Ok. Fine. I might never finish the European tales. Surprised? I'm not. There's still Florence and Paris and Volterra and Pisa to discuss and every time I try I get frustrated and abort mission. Pansy.
Anyhoo. Life in this neck of the woods got real exciting, real fast. Somehow, I survived another January and February (and those of you who work in hospitality know what I mean) and now things are crazy busy between work and networking events (ahem...cocktail parties) and the new season of Broadway shows. This week I saw Sondheim on Sondheim and Million Dollar Quartet.
Sondheim is one funny motherf'er and hearing Norm Lewis sing "Being Alive" ranks as one of my favorite moments as an audience member ever. Great show...if you like Sondheim and know his work inside and out.
Million Dollar Quartet left me pink cheeked from all the squealing. I'd rank it in top 10 for quality of performances. 4 actors portray Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins and Johnny Cash as they meet in Memphis one December evening to record their greatest songs. Heartfelt and amazing and my God, the talent. Please succeed. Please let everyone go see this and please let everyone love it and please award the talent involved the recognition they deserve.
Enough about that. I'm also here to tell you tales about how I'm becoming a real live New Yorker.
Exhibit A: Subway Behaviors
This week, I took the subway from one of my work locations to my office somewhere in the neighborhood of rush hour. (Then again, when isn't it rush hour?) As the doors opened at my destination, a crowd begin to rush the door. Nope. This is how it works people: I get off then you may get on. So. I stood there, arms folded, smile on my face until a path was cleared for me. There was some grumbling from outside, but certainly some chuckles from within.
The next morning, I boarded my subway car and to my delight found a 3 person bench with two people on it. And one person's bag. So I said hey buddy, wanna move that? He muttered something but obliged.
Exhibit B: The movies
Tonight, Megan and I saw Hot Tub Time Machine. Ridiculous. Hilarious. Definitely NOT this year's "The Hangover" but whatever will be again? The twerps in front of me thought I was too loud. (Yeah. I NEVER get that. So weird.) And when I say "twerps" that's me being polite because they were about 14 years old but in reality, complete little shits. The more they complained about my hearty laugh, the further forward I leaned and the louder I boomed.
Exhibit C: Dry Cleaner's Etiquette
My dry cleaner has a habit of losing my things. Usually it's my skirts. My jacket comes back. My pants come back. My skirts get lost. But last time, it was one of my shirts. And not one of my Filene's Basement $15 shirts. (Exhibit D: I shop at Filene's Basement.) My Calvin Klein shirt (Exhibit E: I also own LABELS and care about them). So I walked in, bitched him out, got my shirt back, and some free dry cleaning for the next go around.
My final tidbit of the evening is to tell you that I'm about to start Alli. Everyone I tell this to groans and tells me they hope I don't poop myself and to be wary of oily discharge and a bunch of other gross but delightfully humorous in a TMI way things. My friend Katie and I were talking it over, and we have decided a new turn for my blog to take will be a section I will call "Ali on Alli." It will probably go a little something like this:
Today I pooped myself!
Today I didn't poop myself!
I'll let you know exactly how it goes.