Story Time

The other night, Patrick & I walked around the corner for an impromptu sushi date. I sat there as we chatted about nonsense and closely examined our roll options. "Ugh. What is that smell? Do you smell that? Something is burning." as I buried my face in the bend of my arm. "Yeah, has to be from a car outside." Patrick smelled it, too. I looked around the restaurant, my facial expression surely indicating that I was annoyed by the unpleasant stench.

"Ginnayyy...

Ginny! 

YOUR MENU IS ON FIRE."

 "Ohmehgod." (as I removed my plastic menu from the candle that came out of nowhere, I swear.)

He's never letting this one go, just so you know.

Patrick decided it would be huh-lar-ious to tweet to the world that no, that wasn't an earthquake but rather Ginny letting out a burp after her dinner. (To be fair, I think it was the artichokes I had. And whatever, a girl shouldn't always have to be so polite. And I'm sorry, who is he to talk?) I wanted to kill him. And then I really wanted to kill him when a stranger replied to his tweet with, "you felt that, too?" and we looked at his and others' feeds and realized that people were reporting an actual small earthquake in the city and trying to determine its origin. Awesome. Patrick couldn't stop giggling. Did I tell you I wanted to kill him?
 

Okay, time for one that makes fun of Patrick.

 

"heeaaaallllpppp! HEEAAALLLLPPPP! HEEEYYYALLLLP-uh!" - Patrick throwing what appeared to be a 6'4" two-year-old's tantrum, shaking his clenched fists in the air whilst wailing from the other room upon being stuck on a mouse glue trap. I nearly lost a lung laughing so hard while attempting to pull it off. What a goof.

 

(clearing my throat)

 

As my luck would have it? Two days later? The exact same thing happened to me. Notsofunny.

 

early this morning:

"Patrick! Come here for a sec. Can you think of any times when I've made fun of you? I'm writing this post and I know there has to be some good dirt on you, too. Like that time a few years ago when you got pulled over for speeding near the Grand Canyon--"

"--and you snapped pictures of the policeman? No, that doesn't count. You give me way more material to work with."

"Patrick!" (voice makes a very strange little noise)

"What was that? Was that English? Did you just have a stroke?"

(...pretending that I'm convulsing because I'm upset when really, I can't stop laughing.)

(how did he turn this convo on me so quickly? no seriously, how?)

two lessons from this story time sesh ::

1. I don't have very good luck. I do things like nearly burn down the Asian restaurant on 8th Ave...and indirectly become a part of a Twitter conversation involving my burp and the origin of an earthquake...and laugh at Patrick getting caught in a mouse trap and then Karma's all, "Bahaha. Wait 'til this happens to you, little lady." And if I try and be witty? It fails miserably. Ya know, like the other day when I thought I made a really clever assessment of a basketball game and was going to impress Patrick with my knowledge? I sent him a text and it totally backfired and he made it a point to tell everyone in the vicinity.

(Keep your fingers crossed that my tourney bracket beats his bracket, okay guys?)

2. April Fool's Day is comin' up and I need a stellar plan, Stan. I am now accepting ideas at littleladyinthebigapple@gmail.com.

Thanks a million for even reading this rant.

until next time,

g

Whey

So my trainer moved to a new gym and it's 100x nicer than the last place so I have officially switched my membership. Pretty exciting - especially considering winter is right around the corner. It's sandwiched between two of my favorite paper supply stores and thus, totally meant to be. Biggest selling point? Mouthwash in the locker room. It certainly was not  when we accidentally walked in on an elderly gentleman getting a massage during the spa portion of the tour.

"Sh*t! Somebody's in here! Back up, back up, back up."

My trainer is always adding new "rules." Yesterday, I was ready to leave after a grueling hour - ya know, after I regained the sensation of feeling in my body to stand without wobbling - and he was all, "And where do you think you're going?"

Followed by a, "Ha! There's the Virginia face! The I'm-a-gonna-kill-you-face! Now go run."

Oh, and he wants me to cut carbs after lunch (quick! polish off that burrito!) and he wants me to "eat more protein, such as whey."

.......................say what?

My only knowledge of whey is that you eat it with curds while you sit on a tuffet waiting for the damn spider to come scare the bejezus out of you. Nahthanks.

But then I realized the new shiny gym has a smoothie bar and whey was listed as an ingredient! Score! And whatever concoction they made was pretty darn delicious. The moral of the story? Little Miss Muffet must've had a good trainer. And she probably posted about it on her Little Muffet blog.

About me section: "love curds. HATE SPIDERS."

In other news, Patrick made peanut-butter toast at 11 o'clock last night.

That betch.

until next time,

g

How to Kill a Moth

...

"Well...I think he had a heart attack," Patrick gravely claimed after he swatted the broom at the moth. By the way, I bought that broom days before this happened. Guys, it's my very first full-size broom! Alas, my diploma for graduating to adulthood must be lost in the mail.

There are moments such as the one above that make me grin with a pout and shake my head. Out of our lengthy history with ups and downs and all that we've been through, it's these kind of moments that we are sharing for the first time right now. ...Like tackling dirty dishes as a team and debating whether or not hot water really kills germs. (He says it doesn't which is crazy-talk and would nullify everything I know about cleaning.) Or when he doesn't really know what to make of his kooky sentimental girlfriend when I cry over everything from a thank-you note to a sappy commercial to nothing at all. (Men don't understand the crying-just-because phenomenon which is, like, so silly.) Or when I stubbed my toe in the dark on something he put on the floor and screamed obscenities until my thumb accidentally hit the appropriate buttons on my iPhone that made Jason Mraz start singing 93 Million Miles and neither of us had any idea what the heck was going on so we just laughed uncontrollably. Or the myriad of times when I inquire about something's whereabouts like how a new box of tissues "jumped" into the shower. Or, ya know, when I watched as he and the big blue broom followed the tiny brown moth as it fluttered around the apartment. 

And who am I kidding? I'm no angel. In this time of "bonding" we'll call it, there have been plenty of moments where we have peered at the other with a look of, "really?!"

Like this.

I don't know about him - he could be plotting his escape as I type - but as high as my eyebrows jump in disbelief at his antics, I still think he's pretty great. Is that love? Maybe. ;)

Oh, and for the record? The moth regained consciousness from his heart attack and I caught it and squished it in my little hand. In other words, the Hart attacked. (Had to.) And  that, my friends, is how to kill a moth.

until next time,

g

Ode to My Tide Stick

I know I've mentioned my appreciation before, but if the little lady had a magic wand, this would be it. 

via

I snickered to myself yesterday afternoon about how I use my Tide stick so frequently, quickly realizing that spilling as much as I do must be symptomatic of some sort of syndrome. :/ There I was, sitting at my desk, Tide-sticking raspberry residue from my blouse. It's like a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser for your clothing. (If you've never used a Magic Eraser on your walls, I give you permission to take a half day to go reconnect with your cleaning self.)

So there I was, merely a few hours after the raspberry residue incident, meeting another couple for the very first time. (It's never in my cards to make a good first impression...) After waiting in line, paying a ridiculous amount of $, I was about to eat a ballpark hot dog. (Which we all know is totally worth the ridiculous amount of $.)

Earlier in the day, my friend teased me asking me just how many hot dogs I was going to get...because let's be honest, I love them. You think I would have been forever scarred by the waiter at the fancy Greenbrier resort performing the Heimlich on me as a child while I was choking on a hot dog, but my inner fat kid blocked it out.

Back to my story... So there I was, settling into my seat, opening my little individually boxed hot dog. Approximately 3 bites and 40 seconds later, my hot dog slipped out of my bun and I was left with a lap FULL of ketchup and mustard. 

"Let's see...maybe if I quietly reach for the napkins and tide stick, nobody will notice."
I thought to myself.

"Ginny!!! Wha? What the heck did you do?!" 
- Patrick, blowing my cover.

via

^ how I felt.

I'd like to thank my little Tide stick for always seeing me through the rough times. Without you, I'd be more of a hot mess than I already am...

...a hot mess with stained clothes.

until next time,

g

Me?

...

original via

I mean, I suppose I might be a tiny bit frazzled today.

(twiddling thumbs)

Ok fine! I'm a hot mess.

...kind of like the other day when Patrick
captured this beautiful image of me wrapping presents.

"Where the heck did I put the tape??"

I promise to be more human-ish manana.

Speaking of things that are not human,

 remember these little pets? 

well...

Kermit made a run for it.

He jumped out of his tank over the weekend and hippity hopped as far as he could,

and then he died behind a filing cabinet where my co-worker found him.

She said a prayer before she flushed him in the girls' bathroom
so I guess that's a plus.

It sort of reminds me of a sequel to Finding Nemo.

'cept Kermit would be named Theodore or Eugene 

or Gilbert or Perseus or Myron or Barnaby or Claud.

And, ya know, he would have made it farther than the filing cabinet.

Hope you're not hot-messy-like.
And hope your day didn't involve an amphibian carcass.

xo.

until next time,

g

Things Come Crashing Down

Patrick has brought it to my attention that I am, at times, pretty reckless - a surprising self realization given that I am normally obnoxiously meticulous, ever striving for perfection. When it comes to certain projects like the recent ones around the apartment, I suppose I take a Buddy-the-Elf-running-and-jumping-on-the-Christmas-tree-to-attach-the-star approach and just attack without proper preparation or care. "Eh, I'll eyeball it", I think. A couple lamps might have crashed after not moving the cords and there might have been a few extra holes in the walls. Nothing that a magical tub of spackling goop can't fix! But then the 4:00AM wake-up call happened. Ya know, when the giant antique heavy a$$ mirror came crashing down to the floor. Awakened from separate nightmares to a noise that was as loud as a friggin bomb explosion, we shot up in such a panic that it took hours to calm back down. We heard our neighbors walking around probably deafened by the cacophonous boom on the 2nd floor. Oddly enough, the mirror part didn't crack at all (?!) so at least we don't have to worry about any bad luck trailing us for seven years... However, I will admit that I - the reckless little lady - hung that mirror. 

my bad.

Looking at the wimpy nail that couldn't withstand the weight, I realize my mistake. Why is this? Why am I so careless when I am so not in other areas of my life? Maybe that's it. I think and dwell and prepare and make lists and practice and do over and do over again and think about whether my do-over-again is sufficient. I am a planner, attempting to mentally file way too many business and personal agendas...and I am a juggler, ever wanting the perfect balance between the many different facets of my life. And I'll be the first to admit that I tend to drive myself a little crazy with all the thoughts that go into those efforts. So when I see a mirror that needs to be hung on the wall, I just don't want to wonder if the nail is strong enough and I don't want to measure if it's exactly centered and I don't want to analyze the situation like I do everything else. There's no room in my little head. So I hang it up like I'm a member of a NASCAR pit crew. Get in, get out, move on.

And yes, I realize this method isn't workinggg. But what can I say? It's exhilarating. I might swing around that power drill of mine like I'm a prepubescent boy with a Nerf gun. I might start making a giant mess without putting down paper towels. (I also might be driving my boyfriend crazy.) But you know what? That carefree side of mine? The one that realizes situations that don't matter quite as much? The one that just eyeballs it? Well, I kind of appreciate its technique. We all have, what we believe to be, weaker traits in our personality - bad habits, things we don't want everyone to know, and things we beat ourselves up for not doing better.

In an effort to celebrate our less perfect sides, here are five of my own vices :: 

1. Cooking is not in my repertoire. I have absolutely no clue what I'm doing. Also, I'm afraid of sharp knives.

2. I am zero percent athletic. The only individual sport in which I thrived was elementary dodgeball. Only because I hid in the corner.

3. If I'm having a really, really, really bad day I buy items to make brownies and eat the batter. Raw. All of it.* (*see #1)

4. I hit the snooze button up to 5 times. And it takes me over an hour to become human each morning. 

5. I am reckless when it comes to household projects. And I hang heavy a$$ mirrors on itty bitty nails. And I don't foresee any problems. Until, ya know, things come crashing down. 

until next time,

g

Awkward Moments

via

some fabulously awkward moments from the weekend ::

I headed home on Friday to discover Patrick scraped & bruised. He attempted to jump over a chain during a run, tripped instead, and fell flat on his face and already injured shoulder. He was honestly hurt pretty bad and I felt terrible for him. However, the silver lining for us normal folk? Professional athletes trip, too.

Speaking of non-athletic types... I was greeted by a promotional team on Saturday with my trainer and they proceeded to film me, from every angle (!), while I worked out for an hour. There are few things in life more disturbing than the image of oneself doing the ever-so-lovely exercise procedure called a burpee. And now. That image. Is on video.

Patrick literally ran into Kaela Humphries as we walked down our stoop stairs that night. Perhaps I shouldn't be able to recognize Kim Kardashian's ex-husband's 5'11 sister, buuuut I do. Also, Scott Disick made Patrick giggle when he was watching their show. He wouldn't tell you that - but I heard him - I did. In other celebrity news, Katie Holmes & Suri have moved to our hood. I really, really think she & I could be bffs. I'm talking about Suri.

Hanging shelves with two people on the step ladder at the same time equals more giggles than productivity. Alas, that was the only way we were capable of getting those suckers up there. It still took us four times longer than a normal human being with non-floral-painted tools, but that just means we're extra proud. And we have prettier tools than you.

"Are you Ginny's boyfriend? I recognize you from her blog." Well that was a first. ;)

until next time,

g

I Feel You

via

i feel you.

This week has been a little lacking in the sleep department.

My mother's phone rang at 6AM Monday morning notifying her that her school district was operating on a 2-hour-delay due to flooding, sounding a vibration so intense that the neighbors across the street must've heard it.

Oh, and that was after she sat up at 1:30AM and shouted,

"the light! what's THAT LIGHT?"

"That's the TV's power button, Mom."

 Tuesday morning, someone rang my doorbell at an ungodly hour (no thank you) which felt like 37 minutes after I was finally able to shut my mind off and fall asleep.

And then last night I had the most frightening (we're talkin' horror film-esque) nightmare of all time. I woke up drenched in sweat early this morning attempting to convince myself that it wasn't real. By the way, that debate always takes me longer than I think it should. 

my unyielding imagination > rational thinking

I also totally thought today was Friday. Nightmare numero dos.

P.S. my friend sent me this:

...pretty much sums it all up, doesn't it?

until next time,

g

Bad Day Turned Good

I was having one of those days where absolutely nothing was happening like I wanted it to.

How so? Well, my computer crashed seven times during the day. So that's how that went. And then I scoured the island of Manhattan looking for a mailbox. Where are those suckers when you need one? I asked a store owner who misheard and directed me to the nearest bottle of Maalox. But another customer insisted there was one on 13th & 3rd. "East side!", she shouted, as I slung my two bags over my shoulder. That's another thing. Why I am always carrying two bags in this city? Was it imperative that I schlep two novels with me to work? Ya know, just in case one drops in the gap between the subway and the platform and I'm stuck underground for a month with nothing to read? And by the way, there was not a mailbox on 13th & 3rd. East or west side. Then I got to the gym 30 minutes early. It was good, though. I needed to decompress. (clearly) But then my trainer showed up 30 minutes late because of subway problems. If you passed Trigonometry, you'll notice I was waiting for an hour. Motivation buzzkill. Onset hunger. Cranky little lady. He had a valid excuse, though, so we proceeded. It was a group session night so there were two other girls plus me. One of the girls made it very clear she didn't want to workout ever, coming up with a different whine routine for each maneuver. If this is any indication of her inspirational enthusiasm, she used the line, "Um, I don't jump." It is honestly a miracle she doesn't have the Asics stripes indented on her forehead from my shoe I didn't lose it.  I left the gym and stopped on the corner above the subway entrance to call my bf. Three minutes into the conversation, I gagged and told him I had to go because a pigeon pooped on my coat sleeve. Ya know, the one I picked up from the cleaners Monday. For the record, this is the second time this has happened. Whatareya tryin' to tell me, life? Huh?

But then I got home and I put down my heavy bags and I returned a phone call to a dear friend. Who asked me to be a Godmother to her beautiful baby boy. I tell you what, that cranky little lady's frown turned right upside down! :) I feel so happy and honored and I just can't stop smiling...

So then I did a little finger doodle on my iPhone:

That's me. The (fairy) Godmother with itty bitty pink shoes.

I'm a happy camper again! 

...but I still hate pigeons. (-.-)

until next time,

g

Mush

I don't usually include anything too personal on this little blog of mine. It seems unnatural, however, to skip over these past few days as if they didn't happen.

If you're an avid follower, you've seen pictures and mentions of the guy in my life. To explain our nearly 7-year-mostly-long-distance-based-history would require an unfinished novel, but know that he's very important to me. In Friends lingo, he's my lobster. :)

His collegiate and professional athletic career exacerbated, what is believed to be, a pre-existing condition in his shoulder. I'll spare you the many details involved in the length of his injury, but it's unfortunately been a long and trying road for him. On Thursday, he had a scheduled operation that required extracting a rib, a muscle, and extensive scar tissue surrounding his nerves in order to alleviate compression. The anticipation leading up to the surgery-day was enough to drive anyone mad (sincere apologies to my friends & family who heard me say "I know, I just want it to be over with!" countless times). His parents & I watched as they wheeled him away at 8:30 that morning...and after what felt like days of watching the clock, praying, waiting for the summaries of the intermittent stomach-in-your-throat update calls from the OR, we saw him again when he came to at 6:00 that night.

I held good-luck charms all day long. :)

fun little fact:

His old #: 19

His surgery date: January 19th

Hotel room: 419

Hospital room: 1936

I envisioned him deliriously smiling when we greeted him. Ya know, perhaps he'd be too loopy to even know anything was wrong at all, saying funny things and being his usual joke-y self. I bought him a stuffed Bernese Mountain Dog (one of our mutual favorites) from the hospital's gift shop that soon wouldn't leave his side, but he had no interest with any of that right then. Instead, he was hooked up to a million cords and monitors, hunched off the side of the bed in utter nausea. He growled a "hey", his voice raspy from the breathing tube. The feelings I felt before and during surgery had been, unprecedentedly, trumped.

My mother prefaced these last few days with an email reminding me that I had to be strong even if I felt like mush inside. Boy was she was spot-on with that description. I was (and still partially am) one big blob of mush. Observing his small victories like transitioning off ice chips and walking without dizziness was an indescribable feeling of achievement. Unfortunately, many of those achievements were sandwiched between moments that reignited the mush - the winces, the sincere frowns, the needles and tubes, the "hurry back" texts. His out-of-character vulnerability left me feeling weak, but also obligated to be selflessly strong.

After two nights, the hospital thankfully released him yesterday afternoon; he's now home with his family in recovery. Although there's quite a long road still ahead, I pray that this proves to be the help he needed and everything will soon appear in the rear-view mirror...and hopefully, any triumphant outcome will hold an even higher significance given all that he's had to tolerate.

My youngest niece was also admitted to the hospital on Friday morning after a trip to the ER Thursday night. The poor thing was extremely ill and her close-to-nothing frame couldn't handle it. I absolutely hated to think of her in that state, and my brother a worried wreck next to her. She was finally released today; thank goodness.

As my little heart's mushiness solidifies, it sends out love to not only my niece and my #19, but to all those who are dealing with far worse health situations. You & your loved ones deserve medals for what you must endure. As much as I hope to walk away somehow "strengthened" by observing all of this, I also hope that a part of me will always remember what this felt like. I can certainly benefit from its humbling reminder and, if anything, attempt to feel greater empathy for others. They say that if you ever start feeling sorry for yourself, that you should visit a hospital... you feel things, you do things, you see many things that put everything in life into perspective.

May I always remember that perspective.

And may I always remember that mush.

until next time,

g

11.11.11

When I was a little girl I decided that today, 11.11.11, would be my wedding day.

Someone get me a tiara and a Disney prince look-a-like!

I also knew, according to my favorite backseat game of M.A.S.H., that by now I'd have four pets, a house identical to the one in Father of the Bride, and a convertible. (preferably in a purply-shade of pink)

skip forward about eighteen years...

Here I am! That same little girl is now an adult... (that is, everything besides my fingers that literally stopped growing at the age of seven)

...and guess what? No husband, no pets, no house, no car.

Instead?

Life has unfolded in a way I could have never predicted. I'm now dating my best friend I met at nineteen (despite countless obstacles, God has insisted we be in each other's lives), I snap pictures of puppies in my neighborhood and make-believe they're my own, I live by myself and I pay a monthly fortune for my 400-square-foot apartment on an island. Oh, and I only ride in cars that are orangey-yellow. I work in an industry for which I didn't go to school and I professionally go by my full name - something I never would have chosen at the ripe age of 8 as "Virginia" sounded too matronly. (or as I would have put it, gross!)

That's the funny thing about life. You can make plans of how everything will be, you can decide on a timeline that suits what you want to happen and in what order, thinking you somehow know best or that someone else's timeline sounds ideal. It's nonsense! If you're lucky, it will all take place how you least expect it.  A story isn't a good story if you know what's going to happen next. Take each paragraph at a time. Smile at the unexpected. Approach change with an open mind. If you get to a hard chapter, push to get to a new page. Know you wouldn't be where you are without going through what you have. And be thankful for the now.

Oh, 8-year-old-self, I know nothing more about what my future holds than what I did back then. As far as the now? The reality of my 11.11.11?

I wouldn't change a thing.

until next time,

g

One of Those Mornings

I'm fairly certain that ninety-three percent of my closet's contents are now strewn across different surfaces in my apartment. Some mornings are a pleasant ritual of getting ready for my day while others are a disastrous battle zone. After seventeen wardrobe changes, I finally decided on an outfit that I had deemed appropriate for work.

(read: did not make me look too casual and/or like a ho)

Coincidentally, I picked the first outfit I tried on...but all was good, see, as I had managed to crawl out of combat alive.

And then I went to brush my teeth.

And my toothpaste tube was running low.

So I had to squeeze it extra aggressively.

And then blue sparkly goo shot straight onto my chest.

Did I mention that my shirt was white silk?

I'll let you construe my sentiment...

Please excuse me if I'm a little like this today:

image via

I promise to snap out of it at some point.

until next time,

g

Halloween's Frankenstein

Remember when I mentioned my little run-in with Kris Humphries
two weeks ago?

Here's a blurry profile shot from that day.

Khloe was right. He just needs bolts sticking out of his neck.

I suppose it's fitting that Frankenstein and the faux "bride of Frankenstein" have ruined the little lady's Halloween.

I cried for you...
...and then I told you I cried for you...

...and this is what I get?

WTF?!

(what the Frank?!)

Reggie, Kim is wondering if you have Thanksgiving plans.

until next time,

g



High & Low of the Weekend

Hello! How was your weekend?

Mine was busy, but good. I'm here to share my high & low moments from the past few days:

We'll start with the low...

low moment: I spotted Kris Humphries on 5th Ave after work on Friday and followed him (duh, that's what you do when you spot a celeb) until we were both waiting to cross the street. I told him that his wedding was beautiful (to which he replied, "thank you", as that's a normal comment from a stranger). Then I told him that I cried "so hard" while watching it. Whatever, I have overactive tear ducts (slash I'm the biggest sap there ever was). He was giant. And hearing his dopey-man-voice in person was surreal. And hearing his dopey-man-laugh after I told him how emotional I got during my four-hour E! Kardashian Fairytale Wedding marathon was embarrassinggggggg.

high moment: I finished printing my chevron plate with a different color for every month!

{my last printing step will be adding names of the month.}

In addition, I started a drawing project for a client that I'm very excited about. It was an art-filled weekend, folks!

Also, here's a quote for your Monday:

{this was on the front of a card I received from a dear friend.}



Have a smile-filled week!

until next time,

g

Colorado to New York

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday weekend!

Mine was great, minus a few bumps in the road...

We started our journey by meeting in JFK on Friday for a dinner-date before sitting in two middle seats amongst a boisterous crew of travelers. After landing in Denver, we picked up the car that we were driving back and headed a little west to Silverthorne to stay in a B&B.

If you own a B&B, here's some advice: don't name two of your rooms "The Paris Room" & "The French Room". Delirious travelers (us) may get confused by their obvious similarity and accidentally mosey into the wrong bedroom... (!)

We spent the majority of Saturday exploring Colorado: an early morning walk, brunch in Frisco, real estate browsing, outlet shopping, and lots & lots of exploring and pointing and look-at-thats. Saturday & Sunday were filled with driving, our road trip playlist, and dealing with getting pulled over 1.7 miles from our hotel exit... Oh, and we stopped by a fun little zoo, too!

While I was behind the wheel for the first time in years on Sunday, though, something unfortunate happened. Our passenger rear tire blew, scaring the bejesus out of us. I was thankfully able to safely pull off to the shoulder and we stood there in tall grass on the side of the road until AAA came to the rescue. A helpful man put on our donut spare and we crept up the road to a hotel.

We quickly realized 4 things: we needed a new tire to proceed more than the recommended 70 miles on the donut, it was now after 6pm on a Sunday, the next day was a holiday, and we were stranded in a town called Mexico, Missouri.

......

After calling every nearby auto shop with zero success, we threw in the towel and went to an amazing Mexican dinner. When you can't beat em, join 'em! We woke up at 6:30 the next morning to start our tire search again and discovered that the particular tire we needed was, not surprisingly, incredibly rare. The places that were open said it would take about 3 to 5 days to order the kind we needed...  Just as we were about to throw our hands in the air and surrender to being featured on the news as the duo permanently stuck in faux Mexico, we looked online at Missouri's Craigslist and found a guy who happened to be selling the exact tire we needed. Not recognizing the name of the town, we called anyway. He was two hours away from us, but said he was actually leaving in an hour to come our direction to pick up a German Shepherd puppy. Elated, we hung up and quickly grabbed our bags and slowly scaled the winding roads in our injured car to Walmart.

An hour passed and I felt the need to text Mr. Craigslist man. Glad I did considering he had completely forgotten about our conversation and had left the tire at home. (!!!) Thankfully, I caught him only 20 minutes after he left and he went back to get it. When we arrived at Walmart, they told us it would be a 4-5 hour wait for them to fit the old rim with the new tire...after a few failed attempts, they finally gave into our best pathetic faces and put us first in line! The only problem was that we were still waiting on our tire and we hadn't heard any updates on whether he had completely forgotten about us all over again. Just as we were about to give up on the whole operation, Craigslist man pulled up with an adorable puppy...AND our new tire. We couldn't have been more relieved!  We took the newly fixed car through the car wash, attempting to wash our bad luck away and reset the journey. We even stayed with my family in Ohio Monday night, which was an unexpected treat. (thanks, guys!!)

So yes, we made it back last night all in one piece...with a newfound appreciation for tires and a pocketful of memories!

Here are some sights from our journey: 

my surprise at the airport.

me? love leopard? how'd he know? ;)

this is the view from our B&B in Silverthorne, CO

 while we ate breakfast. (it was 45 degrees!)

me & my favorite.

the gorgeous view.

buffalo on the side of the road.

driving away from the Colorado sunset.

Kansas sunrise.

the zoo! loved this giraffe.

flamingos.

tortoises having a very important conversation.

Natalie Portman & Mila Kunis black swans.

scary python.

blown-out tire.

Mexican beer & dinner at Dos Arcos in Mexico, Missouri.

where were you on Labor Day?

I was living in enjoying the bean bag aisle in Walmart.

a fixed car + a clean car = "let's try this again and start over."

Gateway Arch in St. Louis.

sunset in Indiana.

wink.

superb road visibility...

final leg of the trip brought to me by Amtrak.

oh, and here's a silly little video of what my view looked like.

"I got some pictures on my phone..."

until next time,

g

High & Low

In life, there are high moments and then there are low moments.

I'm not here to discuss all the deep and important issues in the world, but rather some silly little things that have fallen into the life of the little lady this week.

Fallen, ha, you'll get a kick out of that in a bit...

So yes, a silly high moment happened on Friday night while I was out to dinner with my friend. "Oh! I have something for you...", she said as she and handed me a pair of shoes. I could see that they had been worn and she explained that her boyfriend brought them home from a Kohl's commercial shoot. They were too small on her and she, being the sweet friend that she is, knew I'd love them. I instantly kicked off my heels and put them on; it was a total Cinderella moment. I was so excited! Not every night do you get a cute new pair of shoes. I sat back to admire them and jokingly asked, "you think anyone famous wore them?"

If you're not aware, I am a celeb fanatic. I tend to either hyperventilate and freeze up or become uncharacteristically brave when I encounter them. Like the time I shared an elevator with Brad Pitt at the Waldorf? I froze/stared/experienced something that felt similar to a minor stroke. But the time John Mayer approached my bar stool and asked how my night was going? I suddenly conjured up a gut full of confidence, gave him a giant hug(?), and became little miss Chatty Cathy -- until he asked me, "how do you bring home the dough?", while swishing his thumb against his pointer finger. And with that I was instantly zapped back into reality where John Mayer is just a pretentious scumbag. But deep down I still cherish our little conversational rendezvous because he is, of course, a celeb. Because I really do have a thing for them, I suppose.

Back to my story...

My friend texted her boyfriend asking him whose shoes they were and we continued our giggly conversation about life. She later checked her phone and gasped, holding it for me to see.

Whose shoes was I wearing?

................

Jennifer Lopez 

image via

And that is when my friend and I shook our clenched fists in the air, participating in some sort of shared moment of silent cheer similar to the excitement expressed by a small child who has just seen a bunny.

Call me crazy, but that's the analogy that came to mind.

Here are the shoes on my feet:

(it's a shame you can't see the rest of me as my 

hair was blowing in the wind just like J.Lo's...)

I proceeded to walk/skip all the way home, appropriately humming "I'm still Ginny from the block".

My silly low moment?

Just when I thought nothing else could rattle my gag reflex after last week's encounter, I was quickly proven wrong. I was minding my own business and walking up 5th Avenue near Union Square last night, chatting with my mom about The Help (go see it), and all of a sudden a blob of brown/white goo plopped on my face and splattered onto my arm that was holding my phone.

(cue gagging followed by annoying whiny voice)

"Aaaauuuuuuhhhhhh! Ohmygaw, ohmygaw, ohmygaw, MOM, a bird just SHAT on my FACE!"

Really? 

Really?

Really?

Does that happen to normal people? WHAT is going on lately? How did I rack up so much bad karma?

Seriously, though, what are the chances?! Last time I checked, I am not in the forest.

I hung up the phone and cleaned myself up with tissues and antibacterial gel and hurried home to hot water and soap.

It's one thing for a bird to poop on your shoulder or your bag or your foot or idunno on a tree(!), but your cheek? I know people have worse problems, but getting shat on wasn't necessarily at the top of my to-do list this week.

Harumph!

As my mother texted me,

"sometimes you are the pigeon and sometimes you are the statue."

so very true...

until next time,

g

Just One of Those Weeks

Guys, it's just been one of those weeks.

I returned from out of town and discovered evidence that a mouse had decided my apartment seemed oddly quiet and therefore the perfect time to break in and explore. A hysterical phone call to my mother and approximately 487 oh.my.gawds later, I sat in the middle of my bed and didn't move until morning. I turned my air conditioner to a loud and rattling high and tried to lull myself to sleep. I watched re-runs of I Love Lucy, listened to Enya, and even drank warm milk (ick!) to no avail.  Thankfully, Super Mario arrived bright & early to save the day. If you're just now tuning in, Super Mario is my superintendent. He and his poodle, Ricky Martin, are PDF. Pretty darn fabulous. Super Mario surveyed my apartment, ripped out my radiator and plastered the the critter's entry he found in the floorboards. Just as my week was looking up and I was able to behave like a normal human being that benefits from the act of sleep, I was notified by my bank that there was a suspicious charge on my account. Lo and behold, someone stole my debit card number and charged $800... I'm extremely thankful that my bank's fraud alert system caught it, but still - really? The whole cancelling your card/filing a claim/holding your breath that you'll get the money back/changing auto-payments/and waiting 5-7 business days for a new card ordeal, as I've discovered, is quite the pain. But it could have been worse. Plus, I was all excited as I was going to hire someone to clean my little apartment for the first time ever! It was going to be spick-and-span! It was going to be glorious! But then she turned me down because I don't own an electric vacuum cleaner. Because that, of course, would require room for an electric vacuum cleaner.

the little lady mastered

the pitiful look at age 4.

{image captured by my big brother, jon}

So yes, my friends, it's just been one of those weeks. The good thing about that, though? This week is almost over! Plus, who am I kidding? Why would I pay someone to strip me of the joys of cleaning? Psh! I got it.

- onwards & upwards -

until next time,

g

NYC Post Offices

I know that I tend to struggle with routine tasks more than the average person. I am a klutz, I am awkward, inanimate objects have teamed up and conspired against me, I have accidentally super glued a pink high-heel to my hand, managed to get my pant leg stuck inside the vacuum cleaner, I continue to smack my head on everything in my nearby surroundings (all questions answered!), and I discover great difficulty in completing tasks that seem so easy-breezy-sheezy for others.

I'd like to talk about my hopeless struggle with the scary land of NYC post offices. It's important to note that NYC post offices are vastly different (at least for me) from what I grew up knowing.

How so?

I used to know post offices as a calm and happy operation. I could stroll in at a granny's pace and ask for advice while the smiley postal worker remained eager to help and show me the cute new Dalmatian stamps.

Here? It's like entering a freakin' war zone. Don't let them fool you, no one is on your side.

Walking into a NYC post office is like walking into a NYC Starbucks. You best know what you want.

This city is designed to appreciate the person that marches in and announces, "I need 2 drinks: one Grande coffee in a Venti cup with 2 pumps hazelnut, 2 pumps vanilla, 1 pump caramel, 2 Equals and 4 Sweet & Lows, filled to the top with cream with extra cream on the side, double cupped with no sleeve. Second is an iced Venti, 2 regular shots, one decaf, 3 pumps white mocha, 4 pumps gingerbread, half soy, half nonfat, 2 Splenda, easy on the ice, with caramel and chocolate drizzle on top, the ratio of caramel to chocolate 3 to 1. THANKS."

Me? "Um, let me see.........................ok, I'll have...........a small coffee. TALL, yes that's what I meant."

Just like you have to enter Starbucks knowing your specific coffee order, you must be also be prepared and equipped the second you set foot in a post office here, knowing exactly how you would like to send that parcel of yours.

What? You need to purchase a box?

Sometimes they have those. But good luck putting them together. I'm like a damn chimpanzee in the corner trying to perform origami tricks.

You need a pen? Well there might be one attached to a metal-ball-string, but it no longer works.

You need tape? You're going to have to ask the drill sergeant "helper" that stands by the line. He or she will hate you for actually needing something. If you get to use one of their ghetto and extra-sharp tape rolls, well muahaha, have fun.

If you survive long enough to make it to a window, you will need everything set and ready to go. You're sending a liquid? You need a delivery confirmation? You want...insurance?

Wait, you're not sure about the correct responses to any of the aforementioned questions?

(Is lipgloss a liquid? Idunno! Idunno!)

What's that? You haven't addressed it yet?!

Alright, loser, you're going to have to step aside. Be prepared to anger someone (most likely the same lovely gem-of-a-person who placed that absurd Starbucks order) as you attempt to butt back in line to give your package to the postal worker who only pretended to care about your niece's birthday present. And don't even get me started on what these establishments are like around the holidays or Tax Day.

Long story short, I always leave the post office severely disheveled and in desperate need of a Jack & Diet. I wonder, do others feel the same way? Or am I alone in this? Does everyone else find their p.o. encounters easy-breezy-sheezy?

Le sigh...

until next time,

g

Peeping Tom

It was just another lazy Sunday morning. I had forgotten to put down my curtains so it was extra bright in my little room. I yawned, pushed back my freshly clean and white crisp sheets and adjusted my head on the multiple pillows. I kicked my feet in the air, flexing my heels (I was quickly reminded, with pain, that my out-of-shape self ran yesterday - who am I?) and yawned again.

I then, with a blissful smile of I-could-lie-here-for-hours-if-I-wanted, glanced over....

.....and saw a cat staring at me through the window!!!!!!

(insert a mini stroke here.)

For the record, I really like cats. I had no siblings my age or neighbors as a child (little lady in the big apple boonies) and thus, cats and dogs were essentially my best friends. I attribute my broad imagination to my childhood of dorkdom. And yes, I loved those cats. 

But this cat? Hell to the no. 

Imagine waking up and seeing this in the window two feet from you:

image via

After regaining consciousness, I jolted out of my bed and banged on the glass and watched the vacuum-lint-colored kitty scurry up the stairs of my fire escape. And I thought pigeons were bad. 

I'm off to try and start my morning on a brighter note.

until next time,

g

My Most Bizarre Subway Commute

See how I mention dealing with others' spillage in my "about me" section?


Insert defeated grin here.


I thought it was just another typical morning commute as I boarded the subway to work.  Blissfully unaware of the people around me, I remained only cognizant of what was in my little bubble. I listened to Parachute's new album, thumbing back and forth between songs trying to figure out which one suited my mood and thus, could be played on repeat.

Parachute used to be Sparky's Flaw, a band that originated in my college town. The lead singer used to sing at our sorority in an a cappella group; I would sit there and listen slash drool slash mentally plan every little detail of our future wedding...

Anyway, back to my story.

There I was, listening to music on my iPhone and having the usual conversation with myself in my head. 

"Did I unplug the hair dryer? Oh right right right - I had to move the hair dryer in order to brush my teeth and that's when I unplugged it.
.................................................................................................
Did I lock the door? Shoot. I can't remember. I mean I had to, yes? What if I walked out and I just left the door wide open? Would I do that? Am I that irresponsible? I mean, it is Friday and I am pretty tired and maybe I just wouldn't even notice.
.................................................................................................
Where's my phone? Omg, did I leave my phone? OF COURSE I left my phone. Oh haha, riiiight, I'm listening to music on my phone.

WAIT. 

Did I put on deodorant?? Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
Oh my goodness, I have a relentless itch on my chin! I must scratch it! But my hands and arms are suddenly immobile! Let me just tilt my head sideways and rub my chin on my shoulder aaaand superquicklysniff- yes, yes I did."

Oh forget about pretending you've never done that before. 

So there I was. Smelling myself. And all of a sudden the girl next to me GASPED.

I looked over and realized that not only was the chick pregnant, but she just peed herself.

And then I put two and two together and discerned the obvious.

Her water broke.

(!!!!!!!)

Clean up on aisle 5!

She was clearly a first-timer because she sat there and just stared at it with the most frightened face I've ever encountered, repeating "oh. my. GOD." over and over. I did my best to avoid mirroring her face so I wouldn't exacerbate her anxiety. Not going to lie, though, I was a little freaked out. She assured me she was fine and even seemed a little embarrassed, but I felt the need to help. I didn't know what to do, though! Do I offer to clean it up? I reached in my purse, quickly remembering I do not actually carry around a roll of Bounty quicker-picker-upper, but instead a small packet of non-absorbent Hello Kitty tissues. Nah, that didn't seem right. Do I call 911? Couldn't. I was underground. So what did I do? I did the only thing that seemed natural to aid a panting woman whose amniotic fluid was puddling under her dress. I rubbed her arm.

The length of time between 42nd street and 50th street crept by as others huddled around. She was alone, but a nice woman offered to take care of her and get her to the hospital. I awkwardly waved and wished her good luck as she waddled off the train.

I hope that big apple bundle of love has arrived and is doing well. I'd like to think of her telling the story to family and friends for years to come of how her water broke on the uptown E.  Maybe she'll even throw in a part about the girl next to her rubbing her arm.

Welcome, baby!

until next time,

g