15 items or less

tonight i went to the grocery store here in brooklyn. i'm not talking about a bodega. this was a full-fledged grocery store with aisles, a deli, and even a parking lot. it's one of those places that's right by my apartment that i always forget about. i rarely "cook" for myself beyond steaming some veggies and cooking a piece of meat on occasion. most nights i stick to a bowl of raisin bran and lactaid (gotta love the my gallbladder-free, lactose intolerant system) so i don't really bother going beyond the deli around the corner. 

the cats in all of the bodegas in the area frighten me, but i figure there can't really be any cat hair in my sealed corrugated cardboard (biodegradable i'm sure) carton of lactaid. i should note that i just finished reading "freakonomics". i say this only because i really think they should do a study on "why do bodega owners always have cats in their stores?" cats can be smelly, shed, and really don't guard the place from any robbers. i can't imagine they keep better company with these guys than all of their buddies that are constantly visiting them throughout the day. i'm not sure if it's advantageous economically, but i do wonder about any causality or correlations it may have in sales. but i digress...

this grocery store i hit up tonight had ample supply for me to stock up for the bbq i'm having this weekend. i had brought my NYer cart - an item of shame for me but shockingly handy when shopping in the neighborhood for bulky items. so i charged through the store, filling up an entire cart full of foodstuffs. when i got to the checkout there were 2 lanes open: no's 1 & 5. 

numero cinco had a line of 4 people while lane 1 had none. completely empty. had been since i entered the store - probably around 10 minutes. without looking up, i entered lane 1, ready to empty my cart on cue. in a former life i was a grocery bagger. i held the job through my junior year of high school, and not to brag, but my skills in packing groceries are unrivaled by most of my skills outside of the office beyond facebooking and recreationally drinking. 

immediately the bagger stares at my cart and mumbles, "mifteenitemserless". sadly i've lived here long enough to translate that to its true meaning "15 items or less". 

fine. i get it. i had too many items. that's not what killed me about the situation. it was the five employees all standing near checkout staring at all the people in line as they waited. and how the express worker didn't offer to take any of the other 4 people waiting in line (who all had 17 items at max) to her line. and that out of the 15 lines of possible checkouts, only 2 (really 1) were open. if you have the gargantuan grocery store and ample customers, flaunt your services a little. show a little pride. 

while i'm on it, i should also note an important feature of the parking lot. to dissuade anyone from stealing any carts, all entrances/exits to the store are surrounded by a fence only large enough for a person to fit through. this means that anyone who has parked a car in the parking lot must leave the cart in this little holding pen and carry the bags to the car instead of rolling it to its spot. for me this evening, i had to position my cart in such a way where it tilted under the bars. i then had to put my hands through the fence to grab it on the other side without it tipping over. i achieved this feat with no droppage of my cargo, but it was a close call. my wavy lays were almost lost to the sidewalk of prospect ave. and immediately i was thrown from my grocery fantasy back into the world of bodega cats. the moment of serenity was fleeting, but as long as i'm not paying for gas i can't really complain. if i'm honest about it, this will probably be my only trip to the grocery store in the next 2 months. i can fool most of the world into my "maturity" through big words and early bedtimes, but my messenger bags and cereal for dinner will always get me in the end. 

say cheese

i have an aversion to being spontaneous in photos. i'm fine when i'm directed to smile or freeze and strike a pose, but something evil takes over when people capture me in a "moment". half the time my eyes roll up in my head, the other half i look "like i'm about to die" as one friend put it lovingly this weekend. 8.1 megapixels somehow captures every awkward physicality i possess into one frozen frame. it's sort of a miracle of modern technology. like canon added a feature on their cameras that refuses to capture me in my natural habitat. or so i hope. i can live with this unfortunate curse in photography, but do i really look like that in real life? is my mouth often open awkwardly? do i gain double chins with a quick tilt of the head? are my eyes constantly red and irritated and my forehead crinkled? this is what happens when you work in advertising. you can be concerned with this over saving people's lives. thank god no one's cameras are yet in HD. i'm fascinated by looking at all the celeb's imperfections while watching awards shows in HD. i'm just not ready for that reality with myself. 

journey to the center of the earth

recently i played in a touch football game in roosevelt island. if you're not familiar with this magical place, do not feel bad. it's a tiny sliver of a land mass located just east of manhattan - between the big island and queens. it's best known for an incident some years back, when the tram that runs between roosevelt and manhattan left a handful of passengers swaying over the east river. i have been there exactly two times in my life - both times to play football - and i can't really see any reason for traveling to the destination if you don't live there. from what i can gather, it's an alternate universe for those who want to live near the UES, but can't deal with the rent. it's quiet and unassuming, and a complete bitch to get to when the trains are not running properly. i was able to find my way to the island after some tricky subway maneuvering, but once there i had NO clue as to how to get to the field. i had brought with me a zoomed out googlemaps print-out with the field name highlighted, but it lacked any street names. apparently roosevelt island is akin to the town in 'twin peaks'. none of the employees at the duane reade next to the subway knew any of the streets on the island. i had wrongly assumed that the islanders all knew the places of their community. i also wrongly assumed that the folks working at the subway station knew the area. (turns out they all live in brooklyn.) lucky for me, the subway folks knew north from south (i didn't) and were able to point me in the general direction of the field. by luck i ran into another guy from my team who was over 45 minutes late for officiating the game prior to ours. of course 2/3 of our team had the same issue that i did and we started the match two people short. fast forward to the post-game report. i was able to wander my way back to bizarro duane reade and eventually back to my home borough. i'm not quite sure which borough roosevelt technically belongs to, but i doubt i will be returning to it often enough for it to be something i need for my repertoire. i want to be the type of new yorker who freely travels between borough borders, but i'm not sure i can be so altruistic. besides the tram, i'm not sold on this roosevelt. teddy's fine in my book, as is fdr. this island however, is in the same realm as daytona beach. it's just not my kind of party. 

god knows when you've been drinking

due to gallbladder issues, i've been off of the sauce for a good few months. not that i'm a complete lush or anything, but i have been known to drink on more than on occasion. 3pm is a timeframe usually reserved for football kickoffs or dismissal of middle school. for me, the hour marked when i sipped my first drink yesterday. ordinarily this wouldn't be an issue. do a little bit o day drinking an move into the evening with a slow and steady progression. this would keep me awake - and with enough time i would hopefully forget that i was supposed to be going to a club at midnight. that's right - midnight. usually by that time i'm either halfway home or plotting my exit. we're talking midnight arrival - not departure. also keep in mind folks that i've been off the sauce for a few months. 2 drinks turned into 4 at the garden, and there i was getting ready to go to a friend's birthday party at a club in the city. i put on a dress and some leggings (yep - i said leggings) and took my tipsy self to the club. (i drank another 2 mixed drinks in between the garden and the bar). in my mind i should have gotten out of the club appearance for intoxication, but my BAC didn't do anything to keep me from hitting the velvet ropes. by the time we got to the club, i had enough of the bar scene. the alcohol had saturated my system, and i was ready to go to bed. after a few solid years of knowing my drinking limits, i no longer pretend that i can move past this limit into anything other than bedtime. i dutifully said my hellos to all at the club and promptly pretended i had to go to the bathroom. immediately i made a beeline to the exit, hopped in a cab, and made it safely to my bed prior to midnight. this is why i don't go to the clubs. the psychological prospect of having to go causes me to overmedicate. it's best in the future if i stick to dive bars and t-shirts and jeans, and i think my liver will agree. as a punishment, i was blessed with the worst hangover i've had in years. combination of cranberries, beer, and rain. god's perfect storm of gluttony, guilt, and grain products. 

my belly button is deformed

you'll have to excuse the long delay in my writing. a venezuelan surgeon sucking your gallbladder out of your body quicker than daniel plainview drinking someone's milkshake puts a person out of commission for a while. especially when they're given vicodin to help them heal. i'm not a big believer in using pain meds. i avoid them when i can, but MAN do those things help you feel good. actually they just make it so you can't remember how shitty you really felt. at the time i remember laying on my back and staring at my punctured stomach, asking myself why i didn't feel as good as i should for being so drugged up. five minutes later i could have remembered the 10th round of a flip cup tournament better. 

it's lucky that none of my friends (who doubled as my caretakers) took advantage of me. they had free reign of my wallet and all my credit cards, and i was freely telling anyone who may need any cash my pin number. plus they could have dressed me in just about anything and i would have gone along with it. though they probably didn't recognize the gold mine of opportunity, i felt like they could have done a remake of 'weekend at bernie's' but had me half-heartedly cooperate. 

i've never had any scars before - at least not any real ones. i have two from the chicken pox and a tiny one on my ankle from getting my foot pinched between a car seat and my heels when drunkenly cramming into a taxi in the middle of winter in college. my new scars are slightly more bad ass. they're a little symmetrical and tidy to claim a knife fight on the subway, but i don't despise them too much now that the swelling has gone down. four days after my surgery, i had looked like i was in my second trimester. i'd sit and stare at my pooch wearingly - WHAT IF IT DIDN'T WORK? i'd become cranky and pale and sleepy with food deprivation. i stopped even wanting food and wasn't even a bit hungry when my coworkers were chowing down on full meals while i picked at rice and miso soup.  

in the end, all is well post-surgery. though i eat portions not even large enough to qualify for a "mighty kids meal" at mcdonald's, i can eat again. i had the great equalizer in food products last week - a lunch special from the sushi restaurant down the block from work.  i tested the waters with a few beers last week, but the big test will be a birthday bash this weekend. as stomach problems go, i'm hoping that the worst will be a bit of heartburn from a slice at 3am. 

midwest thang

at the moment i'm writing this, i have been in the midwest for 8 days. my trip started with my sister's graduation, hit a mid-point with a quick jaunt in minneapolis, and i'll end my journey with an evening of camping with my friends near milwaukee. in between these major events, i'll have dropped my grandmother off at her home in wausau (wi) and visited my other grandma in milwaukee.

since i moved to new york, i have yet to spend this much time back home. ordinarily it's a hyperactive vacation - for every day that i'm home, there's events planned from the time i wake until i sleep. there's always people that i don't have time to hang out with, and promised dinners or coffees that never occur thanks to me double booking on the fly.

not on this trip. with the exception of a lunch that i had to cut out because of my sister needing the car (sorry, cloud) i've done everything i've wanted to do here and more. and it's really made me appreciate where i came from. i joke that the best part of growing up in the midwest is that i didn't end up with a jersey accent and that i like to go camping. while that's true, there's more to the story. there's a kinship i feel with the folks here that i'll never have in new york. yes, i love my life in new york and i'll stay there indefinitely, but despite what borough i live in or how dark i dye my roots, i will always be that girl with green hair who spent her summers at seminole pool. i will think of memorial day and labor day weekend as synonyms for brat fest; the fourth for summerfest. christmas always has snow, and saturdays in the fall are supposed to smell like badger football. summer sunsets are meant to be seen from a green or yellow chair at the union, and you're weak if you can't handle a scrambler from mickey's with a chocolate malt.

there's an unspoken understanding here of how happy everyone is that they live here - especially in the summer. you can even feel it when you talk to people who just came here for college. i chose to leave for college to see what else was out there and i know that if i lived here permanently i would not have the appreciation that hits me everytime i come home, but i have it now. and it gives me gratitude for not only my hometown, but that i live in a place now that is so very different - but great in it's own right.

i'll never forget in high school when my friend maria and i were walking around in beloit (we were there for a swim meet). we had just stopped at burger king to grab some dinner and were on our way back to the pool. "i'm going to go home tonight and thank my parents for raising me in madison," she said after looking at our surroundings. i worry that if i stay in new york when i have a family that my kids won't have that. they'll use swear words in public that i can't say at 23 without turning scarlet. they'll know how to avoid eye-contact with panhandlers on the subways. granted a family is a long-way off for me, and i'm not leaving nyc anytime soon, but i hope that my kids can grow up like i did. yeah, the winters are awful and i ended up with an accent that elongates anything with an "a" or two "e's", but i was given a disposition that made me love where i'm from, while at the same time want something more. the part of me that wants something more keeps me thousands of miles away from madison and my family, but i really do love coming back.

i hope there's a hell for faulty gallbladders

rumors have been running rampant throughout madison and minneapolis, and i feel that i need to clear this up on record. to follow up on a previous post, i do not in fact have 2 pancreases (pancrei). while it is possible for that to happen (look it up naysayers!!!) i only possess one.

a shadow in one of my abdomen CT's led my surgeon to believe that i may have two pancrei (pancreases) but this was disproved after my latest small bowel series. (basically i was forced to chug two bottles of barium as quickly as i could; then the doctors took pictures of my stomach every 10 minutes to watch it travel through my intestines.)

it has now been determined and proven through multiple tests that my gallbladder is the culprit of my stomach pain. or at least it might be. the doctors aren't sure about that, but they are sure that it's about 1/4 of the size that it's supposed to be, so it should come out of me ASAP. in doctor-speak, that means june 3...10 days from today. at 7:30am, two tuesdays from today i will be sans gallbladder and up 4 scars from where i started the day. i hope this means in the near future i will have booze-filled evenings without ridiculously painful stomach pangs and can once again enjoy sushi (and any type of food that involves flavor). if not, i may to have to become a vegan or fruitarian. something that makes my life more exciting than bran muffins and nila wafers. i used to love the "simple goodness" of nila wafers, but i think one box too many has made me a bit more simple-minded than i was when i first started eating them.

satellite blues

i'm in madison this weekend for my sister's college graduation. it was a whirlwind weekend - lots of food, friends, and relatives - and an excellent time was had by all (or at least that's what we can gather from the lack of leftovers). tonight i wanted to take a quick break from the action - watch a bit of TV before heading downtown to hang out with my sister's friends. i fixed myself a bowl of cereal and got in perfect lounging position on the couch. i clicked on the TV using the remote , only to find out that our satellite was NOT working. (later i found out this was because the whole system had been screwed up when we watched 'hot fuzz' on the DVD player on our other TV the night before.)

out of the 950 channels we are supposed to get, only 1 channel worked on the TV: CBS. at first i wasn't too upset. maybe 'csi' or 'criminal minds' or even a rerun of 'two and a half men' was on. but then i saw fringe and cowboy hats and heard twangy music. it was the american country music awards - LIVE from las vegas. ugh. i immediately uprooted myself from the TV to the computer. i have a decent tolerance for pain, but everyone has a limit. mine is easily reached when carrie underwood steps onto a stage with a sequined microphone.

on the subway today...

- i spent 20 minutes on the subway debating offering the woman standing in front of me my seat. those 20 minutes were spent trying to determine if she was in fact pregnant, or just wearing an ill-fitting shirt. i wasn't about to offend her by insinuating her pregnancy if she wasn't.

- a kid grabs the center pole (that i'm holding onto) and starts whipping around it in circles. he crashes right into me, so i attempt to try and grab the railing on the side of the car. his mom glares at me for impeding his "playground". 

- a woman is sitting with her 3 kids. her children are all hitting each other; without any warning she reaches across two of the kids and starts smacking the youngest across his legs. he starts squirming and pouting, then swings around and whaps the random hipster sitting next to him. the mom starts yelling a story about some $^%$^% motha &*^$^% with their &*^# attitudes with no class. she's speaking so loudly that no one can hear the train stop announcements.  

- a greasy old man starts attempts to engage in eye-sex with me. while i attempt to avert my eyes from his view in any way, he keeps tilting his head, bobbing and weaving to get my attention. 

unfortunately, today was just a regular day in the company of ny's finest citizens

happy saturday

as heard from my bed this morning:

9am - screaming and crying (my roommate fighting with her boyfriend)

9:30am - my roommate babbling about bleeding all over the place

10:00am - the other roommate's dog running around. this was due to the fact that babbling roommate leaving the stove on. roommate with the dog went and turned off the stove, cleared the room of smoke and proceeded to try to go back to bed to no avail.

11:30am - the two of them fighting over depositing rent checks on time

i have no way of knowing whether this timeline is accurate, but these were the events that proceeded my exit from my room this morning.