Showdown at the Landromat

I do my laundry about every two weeks or less. This requires me to lug my huge pop-up carrier of clothes and linens down three flights of stairs, up two blocks and back. You also have to wait twenty minutes for the washer to finish, change the clothes to the dryer and 50 minutes for them to be totally done.

This is all fine. I hate doing the laundry in general, but I do it often since I need to have clean clothes to function. And I go to the same laundromat on the corner of 90th and 1st: "Super Rich". Only this laundromat, "Super Blows".

The little jerk who runs the joint sees me every two weeks, and every time he changes my money for coins and helps bang on the crappy machinery he owns to get the thing going for me. You'd think a sort of bond would form between us since I might be his most loyal customer, and since I've only been nice and cordial to him despite his snotty demeanor. But no.

Tonight I went to do my much needed laundry later than usual. After a long day of work, I hauled my cookies over to the Super Rich and ran my loads. Not a problem, the sign says the store closes at midnight in HUGE lettering. However, when I return at 10:55 to get my laundry, it's not completely dry so I place in two more quarters. As if setting off an alarm with my change, the screeching owner yelps at me "I CLOSE, I CLOSE” as he hands some young guy his clothes back at the register.

The guy, bewildered looks back and forth between us both, shocked as I am at this outburst, and leaves very quickly. So I tell the owner, "Sir, doesn't your very large wooden sign outside say you close at midnight?" He snaps back, "That's wrong then". But I have a whole 16 minutes left to go on my dryer. I'm in advertising and I know that I have the upper hand seeing as this messaging is false. So, what do I do? I stand my ground and lock my legs in front of my dryer. I watch the clock count down, and with 9 minutes to go, Huffy-McHufferson over there screams again, "EXCUSE ME, I TELL YOU I CLOSE!"

Pissed, I stare him straight into his beady little eyes, certain I could kick his ass if I needed to, and tell him, "I still have more time to go."

He runs to the door, "FINE, you want to STAY?? I shut you IN!" The clock on the wall literally reads, 11:10, like he's got some brain surgery he can't miss tonight. So instead of getting locked into the Super Rich for the night by some maniac, I yell back an explicative and unload my dryer in rage. As I start to leave he tries to hand me a dollar, obviously feeling guilty for his being a major douche-bag.

I stare him straight in the eye and firmly but calmly say, " I don't want your money, and you just lost a customer." Then hobbled out of the store with as much dignity as I could carrying an 80lb bag of hot clothes on my back.

It looks like I'm just going to have to walk right past jerk-face's store to the nicer laundromat a block up with the TV's and the change machine. Look at how devastated I am.

I guess there's a little New Yorker in us all, waiting to stand up to the psychos of the world without fear. I heart NY :)

So, got a "Holy SH*T" reality check today:

My gums on my two front bottom teeth have been recessing due to my unfortunate genetic disposition to have thin tissue and due to the fact I had braces. What does this mean?

Apparently, the Russian Periodontist believes that it's necessecary , in fact obligatory, that I PAY him to stick huge needles into my gums and the hard palate of my mouth, basically skin the roof of my palate, take the skin, and jam it into my gums which he will slice open, then sew up the roof of my mouth and send me off to an existence of pain and soft foods for a few weeks. Aka. Gum Grafting; a periodontist's wet-dream

I could literally see the sly smile on his face that he was trying to cover up when he was explaining the procedure to me. Like everything he was telling me about it not being horribly painful was a huge crock of crap and that I'd really be suffering uncontrollably. It's not a good sign when both the dentist you talk to about the pain pause for a good five seconds before answering. Right? "Nothing that a couple of Advil’s will take care of"...liar

Cherry on Top? The procedure, or torturing, will cost approx. $1,400. Thank god I have insurance, but it only covers half of the cost. So I will be paying some guy to mutilate my mouth $737. Like I can afford that with ease.

Plus reading about other people's experiences isn't really making things much better. In fact, I was so nauseated during one I had to stop.

Some day..I think I need a drink

Good Afternoon, Good Evening, and Good Night

Random NYC moment of the day: I saw the friend of Truman (aka. Jim Carey) from the Truman Show at Trader Joe's today. He had his watermelon price checked. I guess even movie stars like a deal every now and then.

Bizzare NYC smell of the day: The 86 street stop smelled like my Grandma's kitchen, not that I'm complaining or anything, just weird.

Smells like New York

I've only been here for a few months now, but I still can't get over the sights and sounds of the city that inspire me every day. I truly love NY. I never thought I'd be the type of person who could really appreciate a city like this, but I am. Living here has really opened my eyes to the reality of life.

From the homeless people on the streets and on the trains every day, to the ever-present feeling that everyone is in the same boat as you that truly lives in the city. We are all in a constant struggle to make ends meet with the knowledge that if we really wanted to live somewhere else, we'd be saving more money, but the draw of this city, the live spirit in the air, the heart of the city=it's people. We're going in and out of it's underground everyday, the veins of the city, riding the subway to and from our lives, a part of New York's life. It's soul, it's heart.

I hope I never lose that knowledge or feeling as long as I'm here.

The smells of New York inspire me the most. Every night I can smell the pizzaria below our apartment. The smell of baking dough being pumped through my window. I know right now that when I look back years from now, and I smell this scent of warm flour, I'll always think of this time in my life of discovery and absolute naivety. Of fear and excitement.

I smell bacon every morning as I walk to the train, past the bagel shop, and when I escape the mass of people on the train and break into the city again, at the stand by the entrance to the 6. It reminds me of home.

Sometimes I see the homeless "entertainers" and I wonder what happened to them to halt their talent, their lives. Some of the best singers and musicians I've seen were on the subway or at the stations. Some of the worst, too. Some so drugged up that they don't even know where they are. What happened..They're also in the blood of this city. But how can they survive in a place where you can't buy a decent lunch for $8? It's starting to chip at my hopes a bit.

I don't want to get in a set routine to the extent that I lose this child-like want and need of discovery..I hope I never completely become the boring grown up I see everywhere. I want to be inspired by everything this city has to offer. I want to never take for granted the experiences I live every day of my life here..

Random Raccoon

This was one of those weird sightings in the middle of the night you only see when you're coming back from a few drinks...I mean, a raccoon in Manhattan? who knew

This is how I feel sometimes when I wait for the 6 train