Week 24: Halloween, Face Palms, & the Brooklyn Museum.

I missed another week (I believe that makes 2 since I started this blog) mainly because last week was uneventful. Anyway, this week I was sick some more… I think my body has initiated it’s revenge for transporting it to a bipolar climate.

Halloween has come and gone. 
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I was a Super Regina [yes, I dressed up as myself]. Or a burst of color… but mostly I just wore my normal attire with some face paint (lipstick which has yet to fully come off).

I found yet another foreign ritual here in NYC last night. Trick or treating. In Orlando (and most other cities where homes are houses or spread out apartment complexes) kids walk door to door contemplating their existence as they beg for candy. No? Maybe it was just me. Either way, the act of knocking on a front door isn’t logistically possible here. On my way home from work I saw masses of children with their candy bags in hand walking past businesses manned with candy hander-outers. I think thats weird. Some (very few) people sat on their stoops with buckets of candy, handing out the goods as kids walked up. I live in a very family friendly neighborhood and I still didn’t see too many people actually doing this. Kids don’t even say TRICK OR TREAT… they just walk up to the lady in front of the bakery with their candy bags wide open. Not cool.

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Today (11.1) I woke up feeling refreshed. Last night I went to a warehouse party with the roomies which turned out to be kind of a bust and an early trip home (I was in bed by 3am). An alcohol free evening turned into a morning of awesomeness. There were other nights this week that involved a bit more alcohol (it is Halloween after all).

Naturally, I discovered a new level of drunken remorse. But what’s a night of alcohol without a few morning face palms?

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We’ve also slowly been making updates to the home…

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11.2 : Lazy Sundays are the best. It took me several hours to finally get myself out of the house… the noticeably chillier weather felt uber refreshing against my face right up until I lost feeling in it. It’s not even that cold yet, but the wind can be brutal. I took a stroll down to the Brooklyn Museum and spent the better part of my day browsing Brooklyn’s finest. As per usual, my favorite attraction: the folks browsing alongside me. A little girl with the bounciest blonde pig tails that stuck straight up adding about 3 inches to her height, walked around the Brooklyn Artist exhibit with a tiny green notebook in one hand and an oversized blue pen in the other. Her stride seemed very meticulous, as though she had previously mapped out the floor plan and had planned out the precise number of steps she needed to take from one piece to the next. Her movements became repetitive, as she came up to each new piece she would bring her giant pen up to her face, shift her head to the side, take a deep sigh, and utter a semi-silent “interesting.” I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help admiring the little lady. She made my day.

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A bowl of cookies and a glass of milk with a rerun marathon of Seinfeld = Sunday night.

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When I came to the states at age 7 without a lick of english and started my first day at an American school I was terrified. I felt alienated and helpless. I was only seven, but I can still remember the deep sinking feeling in my stomach with the only thing stopping me from hurling that morning’s breakfast was the fear of having to explain myself.

After hesitantly getting off the bus (which was a horror in itself), the huge [or so it seemed] outdoor hallway filled with banners and images of big red apples was lined with small posters covered in foreign symbols. I stood there frozen while small and big kids roared around me squirming this and that way. I didn’t move.

I’ve been that scared three times my whole life. The night before flying to live in NYC was one of the other times. I’m starting my 6 months now. Half a year. The initial destabalizing fear has been replaced with an unreal amount of gratitutude and hope. I’m not where I want to be, but I can taste the sweet sweet future.

Hope you have a great week!

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Week 22: Two Broads & a Renoir.

The only interesting thing that happened to me all week – besides the usual [ crammed subways, unpredictable weather, & beautiful fall foliage] – was a conversation that I happened to eaves drop on at the Met. I’m kind of broke (and by kind of I mean really)… brunch and fancy speakeasies are freaking expensive. Going out on the town (or brunching it) will run you more than a couple pretty pennies. With that said, I was a little frivolous with my budget in the first part of the month (something I’m usually really good with managing) and am now having to tone it down.

The most exciting thing that happened to me all week was when I sat on a bench in the middle of the Renoir room in the impressionist section of the Met for 20 minutes. When visiting the Met I like choosing one painting that tickles my fancy at that moment, finding a nearby seat, & soaking in the art while observing others [observing]. Normally, I experience a period of incredible fulfillment followed by a strange sense of hostility; watching others pass by some of my favorite  pieces without so much as a heartbeat. Once I’ve gotten over my dumb ego I experience a period of boredom… this is usually where my inner monologue really picks up. Anyway, it’s not normally a note worthy outing. This time, however, I got extremely lucky. I sat right next to a couple of elderly ladies who chose the same bench to perform their gossip hour… the conversation was obnoxiously entertaining. The lady closest to me (maybe a foot and a half) was as prim and proper as they come with a lovely lilac silk bow wraped about her gray-ish golden hair. At age 75 (?) her posture was better than mine. The other not-so-prim-or-proper lady was very clear about the fact that she had the only right opinion in the most brilliant Brooklyn accent I’ve heard yet. I don’t think she intended on being quite as loud as she was, but I could hear her in the room over. I’m guessing her hearing aid wasn’t working. The two broads paid no mind about the curly haired lady sitting next to them and carried on with their focus on Gilbert and Mary’s newest grandbaby and Sue’s poor decision making skills – all as if they were sitting alone on the stoop of their Brooklyn brownstone. I especially enjoyed their remarks on gay marraige – I was preparing myself for a series of outdated and ugly statements, but was rather surprised when Marge (I named the red head) said ‘What the hell are they waiting for? Marty and Ben have been lovers since the day they met, even Ma didn’t try to argue those two.’ Marty & Ben must have sparked Marge’s memory because that took her on a rant I’m not sure I was able to follow. I waivered in and out of their conversation as I followed (visually) folks walking past one of history’s greatest gifts as though it was the latest movie poster.

All in all those 20 minutes fed me more than the rest of the week’s lunches and dinners combined. I’ve slowly found myself slumping into a funk [and not the groovy kind] lately… my trip to the Met was exactly what the groove master order (by ‘groove master’ I mean me). I did some other fun things this weekend… pickle day (3 blocks of ALL things pickled… I ate my weight in salt and loved every single second), Central Park, & a Halloween inspired ladies evening (Hocus Pocus was just as perfect as I remember).

I’ll try to make my next post a little more interesting. Here are some pictures from this week… all taken with my iPhone… I’m too lazy to caption, just use your imagination.

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Happy Fall 🙂