Nomad in NYC
My first day at Barneys back in June, my co-worker told me that her feet grew a half-size since she had been doing my job. This statement went in one ear and out the other (as many teachings have over the years), but unfortunately…I have had a rude crude awakening. I now have the equivalent of a hobbits foot. The swelling from running around/standing has yet to decrease in size almost three months later. I am strongly considering purchasing the roller shoes that are supposed to correct your posture and firm your ass…all in one.
New York City and Barneys has at times not only kicked me in the ass, but made me cry, made me angry, made me wonder why I ever left the mountains... but I am happy to say that my mind often pushes through the snobs, the brats, the bellowing sirens on the streets and the humidity that seems to be increasing with the torrential downpours that I am just not accustomed too. I have found ways to laugh about my job, regardless if I know my creative energies are being repressed.
I have found in New York City it is very easy to lose sight of real life. It’s a constant fear that I will lose sight of the open-minded nature travel taught me only one year ago. I’m frightened of the normalcy that Barneys associates experience when a 13-year-old girl is coming bat mitzvah dress shopping and trying on nothing less than $3000.00. I am also concerned with the 80+ year old men that come through the women’s designer department that have a 20-something-year-old woman on his arm that arguably could be his granddaughter or an escort service. Unfortunately, neither of these two situations are ever the case. While the realization that this pair is actually a “couple,” as subject you to a slimy kiss in front of the, I am left thinking of saggy old balls, surgically enhanced boobs and a vagazzled vagina.
I told Shah that I had only just moved to New York and a boyfriend is not what I was currently looking for. He refused to accept this and began filled my candy bag for me.
Upon checkout, Shah asked if, “we could be friends on the book. Theeeee facebook?”
Seeing his excitement, I clearly accepted his proposal and my first friend had been made in this new city. Little did I know, just because of a simple facebook friend request approval, I would be tax-exempt at Nuts & Candy from that day forward.
My first encounter with George was when I was walking down the stairs to the subway before work. He looked at me...I looked at him, and he tells me, “Im a fineeeeee snowcone!”
I immediately question this remark considering I had never been called a “snowcone” prior to this moment. The response only ended in repeated “fuck you fuck you fuck you’s,” under his breath, but I knew this was the start to something magical.
The following week, George looked at me again and begins pointing/shouting “you! Stop yourself right there! Stop looking around for a husband, I know that look in your eye! Look around you honey, look around,” he says “stop lookin’ no one’s got a fuckin hussssssbannnnd.”
Just yesterday George told me, “your nightmare is the American dream! They say because of the super FAT ASSSSSS in the city, they had to burn the sweet cup!”
New York City and Barneys has at times not only kicked me in the ass, but made me cry, made me angry, made me wonder why I ever left the mountains... but I am happy to say that my mind often pushes through the snobs, the brats, the bellowing sirens on the streets and the humidity that seems to be increasing with the torrential downpours that I am just not accustomed too. I have found ways to laugh about my job, regardless if I know my creative energies are being repressed.
I have found in New York City it is very easy to lose sight of real life. It’s a constant fear that I will lose sight of the open-minded nature travel taught me only one year ago. I’m frightened of the normalcy that Barneys associates experience when a 13-year-old girl is coming bat mitzvah dress shopping and trying on nothing less than $3000.00. I am also concerned with the 80+ year old men that come through the women’s designer department that have a 20-something-year-old woman on his arm that arguably could be his granddaughter or an escort service. Unfortunately, neither of these two situations are ever the case. While the realization that this pair is actually a “couple,” as subject you to a slimy kiss in front of the, I am left thinking of saggy old balls, surgically enhanced boobs and a vagazzled vagina.
Definition of Vagazzle: To give the female genitals a sparkly makeover with crystals so as to enhance their appearance (urban dictionary).
To make sure I don’t lose all my bearings from traveling, my friends in New York City have ranged from a small-time candy shop immigrant to homeless people whom yell obscenities that I find particularly clever. Who needs friends in corporate America when Blue Collar is the real soul of this city and where homeless people have far more to say than 3/4 of Wallstreet.
My very first friend in NYC was a Bangledeshi man by the name of Shah Alam. Shah owns a little Nuts & Candy shop on 60thand Lexington and told me off-the-bat to, “get. Fatta!”
He said to me, “You. Must. Get. Fatta. Then you get boyfriend!”
I told Shah that I had only just moved to New York and a boyfriend is not what I was currently looking for. He refused to accept this and began filled my candy bag for me.
Upon checkout, Shah asked if, “we could be friends on the book. Theeeee facebook?”
Seeing his excitement, I clearly accepted his proposal and my first friend had been made in this new city. Little did I know, just because of a simple facebook friend request approval, I would be tax-exempt at Nuts & Candy from that day forward.
Taking the F-Train to work in the mornings is such a delight when my favorite homeless person is on one of his rantings. I call him George Clinton, considering he is almost identical to the music genius (FYI George Clinton was a very influential figure in funk music).
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| This is the REAL George Clinton. Subway George won't let me take his picture. |
My first encounter with George was when I was walking down the stairs to the subway before work. He looked at me...I looked at him, and he tells me, “Im a fineeeeee snowcone!”
I immediately question this remark considering I had never been called a “snowcone” prior to this moment. The response only ended in repeated “fuck you fuck you fuck you’s,” under his breath, but I knew this was the start to something magical.
The following week, George looked at me again and begins pointing/shouting “you! Stop yourself right there! Stop looking around for a husband, I know that look in your eye! Look around you honey, look around,” he says “stop lookin’ no one’s got a fuckin hussssssbannnnd.”
Considering the divorce rate, I would have to say George was very logical in this matter, I thought he was giving me valuable advice in my new city until he said the exact same thing to the next girl whom walked down the stairs. I ignored this ingenuine act.
Another day, I wore red pants down to the subway and George remarked “ooooohhhh you are wearing red! You must be a secret-agent-private-eye!” I responded “If only George…if only.”
Another day, I wore red pants down to the subway and George remarked “ooooohhhh you are wearing red! You must be a secret-agent-private-eye!” I responded “If only George…if only.”
He then continued to rant:
George: “Gurrrrrllll. Those chickens I tell ya! Those chicks at chick-filet! Those chickens got some BONESSSS! Ain’t no gays at chick-filet! Those chickens just got them big bones!!!! ”
This man continues to amaze me day after day, now seeing he is up-to-date on some vital current events.
George is a poet as well, he truly is the gem of the 2ndavenue subway station (although flute-playing Ned certainly gives him a run-for-his-money. See below : )
George is a poet as well, he truly is the gem of the 2ndavenue subway station (although flute-playing Ned certainly gives him a run-for-his-money. See below : )
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| This is Ned. Ned is peaceful. George is not. |
I really cannot keep my mouth shut so I ask, “what the does that even mean!?”
George replies, “Any cup with more than 10 grams of sugar IS A FELONY and your goin down!”
Well, I wasn’t drinking anything at the time, so I think I’m still in the clear of incarceration.
Well, I wasn’t drinking anything at the time, so I think I’m still in the clear of incarceration.
Other than my wandering nomad friends of America, here's a little bit of what I have been up too:
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| Playing with these little munchkins when I lived in Conneticut for the summer. Oh how I miss coming home to delicious food, a washer/dryer, good shower pressure, little cousins and brian/karen to entertain me. |
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| Eating the very best pizza I can find in NYC. This is John's pizza on Bleeker in the West Village. Goodness in a pie. I am aspiring to be a pizza connoisseur and personally...im becoming DAMN CLOSE! |
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| In-house model for the clinics at Barneys NY |
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| Sitting in temple during the high holidays absorbing the rabbi, studying the congregation and wondering why i am not this particular Jew |
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| Meeting my boyfriend, Scott and picking his nose while going to Atlantic City. |
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