first date game

last night, i was reminded of how happy i am to no longer have to endure the awkward ordeal of going on a first date.  j and i went out for thai (at the aptly named thai terminal in the east village - the food was great, but the ambiance leaves a little to be desired - it was a bit like sitting in a terminal ... but yummy food).  because it's nyc and a restaurant only occupies about 15 square feet, you are quite cozy with the parties beside you - it's like your neighbors are sitting at the very same table.  last night, we had the joy of joining a couple on what was obviously their first date ... and what sounded like the first time they had ever met.  oh the joys of internet match making.  we overheard awkward discussions of whether someone is or has to be a dog person versus a cat person, followed by an even more awkward discussion of why the woman hated wearing glasses.  my favorite quote of the night was the man saying, "i think it's really funny when glasses fog up when people are outside."  have i mentioned how happy i am to not have to deal with awkward first dates?  to be fair, there can be some excitement about a first date too - the future for them was a great big question mark.  the future for us included a stop at a store on the way home to pick up dish soap.

after we left, j shared his brilliant idea of how we should have coped with the experience of sharing that couple's first date: we should have pretended we were also on a first date and then attempted to out-awkward the competition (and hey, at least the other couple would go away feeling a little better about their experience when they compare notes with the weirdos sitting next to them).  on the walk home, j and i started thinking about all of the eyebrow-raising, gut-wrenching, mouth-dropping things we could have said.  "i'm a real animal lover - i own 13 rats and a canary."  "my doctor gave me some cream for it, and i've been feeling so much better since."  "i had to get restraining orders for my last 3 exes, so i'm just so thrilled to be out with someone normal for a change."  "who's your favorite jersey shore character?"  "i had what i really think must have been a psychic dream about this date - i just know we are going to fall in love." "my friends didn't really like your profile that much, but i thought you were cute."

also on the walk home, we happened to walk by the coolest snow octopus.  i wish i could say i had made it (or i wish i had gone to the park and actually made a really cool snow sculpture) ... but let's be honest, anything below 30 degrees fahrenheit is like absolute zero to me: every cell in my body stops functioning.   and while i really, really love snowmageddons, most of my outerwear was chosen more for its frilly prettiness than it was for its functionality for romping around in the snow.  for some reason, i had been under the impression that the city really didn't get much snow and/or that snow didn't really stick around here.  but ... someone made a pretty awesome snow octopus in front of St. Mark's Church in the east village.

chopsticks

my oldest nephew came to visit about 2 months ago with my mom and sister.  at one point we all went out to eat at galanga, a thai restaurant in the village.  it never ceases to amaze me how my nephew just happily eats his vegetables - even broccoli or spinach (i'm a vegetarian, and i'm not sure i was nearly that good about it at his age).  but there he was, happily eating his veggies. and i noticed he was particularly enjoying using the brightly colored chopsticks ... and he was still holding onto them when the waitress came to clear the table.

now, these chopsticks were seriously just brightly colored plastic.  how expensive could they possibly be?  i was hoping she would just let the kid take them home with him.  but after clearing the table, she stood just staring and waiting until we figured out what she wanted (it was pretty awkward, actually).  and as silly as this probably is (they were just a pair of chopsticks), i've been feeling a little sad about it.  so i have decided that as a little compensatory side Christmas gift, this nephew really needs his own special pair of chopsticks.

thus, yesterday, j and i walked to Chinatown in search of a special pair (braving the masses of drunken santas).  we went to Yunhong Chopsticks (partly because NY Magazine promised it would be a fun gift shop, and partly because the store's website is "happychopsticks.com" so surely they would have enough happiness to compensate for the sadness of the earlier loss).  we succeeded in obtaining chopsticks with the appropriate sign of the Chinese zodiac for him.  the shop itself was fun and had quite the spectrum of chopstick options, from cheap plastic ones for kids to silver tipped pairs ... though I can't imagine ever spending several hundred dollars on a pair of chopsticks.

in any case, because i've been so frustrated by my inability to find a nice, compact list of where to buy exciting stocking stuffers in nyc, i've decided to add a page to the blog to start my own ... and am adding Yunhong Chopsticks to that list.  (most of these places have websites ... so for any non-new yorkers who need exciting ideas, this list could potentially be useful if you are willing to pay for shipping).

bread and circuses

last night, j and i went out to eat in soho before braving times square to see a broadway show.  we went for thai at a hip little joint called peep.  apparently, transparency is their m.o.  the front of the restaurant is one giant window and mirrors cover the ceiling and the walls.  the kitchen is open and you can see in (or spy on the kitchen through the ceiling mirrors).  but the best (yet, for me, least functional) parts were the bathrooms.

the bathrooms were hidden behind two-way wall mirrors ... so you lock yourself inside the bathroom, and you can still see everything going on in the restaurant.  j told me about it when we were at our table.  i was a bit skeptical, slightly more than a bit disturbed, but mostly curious.  i noticed a young man enter the bathroom while we were eating, and it took every ounce of self-restraint i had to not stare straight at the mirror that hid the bathroom and make shocked or disgusted faces until he came out.

i managed to behave throughout the meal (which, by the way, was excellent).  i couldn't leave without investigating the bathroom, though.  when we finished eating, i pretended to need to use the bathroom (let's be honest, even if i had really needed to go, there is no way i would have been able to do my thing while half the restaurant was staring in my general direction - though i didn't see any miscreants deliberately making faces at me).  i don't know whose idea it was (though i guess it was the idea of the same person who decided to name the restaurant "peep"), but despite the morbid novelty attraction factor, two-way mirrors in bathrooms are horrible ideas. the psychology labs that tend to have two-way mirrors are also the labs that tend to have hidden cameras ... and sure, peep might not be a lab ... but is that a risk you are willing to take?

cashier #9

trader joe's seriously has 20 cashiers on duty at a time.  and someone on staff to direct checkout traffic.  it is crazy and efficient all at once.  i'm a fan.  i'm also a fan of cashier #9 in particular for taking a strange request from me into full-fledged ocd.

trader joe's is a mile from home, and i regularly walk there for groceries because a) i like that they sell organic stuff cheaper than all the other stores sell their non-organic stuff, and b) it seems far too easy to just walk out the door, cross the street, and go to the closer grocery store.  i like to get a little more physical activity because, let's face it, everyone in my neighborhood wears a size 2 and it's quite intimidating.  if i don't keep moving, i think i'm going to get deported.

the challenge is that, as everyone knows, when you carry something, it gets heavier with each step that you take. the second challenge is that j really likes their orange peach mango juice ... and those get especially heavy.  for those reasons, i have to make sure groceries get packed such that i can manage to carry them without one arm getting more of a workout than the other (it's important to train muscles evenly ... both arms must get the same workout, lest one arm feel less loved).  usually, i just stop by the door on the way out and double check how the cashier packed the groceries before starting the trek home.

when checking out during my last trip, though, i decided to preemptively ensure that the two bags were relatively balanced.  so with a straight face, i informed cashier #9 that the two cartons of juice were having trouble getting along with each other.  i then asked him if he could please separate them when bagging the groceries.  cashier #9 not only smiled, but really went the extra mile.  he also separated the two oranges, the two peppers, the two containers of broccoli, and the two boxes of j's cereal.  he even separated the tofu from the chicken (which i secretly appreciated quite a bit - the tofu really doesn't get along with the chicken).

and that is why i love trader joe's.

self checkout

when J and i were deciding what to do and where to go when we finally finished school, our choices boiled down to NYC and LA.  on one hand, the thought of becoming a california girl had been very enticing - a perpetual tan, the southern california coastline, eternal sunshine, and some really great friends in the area were exceedingly difficult to turn down.  but deep down, i kind of always knew that as much as i might really, really like the idea of being laidback and carefree (and as much as i like to tell myself that if the world weren't so demanding, i would be), the reality is that NYC does serve my personality better (not that this was the reason for the move - the decision was primarily job- and family-related).  but personality-wise, i need efficiency almost as much as i need air.  here, most everything i could possibly need (and just about anything that i could never imagine needing) is a short walk away.  and service is generally quite efficient.

take this morning, for example.  i ran a couple errands in preparation for yet another trip (because no, J and i cannot seem to stay in the same place for more than a week or two at a time this whole summer ... hence, i hardly feel like i live in NY at all).  first, i walked to Bagel Bob's to carry on what has quickly become a tradition for us: exporting fresh, yummy NY bagels to our hosts when we leave the city.  despite a rush hour line from the door to the counter, i was in and out in a matter of minutes.  so i proceeded to CVS to get J some gatorade for the trip (personally, i'm deciding between ginger ale and sangria (for prevention of motion sickness)).

CVS is where my morning got really interesting.  i was second in a line of 3 people (with one person checking out at the counter), and i was even managing to be patient while waiting my turn (because, let's face it, the Bagel Bob efficiency was unfortunately lacking).  i was thinking about the bagels - they were so warm and fresh and i wished i could have given them to our hosts while they were still right out of the oven.  the fifty-something woman in front of me started behaving a little erratically (we'll call her Erratica).  Erratica began mumbling a few words here and there and making partial movements as though she were going to reach for something or walk somewhere, but suddenly changed her mind and stopped mid-movement.  she then left the line twice - once to wander off and grab some nutritional shakes and once to put them back.  and okay, i admit i may have gotten slightly annoyed when Erratica left the line because i didn't want to have to wait any longer if the cashier became free while she was gone ... but the annoyance was fleeting because i decided i would go ahead of her if she didn't make it back in time.

as it turned out, Erratica did manage to make it back in time AND i went ahead of her.  the cashier dealing with the customer at the counter must have been having some trouble.  so another cashier, standing by the self checkout counter, stepped up and said "next."  silly me, i thought Erratica would proceed with her purchases, and i would wait for the next available cashier.  but Erratica responded as though she feared for her life.  she quickly and loudly protested, "no!"  she paused for effect, and only continued when the cashiers exchanged startled expressions.  "i do not wish to go there! i do not wish to use those machines! i am waiting in line - " i didn't quite make out the rest of the tirade (something about a human?) because although i was amused by the event, i had other errands on my list.  so my ears were primed to pick up cashier #2's response: "okay, that's fine.  who is next in line?" and i proceeded to the self checkout (that incidentally, wasn't self checkout - the cashier scanned the gatorade, took my money, and handed me my receipt ... so i can only conclude there must be something ominous about the machines themselves).  i completed my purchase.  as i took my receipt and cashier #2 uttered, "next," it was deja vu.

Erratica protested again, "no!   i do NOT wish to use those machines!" she was oblivious to the cashiers' assurances that they were talking to the person behind her.  Erratica continued, "i do NOT wish to use those machines!  i wish to wait in this line (for a human being?)! where is the manager?  is there a manager? i want to talk to a manager!"

i don't know what happened next because my Type A triumphed over my curiosity this time and i walked out the door.  i can only hope those evil cashiers didn't drag that woman, flailing and screaming, to the self checkout machines, scan her retinas instead of the bar codes, gag her with a receipt, and stuff her into a plastic bag.


(side note: many people erroneously believe Type A personality is associated with cardiovascular problems.  but Type A is actually a big collection of traits that includes not only preference for efficiency, being driven, perfectionistic, etc. (the traits that perhaps are typically thought to make up Type A personality) but also things like hostility and cynicism.  we've known since the 70s that it is only hostility/cynicism portion of type A that is associated with cardiovascular problems (okay, well, someone has known since the 70s - i didn't exactly exist then, but the data have been around that long).  so no worries, NYC will not be giving me a heart attack anytime soon.)

the secret of nyc chic

so this is how they do it.  i just got my welcome to nyc care package from the city (it got delayed a bit). the care package came with my newbie uniform - apparently we are supposed to wear this shirt until we are shamed into looking lke this girl.

http://nymag.com/daily/fashion/2010/06/urban_outfitters_stopped_selli.html

now, it all makes sense.  now i understand how they do it - it's not just because new yorkers walk on average 5 miles/day.  It is because of the shame of the uniform they had to wear when they got here.

special agent dribblets

okay 8th street tabouli drooler, i see that you have assembled your armies and have infiltrated not only 8th street, but also union square.  i witnessed your forces advancing on the sneeze guard at maoz vegetarian (sorry maoz, i was going to keep you out of this, but the tabouli drooler has waged war against you on at least two fronts now, and you are going to need reinforcements - i can't keep your secrets anymore).

you see, the sneeze guard is a brilliant little invention - the first line of defense meant to separate the food that people eat from all the nasty little bacteria and viruses in other people's mucus.  just because you keep your mucus to yourself (?) does not, however, mean you are upholding the spirit of the sneeze guard.  8th street tabouli drooler, you must be fully aware that dribbling saliva into the food is just as much an act of aggression against maoz as shooting snot rockets into the tabouli.  so you appear to have sent in special agent dribblets with just such a mission.

you are tricky, 8th street tabouli drooler.  at first glance, we would never have guessed that special agent dribblets had been sent in to do your dirty work.  she was sent in under the guise of a hungry, middle aged woman with bushy dirty blonde hair and dressed in some strange mix of hippie and amish attire.  special agent dribblets seemed harmless.  until she slipped underneath the sneeze guard with her half-eaten pita.  you are getting bolder, 8th street tabouli drooler, and your strategies are becoming more nuanced.  it was not just the repeated mashing of the serving spoon onto the saliva-drenched pita.  it was the tumbling of the contents of special agent dribblets' pita onto, and into, the toppings bar.  and her mastication over the toppings bar.  and the droppings from her open, masticating mouth onto the toppings bar.  have you no humanity, 8th street tabouli drooler?  there were civilians and children present.

as for you, maoz, have you considered taping a sign on the sneeze guard that prohibits these guerrilla tactics? i hear there are paper and markers dealers right in your very own neighborhoods.  yes, i fully expect the tabouli drooler and her armies will continue their attacks, undaunted.  but if you put up the sign, at least your less adversarial customers could pretend their food does not contain more than the FDA limit of 10% saliva by weight.  think of your customers.  feed us delusions before we feed ourselves falafel from the hundreds of other falafel joints in the city.

the 8th street tabouli drooler

look, 8th street tabouli drooler, i understand that the pita is so packed full of falafel that you can't cram in enough tabouli and veggies all at once.  yes, the pita is unbalanced - falafel bunched at the bottom and veggies can barely fit in the top.  i get it.  i too once suffered from a plight of too much falafel in my pita.  i also get that your book was so interesting that you were floating off in a cloud of oblivion ... no one could expect you to concern yourself with mundane hygienic issues ... or with the disgusted comments coming from customers behind you (i seem to remember hearing "that is so not cool" and "gross!").  ordinarily, i would really congratulate you on your complete indifference to the opinions of strangers.  ordinarily, i would be rather impressed and i would have nothing critical to say to you.  but to be fair, you were infringing on their right to drool-free tabouli.  


you see, 8th street tabouli drooler, you may be perfectly aware that you are free from such minor annoyances as the herpes simplex virus or h1n1.  you know you are clean.  and sure, i believe you.  but just try for a second to put yourself in the place of the other customers.  they are patiently waiting for their falafel-packed pitas, some of them perhaps contemplating how to get enough tabouli into their own pitas.  they are calmly minding their own business when they see you stand up with your half devoured pita and return to the toppings bar.  and okay, sure, haven't we all been tempted to do that on occasion?  so the threat level at this point is probably orange (you know, we have some inkling a threat is there, but i'm not sure any of us really took it seriously).  i think maybe we expected you to go ahead and get another scoop of tabouli but show some consideration by shaking the spoon until the tabouli dropped onto your sandwich of its own accord.  that, my dear 8th street tabouli drooler, would have been forgivable.  but it really is "so not cool" to scoop out the tabouli and wipe the serving spoon against your half-eaten pita.  not just once - several times.  you just kept scraping the serving spoon up and down your drool covered pita.  and when you finished, we watched what you would do next.  as though there were some possibility that you might not wedge the serving spoon right back into the tabouli.  of course we should have known better.  now, again, i believe that you are clean ... but how do the other customers know this?  how do they know you didn't just break up with your boyfriend because he didn't tell you he had herpes and now you want to punish the world by spreading your disease to everyone you encounter?  the point is - they have no idea that you are just a sweet thoughtful young lady who was just too enthralled with her fiction to pay attention to hygiene.  but think of the other customers.  humor them.  keep your drool out of the tabouli.


now please don't think i am unsympathetic to your quandary.  i have solutions for you.  you can order the junior falafel sandwich - it only has 3 falafel balls in it, leaving plenty of room for your precious tabouli.  or, do what the guy behind you did.  get a tray.  put a piece of paper on it.  then just start dumping giant spoonfuls of tabouli onto the tray.  sure, the guy behind the counter raised his eyebrows and probably contemplated calling mr. tray dumper on his not quite kosher behavior.  but at the end of the day, the falafel joint was just too busy and mr. tray dumper was on his phone, appearing to be far too engaged with a matter far more important than smuggling out a week's supply of tabouli.  so mr. tray dumper carried about his business, and the guy behind the counter helped the next customer.


please, for the love of tabouli, just dump it into onto your tray.