When graffiti gets personal.

While I was walking to meet my good friend Bradley for cookies and/or biscotti and a nice cup of coffee, I ran into this:


Back fat. That's right folks. My biggest fear is now scribbled onto a wall near my apartment, forcing me to stare this devil in the eye several times a week.

Now, I can't tell what the second word is. I've been told that it's "hot." I'm not convinced. I think it says "Hof," which could be a reference to David Hasselhoff, which makes me think that the wordsmith responsible for this this piece of work is calling back fat crazy. Let me explain.

In the Spanish language, I believe that most of the time the adjective comes after the noun. I'm not certain on this, but let's just pretend I'm right for the sake of this blog post. So, I take it that this graffiti artists is using David Hasselhoff, who is obviously crazy as an adjective. So, we end up with Back fat Hof, which translates to,"Man, back fat is crazy!" I couldn't agree more.

I didn't know pants had gone out of style.

Apparently, sometime between Monday and today, pants have become optional for women in this city - skirts too, for that matter. Really, anything that covers up the body from the waist down with the exception of a leotard has become a "maybe" instead of a definite.

In the past week, I've seen two women walking around with what could essentially be described as leggings and underwear. I don't understand - aren't they cold? Don't they realize that the word "leotard" has the "tard" in it for a reason? I've tried to capture images on my camera phone, but they never turn out. I'll try harder next time.

The conclusion: Either there has been a rapid influx of New York City women enrolled in dance classes since the new year started, or the sale of mirrors in the tri-state area has fallen drastically.

P.S. To all the Brits out there that read this blog, some clarification: When I say "pants," I mean "trousers." I know how you people work with your "pants" and the horrible meaning the phrase "fanny pack" takes on when you say it. Speaking of fanny packs and fashion, when are we going to bring that trend back?

Peeps!

I'd be lying if most mornings I didn't look in the mirror prior to my walk into work and think "Damn, I look good." I think most people do. Well, except for maybe the blind, but I'm sure even they have some sort of adapted way of knowing whether they have made a fashion faux pas. And if I can recall correctly, I've never seen a blind person horribly dressed.

I think what constitutes a fashion mistake is relative. Everyone has his/her own tastes. So when a woman on the street is wearing a hat that closely resembles the result of a marshamellow Peep, the beloved Easter candy, and a Muppet having a baby, I for one hold her up as a national hero. That purple and pink fur hat speaks loudly, and you know what it's saying? Well, I'll tell you. That giant furry Peep is shouting "Get outta my way! I'm on my way to the top!"

God bless you lady on Fifth Avenue and 19th Street. Your Muppet/Peep hybrid fashion choice just made my entire week.

Everbody is excited about the inauguration.

On my way home from work today, I stopped to look at a window display and happened to ovehear a conversation two homeless men were having. As I looked over, I noticed one of the men had what can only be described as a giant cardboard "help me I'm homeless" rolodex of signs. He was trying to choose which one fit his mood for the evening when he said to his friend,"Do you think I should make a special inauguration themed one?" Freaking. Awesome.

I'm not saying Cloverfield, but I'm gonna have to say Cloverfield

Earlier today, I was tipped off about an incident that took place on Long Island this morning. Apparently, this thing washed up on a beach in Montauk:



Are you thinking "What the eff is that?" I am. And I've been staring at the photo for little over an hour. Oh, it's also 4:15 a.m. This is what I do when I can't sleep. I geek out about possible monster carcasses and blog.

So what do you think it is? Rumors are circulating that the creature is a dead dog. If this is the case, I don't ever want a dog. I would never be able to look at it the same way. And if the thing ever got pissed off at me, I would naturally assume it would take the form of whatever washed up on the beach at Montauk and eat my face off.

Others are saying that the monster is a turtle, minus the shell. If this is the case, I now understand why turtles have shells in the first place - they are uggo. Fuggo actually.

I'm going to go with the hypothesis that this is a retarded version of the monster from Cloverfield. Or maybe it's the baby of a bigger monster yet to come. All I know is this - monsters can read blogs so I'm obviously on the list of people to eat if this thing ever emerges from the ocean, I'm hightailing it overseas. They've dealt with Godzilla. They can certainly deal with this.

Truf - Just because you scream into a microphone does not make you a comedian.

Speaking loudly into a mic doesn't make you any funnier either. I've learned this lesson again tonight after sitting through the SoundFix Comedy Night. I would like to pose a challenge to any comedian reading this. Try to do a routine that doesn't consist of the following words:

1. Vagina
2. Pussy
3. Cock
4. Asshole
5. Anus
6. Fuck

If you were really witty, you could keep all the profanity out. George Carlin is the only one who could use profanity in a clever way, so please, save us all a bit of time and don't try to rip off a legend. It's not that I'm offended by your language but more along the lines of being offended that I've wasted any time watching you perform such an uncreative act.

Truf - If I don't have a boyfriend in six years, I'm moving to South America.

Apparently, white guys find me repulsive. But...the South American Latinos are all about it! In the past three weeks, I have been hit on by a total of eleven delivery boys. The latest incident was last night while taking the elevator up to a friend's apartment, a delivery man said the following:

"I. Do. Not. Speak. Much English. But. I have to say. You are beautiful. You have boyfriend? Manfriend?"

He actually said "manfriend." Melted my heart I tell you. However, he lost points with the pony tail he was sporting. I just can't handle long hair on the dudes. Also, I have a bit of doubt in regards to his sincerity - I was sweating like a pig and there is a good chance I had a case of the B.O.

Oh lordy - I'm a Starbucks loser.

That's right folks - this marks the pinnacle of my lameness. I am actually sitting in a Starbucks "surfing the Internet" and "blogging," as the kids are saying these days.

HOWEVER, in my defense, the house I'm staying at has a wonky Internet connection. The aforementioned wonky connection as led me to this spot at Starbucks, so keep the smart ass remarks to a minimum.

I'll make this quick since I'm paying ten cents a minute for this Internet connection...

I ate at the famous Balthazar's today in Soho for the first time, and it was AWESOME! I ordered the ratatouille omellete* and I must say that I have never had a fluffier, non-greasy egg-related brunch food in my entire life. I'm pretty sure that (insert name of higher power that you personally believe in here) made this particular omellete as it was delicious. I also tried the Oyster Mary, a twist on the Bloody Mary. For those of you that think I ordered this because it's got my name in the title, you are correct. And may I say, I tasted fabulous.

After stationary shopping for the rest of the afternoon, I crashed on the couch for a Law & Order marathon before venturing out to Union Square to write this blog. Hot dog, I love New York!

*For those of you that guessed that my breakfast choice was 100% motivated by the movie Ratatouille, you are correct. Stop judging me! It was a good film!

Start spreading the news...

Today marks the one week anniversary of my return to New York, and can I say, I'm still on a natural high being fueled by the fact that I'm surrounded by friends in the greatest city in the world.

Apologies for not updating the blog. I've been busy catching up with people, etc. Also, I'm currently crashing in a Brooklyn loft with ten other people, so it's easy to get distracted when you have a handful of people to play Nintendo Wii with.

By the way, I've become addicted to Nintendo Wii.

I promise to post more regularly from now on. And expect a lot of restaurant-related posts to come your way. I forgot how much fun it is to eat out, and of course, there are some fabulous restaurants in New York. I'm hitting up Tea & Sympathy tomorrow, so I'll be sure to give you my two cents.

Also, upon my arrival back in Manhattan, I reached the pinnacle of bourgeois - I had afternoon tea at the Plaza Hotel. It was probably the best afternoon tea I have ever experienced, so I highly suggest you check it out.

Initially, I was going to write about grandmas...

...but I'm listening to my iPod and the Bob Dylan song "Shelter From the Storm" just came on (a song I listened to almost every time I walked home across the Williamsburg Bridge), and I've just finished trading e-mails with a friend back home. As a result, America is very firmly on my mind at the moment. The fact that I'm only one week and three days from coming back to America is finally starting to sink in. And man, I'm really excited, probably more excited than I've ever been about anything ever before.

My dad sent me a home made "welcome home" note today. I got a little teary eyed reading it and realized why I was coming home - my friends and family are way too kick ass to live THIS far away from. They don't make people like you guys and gals in this part of the world. That's for damn sure.

So to Mom, Dad, Sister, Emily, Jessy, Brian, David, Ryoko, Bradley, John, Alan, Matt, Damien, Peter, Allison (even though you live in San Francisco) , and everyone else I hang out with in Oklahoma and New York - we're in the final days. I look forward to seeing familiar faces in the airport and as I walk down Bedford Avenue or as I get on the L train to head home from work.

And yes, for the first few months I'm back, I'm going to be one of those assholes who swoons at the sight of the Empire State Building. Get ready. It's going be awesome!

Writing with nothing to write about.

As the title of this blog posts suggests, I have nothing to write about. I've entered the "in between" period of my move where the only thing I can concentrate on is the fact that I'm going back to America. As a result, time has decided to stand still. Every time I look at my watch, I swear the little watch hands are flipping me off. It's the same with calendars. That little puppy on my desk calendar looks a bit too smug. It's as if he knows that I'm counting down the days (2 weeks and 3 days!).

By the way, who would have guessed that I would have a puppy calendar? I know. I know. I can be cuddly too.

Sooooooo...anything new from Sue Simmons? Has she unleashed more verbal massacres on any unsuspecting audiences in the past vew days? SOMEONE ENTERTAIN ME!

Sue Simmons - my new favorite news anchor.

For you New Yorkers, this is probably a bit old. However, I am still at the end of the Earth in the middle of nowhere and only heard of this yesterday. Please watch the following video clip:



I'm guessing you are probably thinking to yourselves that Sue Simmons is now my favorite news anchor. Well, you're right. Any women that curses like a sailor on live television earns my respect. And what a diva! What do you think Sue was swearing at? Leave your ideas in the comments section!

G.E. just stuck a fork in one of the only things I truly love.

Today, The New York Times reported that General Electric would be selling their appliance unit. My response? Ah, HELL NO! And why do I stand opposed to the sale? Because of one reason and one reason only: One of my favorite parts about the t.v. program 30 Rock, starring Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin, involves a G.E. appliance unit. That's right folks. I'm talking about Microwave Oven Programming.

What will 30 Rock's Jack Donaghy do without the Microwave Oven Programming unit?! THE MICROWAVE OVEN PROGRAMMING UNIT!!!!!!!! I dare say, G.E. has just declared war on Mary Ann Porch. And Mary Ann Porch isn't going down without a fight.

I'm drafting a letter to the bigwigs at G.E. right now. This is what I have so far:

Dear General Electric -

Please do not sell off your appliance unit and destroy the one thing I enjoy out of life - Jack Donaghy's reign over the Microwave Oven Programming Unit on the hit show 30 Rock. You might not be aware, but I'm currently lying on my death bed. I can see the light. But I'm ignoring it because I'm watching 30 Rock on t.v. Ever heard the saying that "Laughter is the best medicine"? Well, that's what my doctor just wrote on my chart. Please don't eff with modern medicine and kill me.

XOXOXO,
Mary Ann
(1981 to :: a date that is in your hands, General Electric ::)

Readers, feel free to contribute edits/additions to this letter by leaving comments to this post. Let's fight the man!

I never thought I would quote an Ozzy Osbourne song, but when the shoe fits...

I would say it's a sad day when I quote a man who once bit the head off of a live bat, but let me tell you - that's note the case. As of June 21st, I'll be a New Yorker again. A New Yorker in New York. That's right:

Times have changed and times are strange,
Here I come, but I ain't the same
Mama, Im coming home

Even though I hate that song, it's so true. At least those three lines. And yadda yadda yadda I watched The Osbournes on MTV when the show first premiered yadda yadda yadda. Geez...anything else you need to know? Fine. Fine. I like Robin Williams and STILL laugh when I watch Mrs. Doubtfire. So sue me!

Ahem. Moving on...

To all my New York friends, I will be back amongst you soon and I can't wait! Although I love you, my first stop is Chipotle for a burrito. You can meet me there if you want, but I won't be able to talk to you as I will be rejoicing in all that is Chipotle burrito. Deal with it. You knew the score a long time ago. If it came down to you or a Chipotle burrito...well...I'd have to think about it. Seriously think about it.

Regardless, I'M BACK BABY!

(and to celebrate, I've posted a photo of myself that may or may not have appeared on a Lower East Side bus stop in the winter of 2005.)

This says a lot.

More to come later...

Parting of the Red Sea version 2.0

A few weeks ago during my usually non-exciting work commute to North Sydney, I had a genuinely unique experience…well, unique to some people, primarily the types that can be described as “extremely bored.” Typically, I wander off into my own thoughts, listen to my iPod and watch the world go by, specifically the traffic on the Harbor Bridge, but that day, something else caught my attention. The man next to me was petting the hair of the woman sitting in front of us. Of course, I gawked, open-mouthed and completely amused by what I was seeing. My thoughts ranged from “Why is -?” and “What in the he-?” I was too confused and/or excited to complete a sentence.

A few moments later, I noticed that the woman being petted was having a bad, if not unusual hair, day, and that the man petting her head was in fact, her boyfriend. I only figured out the boyfriend part of the equation because he moved to the seat in front of me to six next to her once the train emptied out.

But back to her hair. I would say it was mostly unusual, not bad per se. It was as if she had parted her hair all the way down the length of her head. As a result, she had a perfectly formed part starting from the crown of her scalp all the way to her where her hair line ended. I should have taken a photo, but I was too mesmerized with out ridiculously perfect her part was. I was also amused as she kept running her hand through her hair, but only to have it fall perfectly back into place with the awkward part.

About five minutes after I noticed this lady's hair debacle, her boyfriend told her why he had been molesting the back of her head. He was noticeably embarrassed by her hair’s decision to be an asshole and not follow its regular routine of…well…just hanging there. He kept trying to fix the problem and she sat motionless, letting him pull and tug and try his hardest to get rid of the part. It took everything in my being to not pipe up with “Stop it! This is just like Moses parting the Red Sea! Look how PERFECT that part is! And it goes all the way back! And may I say, you have a lovely scalp – what products do you use?”

Now I will say that this scary hair issue by no means trumps other events/terrifying displays of humanity (such as the thong) I’ve seen on public transportation systems (at the end of the day, this lady just had a shit hair day, plain and simple). The New York MTA is still the reigning champ of holding my amusement, and I honestly miss all the weirdos and freaks riding on the subway every day, such as the Hispanic woman who defied convention and plucked her chin on a crowded Downtown F train, or the British businessman who fervently picked his nose for half the island of Manhattan on a Downtown 6 train.

Also, please take note of the photo I have included: Was Moses really of African-descent? Let's discuss!

Autumn in April = the most nonsensical phrase ever uttered.

The smell of roasting almonds on the streets is missing

Trees are still green, no specks of orange, yellow or red

Unlit Christmas decorations are not being hung downtown in preparation

Cozy bars in the Village aren't packed with the conversations on Halloween, Thanksgiving, or Christmas

Pumpkins aren't for sale at the farmer's markets

Seasonal drinks are not on the menu, no one has ever heard of Pumpkin Spice or Gingerbread lattes

It's autumn in April and I miss New York when it's spring.

The Virgin Mary just appeared in my boogers.

I just sneezed and whatever flew out of my mouth and/or nose just made the shape of the Virgin Mary. I swear to God.

This reminds me of the time I was walking by the Church of Immaculate Conception on E. 14th Street and I could suddenly feel birthing pains. This really happened. I'm not even Catholic!

Lists.

While getting my hair cut on Saturday, the obligatory question once the stylist heard my accent was asked: "Where are you from?"

Then, she asked me something that no one has asked me since I left America - "what do you miss most?"

Well, here's my list:

1. I miss being able to call my family and friends whenever I feel like it. I'm now relegated to the brief window in the morning between when I leave my front door until I arrive at the train station. The time difference sucks - plain and simple.

2. I miss being around people who understand my sense of humor. I think my sarcasm comes across as rude in Australia. And for those of you who know me, you know it's virtually impossible for me to NOT be sarcastic.

3. Bodegas. In New York, you can't walk five feet without running into one. Sure, the milk on sale might be crunchy, but at least you can count on them to always have milk.

4. The New York subway. Now, I can honestly say that I NEVER thought that I would miss that sonofabitch, but man, you can't beat the convenience. There are subway stops everywhere, so no need to take a bus or walk for 30 minutes.

5. Really good pizza.

6. Living no more than 20 minutes away from some of the greatest friends in the world.

7. Only being a plane ride away from the Midwest.

8. Watching Strangers with Candy with Emily.

9. Watching the Food Network with Jessy.

10. Wandering around the West Village with Damien listening to him say "Not breadloaf, is baby!" about 50 million times in 37 minutes.

11. K-I-C-K-A-S-S cupcakes.

But most of all, I miss the energy of New York. No other city in the world has it - nothing seems impossible there. I can't wait to have that again.

P.S. My new hair cut rocks, by the way.

Bacterialism.

I used to think that homesickness was a passing ailment, something that could be overcome if you "stuck with it" or "just hung in there." Basically, that's what everyone tells you when you admit to the disease - and homesickness is just that, a disease - albeit more of the bacterial than the viral kind as homesickness can be cured. For me, I've reached a certain point in my bout with the illness. I've reached the stage where almost anything triggers a memory and the thought that homesickness is something that everyone can get past becomes implausible based on the fact that some are just happier where they came from rather than where they end up. The final destination is not always the best. It just sometimes takes new surroundings to realize that.

A jar of Nutella reminds me of a past lover from college, the smell of pancakes reminds me of breakfast at the Village Inn with my family as a child, sirens remind me of night in New York, and any long stretch of highway takes me back from the stretch of America between Oklahoma City and Lawrence, Kansas. Just a couple of days ago, I saw a canister of parmesan cheese at the grocery store and immediately flashed back to eating lunch with my best friend when we we were still in high school and every Wednesday was "Spaghetti Wednesday" in the cafeteria. We would never get sauce - just massive plates of plain, public school-grade pasta with parmesan cheese. How we survived off of that type of diet, I'll never know, but even eight years later, I still crave the stuff. Music is another inflammation of this disease, the pattern making no sense to anyone but me. Brazilian music reminds me of Scotland, French music brings back memories of New York while New York jazz takes me back to college, and lastly, just the mention of Johnny Cash makes me long for my parents - even th0ough I have no memories of ever hearing Johnny Cash before the age of nineteen.

And much like the flu, homesickness is a constant struggle of waiting for the fever to breakk, waiting for things to go back to normal. In this case, the cold wash cloth on my forehead is instead a plane ticket and the thermometer in my mouth is not measuring my temperature as much as it is my pride and not wanting to disappoint anyone back home.