see you on the 6 train

I'm one of those people that's really obsessed with texting, not so much with phoning. I also complain about having a cell phone a fair amount and lament the fact that technology's gotten so crazy that we all do like, 18 billion things at one time because everyone has a freakin Blackberry.

That didn't mean that I meant to throw my Blackberry Pearl into the 6 train tracks.

It started out like any other Saturday. I was with A, and we were headed to Cheap Jack's, the coolest vintage store in the whole world, to go try on peoples' old clothes and pretend like we had enough money to buy them. We had also just consumed the best sandwich in the world (you think I'm using hyperbole, but you're wrong), which is sold at the corner of Bleecker and Lafayette at this shack called Bite. I don't know what they put in those sandwiches but it's probably not legal.

So, you guys may not know this, but I have a bit of a history with the NY Transit Authority already. Pretty much because of how I fell down the stairs when I was headed to the D train in late August. I don't believe in saying things like, "I'm uncoordinated," because I'm honestly not. I have great aim, and I have great fine motor skills. It's big-picture things, like walking and talking and other types of multi-tasking, that I generally have problems with.

It's been a few months now, but your writer feels that she should share the facts of the day that yours truly (B$) fell down the subway steps. This is so you'll fully understand and appreciate how hilarious I am.

Basically, I fell down les stairezas and hit my head way hard on ye 28 day of August, 2008. How hard did I fall, you may ask? Hard enough to cause a major nosebleed and general disorientation. 20 stairs hard, head-first hard. Two women helped me up the stairs, and the next thing I knew, I was in some hospital, some guy told me I looked like a beat-up Mandy Moore (compliment?) and they had to rip off my clothes in a huge sterile room with about 25 attendants and residents because I already had a neck brace on. Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying.
After that, it gets all blurry again on account of the morphine. And don't worry, I'm still getting these weird insurance calls/bills/thank-you notes/ransom notes because of the effing Hindenburg of a hospital to which I was sent. They messed up pretty much everything, down to the birthdate on my hospital bracelet. So it's not really a shock that in addition to all this nonsense, my friends thought I was pretty much a goner for a full day while they searched for me. Oh yeah, I forgot my phone too. In my apartment. On the day I fell down the stairs. So, see? Bad things happen when a phone is (not) involved.

So, returning back to December 20, 2008: I was walking down the stairs, holding tightly onto the rail. I made it through the turnstile. And I heard my phone buzz. And, as I took it out of my pocket, it seemed to happen in slow motion: my phone went flying into the abyss that we shall call the 4, 5, 6 train tracks. My first inclination, I'll admit, was to hurl myself after it, but the stranger next to me restrained me. No, like, physically restrained me.

Here are some pictures A took of my sad phone just sitting there. She thought it was absolutely hysterical to take pictures of my misfortune. That, I believe, has a name, and that name is Schadenfreude. Happiness at others' misery. I thought it was really funny too, only NOT FUNNY AT ALL.

So, after briefly debating the merits of getting pummeled by a train, A and I decided that my phone was not in danger of being stolen, as long as it was down there. And you know what? Let's use some asset-based thinking here. Power of the positive. It could've fallen in the puddle in the MIDDLE of the tracks, next to that gross Starbucks cup, so it wasn't THAT bad. And I could've thrown like, all my shit into the tracks, instead of just my phone. Or myself, accidentally; I mean crazier things have happened.

I went and talked to Mike, transit authority's guy that sits in the little glass box. The attendant shook his head and confirmed my suspicion that I could not crawl down there, no matter how much I benched and how flexible I was. I'm sure this was because of the posters of my face, post-nosebleed, hanging in the Transit Authority's Headquarters (you know they have a HQ) and the words, "DO NOT LET ANYTHING HAPPEN TO THIS GIRL WHILE SHE'S ON THE TRAIN OR IN THE AREA OR ALL YOUR ASSES WILL BE SUED."

I discussed the matter and he said that he would call The Squad. I'm not joking. There's a squad for this kind of thing. He said it would take one hour. I told Mike he was a saint, and that I could kiss him; this weirded him out and I decided he was best left alone. I left my address and name with him, along with A's phone number, so that when my phone was retrieved I could be found. I should add that I asked Mike if it was ok to keep doing what we were off to do; Mike looked at me like I was an idiot and goes, "What's gonna happen to yo phone? You think it's gonna what, crawl on its little phone legs and run away?" I decided Mike had the situation handled and proceeded on to Cheap Jack's with Adriana, where I bought an egregious sequined dress in my attempts to forget the ordeal.

I arrived back to Bleecker Street at 4:30 PM to collect my phone. I had been told Chris would be the attendant in charge, so I approached the booth. Sure enough, Chris was there. He asked for my id. I gave it to him, got my phone, and promptly told him he was a Chris-tmas miracle. He thought I was way funnier than Mike did.

I don't think the MTA will ever, ever let me into a subway ever again.

Songs now:

McFly -Star Girl (Don't judge my obsession with what G calls "British Sum 41.")

Don't Forget - Demi Lovato

I Think We're Alone Now (cover) - The Click Five

Halloween - Matt Pond PA

You Said No - Busted

Supply & Demand - Amos Lee

City Escape - The Dear Hunter

See You At the Lights - The 1990s

when it sounds like the world's ending

So let me give you a brief insight into my room. My room, not unlike my apartment, is very small.

Now, I am ok with small spaces. In fact, I like and even prefer small spaces. But we're talking small. Like mini-me small. Like Polly's Playhouse small. Like, when people come over (I say people as if we can fit more than one person), they don't ask for tours of the apartment, they just say "Oh," or, "Wow, it really is small," or, my favorite, "You pay how much for what?"

Today, I got a thingie stuck in my door that let me know [courtesy of my super realty company that I think is run by people with the combined IQ of, I don't know, Animal from "Muppet Babies," or a celery stalk] that I had to have my fire escape cleared as per NYC law. I'm thinking, what fire escape? Oh, you mean the fork-sized piece of iron that sits underneath my Polly Princess excuse for a window? That? As if something could fit on it? Jesus.

Meanwhile, in real-people-land, I'm sitting in my tiny apartment bedroom. I have learned to navigate this space expertly. My bookshelf and my dresser (which barely fit, let me tell you) enclose about a 3-foot wide space in which I dress, or walk around. Sometimes, when I'm feeling really stressed, I pace up and down the 3 feet of my room and I feel a lot better. Or I let my legs hang off the bed and swing them a little bit.

So, something you need to know. My room was originally inhabited by a boy. Whoever this boy was, I should probably meet him, because he is a freaking genius. He must have been a full-time subscriber to Pottery Barn Small Spaces because this fool lined the entire wall with shelves. He is so smart, he should be the one running my stupid realty company. I bet if he did, they'd get our rent right at least once and stop charging us insane random amounts every month, as if to imply that they can actually add and subtract numbers.

So, these shelves, they don't actually hold all that much. And you know, shoes - even my shoes, and I'm no Carrie Bradshaw - they take up a lot of room. Shoes equal a downgrade. But you need shoes, because otherwise people get concerned about you if you're walking around all barefoot and stuff. So I bought this sweet shoe rack at KMart, thinking, man, I'm so smart to buy this shoe rack at KMart that hangs on my door (which looks not unlike the door to the steering cabin on a ship). I thought to myself, "you are going to save SO MUCH SPACE."

Every day, my door rack falls. Every goddamn day. I tell you no lies. I don't know if it's a space issue, or if my door shoe rack is just really stressed, or what, but the last bar ALWAYS COMES UNDONE. Say someone needs me and comes in my room, bam, the shoe rack falls. I come in my room too fast one day, boom, it falls. Every day. Sometimes when I'm sleeping it falls and I get a goddamn heart attack.

It sounds like the world ending. All my shoes come crashing down. Along with my hopes and dreams of saving space.

Ok, I admit, I haven't fallen down the stairs or anything lately, but when G just came in to tell me something fairly normal, the shoe rack f-ing fell again and I wanted to kill it, if it were real. I want to write Martha Stewart and let her know that her stupid shoe rack doesn't make my room look any cooler or more put together but in fact adds to the general disorder of life.

Way to go Martha. Bitch.

why i'm glad technology exists

1. DVR - dude, where did I live without DVR? seriously? It's sad that I'm so dependent on it, but honestly...like when "The Cosby Show" (yes, second Cosby reference, but for real) was on the other night in that airtime between "Gossip Girl" and "The Hills," guess what episode it was? You guessed right, it was the episode where Heathcliff buys this ridiculous appliance, and Clare Huxtable is like, you know, Cliff, you never use these things, but Theo and Cliff are like, oh Clare, stop being such a woman.
And then Cliff leaves the appliance plugged in like a doofus in the kitchen. And everyone has to go out, so Denise has to watch Rudy and her chubby tracksuit-wearing friend Peter, who is hysterical-looking. Backstory on Peter is he likes to play in clotheshampers. We know this because Cliff warns Rudy and Peter, "no playing in the clotheshampers, you hear?" and Peter, with his bowl cut not unlike Matt Wallace circa 2002, nods ably.
So obviously, Denise has to take a call and leaves Rudy on her own with Peter. At this point, my roommate and Cosby aficionado G called out, "OMG! You have to DVR this because we have to have it forever!" (she'd been referencing this very episode earlier). I did as I was told, not knowing how to program anything on DVR.
I did it right. And now, for all eternity, I have, captured on a magical TV box, the scene where Rudy and Peter decide to make peanut butter and jelly in the blender. Peter notably drops the bread on the ground first and meticulously wipes each piece on his sleeve to the sound of audience laughter. I was DYING. Then, they put all the grapes in the appliance, get sprayed, and Peter BOOKS IT for the door. Cut directly to scene of every Huxtable family member walking into the kitchen and finding the mess, and Cliff getting a phone call from Peter's dad, saying he found Peter in the clotheshamper.

Who wouldn't be glad they had that shit on DVR?

2. Wouldn't it be awesome - I mean, AWESOME - if you could make soundtracks for your life? Like if we were all movie characters? I know what my soundtrack would include. I don't really have much to say, but I guess I wish it were possible. I hear all kinds of shit in my head anyway, it'd be better if other people heard the same stuff. I'd probably make more sense.

TRACKS TO DOWNLOAD:
1. "liquidity sharks" - Dollaz$ and Carlson
2. "the good life" - weezer
3. "dreadlock holiday" - 10cc
4. "honor and harmony" - g love
5. "let the beat build" - lil wayne
6. "our lawyer made us change the name..." - fall out boy
7. "valerie" - the zutons and "valerie" - steve winwood
8. "gimme some lovin'" - spencer davis group

what to do when you reach awkwardtown

Ok, first thing's first - I finally, after 6.5 months, figured out (by accident, when a pop-up on my computer, probably due to some virus, alerted me) how to resize all my shit so now I can see everything like a normal person and it's not in nearsighted size! (or farsighted? farsighted...)

Now that that's celebrated, let's move on. So I was in Buffalo Exchange today, where I go when I need more money and need to sell stuff. I brought all these good labels, but unfortunately it was too "springy" (wtf). Can I tell you a secret? I secretly brought back some shitty stuff that I bought from there and never wore and was essentially returning, but you can't really "return" stuff (dique return) to a store that sells used clothes anyway. So I actually watched these people sort through clothes I bought a month ago and tell me that they didn't need them. Lame.

Ok, back to the original story. So I'm waiting in line, right? And this chick comes creeping up the stairs next to me. To set the scene, Buffalo Exchange is on Driggs and 7th in Brooklyn, Williamsburg to be exact. It's a half-stair flight up from street level, so you go up the left and down the right, etc. People line up to sell their stuff on the left and all the clothes to shop through are on the right. So this chick just cuts the line and stands at the same place as me, blocking the stairs. I'm thinking, maybe she's blind? Maybe she lacks self-awareness?

So I'm listening to my ipod, doing what I usually do, which is play the same three songs on repeat that I'm currently obsessed with. And the girl is staring at my feet. Like flat-out staring. I counted how many seconds, and I tried to judge if it was really my feet she was staring at, and just so you don't think I'm flattering myself, it was. And it was for 354 seconds. I was really bored and my phone was too low on battery to play Bricklayer.

Finally she opens with "--------------" (I had my earphones in and just saw her lips moving).

Me - "What?"
Her - "YOUR SHOES ARE CUTE." (screaming at me, despite the fact I've now removed the left earphone. Now permanently deaf in left ear).
Me - "Oh, thanks" (weak smile, recovering from yelling)
Her - (still relatively loud, I notice she has earphones in, beginning to go with the lacking-self-awareness hypothesis, gathering evidence) "WHERE DID YOU GET THEM?"
Me - Uncomfortable dealing with a screamer in front of all these Brooklyn hipsters. Haven't dealt with a screamer since August 2007 coming back from a Mets game, unless you count some of my kids. "Um, don't remember. I think a thrift store?"
Her - "OH COOL."

And then, because this is what usually happens when you speak to a stranger in this type of situation and because this is why these situations are dangerous and why children are told NOT to speak to strangers (not because they'll lure you with candy, but because of THIS) - static. Dead Airtime. I just stood there, one earphone in my hand, one in my right ear blaring Ryan Adams, and Loud Girl just went back to doing whatever she was doing, probably texting her friends in all caps.

I felt like it was a little bit rude to just shove my earphone back in. Kind of like how you give a little mourning time when a pet dies before buying a new puppy, or a breakup. Yet it was also extremely uncomfortable (despite the tinnatinitus raging in my left ear thanks to Screaming Loud Girl) standing there with an imperfect balance of earphonics.

So I did what any normal person would do. I picked up my phone and pretended to get a text, so I could change a subject - the blank airtime and obligation to stare at each other - and move on with my life. As I texted, I put that earphone back in and didn't look back.

And you know what? That chick may be a loud talker, but she couldn't cut a line to save her life.

Songs to download:

Back in the New York Groove - KISS (Ace Frehley)
Overtime - Girl Talk
Elizabeth - Pat McGee Band (Ok, so Pat McGee is so fratty Virginia bluegrass but I LOVE this song right now. Any songs that band sings about chicks are fantastic - Annabel, Rebecca, Elizabeth, the whole gang)
White Lines - Grandmaster Flash (I watched this special on the History Channel about drugs in the US, and couldn't get this song out of my head. I think the song itself might be addictive. They wrote it while they were railing coke, AND it protests and glorifies cocaine simultaneously. Crazy, right?)
Good Girls Don't - The Knack (my friend Pat told me that I'm the "only person who's every requested this song, ever, in [sic] my history of DJing" and I'm f-ing proud of it. Everyone knows "My Sharona," but this one is so tight).
Don't Bring Me Down - ELO - Thought ELO went out when the clock struck 1980? You were wrong.