Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Knock Knock

I have been wanting to share this hilarious post for weeks now.
I discovered it via a Facebook friend and then a week later someone asked me if I sold any 10 foot metal chickens. (That makes more sense if I tell you I still owned the store at this point.)

Because I had read this I knew why she wanted one.
And you will too once you check out genius that is The Bloggess.

New favourite blog?
Could be.

Try to keep up

Oh my god. This post is like the ball of hair clogging my shower drain.
Until I get it out, every things going to get backed up.

I have been wanting to write about a zillion things!
But I felt like until I caught up on all the missing pieces I couldn't write something new.

First things first, I am no longer the owner of Blackbird.
That transition has somewhat overshadowed both my trip to NYC and our family excursion (read: nightmare in the woods) to the cottage.
Although, I must say, I am surprisingly unsentimental about the whole thing.
It's possible I'm in a bit of shock.
But overall, it feels like 100% the right move for me.

Last week Leslie called in sick and it was the first time ever that something like that hasn't put me in a state of panic. Instead, I was able to stay home with the kids and we ended up spending the day at a friend's cottage enjoying the sunshine.
How lovely it is not to be on a schedule.

But back to my list of things to talk about.
New Yawk.
Despite being over a month ago, I do actually remember the trip.

I'll start by saying that since Clemmie was born, it's been difficult for me to enjoy a vacation. 
I find I need at least 24 hours to just get into a new groove of chilling the heck out, catching up on my sleep and adjuting to having the time to myself. 
I find I kind of need some alone time for the first little bit.
It's such a drastic change to being at home that I need some serious, isolation chamber style quiet time to switch mind frames.
I was in good shape by the time we arrived in Newark.
Not rested exactly, but excited and pumped to spend time with Melissa nonetheless.

The incredible view from Amy's apartment in Soho.

And so began our much anticipated weekend in NYC.
Or, what I like to call, the vacation equivalent to falling up a set of stairs (or something equally annoying, embarrassing, and almost impossible not to laugh at).

You see, no matter how hard we both tried, New York was out to make us look like tourists.
Or idiots.
Possibly both.

Every excursion was wrought with complications.
The first morning we decided to go for breakfast. 
Simple enough.
We were just a few blocks North of Katz Deli where the famous Meg Ryan orgasm scene from When Harry met Sally was shot.
Naturally, we walked 5 blocks East before realizing we had taken a wrong turn.
Happens to the best of us.
At least we got to take in a little New York scenery.

I couldn't help but take a picture of all the fire escapes.

Not to mention find the BEST coffee in New York.
What luck!

The moment (30 dewey minutes later) that we arrived at the deli was when we faced the real challenge.
Not only was there a turnstile with an attendant (this place has completely let it's 15 minutes of fame go to it's head and is way commercialized now, trading cozy booths for cafeteria tables) but there was a completely unmarked spot where you placed your order, another place where you picked up your coffee, an off limits seating section if you wanted to be served instead of serving yourself, and you didn't pay until your way out.
Apparently everyone else who goes there is a psychic, because damned if we knew what the hell we were doing.

After breakfast, determined to hit up a New York City style flea market, we took the Subway (which is way more complicated than the north, south, east, west format we're accustomed to in Toronto) uptown to Hells Kitchen. True to it's name in early July, it was a hotter than hell but authentically adorable market, of which I took no pictures but Melissa did. 
Because Melissa is good like that.

As far as landmarks, bike riding in Central Park was a definite highlight.
But it wasn't exactly free of adversity either.
First of all, we hit this hot spot on the last day of our trip, so we definitely had to keep an eye on the clock. We got there (after taking the long way on the Subway due to line closures...shocker) at about 12:30pm and decided to rent bikes.
You know. Because we're athletes.

In Central Park you can rent bikes for $15 an hour.
Which totally sounds easy. And it would be if this was a real business.
Instead, it's really just a bunch of random dudes with bicycles.
We tracked one guy down, but of course he only had one bike left, so though securing one was simple enough, we had to get the second by strapping on a little blind faith and following one of the aforementioned rando's down a street, and then another street, and then into a parking garage.

I know. That's exactly how people get killed on Law and Order, but it was ok.
There were other people doing it.
And I don't think any of them were crack addicts. Not that you can always tell.
In the end we both got bikes, and we both were able to tick "bike around Central Park" off our bucket lists.

By 2pm we decided we better get our shit in gear and head back downtown to get ourselves packed and ready to head to the airport.
Our goal was to be back at Amy's and out of there with our suitcases by 4pm, to Time Square to catch the Newark Airport Shuttle around 4:30 and to the airport with an hour to spare.
But the problem with New York is...well two things actually.
1. It's full of things to sidetrack you because,
2. Who knows when you'll be back there again!?

Long story short, we didn't end up leaving the apartment until 4:15, were presented with a Subway that had to go south before it would go north, and we missed our 5:15 shuttle by about 30 seconds.
We didn't get on the next shuttle until 5:45pm.
Did I mention we were in Time Square?
Which is basically the most populated place in the universe.

Did I also mention that our technically INTERFREAKINGNATIONAL flight was at 6:30?

At this point Melissa and I kind of stopped talking.
We weren't mad at each other. It was no ones fault really.
We just knew there was absolutely nothing we could say that could help the situation.

Besides, when you're both thinking the same thing what's the use?

So we're sitting in New York City traffic sweating bullets.
I have a connecting flight to catch to Ottawa.
At this point, it would seriously take a miracle to get to the airport before the plane took off, forget about actually getting through security and boarding!
6:15 we arrive at the airport and are standing at the check in desk, where a very friendly attendant takes our boarding passes and frowns sympathetically.

"I'm sorry. This plane has already boarded."
Of course it has.
"Ok." I say. "We realize we're very late. I have a connecting flight to catch in Toronto. Do we have any options at all?"

And all I have to say about what happened next is that it's true. You definitely catch more flies with honey.
Because didn't that sweet woman just pick up her phone, call the boarding desk and ask them to hold the plane.
We ran.
We ran we ran we ran.
When we got to security and I threw my hands in the air for my body scan, the guard looked curiously at me and said "Ma'am. Can I ask why you look so nervous?"
Shit. I thought. I'm breathing like a goddamn drug smuggler!

"Well, technically we've missed our plane sir." I explained. "We're holding out hope that we might still catch it!"
"Better get moving then." He replied.
American's rule!

Long story long, we made it.
On the flight home we decided that despite all the other little blips we dealt with on our vacation, we actually have very good luck when it counts.

Also, we like stripes.
Even if they make us look wide.

And that was New York.

Now the cottage.
I'm going to keep this really short because I kind of don't want to remember it.
Brad and I rented a cottage about an hour from home for one week. Saturday to Saturday.

Insert two kids, a huge thunderstorm, a power outage, the hottest week of the summer, an attempt to potty train, a 2.5 year old who had to sleep in a playpen she's outgrown, the same 2.5 year old hopped up on candies earned by actually using said potty, numerous screaming fits and two parents frustrated by their vision of a weekend sipping caesars on a dock being blown to smithereens (underused word!).

We came home Tuesday.
We didn't talk to one another until Wednesday.
And we decided to make the best of what was left of our time off by Thursday.

And that was the cottage.
We'll try again in 17 years maybe. Maybe 2.

I got it out.
Welcome to my new blog address.

I hope you'll follow!