fine. I have cash,” my roommate said. “It’s gonna be forty-three dollars,” the friend said.

After the phone order, time passed and my roommate told her friend she had to take her chihuahua for a walk. “Should I come with you?” the friend asked. “Sure,” my roommate said. “I have my phone if the delivery person comes with the pizza, they’ll call me,” the friend said. My roommate and her friend left the apartment with the dog. I sat, eating Thai salad with peanut dressing.

After ten minutes, the downstairs buzzer rang. I jumped up and ran to the video call screen by the door. I saw the delivery man, holding two pizza boxes. I buzzed him up.

My roommate and her friend were outside with the dog. I would have to pay for the pizza.

I was not worried about paying for the pizza because I knew I had cash. Earlier in the day at work, a co-worker came into my office and asked me and other co-workers if anyone had change for a fifty. He was making a deal with a locksmith and needed various sized bills. I looked in my purse then and saw two twenty-dollar bills and fives.

If I didn’t have cash, I would have texted my roommate and told her to come home.

I ran to my bedroom and looked in my purse. I saw two twenties, fives, and ones at the bottom of the bag. “The order is forty-three dollars – how much do I tip?” I thought to myself. I ran to the front door and looked through the peep hole. I saw the delivery man walking toward the door. I opened the door before he rang the bell. “Hello,” we said to each other. “How much is it?” I asked. “Forty-three dollars,” he said.

I counted the cash, as I calculated the tip in my head. “Twenty, forty, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight,” I whispered. I counted the money the same way, three times in a row. “The man probably thinks I can’t do simple math,” I thought. I can do simple math, but feel pressured calculating tip when a human is looking at me, waiting. I gave him 48 dollars in cash – a five-dollar tip. I took the pizza boxes, thanked him, and shut the door. I put the two boxes on the living room table.

“My roommate and her friend are going to be pleasantly surprised when they come home from their walk and see the pizzas,” I thought. “They’re hungry and will be glad to see the food.” Seeing food delivered – whether at your apartment or a restaurant – is a great feeling.

I picked up the boxes from the living room table and moved them to the kitchen counter. The living room table is wood and I didn’t want the bottom of the hot pizza box to make a mark the wood.

I sat at the living room table, and ate more vegetable curry – including tofu, carrot, and string bean.

My roommate returned to the apartment with her dog, friend and a second friend. I looked at them walk into the apartment and smiled. I didn’t say anything about the food. I wanted them to discover it on their own. My roommate looked into the kitchen. “The pizzas came?” she asked. “Yep,” I said, smiling. “Wait, you paid for it?” she asked. “Yep,” I said, smiling. “I had cash,” I said. She and her two guy friends laughed. “Wait, how did I end of paying for you and your friend’s pizza?” I joked.

They opened the pizza boxes and smiled, glad the food was delivered.

My roommate handed me a fifty-dollar bill. I went into my bedroom and took two dollars off my shelf. I have a two inch tall shelf for receipts, cash, and sunglasses. I walked across the living room and handed her the two dollars. “It was forty-eight dollars,” I said. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, not taking the two dollars. I walked back into my bedroom and put the two dollars back on the shelf. This was a two-dollar profit for me.

Being nice paid off.

What a great experience.

 

FINDING THE GOOD IN THE BAD

Over my holiday break

I left my purse

at an Airbnb

in the mountains of New Jersey.

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The purse contained

my work ID, metro card, license, etc.

I live two hours from the Airbnb

and would have to wait over a week

to have the purse sent back.

I got home to New York City

and had to buy a new metro card.

I swiped my credit card in the machine

and this card popped out.

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It was beautiful!

I liked the purple and pink colors

and zig zag pattern.

The metro card I left in New Jersey

was normal school-bus-yellow.

It was frustrating to not have my IDs,

(Had to sign in at work security every morning

and linger outside doors to get access to

key-access-only areas)

but I wouldn’t have gotten this new card

if I didn’t leave behind the purse.

And because I didn’t have my work ID,

I got to meet two interns

who escorted me upstairs to swipe me in.

I talked to the interns and asked them

if they liked their internship so far.

One intern told me he was on his college’s

sketch comedy team.

I don’t mind that I left my purse!

Sunday, May 29, 2017

Left my apartment in Manhattan.

With a suitcase of dirty laundry.

That I had to fold neatly to fit in the suitcase.

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Ordered grande Starbucks iced coffee with soy milk.

I order the coffee plain.

Then add soy milk myself.

To decide the amount of soy milk I want to put in.

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Got in taxi.

Looked out window.

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Saw Brooklyn Bridge.

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Rode the 8:30AM Staten Island Ferry.

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On Staten Island, saw a family of swans.

Two parents,  four children.

Wonderful.

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Arrived to house.

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Watched an episode of Season 1 of Netflix’s The Great British Baking Show.

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Drove to sister’s house.

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Baby niece clapped hands.

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Put baby down for nap.

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Baby watched over by elephant.

And photo of Martha Stewart.

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After nap,

looked at baby.

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Watched baby play.

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At nighttime,

I watched another episode of The Great British Baking Show.

While playing with my fidget spinner.

Yeah, baby!

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Papers on a Plane

I flew on an airplane today. A woman sat to my left in a two person aisle. She was about 45 years old. Her husband sat a few rows ahead and her two teenage children sat in the row behind us.

Half hour into the flight, the woman’s husband walked over and told her there was an empty seat by him. She stood up, grabbed her bag, and walked down the aisle. I put my jacket on the empty seat and spent the flight writing in my journal.

I looked on the floor and saw papers. I picked them up. The papers were printouts of the family’s flight information. The woman’s name was something like Julianne Rutherford. They were flying to Newark with a connecting to a flight to San Francisco. Text was highlighted in green. I put the papers on the chair.

Twenty minutes later a male flight attendant walked up the aisle holding a garbage bag — asking for garbage. He passed my row. I handed him a plastic cup. I picked up the papers, folded them, and threw them in the trash. I’m not sure why I threw the papers in the trash.

“We are now starting our descent into Newark,” the captain said over the speaker.

I looked toward the front of the plane. The woman who had been sitting next to me — now sitting five rows ahead and across the aisle — was searching through her bag.

She turned around. She mouthed to her daughter behind me, “Do you see our boarding passes?”

“Oh my goodness,” I thought, “I threw out their boarding passes.”

The teenage girl looked under the seat. I looked toward the ground. I knew she would not find the boarding passes.

“We have ten minutes to make our connecting flight. I don’t want to miss it,” the boy behind me said.

The girl got up. She sat next to me and started looking through the pocket on the back of the seat.

I had to say something. I didn’t want to. Maybe if I spoke up though, we could talk to the flight attendant and arrange a garbage bag search. I had questions like, How many garbage bags were there? How would we know which bag to search through first? Would I be the one doing the searching?

“I think the man threw those papers out,” I said. “The papers. I think they were thrown out.”

“Oh,” she said, “They were my Mom’s. It’s ok.”

The way she responded, reminded me of how I would respond if I was a teenager. Brushing it off because she didn’t want to make a big deal. She stood up and walked back to her seat.

“Mom I sent you something,” I heard her say to her mother, down the aisle.

“She probably sent her mother a text saying I threw them out,” I thought in my head. I wondered how she referred to me in the text. Did she say, “This lady threw out the passes. or This woman…This girl. I was curious.

I looked out the window. Then peeked over the head rest, looking at the Mother. She was looking forward.

The flight landed.

The family ran off the plane to catch their connecting flight.

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Baby Reese’s Baptism

Arrive to baby’s house.

Feed baby bottle.

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Baby falls asleep.

Take self-timer of me and baby.

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Baby awakes.

Looks at camera.

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Change baby.

Baby holds knee.

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Baby wears first bonnet.

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Baby likes first bonnet.

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Baptism begins.

Walk down Church aisle.

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First reading.

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Hand book to priest.

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Baby water on head.

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Dry baby’s head.

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Hand cloth to priest.

Baby’s like, “Uh, Mom– what’s going on?”

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Clap for baby.

Man next to me looks at son lovingly.

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Baby poses with God parents.

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Post baptism friend selfie.

Gotta luv smiling.

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Drive home.

Look at my magical hand.

Designed by little cousins.

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Post bath photo.

Wrapped in towel.

Clock on wall.

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Baby falls asleep.

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KEYS TO PORSCHE

This ever happen to you?

DOING THINGS I DON’T NORMALLY DO

In the New Year, I started Doing Things I Don’t Normally do.

I:

Did “The Snake” on the Seaside Heights, New Jersey Boardwalk

Presented my Parents with an Anniversary Speech

Proposed to my Friend. 

Roamed the Mall as Paul McCartney. 

and

Watched myself Eat Dinner

I want to

keep Doing Things I Don’t Normally Do.

Today I will braid my hair,

go to the gym for an hour,

and

paint my nails orange.

Thanks for reading this

and watching!

 

 

WALKING DOWN THE STREET

I was walking down the street tonight and accidentally dropped a dollar.

“Excuse me, you dropped a dollar,” a girl walking behind me said.

She handed me the dollar.

“Thank you so much,” I said to her.

She started to walk away.

“Wait,” I said. She turned around.

“Would you want to reenact the interaction we just had. I’ll get a stranger to videotape us. I’ll anonymously upload the video to the internet. And you’ll become a famous hero?” I asked her.

“I have to get home and watch The Flinstones,” she said to me.

“The movie?” I asked.

“No. The TV series. TV Land is running a marathon.”

“Do you have a DVR?” I questioned.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Why don’t you use the DVR to record The Flinstones?” I asked.

“I guess I’m stubborn,” she responded.

“Stubborn against the DVR or stubborn against someone who wants you to or doesn’t want you to use the DVR?” I asked.

“Both,” she said.

“I gave three options,” I said.

“I gotta go,” she said.

“Ok. I understand,” I told her. “But before you leave can I ask you one more thing?”

“Sure,” she said.

“What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?”

“I guess start an ice skating dumpling company,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I would ice skate on lakes, handing out dumplings,” she said.

“Oh, that sounds stupid,” I said. “Just because, would anyone have a need for that service?”

“I gotta go,” she said.

“One more question,” I said.

“Sure.”

“Does grave reviews mean a show got good reviews or bad reviews?”

“I think the phrase is ‘rave’ reviews,” she said.

“Oh. What does rave reviews mean?”

“Rave reviews means a show did well,” she told me.

“Ok. I always think the opposite. I hear a show got rave reviews and think it did badly.”

“I have to go,” she said.

“Ok. Bye.”

“Bye.”

 

 

GLITCHED PORTRAITS

Over the past few weeks, videos on my Facebook feed would freeze in pretty glitches. I took screen shots when they did. And used them as backgrounds for photos.

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