The Comfy Corner

I am fortunate enough to live in the up and coming South End of Boston. I say "up and coming" because the area used to be super-duper sketch but then the gays moved in and made everything a little more...well, gay! Unfortunately, though, the gayness hasn't quite reached my apartment. I live right on the line between yuppie and scary. So I hear a lot of public domestic disputes outside my window ("Gimme mah phone, bitch!") but I can also walk less than a block to the nicest Spanish tapas restaurant in Boston.

This is all to preface a thought I had as I left my apartment the other day. I love the mornings and I love stepping outside my apartment and breathing in that first breath of morning air. The morning air where I live, though, is very different from the morning air where Chris lives, in Cambridge. When I leave Chris' apartment in the mornings there are birds chirping, people walking their dogs, people jogging, business people shuffling off to work etc. When I leave my apartment there are cars honking, pollution floating, homeless people screaming at each other, and buses roaring by. I immediately feel like I need to take another shower when I leave my apartment.

I suppose both types of morning air have their appeal. Sometimes, it's kinda nice to just be hit in the face with the dirt and bustle of city life first thing in the morning, but every now and then, I just want to walk out to morning air that is a little more...gay.

I have three pet peeves that must be addressed. Two of them came up at the same incident.

1) I hate it when restaurants lead you to believe they have something, but they actually don't - This morning I visited a small breakfast place in Cambridge called "The Biscuit." I was excited to visit for two reasons: 1. I love biscuits and the title of the restaurant would suggest that had a good one and 2. it seemed like a really popular place because people were lined up out the door. When I got inside, however, I didn't see anything on the menu that even looked breakfast related. So when I (finally) got to the register I asked the woman, "Do you have any biscuits or breakfast-related foods?" And she blankly replied that they have what's on the menu and what's on display (duh.) Then she followed that with, "The closest thing we have to a biscuit is our scones." Girl, please. I'm from the South, I used to make buttermilk biscuits for fun, you can't tell me any scone is going to go around disguised as a biscuit. I will not be returning to "The Biscuit" which should be named "The Scone."

2) I hate it when people feel entitled to do rude things - At "The Biscuit" this woman decided to squeeze her stroller right in front of us in the line, blatantly cutting. Chris and I looked at each other confused. Then she started shaking her head and complaining TO US about how busy it was. Then, a different woman was working at her computer and she looked disapprovingly at the open door and said to me (and I didn't even open the door), "Would you close that door?" with a 'tude as if I was the doorman or something! I'm sorry lady, but if you want something done, get up and do it yourself. And it was a perfectly beautiful, legitimate day to have the door open. Some people...

3) I hate it when people make me feel stupid, when they are actually the stupid ones - I was at a parking garage recently and I asked the guy at the counter what the monthly rates were and he said there was a sign around the corner. I responded "Great, I have another question for you..." but he cut me off and said "I said, it's around the corner." I said, "I know, thanks, but I wanted to ask..." Then he got frustrated and came around and pointed more directly to where the sign was. I lost it, it had been a rough day to begin with, so I walked over to the sign, put my finger on it and said, "I KNOW! I SEE THE SIGN! I HAVE A DIFFERENT QUESTION FOR YOU!" Again, some people.

Blogging to you live from New York City folks! I always seem to end up back in this city, and every time I visit, I am filled with inspiration and renewed vigor for life and art. It's like the collective creativity and talent crammed onto this little island is just seeping into my pores. I can't wait to move here after I graduate (that is, as long as I do actually graduate).

So, the best thing about having a large network of friends in NYC is that I never have to find a hotel when I visit. I can always just crash on someone's couch. So for this particular trip, Chris and I decided to crash on his friend Drew's couch. It was a very kind gesture on Drew's part, so naturally I felt obligated to get him some sort of gift, although I didn't have a clue what it would be (me being on a very tight budget and all). But, as Chris and I were walking toward his apartment, my prayers were answered. Sitting on the side of the street was a knee-high, stuffed horse mounted on a wooden stand with wheels - and there was a sign attached to it that said "Take Me!" So, naturally, I took him and decided that this would be the perfect "Thanks for letting me stay in your apartment" gift.

As I was walking down the street with my new horse, however, the worst possible thing that could have happened, happened. We passed by a mother sitting on a stoop with her little girl and her little boy. The little girl took one look at my new horse, dropped her jaw and looked directly into my eyes with the most pitiful, disgusted and horrified look I have ever seen on a human face. The look said "That was supposed to be my horse! You bastard..." Sure enough, after we passed her, I looked back and saw her running up the sidewalk to look at the empty spot where the horse had previously been. Now, I have a little knot of guilt growing in my stomach. We had taken this toy, that could have been enjoyed by this little girl for the rest of her childhood, perhaps she would have passed it down through the generations as a family heirloom, it would have a permanent spot in the playroom next to the fireplace, all of her kids would have pictures with it, and we used it as a joke thank-you (we ended up putting the horse in his bathtub with a bottle of beer. Drew found it this morning). I feel despicable, but it was so worth the laughs.

Yesterday was Chris' golden birthday. The golden birthday is, unfortunately, a birthday that typically passes by most people unrecognized. It occurs when you turn the age of the day of the month you were born (i.e. Chris turned 26 on the 26th). Sadly, I was born on the 6th and on my 6th birthday I was far too busy snorting pixie sticks and pimpin' my tricycle to realize it was my golden birthday. But, Chris (of course) did not forget. In fact, he threw an epic celebration (not as epic as my friend Camille, though, who is throwing a "Golden Birthday Parade" on her golden birthday in New York, of which I hope to be in the band :)). <----hate that. Much to my excitement and joy, I was (self elected to be) put in charge of purchasing the decorations for the party. I went to a little store in Boston called iParty. I went in expecting to see some party supplies, I ended up in party heaven. It was like walking into Lady Gaga's closet. They had every imaginable decoration for every imaginable event: blow-up cactus', penis shaped everything for those bachelorette parties, feather boas of every description, sequin hats, sombreros, etc. I purchased 40 dollars worth of golden fringe, golden streamers, golden beads and a dozen red balloons with golden strings (see what I was going for? It was a gold theme. Got it? Good.). The balloon man tied my bunch of balloons into an elaborate bouquet with each balloon at a different length and each 10 ft long string curled into a perfect twist. I looked at him incredulously and after a couple moments of awkward silence as I stood there drop-jawed, eyes fixed on balloon mountain he said "perhaps you'd like it to be a little more compact?" I responded, "Yeah, I don't wanna float away." To which the woman who was assisting him laughed and laughed as if I was the first person with a sense of humor to walk into the party store. I mean, I felt like that was a pretty standard balloon joke, yeah? Sheesh.

So there I was armed with three huge bags of golden decorations, birthday presents and a dozen helium-filled balloons, when suddenly I realized that I had to get on the subway like this. And to top it all, I was traveling at approximately 5:30, the height of rush hour, on a Friday. It was official, I was about to become - the hated person on the T. I put on my sunglasses to conceal my identity and I boarded the crowded T... to my extreme dismay, the car I was on did not have air conditioning. So there I was crammed into the corner, balloons pressing against my face trying to be as small as possible, dressed in all black from work, sweat pouring down my face, the rubber making all sorts of noise, kids screaming "Look balloons" and me trying to act like nothing is out of the ordinary (like I'm a balloon delivery man or something). What I didn't consider was the fact that balloons do not react well to heat. Of course as soon as I considered this fact, an overfilled balloon popped almost giving one man a heart attack. I apologized profusely and made some awkward jokes about the heat. Outside I was wearing a smile. Inside, I was crying.

Finally, I made it out of the T armed with 11 balloons now. All was clear from here on out. Just a quick 10 minute walk through Harvard square. I was home free! As I was walking, though, an abrasive voice sounded behind me "Watch out for dat blanch! You going to pop dah barrooons!!" I looked back to see a small Asian woman following me with a deep look of concern for my balloons and sure enough POP! I lost another one. With ten balloons left, I finally thought to myself, "Wow, I must look like a complete idiot. I wish I could see myself now." The best I could do was capture this picture of my shadow. The balloon journey is not one to be made lightly folks. If you have to make it, watch out for hot subways and low hanging branches. Otherwise, you may very well pop your barroons.

So I have a disability. My brain is completely unable to filter really corny jokes and they come out of my mouth before I can even have a chance to stop them. Many people have informed me that my sense of humor is equivalent to that of a 40ish-year-old father. Here are some examples of late...

1. On my first day at the restaurant I was waiting on a table and two women ordered coffee. The first woman said "I'll have the decaf" and the second woman, chuckling, said "And I'll have the caff." I grinned smugly and said "So you'd like a baby cow?" And she stared back at me blankly and said "No, I'd like caffeinated coffee." I responded with a "Yes, ma'am."

2. On my way out the door today at work my friend Fro said "See you later!" and before my stupid brain could filter it I said "CPK ya later!"

3. At Uno's last night, Chris ordered a Long Island Iced Tea-esque drink and the waiter said "I'm gonna have to see some ID" and I responded "I'm gonna have to see some ICED TEA!"

I really need to learn how to think before I speak.

I thought of that title last night as I was drifting off to dream during sleep logic. I thought, "my, how clever I am" and then I laughed like a little girl for about five minutes, hugged my pillow and fell asleep (am I crazy?)

So, I am not typically on top of the fads. I started playing with yo-yo's long after they were cool to play with, I never collected Pokemon, I started wearing baggy jeans just about when skinny jeans were the new thing, it took me a long time to start updating my fb status, omg...it took me so long to get the hang of internet lingo, lol :D, and I still have not hopped on the Twitter train. BUT, I have officially caught on with a fad while it still is in heat (poor metaphor? perhaps...). I wear (drum roll, please) shape bracelets!!! Witness these other cool kids that know where it's AT! They are so friggin' awesome! You can like, wear them on your wrist and nobody knows what shape they're gonna make until you take it off. Witness the transformation below.

Of course, with all fads there are the haters. Chris says "BRACELETS SHOULD FIT SNUGLY AROUND THE CIRCUMFERENCE OF YOUR WRIST!" And Laura, ever the practical one, says "I can't believe someone is making money off of shaped rubber bands!" But buzz off haters, I enjoy my deformed bracelet. I have a friend at work with a banana as well and when I see her I say "BANANA PHONE" and we start talking on our bracelets. Those are cool points you can't buy. My first ever shape bracelet was a penguin...but, he broke and now he just looks like a squiggly line...
So, to all my gurls out there with shapesies, gimme a buzz and we'll have a trading party. ; ) ROFL! (See, I'm good)

Alrighty folks, pull a couple of extra fluffy pillows into your corner, because we are about to discuss the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority, a hotbed of discomfort also known as "The T." With a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for problems. Riding the T is akin to hanging out in "The Chokey" from Matilda. Okay, I exaggerate slightly. The T doesn't have spikes. More specifically, I am concerned with the silver line. Or as I like to call it "the crackhead line" because you aren't on the silver line unless there is a crackhead or two yelling gibberish at no one in particular. And there is never a shortage of rowdy teens innocently rolling joints in the back of the bus, nor is there a shortage of screaming children shamelessly... rolling joints in the front of the bus. You get the point. It's sketchy.

So in this first chapter I would like to create an image for you to hold in your mind and then I'll hit you with the kicker. Imagine a man wearing a Santa hat, a plastic purple lei, and a jersey, nestling a small brass urn in his left arm and a small bottle of cologne in his right. At this initial description, you may be asking, "What's inside the urn?" I asked myself the same question. I even asked my boyfriend, Chris. Astutely connecting the dots, he said "maybe it was the remains of one of his reindeer." I responded (and here's the kicker!) "He was a large, middle-aged black man." To which his retort was "Oh, Santa wasn't black." I thought about this and the only black Santa that comes to mind is the robotic, dancing Santas on display at Wal-Mart (cut to a five-year-old, chubby me standing on the cold, white tiles of Wal-Mart staring at a dancing, black Santa in wonderment and confusion). So, the Santa theory is out. The only logical conclusion left is that this man's brother died on Christmas from cologne poisoning during a Celtics game in Hawaii. And this man... this loving, caring brother, was simply paying tribute on the day of his death. An honorable act that should be looked upon not in concern or confusion, but in admiration. I'm ever the optimist.

My favorite part of this story is how everyone else on the bus reacted: they didn't. Like true silver liners, everyone on the bus acted as though absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary. I probably wouldn't have picked him out amongst the sea of crackheads and Asians with pink shopping bags if it wasn't for the fact that he almost dropped his urn and the woman beside him tried to catch it as though he were about to spill his Dunkin Donuts coffee, not the remains of his brother (or reindeer). Luckily, he caught it. And that, I suppose, is the silver lining to that story.

Keep comfy.