From the Sidelines of the NYC Marathon

Last Sunday was the NYC Marathon. I can relate: when I woke up my nose was running with my first cold of the season. This inspired a marathon of my own- watching back to back episodes of Louie on Netflix. So while thousands achieved incredible fitness goals of endurance, I stayed inside all day drinking tea and sniffling. Nothing makes you feel more lethargic than making Marathon Sunday your Lazy Sunday.

feature image via

While I was ~~being a lazy sack-~~ resting, my friend Holly was at the front lines of the race. I asked her to share her experience as this race is such a New York staple. One missed last year due to Hurricane Sandy. Here’s was Holly had to report:

It may be a cliché, but marathons really are very inspiring. There’s just something about seeing thousands of human beings from all walks of life participating in an extraordinary show of strength and endurance.

But enough about the runners—let’s talk about me!

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to work both the NYC Marathon and the Javits Center Fitness Expo that accompanies it. Along with a handful of others, I was representing Grana Padano, a cheese from northern Italy and one of the sponsors for the marathon. It seems a silly thing, representing cheese, but I was given front row access to one of the more stirring events you see in New York City, let alone the world—so I’m not complaining.

The Fitness Expo is its own kind of monster: booth after booth of protein shakes, compression bands, energy chews, and more. It’s actually a pretty good place to find your motivation to work out; an infectious energy courses through the room with every chia seed drink sample and running shoe analysis. Marathoners and their supportive sideliners alike crowded the floor, and as they approached the booth I worked at, it became a guessing game of who was new and who had ridden this rodeo before.

Most new marathoners tend to have a buzzing, giddy energy about them, no matter their age; more experienced runners have learned how to take it all in without toppling over. No matter the racing status, however, everyone came to our table—we were giving out free cheese (not to mention cheer sticks, but more on that later)! Gaggles of women in matching team shirts, quietly vibrating neophytes, vocal older Britons who had run a dozen marathons: everyone was passionate, excited, hungry, and searching for perhaps one more thing to help out on Sunday.

Come Sunday, of course, all the neck warmers and coconut water in the world can’t compare to the exhilaration of just doing the damn thing. I was stationed at Mile 17 (along the Upper East Side) by eight o’clock that morning—a funny and freezing concept to me, since we wouldn’t even see the wheelchair racers until well after 9:30. My promo partner and I were there to hand out Grana Padano-themed cheer sticks, also known as “Bam Bams”: basically, balloon noisemakers that are awesome or awful depending on their proximity to your ears! Honestly, though, I loved it.

At first, it was just us, police officers (heightened security this year for good reason), and the odd dog walker or morning jogger. I think there’s something really lovely about the folks who got up to run on marathon day, even for just a few blocks—they deserved cheers, too. The first couple I saw plant themselves at the railings for a good view were cheerful, even in the chill of the morning. I offered them cheer sticks, and asked who they were looking for: their son, he’d run it a couple years ago, they were always excited for him.

As the morning went on, the other folks I encountered had similar stories, but my favorites were when I’d meet someone who was watching for the sake of watching—not just because they knew someone. A rowdy German family had me laughing as I attempted to explain what the cheer sticks were, throwing in the few German phrases I knew (they got a kick out of it when I told them “Ich leibe dich”). Families with homemade posters, a block filled with Belgians, a twenty-something in pajamas with a peculiar smelling thermos—everyone was in good spirits, just waiting for the marathon to begin. And when it did, the crowd really did go wild.

As the first of the wheelchair racers made their way past us, you couldn’t help but whoop and holler! It didn’t matter that I had no idea who these people were, where they were from, whether this was their first or fiftieth marathon: I was so proud of them! How I admired them! By the time the elite women’s group came by, the spectators at the railing were two to three rows deep; when the first of the elite men came by (just over 1 hour, 23 minutes for 17 miles!) we were packed. I traversed up and down the blocks, delivering yellow noisemakers to whomever wished one—which was everyone. It didn’t matter that they’d probably discard them in an hour, they wanted to scream and shout and sing the praises of the runners right now; I was more than happy to oblige.

After a while, when the runners no longer came individually, but in graceful packs, I squeezed myself into an open railing spot. There was live band playing not too far from where I was, and I couldn’t help but dance along with my fellow viewers as we cheered on our favorite strangers. “Go Fred, go!” and “Yeah, Harriet, you can do it!” and “Team Jonathan, you rock!” and “We’re so proud of you!”

We live in a city, a nation, a world often divided; a sometimes scary world where we have to live with advanced security measures. But, for a few hours—and here’s the BIG cliché—we all came together to cheer on each other. You may not ever consider running a marathon, or volunteering for it, or working it promotionally, but I think it behooves us all to (at some point) stand by each other and celebrate humanity and the triumph of our spirit.

If nothing else, you might get some free cheer sticks; couldn’t we all use some, occasionally?

I must say, I have had a lot of people cheering me on recently, in life. I feel I’m at the part of that race before I hit my stride, when my lungs burn and my heart hammers in my chest. I feel the shouts of encouragement here on my blog and it really helps me push on. Blow my nose, get out of bed, put a spring in my step. It’s awesome. Recently I’ve been so caught up in my own shit, I fear I forget to pay it forward. Forget to cheer on my supporters, my friends like Holly, who keep me from vomitting my pain up on the side of the road. I won’t stand for that. I owe y’all one, and I feel so honored to say that.
Thanks for reminding me and for guest posting, Holly!

The Other Woman (Part 1)

It took me over three months to tell my mother I was dating him.
It took me less than three hours to tell her he’d dumped me.

“Is there another woman?” She asked after I told her the vague, not exactly conclusive reasons Harry gave for breaking up with me, “In situations like this there usually is.”

I actually rolled my eyes, reverting back to attitudes I thought I’d long since left in the past. God, Mother! I wanted to pronounce like a teenage girl, Like you know anything about dating? You haven’t been single in half a century! Since before the Summer of Love! Don’t tell me being married to Dad for 40+ years has given you insight on the relationships of 20-somethings in 2013! Puh-lease.

Because I’m 27 and not 17, I managed to keep these thoughts to myself.
Instead I said, “No.” I paused. “I don’t think so,” I paused again, “He is really close with his assistant. Who’s a girl. They’re friends from college. He actually got her the job.”

“Hmmm,” Came her response over the phone. A single sound dripping with scores of subtext. Why is it that mothers are able to convey subtext better that anyone else? Is it because they’re the only person we’ve known our entire existence, from the moment our heart started beating? My mother’s ‘hmmm’ spoke loud and clear: Definitely sounds like I’m right, that there is another woman…

“He assured me all summer that they’re just friends, that’s all they’ll ever be. She actually dated his best friend, Zach [remember Zach?], for years. In fact, she broke up with him right before the summer. She’s still getting over it. Harry says he thinks of her as a sister. I know he just broke my heart, but I still trust him. He wouldn’t do that. He’s not an asshole.”

I’m 27, not 17, and still I can be so, so naive. Is naive the right word? Maybe I mean stupid.
There’s a fine, fine line between stupid and naive.

Two clichés I would previously have scoffed at, I now put stock in:

Mother knows best.

and

All men are assholes.

Now, from henceforth my ex-boyfriend shall be referred to by both his first and last pseudonyms: Harry Butt (haha). It’s more formal that way. His assistant shall be known as Harry’s Ass (hehe).
Oh, it’s juvenile, but (if you know his ass like I do) it’s also perfect. More importantly, it makes both my 17 and 27 year-old selves giggle. In a situation such as this, a girl needs all the giggles she can get.

[Click here for Part 2]

November 4, 2013October 22, 2014

You Will Love the Tompkins Square Halloween Dog Parade (Even If You Don’t Love Dogs)

Strange sounds emit from my roommate’s room on a near daily basis. Not sex noises. Not holy-hell-I-just-saw-a-cockroach noises. At first I thought they were the sounds of pain or sadness. Thinking my roommate had hurt herself, or learned some very bad news, I come rushing to her door, “Are you okay?”
I find her hunched over her laptop, her face awash with unabashed joy, a stark contrast to her utterances.
“Ohh!” she squeals, “I can’t! Eee! Just-aaaww!- Just look!”
She turns the screen toward me, clapping her hands, to reveal a Youtube page. It is a video of some adorable animal- most often a dog or puppy, yesterday it was a fox, last spring it was cows- doing something cute.

“Cute.” I reply, deadpan, rolling my eyes at the 3 minutes of life I just wasted.

I like dogs just fine.

I also like vegetables.

I am about as likely to squee about a puppy as an eggplant.

Now, dress either one up in a costume and it’s a different story.

Case in point: the Tompkins Square Park Halloween Dog Parade. As soon as I heard about this New York event, now in its 23rd year, I knew I had to go. I knew I had to go with my roommate, knew she would have a blast. What I didn’t know is how much I’d enjoy it.

How could I not? It was a beautiful sunny day, so festive, everyone was smiling. The creativity and thought put into all of the costumes was awesome.

dogparade2 — The whirlwind, phenomenon of the summer, SHARKNADOG!

dogparade3 — No one better try to hit this pinnate!

dogparade4 — It’s the best when the look of the dog goes with the costume. He’s the perfect Dog-Hulk.

It gets even better when owners dress up to match.

dogparade8 — Saw lots of dogs dressed as Woody from Toy Story, but this couple who dressed their dog as Slinky and themselves as Woody and Buzz had the better idea.

dogparade5 — If asked, she’d sing a song from *Wicked*. I wish I meant little dog Glinda howling “Popular”, but no, I mean her owner Elphaba belting “Defying Gravity”.

dogparade6 — Alice, the White Rabbit, and the Mad Hatter of course!

dogparade7 — Just a New York guy getting his Starbuck’s fix from the most adorable Pumpkin Spice Latte ever. Okay, this one actually made me *squee*.

So much fun, my roommate and I left truly inspired. For Halloween this year my two roommates and I dressed as Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, and Captain Hook. We dressed our cat as the crocodile.

HalloweenPip — *Squee* worthy? You tell me.

Hope everyone had a Happy Halloween! What did you dress as? Ever dress up your pet?

October 30, 2013November 12, 2015

The Show Must Go On: In Life and at Carnegie Hall

The cliché: How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice.
New York Cliché: How do I get to Carnegie Hall? A friend gets me comp tickets.

The view from my seat, second row center, is remarkable. I can see every furrow of concentration on the cellist’s brow. I witness the many colors- from pink to magenta to purple- that turn on the bassoonist’s face as he commands his instrument in a career defining solo. I notice that none of the violin players wear wedding rings. I find myself lost in the music and my thoughts: do left hand bands impede playing or does this orchestra only allows single violinists?

The seats of Carnegie Hall are cushioned and comfortable. One expects no less from a venue of this renown. Now into the fourth and final movement of the concert featuring contemporary American composers, the audience has adjusted to the cutting-edge modernism. The opening piece wove a harsh radio broadcast into the atonal music. Our ears grew accustomed to many unconventional methods of achieving sound from instruments. The concert closer is a piece that combines two artistic methods- orchestral music and film. The lights dim, music stands illuminated only by personal clip lights. The conductor raises his hands, moving images appear on the screen, and the instrumentalists begin.

It’s something of a strange piece, which according to the program, explores “the controversy and global implications of- and human need for-fossil fuels”. The industrial inspiration in the music is evident. The film is less impressive, odd angles of construction cranes. Just as the audience settles back into the mood of the music, a stage hand steps on stage. An action even stranger than the music playing. He comes down stage right to center, where he gestures to the conductor. The conductor cuts of the orchestra and my jaw drops. I am truly shocked. This is Carnegie Hall! Who ever heard of stopping a piece? As the cliché goes- the show must go on! Exactly what the hell is going on here?

carnegie hall performance — Not since my high school band concert (fun fact: I played trombone)have I witnessed an orchestra starting a piece and stopping in the middle! Unheard of! [image via]

The conductor makes some joke about technical difficulties. The audience laughs appreciatively. For the next ten minutes we sit while they try to adjust the visual. I sit and catalogue the experience. This stop and start-over scenario is a performer’s nightmare. For actors especially. Now if I ever blank out, choke on my own spit, or have an uncontrollable coughing fit (yes, these are real fears) while on stage I will instantly feel better. I can go back and start over! It’s okay! They do it at Carnegie Hall!

The longer it takes to fix the issue, the deeper I’m left with thoughts. The next thing I know I’m looking at the situation as a metaphor for my life. Even world-class institutions have road blocks. Something goes wrong, they have to stop, evaluate, put in the time to assess and fix the problem. No one in the audience is sitting here thinking, “Jesus Christ, Carnegie, get it together! What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you have this figured out? You stink!” Not one person is thinking that. There is not a single doubt that the issue will be fixed. The piece will start over and we’ll hardly remember this happened.

I know that is the way of my life as well. Except with my life, there is one person looking at it with judgement, with vicious negative thoughts. One who might cry out in a darkened concert hall, “YOU SUCK!” That person is- you guessed it- me. On top of aforementioned q uarter-life crises, a recent discovery only added cliché insult to injury. It sucks to realize the man I loved, the one I gave my heart to and trusted completely, is actually an asshole. Was from the beginning. I can’t stop beating myself up about it. Why didn’t I trust my instincts? How did I allow him to treat me like that? Wow, do people look at me and say, ‘She must think little of herself if she settled for that loser’? As if I’m the first person to ever be fooled in the game of love. As if I’m the last.
(I’ll write more on this when the feelings aren’t so fresh.)

I have a kindred spirit: the poor person in the lighting booth who is freaking out that he messed up the visuals. I sit and imagine his agony, so alike to mine. Why is it taking him so long to fix this? His hands are shaking, Is this going to get me fired? Maybe I’m not even qualified to do this job? Everyone in this audience must hate me and think I’m incompetent! He shouts swear words, cursing himself and the machines. He punches the wall in frustration when yet another hopeful solution fails. WHY THE FUCK IS THIS TAKING ME SO LONG TO FIGURE OUT?

techguyCH — It’s easy to forget the guy in the tech booth. Unless something goes wrong. [image via]

He did figure it out. The piece began again with the full, proper film, and no one gives it a second thought. Except me. If the tech guy figured it out, I will too. Sure, this has no doubt ruined his night, perhaps even his week. But soon the rough patch will pass. One day we’ll look back on our perspective moments of frustration, however short or long, and laugh. We both will.

For now, my struggle continues.

Free concert tickets make it easier.

October 16, 2013May 26, 2016

Other NYCs: The Twisted Film Maker

You know that one person at work who you always hope has the same shifts as you? He’s fun and easy-going, you have a similar sense of humor. Chatting with him makes the time go by quicker. You feel like you’re friends until you realize you’ve only ever seen him in his work uniform. That the only conversations you’ve had are about stupid shit that’s happened on the job. A job that holds an insignificant place in our lives, beyond the paycheck.

You learn a little more about him and discover he makes awesome movies. Your sense of humor is indeed similar, but his is darker. Perhaps a bit twisted, in a way that’s perfect for this time of year. You think it’d be fun to actually be friends who actually hang out, but who has time for that in NYC? Especially when you’re both struggling artists with multiple survival jobs. Instead you ask him to be featured on your blog. Thus I bring you this week’s Other New York cliché!

Name/prefered pseudonym: Ryan “Handsome” Rigley

Borough and neighborhood: I live in the Bronx now, but my heart will always belong to Queens.

How are you a New York cliché?
I went to film school, refuse to get a “real” job, and think I’m better than everybody else in this city. Also, I work in Times Square. That’s gotta count for something.

They say no one who lives in New York is actually from New York. Where are you from?
New York. Actually. I was born in the Bellevue Hospital Center on 27th and 1st.

Bloomberg is banishing you from NYC. You have 24 hours before you have to pack up and leave for ever. How do you spend them?
I would wake up super early and ride my bike over to every museum in the city. There are a lot of museums though, so I’d probably only be able to spend about 12 minutes inside each one.

What restaurant/bar you keep going back to, even though you’ve been meaning to try a dozen others?
This Little Piggy Had Roast Beef. They make these amazing roast beef sandwiches with gravy and Cheezwiz. My friend Mike brought me there one night when we were really drunk back in college and I’ve never stopped going since.

Favorite pizza place: La Traviata Pizza on 68th and Columbus. It’s this hole in the wall place that we used to hang out in after high school that also just so happens to have the best pizza in all of New York City. Really, it’s the best. Really.

ryanCC — Ryan was at Comic Con just like me (click for the post about my experience)!

So you live in NYC, but what’s one super-touristy thing you secretly love?
Sometimes, on my days off, I’ll grab a couple of friends and hit up the ol’ mini-golf course just off Pier 25. Other than that, I absolutely love the Natural History Museum. Anyone who visits me from out of town is guaranteed a visit on me. (But only when it’s suggested donations and I can pay a dollar to get in.)

Ever had a run-in with a celebrity (A-D List)?
Working at the Film Forum during the day, I encounter a lot of really big celebrities coming in to see old or independent films. I’ve ripped the ticket stubs of Michael Cera, H. Jon Benjamin, Jon Hamm, Ellie Kemper, Beck, Famke Janssen, Sam Rockwell, Paul Giamatti, Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone. Also, I saw Uma Thurman ice skating with her boyfriend once.

You totally saw something weird on the subway or street today (you may not have registered it was weird because you are jaded), what did you see?
Having grown up in New York, I have seen a wide variety of absurdities on the streets of this city. I’ve seen a man dressed as a robot sleeping on the subway. I’ve seen a topless old woman playing a guitar in the middle of Times Square. I’ve seen a full-grown house cat sitting on top of a guy’s head as he walks down the street in broad daylight. No wonder I’m so jaded!

What is your favorite fictionalized New York? How does it compare with reality?
John Carpenter’s “Escape from New York” in which the entire island of Manhattan has been separated from the rest of the state and transformed into a massive free roaming prison city. Basically, nothing’s changed.

Plug something! Be it something you are involved in, your significant other/roommate/cat is involved in, or just something you think is extra-special going on in NYC.
Please watch and vote for my short film “M is for Mimes” in the “ABCs of Death 2” 26th Director Contest!

Click to watch! http://26th.abcsofdeathpart2.com/entry/m-is-for-mimes/

I wrote and directed it and if we win the short will actually be a part of the finished movie.
Also, I have a website now! Look at it! http://ryanrigleyswebsite.com/

Thanks, Ryan, for being this week’s Other NYCs feature! I love M is for Mimes. I voted for it and hope my readers do the same (to vote you just click the Facebook “Like” button)! Good luck with the contest. Can’t wait to see more films from you. I’m working Friday night, hope you are too!

What do you think of this series? Love it so much you want featured? Come on, why wouldn’t you want to? Don’t be shy, email NewYorkCliche@yahoo.com.

October 15, 2013May 26, 2016

My Crack at NY Comic Con Costumes

Halloween is just around the corner. Do you know what you’re going to dress as? I don’t, but we have a good two weeks to figure it out! I had a lot of inspiration from the event I worked this weekend. Here in NYC, every year just before Halloween we have Christmas. Nerd Christmas. By that I of course mean New York Comic Con.

Attendees take Comic Con very seriously. In a go-big-or-go-home kind of way. Even though it’s not at all my scene, no one can deny the people-watching is unbeatable.

I discovered 4 kinds of Comic Con costumes.

1. The Ones Everyone Who Isn’t Living Under a Rock Recognizes

Even my mother, who takes pride in her extreme lack of pop-culture knowledge might know this is Wonder Woman.

Even before I watched Star Wars at the ripe old age of 24, I still knew where this guy was from.

Dear god, if you haven’t seen The Little Mermaid, step away from my blog and watch it NOW.

2. The Ones Many Non-Nerds Recognize (Especially If They Grew Up In the 90s)

Before I knew X-Men from the movies, X-Men cards were the present I got for every little boy’s birthday I was invited to in elementary school.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was the one “boy show” I watched on Saturday mornings and secretly loved. I love this guy’s creative take on the classic Shredder.

I was never into Pokemon mostly because I never had any video game systems. See why my scene isn’t Comic Con? Still, I was totally aware of the huge fad that peaked when I was in middle school.

So I didn’t grow up with cable tv. Weird right? And another reason my scene ain’t Comic Com. When ever we visited my aunt who did have cable, I would binge watch Nickelodeon. Without her I’d have no reference for 90’s icons like Inspector Gadget. Thanks Aunty! Isn’t this guy’s costume awesome? He made that!

3. The “Nerd Obscure”: If You’re Not A Nerd You Have No Clue

I’m guessing they’re super heroes? From a comic book? I have no idea, but they were really good at posing.

Maybe I should recognize these guys. Do you? Are they from a tv show I would know if I’d had cable?

Okay, these are clearly anime characters. Japanese inspired. Do I get nerd-points for knowing that much?

I can’t even begin to guess where the character he is dressed as is from. But this guy painted his face green and it’s obviously a home-made costume with a ton of effort put in. At Comic Con everyone thinks this guy cool. Everywhere else? Well….you tell me.

4. The Ones They Wear Cause They Wanna Show Some Skin

Hahaha, kidding! How awesome is this guy? Lord of the Rings was a huge blockbuster, so most of us know exactly who he’s dressed as, right? Brilliant.

But no, seriously, some girls just wanna show off what they got.

If you got it, flaunt it, right?
I’m certainly not one to talk. I spent my Saturday night trying to take a page out of the Comic Con costume book. I dressed as “The BOOB”.

Say what? Okay, let me explain. The boys across the street had a theme party this weekend. The theme was Heroes and Villains and guests were encouraged to create their own. How the HELL did I decide to make up a super hero called “The BOOB”? Well, #1 It was ridiculous, #2 It finally gave me an opportunity to wear the best/ weirdest birthday present ever.

See, my good friend Nora knits hats. She’s great at it and has an awesome Etsy shop, Nora’s Knick Knacks that you should check out. One day I joked that the base of a hat she was making looked like a boob. Because I think I’m so funny, I carried on, “You should make boob hats! You could sell them at breast cancer walks and bachelor parties! They might be a huge hit!” Nora apparently never forgot this. Six months later when my birthday rolled around, she presented me with a knit Boob Hat and matching knit Boob Bra. She takes custom orders, she can make you one too!

Opportunities to wear this ensemble are few and far between. I don’t now if I’m ballsy (busty?) enough to wear my knit boobs on Halloween… But you can bet I’ll bust them out for any Breast Cancer Awareness walks/races that come to the New York area!

All Comic Con photos credit the awesome Andy Sklar.
BOOB photos credit the lovely Nora.

October 10, 2013May 26, 2016

The Truth is I’m Not Doing So Well

Ways to tell I’m massively preoccupied/consumed with anxiety/I’m not doing so well:

1. I take a shower and forget to shampoo my hair. Stuck with gross, greasy hair for the rest of the day makes nothing better.

2. I forget to put on deodorant. See above, though this one’s worse because I can’t just put a hat on.

3. Calls go unanswered. I might be avoiding my friends.

4. My room looks like it’s been ransacked, it’s only me sleeping there so who cares?

5. I binge watch holocaust movies. If I compare it to The Pianist, my life is mother-f-ing swell!

6. I neglect my blog. See this past week.

7. I go down stairs to get the mail and end up locking myself out of my apartment.

The first six I’ve done before, the last one? That’s a new one. That was bad. That was yesterday.

I’ve been waiting on a $3,000 check to come in the mail. It’s been driving me crazy. I made this sizable sum of money over a month ago but I have yet to see it. My bank account is demoralizing, seriously so. I barely scraped together rent for October and since then it’s been a strict broke-ass diet of eggs and dollar pizza. Not cute. Every day I hope that check will be in my mailbox. Yesterday, I didn’t work until evening. Having no money, there aren’t too many things to do in NYC. Thus I was home mid-day. I decided to check the mail in the vain hope my deus ex machina check had arrived.

Still wearing my pajamas, I threw a dress over boxer shorts. Appropriate just-checking-the-mail attire. I slipped on slip-on shoes, grabbed the mail key, and ran down the five flights of stairs. Open the mail box: no check. Damn. Disappointment quickly turns into horror. I left the apartment with only the mail key! All other keys are still hanging behind a locked door! Oh my god, I’m an IDIOT.

I burst into tears. It’s always something like this. The cliché straw that breaks the camel’s back. After weeks of pretending I’m fine, I realize I’m not. It takes locking myself out of my apartment wearing a sleeveless dress displaying my can’t-remember-the-last-time-I-shaved legs, striped boxer shorts bunched underneath. No money, no phone; nothing but an issue of Time Out New York, a solicitation from the NY Food Bank and the damn mail key in my possession.

I wiped my eyes with the Food Bank solicitation and thought, Fuck this. I’m not happy with my life. La vie Boheme, a lover who is so romantic and intriguing at the beginning. But we’re out of the honey-moon phase now, it’s becoming clear this metaphoric relationship is headed for Splitsville.

So what the hell did I do locked out of my apartment at 2pm? Well, I am insanely lucky because four of my good friends live right across the street. They are each enduring their own struggles with la vie Boheme (quite the neighborhood slut she is). Thus they were home mid-day too and able to console my whimpering self. I sat, cried, and drank tea. I was able to contact my roommate so I could get her keys.

It takes locking myself out of my apartment to realize 1. I have amazing friends and 2. I need to make some life changes. Oh what a daunting task. Any advice? Wish me luck?