quinnkdotme

Seriously, what is wrong with me?  Between work and life, writing has been in the background…or at least at the bottom of the list.

Yet, here I am, still in NY and still muddling along. 

Today, I was out in Long Island, and my taxi driver, John, told me how he thinks Long Island is the greatest place on earth.  I have to disagree with him.  While he loves the surf, the beaches, and the people, I can only find the misery of schlepping out to a whacky place where taxis must be shared, public transportation is nonexistent, and I swear there must be something wrong with the drinking water.  I could only smile and nod to John as he regaled me with how fabulous Long Island is… not.

And, as to other happenings in NY.  Recently, I was on the bus and overheard a young man talking to his friend on his cell phone.  He was explaining that he was finishing up his bachelor degree in nursing, and he was considering pursuing his masters… but, “It’s so competitious…”  To which I say, maybe an English class would be a good idea?

Seriously?  Come on! 

It’s a short post and not too exciting, but I’m back.

As ever,

K. Quinn

As I walk to and from work each day, I tend to file away the minutia I overhear and see for future documentation in the form of this blog and stories to tell my friends. Three recent observations, totally unrelated, have been hanging in my head for the past week or so.

First, walking through Harlem to the hospital one morning at about 7:00 a.m., I was walking past a woman walking toward me. She was dressed unremarkably, in fact, the only thing that stood out was that she was talking on her cell phone. As she neared me, I overheard this small bit of her conversation, ” Okay, but if you want tongue-kissing, that’s going to cost extra…” My head swerved around in the classic double-take. Did I really just hear that? Did it mean what I think it meant? Was she booking her schedule for the week? Seven in the morning seemed like a pretty early start.

Second, passing a school bus that was parked on the street nearby my apartment. There was a sign posted on the door that read, “This bus has been checked for sleeping children.” While I cannot deny this is a good policy for drivers to follow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like this. Is this a new school bus policy or just another random thing of New York?

Finally, the other evening as I walked home, I passed a man smoking a hookah. “Exotic,” you might say, perhaps even eccentric. What was unique was that this man was walking and smoking a water pipe. In fact I could only see the tube that he was smoking from as I approached. As we passed, I glanced back and saw that he had fashioned a hookah backpack. Given that smoking a bowl of tobacco involves flame/burning tar, I am at a complete loss as to the wisdom of smoking a hookah that is being held on your back by a nylon (i.e. meltable) backpack.

Ahh, New York.

As ever,
K. Quinn

Yes, I know – there is nothing worse. But sometimes, it’s just hard to get/stay motivated. None of you have had this problem? I doubt it.

So, I’m experiencing special torture this evening. I am on the way home from a 3-day working retreat and on the train from Boston to NYC. I am in stuck two rows away from several teenage girls who are singing every girl singer song they can think of. I have heard Beyonce, Shakira, and everyone in between – and I mean EVERYONE. It’s not like they sing well – and it’s not like they know all the words so there is a lot of discussing lyrics and then re-attempts at the song. I have now heard California Girls by Katy Perry A LOT! I hate to be a grouch here, but this sucks!

We’re still in Rhode Island… I have hours of this ahead of me.

It hurts.

Although, it’s minutely better than when they stop and talk. They are all so punchy that when they start talking, they amp each other up so much they start giggly and then screaming. So sad to say, the singing is a teensy bit better. It’s going to be a long train ride.

I’ve never wanted to get to Connecticut so much in my life.

As ever,
K. Quinn

Yes, it’s true – so this post may be to no one.  How sad.

And, a great time to post on a fun topic…one person’s perseverance is another’s cyber stalker.  I blame my boss on this one.  Approaching the new year, we discussed dating sites.  She told me about a freebie site, and I thought Ok it’s a new year, a new city, maybe it’s time to try a new relationship.

Step one.  I added signing up to the site to my ‘to do’ list over New Years weekend.  Nice.

Step two.  Actually signing up.  This involved some extra oxygen, panicked calls to a friend in Iowa, and a little or a lot of wine… quantities of wine being relative.

Step three. Results!  Within an hour of signing up I had my first message.  Who-hoo, I thought.  Then I read the message.  Evidently, I’m very attractive to a grammatically incompetent 28-year-old who is going into law enforcement and wrote me, “Your pretty.”  This was followed in quick succession by a series of potential or actual serial killer looking men. 

Step four. Ignoring the cyber stalker, Keith .  I was tempted to reply to the second email that alternated between criticizing my lack of response and letting me know what I was missing out on.  Yeah, missing out on a crazy dude who looks like a 70-year-old guido in a velour v-neck sweater who then began trying to instant message me if I happened to be on the site at the same time as him.  As I mentioned, I was tempted to respond with the suggestion that insulting a girl isn’t the way to get a response, much less a date.  Too much time wasted.

Step five.  Move from online chat to a phone call.  This move also involved a session of hyperventilation followed by anxiety ridden calls to my friend in Iowa.  Finally, I was brave enough to answer the phone – after signing up for a Google Voice number so that my number can be changed at the flash of a cursor.  For a while (i.e. many minutes on the phone), it was fun, but as all good things must come to an end, so did my foray with a guy who turned out to be a conservative wolf in sheep’s clothing who moonlighted as a misogynist.  OK… this whole online dating scene is losing its appeal.

Step six.  Talk to several friends, drink several glasses of wine, and hear many stories of how it took everyone several chat attempts before they found someone normal.  Well, I guess if it saves me from mystery dates at Starbucks or paying for speed dating rounds… at least I will be entertained. 

Step seven.  Say, ‘Screw it!’ and head out to the bar with friends for a great night.

As ever,

K. Quinn

With a change in weather, I, like autumn, have reappeared…. back to the blog.

So it’s cold which is a little but of a challenge for an ex-California girl.  I wore a winter coat to work – my boss wore a scarf. 

I worried yesterday about the heat – when would it turn on in my apartment?  I looked up the rules for NYC housing – and it sounded ominous.  It only has to be turned up for an inside temperature of 55 degrees at night.  I can’t do cold.  I go to a dark place wearing layers, looking frumpy, and just wanting to hibernate for the winter.  This is not going to impress my co-workers, neighbors, or anyone else for that matter.

Have no fear, I came home from work today, and it smelled like singed dust and felt a little warm.  I thought, it’s probably just my coat.  But, no!  I went back to the bedroom, and it was tropical, toasty warm in there.  My little radiator is working its magic!

The bad news….the radiator in my living room is doing squat.  Now the dilemma… it’s awfully warm in my bedroom – and it sort of feels like the rest of my apartment is warm by association.  Do I really want to up the ante by getting the one in the living room fixed? I suppose so, but I really hadn’t anticipated wearing shorts and tank tops all winter in NYC.

What to do, what to do?

I looked up on the internet which way to turn the know on the radiator.  I confess it’s less of a knob and more of a disintegrating spike – the knob is long gone.  I am left with a rusted out square of mettal on top of a square rod.  When I apply pliers, two chunky bits of rusted iron break off into my hand.  I manage to turn the rod but to no avail.  I’m stuck with a heavy iron decoration that is dusty and useless.  This means I have to call my Super who sometimes answers his phone and sometimes not, just as he is sometimes helpful and sometimes not.  For example, Jose, I can’t be there for the guy coming to replace the window could you let him in.  Answer: “Of course, I am here for my tenants.  Just let me know when.”  A few weeks later, “Jose, I can’t take off work to let the exterminator come in, would you be able to let him in?”  Answer:  “No, I cannot do that.”

Note – he didn’t help with either and after I took off the day from work to let the exterminator in, he neglected to tell me that the exterminator had switched days.   Argh@#^$*#$!!!!!

Still the New Girl,

K. Quinn

How many times have we read about or seen in movies or plays synchronistic moments of life in New York… vignettes that seem to exemplify the strangeness of living in a big city and the simple, small human moments that occur that seem to have some sort of thematic element to them?  I feel like that is a common theme in so many books, articles, movies, etc.  And, to a point I have always felt like – yep that’s the movies.  How could it actually be New York?  Really?

So what wondrous fun to find myself tonight in a series of these moments that I have doubted exist?

I have, heretofore, been exploring NYC – the big apple – on my own.  It’s been fun but admittedly a little lonely at times.  Not in an oh, so sad type of lonely but more of a… gee, it would be fun to talk to someone while I do this… or share this with someone in the moment.  And, given my soon to be busy for a few days social life, I told myself last night that, “Tomorrow begins your social life in New York!”

So, today after work we had a going away drinks party at a wine bar for one of the staff.  It was two rounds of drinks plus appetizers, and it was enjoyable.  Afterwards, I hit an empanada restaurant with my boss which she had already told me about.  Grabbed two empanadas for the road and headed uptown for home.  A good night, I wasn’t going straight home from work, and I had interacted with human beings.

On the train, my boss and I talked shop – when an older gentleman (older than me) approached us.  I thought he was preparing to depart the train – so I moved away from blocking the doors.  But, no, he had noticed the name of the organization I work for on my tote bag and asked me if I enjoyed working there as he had applied for a job.  I told him that I loved my job and loved working for the organization – which I do – but I also pointed out that my boss was standing right there.  It was like I had stung him – he literally jumped back.  He said that he had applied for a position – and I asked which position.  He replied development, at which point the train doors opened and he fled… I mean scurried  out the doors and down the platform.  My boss also had to exit – so we looked at each other amused and confused and made faces as she departed.  My cell had died so I couldn’t text her.

I spent the rest of my train ride 1) giggling about how strange the man was and 2) watching with persistent perplex-tion the man sitting next to me eat Ben and Jerry’s on the subway.  We both exited at my stop.  And, I was happy to note how many people got off the train at my stop, in a sort of …”oh good, more than me exiting the train at 830 on a Wednesday evening…” safety sort of way.  I noticed one guy about my age who was walking in front of  me…I ended up following him most of the way home as we walked the same pace and same direction.  I cut across the street – and when I went toward the door of the partner building to my building he had joined me.  We both walked in, and he followed me through the building to cut through the courtyard walk way.  We sort of laughed that we were headed the same way, and he said, “I’m not following you really, I do live here.”  I asked him where and he said 4H.  Then he introduced himself, ” I’m Pierre.”  I responded and explained I lived in 2K.  And then we parted on the stairs… good nights exchanged.

OK – confession… kind of a hottie.  What are the rules about dating people in the same building that you live in?  Probably 1) establish he is straight, single, and not a nut job.  Reality  check:  the chances I will run into him again… slim to nil until maybe January 2013?  But kind of fun to speak to someone over 20 under 60 and speaks English and appears to be viably employed.  Spark of life in NYC.

And, follow up to the guy on the train… it turns out he hurried away from my boss and yet lives in the building next to her.  We’re considering a security detail.
As ever,

K. Quinn

Of course I’m talking about myself.  Why would watching a clown enter the subway even count?  Too easy.
Note to self because nobody else would do something so clueless…Do not, when sitting with your boss… or really anyone else, get so tongue-tied that you actually bite the tip of your tongue, in fact hard enough to make it bleed.  Sitting in a meeting with your boss trying to discuss grant strategies with blood dripping out of your tongue is something nobody wants to see.

Plus, it hurts a lot more later.

It was kind of a challenging afternoon – three hours of conference calls conducted in a Subway (as in sandwiches) near NYU.  At one point, I’m listening to the team prep for interviewing candidates while a very loud gentleman argued with one of the sandwich technicians because his turkey sandwich did not match the photo of the sandwich that Apollo Ono is eating that is plastered on the front of the building.  After closer observation and counsel with the manager and sandwich technician which of course involved trooping outside to confirm said photo, it was agreed by all that three tomatoes are part of the requisite ingredients.  Huzzah!   Back to interview prepping.

Speaking of sandwiches, there were a disproportionate number of people who insisted on getting sandwiched between the subway (as in transportation) doors tonight.  Is it a full moon?  So many that the driver had to stop the train twice to lecture us on proper subway etiquette.

Did I mention the clown getting on the subway?

As ever,

K. Quinn

Throughout magazines, TV, and film, New York City is touted as one of THE fashion meccas.   The destination place for fabulous clothes, models, designers, etc.

So it is with a sort of perverse fascination that I enjoy watching the populous who throw caution to the wind and boldly head out the door wearing what I can only assume is what they think looks good.  The subway happens to be one of the best places for this type of sinful catwalk, although I admit to seeing my fair share of fashion faux pas on the streets where I live, college campuses, and guaranteed at most tourist destinations.
An interesting trend among the fashion depleted is the wearing of big bedroom slippers.  By big I don’t actually mean shoe size.  I mean the big in the sense of clown shoe attraction with ears, flowers, teeth, and other cartoon characteristics sticking off of their slippers.  Most commonly seen on the local 1 train, I have managed large slipper sightings from Harlem to Times Square.

A borderline fashion disaster is the skinny jeans meets cropped pants look that many men are sporting on the way to work.  I get that this is the fashion right now, sort of… but as with all things fashion, I think you need to be able to take honest stock in yourself prior to attempting a certain look.  If you are sporting a muffin top, then pale pink skinny cropped pants with black loafers and a very thin, very tight white v-neck tee isn’t your look.  I promise you.  I did enjoy the man with the pink skinny cropped pants and kelly green blazer – as sort of a flashback to my high school’s preppie era.  Yes, I know, that dates me.

The sausage casing dresses are another mystery to me. At what point in your mental stability does it register that wearing a dress that not only illustrates but seems to accentuate your lumpy bits as well as the underclothes you wear is a good idea?  I really don’t need to see your boy briefs in outline detail and the stretch marks.  Frankly, I don’t need to see my own much less yours.  The dress may seem comfortable, but if you bought it in a size or two larger it might even fit that much better.  And, for heaven’s sake, if you are going to wear a pale color, don’t dress it up with dark underwear.  I actually don’t mind this in other clothing…although it is sort of passé, but DON’T do it with your cotton knit, super tight dress – especially if you are not in the vicinity of a club or bar and it is before 10PM.

Hairstyles- wow.  I would have a hard time guessing what year we are in by looking solely at hair styles.  Given the volume of disasters in this category, let me limit it to one observation.  I have never, in my life, been confronted with so many wig-wearers.  This wouldn’t really register with me except… and this is a big EXCEPT… so many of the wigs are ridiculously bad.  Bad as in… it’s never been brushed since it left the store; it’s never seen shampoo or water EVER; it’s acrylic so maybe applying that flat iron was a bad idea as was keeping and wearing the wig after the incident; seriously, you bought dreadlocks; did you try on the wig before you bought it because it doesn’t seem to fit your head – too big, too small; and, wow, that really is a helmet!

I now have the daunting task of figuring out what I shall wear today.  The good news is- clearly anything goes.  The bad news – I’m still painfully aware of what does and does not pass for acceptable for me… always my harshest critic.

As ever,

K. Quinn

Right now, I am enjoying my first cup of coffee in my new apartment.

Yes, I’ve been here since last Wednesday.  I think I’ve even had a coffee maker since then.  But this morning is the first time I have had coffee, cream, and sugar available, and I made my first cup.  Despite the 70% humidity and heat, the coffee tastes wonderful.  It’s one of those coffee commercial moments.  I have the satisfaction of not only enjoying my morning coffee, but I can survey my new apartment and see the possibilities.

So I have ‘moved in.’  My furniture won’t arrive until September or more likely October, but there is enough here to make it habitable and more.  It does feel, however, like the move that never ends.  Beginning last December with the pack up and move across country to Pennsylvania.  Next, it was the sublet.  Finally, it’s Riverside Dr.

Really, I don’t want to move again until I can afford professional movers.  Enough of this carting things to and fro.
As ever,

K. Quinn

Well, as of last night, I had escaped my sublet and now officially live in Washington Heights… way north part of Manhattan for my friends in LA.

My apartment is bigger than I remember… although the kitchen is smaller.  New stove though… and it’s cleaner than I remember.  All good things.

Now just trying to arrange my minimal amount of stuff so that I don’t feel quite so much like I’m camping in my own apartment.

Hoping to move my furniture and stuff from LA in September…. fingers crossed.

Tomorrow I work and head to Pennsylvania for another load of stuff… furniture and books from my parents home.

Sunday… it will just be me and my new apartment.

As ever,

K. Quinn