Blame Neptune.

I am a bad blogger.

Well, we all know that’s not true, I’m witty and adorable and you love reading my nonsense. But yes, I’ve been super neglectful of this space for the past week, and I don’t have a great update to share now, no masterful articles masking identities behind confusing dating tales or anecdotes from the last time I drank too much wine (e.g. last night). I do have an excuse though – the new job, while already rewarding and fulfilling on a whole new level, definitely took me by surprise last week, in terms of hours in the office and the volume of work during the day. To clarify: this is a GREAT thing! But it does mean that I need to learn how to re-adjust my normal blogging schedule so I don’t fall so far behind again. It’s quite funny to think this is exactly what I was doing last year too, learning how to blog on a schedule, but I figured it out once before and I’m confident I’ll do it again.

In the meantime, here are a few fun updates that may or may not turn into longer posts in the near future:

  • Atlantic City was AH-MAZING. The Nickname Posse definitely crushed it the whole weekend last weekend: gambled a little on Friday night, my lovely friend M and I did poolside yoga on Saturday, we managed to get six free appetizers at dinner on Saturday and then went to a Lil Jon almost-concert in a deliciously trashy club. The weekend ended at Five Guys before noon where we all ate with our sunglasses on and hoped that the two hour car ride wouldn’t be the end of anyone.
  • Started the new job with a horrid migraine though, which was a great way to remember that I’m no longer 21 and going out two nights in a row is a recipe for disaster.
  • Valentine’s Day is actually one of my favorite non-holidays, even (and almost especially) as a single person. This year I treated myself to a Core/Inversions workshop with one of my favorite yogis (NERD ALERT) and then went to Connecticut for a few days to celebrate mama B’s birthday and take care of a few doctor’s appointments. Because yes, I’m 26 and I still like my doctors from high school.
  • Snowstorm Neptune or whatever it’s called wreaked havoc on Connecticut yesterday morning. There’s nothing quite like a good snowstorm at my parent’s house to bring me back to childhood, a big mug of hot chocolate after shoveling the driveway and throwing a few snowballs for good measure. Truth be told, I meant to catch up on blogging all day yesterday, but instead I sat with the aforementioned hot beverage and got sucked into a Twilight marathon on television. Judge away, IDGAF.

I promise promise I’ll figure out the new blogging schedule soon. Especially since there are definitely a few funny stories from the little blips above – but all in good time.

Soaking.

“This. Is. Disgusting.”

As my coworkers and I made it into the office this morning, we all stared at each other in some level of shock and unhappiness, having been forced to come into the office on a miserable, dreary, grey, rainy New York day. I shook half a cloud off of my umbrella and squeezed my hair behind my cube, trying my best to wring out what water had managed to infiltrate my umbrella, hat and rain jacket before getting started on my day. I’d actually remembered to check the weather in the morning, and seeing the entire day promised to be a total mess, I didn’t bother putting on makeup, wore my glasses and even did the unthinkable: I wore sneakers on my commute. I got a great look at myself in the mirror of the elevator as I made it up the many floors to my office, and had to laugh at the sight of such a person – I could pass for a tourist or a newcomer, the opposite of the put-together New Yorker I try to emulate in my usual daily routine.

I’ve always loved the rain. There’s something beautiful about a city in the rain, the way the drops bounce off the buildings like a dance, a complete juxtaposition to the gloomy people underneath broken umbrellas below. I love a good pair of rainboots, dancing in a storm, shaking the weather out of my hair, inviting the lion’s mane of curls to wrap around my neck, my face, sticky with raindrops and dripping red dye. Any of the cities I’ve visited or lived in have such a distinct personality in the rain, the torrential downpours in Buenos Aires that come and go as quickly as you can take out your umbrella, the misty showers in Amsterdam, like walking in a cloud, or the languid steps in Paris in the rain, enamored with the romanticism of such weather in such a city. New Yorkers hate the rain; we hate walking behind the idiots with the big beach umbrellas, hate how quickly the street umbrellas break, just as a bus drives by, close enough to splash the city puddles all over your legs. But there’s a part of me that loves it too, loves the chance to see the city without the crowds of people distracted by the skyscrapers, the only person looking up amid a sea of downtrodden commuters.

There’s something going around this week, a misfire in the stars or maybe just a random series of coincidences in which I’ve gotten so many texts and calls from people who had something go wrong, a lost earring, a scolding from a boss, a piece of news that’s been feared for months. I’ve felt it too, sleeping in despite this being the first week I can do yoga again after the tattoo, reaching for potato chips and candy instead of sticking to the healthy fruits I’ve lugged from home. I think it’s just a reaction to the weather and the time of year, like the forthcoming forced merriment of the rapidly-approaching holidays needs the precursor of a rainy week and self-disappointment. I’m very much looking forward to the rest of the week, less rain and more holiday fun, with my company party on Thursday and a trip to Nyack for some shopping and dinner with my lovely friend M and her N on Saturday. And in the meantime, I’m fine soaking in some of the bad parts of the week for a few hours. After all, it won’t be like this forever – a good lesson to remember in all parts of life, whether soaking in the enormity of a life moving on, or just soaking in a New York City rainstorm on the way home from work.

Cardinal rule: if you’re not sure, it’s pee.

When New York City is blanketed in snow, for the first five minutes it’s beautiful. A snowy wonderland, surrounded be people enamored with the fluffy, clean white layer, bringing a calm stillness to the busy city. Quiet, and introspective, and still. And then the snow turns to sludge, your favorite pants are caked in 4 inches of honestly-I’m-not-sure-if-that’s-pee-or-just-dirt and public transit shuts down, despite being removed from the actual weather. It’s a rite of passage to survive a New York winter with boots intact and a red-hot hatred for anyone predicting a “wintry mix.” 

Puddles. Puddles everywhere.

Puddles. Puddles everywhere.

While sidestepping another frozen puddle this morning (see title), I gave a silent prayer of thanks to Hunter boots and a warm hat. I won’t claim to be an expert in New York winters, this only being my fourth, but I have picked up a few tips along the way. Here’s hoping someone can learn from my many, many, winter-related PLDs:

Poor choice: no snow boots

“I think I’m just going to wear my Uggs today, they’ve probably cleared the snow.” Nope. First, anything that isn’t waterproof is a poor decision. Never assume the streets are cleared because normally they’re not. And never, ever think that Uggs are an acceptable choice for a snowy day or the days after. They may be comfortable, but those little shoe-monsters are the WORST in the snow. They’re slippery, they’re terribly uncomfortable when they get wet after stepping through the unavoidable street puddle and they’re impossible to clean. It’s worth spending the money on Wellies or snow boots or basically anything that isn’t suede Australian fluffy boots (because all things considered, the Aussies really know about snow).

Poor choice: No doormat.

I am embarrassed to admit that it took me three years (plus) to get a doormat in my apartment. Before this past January, I just tracked that dirt and nastiness THROUGH MY BEDROOM to my shoe closet. Shudder. It took waking up one morning to find the cat licking a puddle that had formed around my rainboots to realize that something needed to change.  One trip to Bed, Bath and Beyond and $20 later, I am the proud owner of a doormat that catches all of the nastiness of outside and keeps it contained. Life changing? Yes. Yes it is.

Actual game changer.

Actual game changer.

Poor choice: not checking the weather.

On average, I’m outside and walking for at least 45 minutes a day. The last time I skipped the glance at my weather app, New York had one of the biggest snowstorms of the season. Walking home from work in 10 inches of snow was a treat. I was in a lighter winter coat and Uggs, sans gloves or umbrella, and to top it all off, my entire block was un-shoveled until the next day. We all have smartphones now. Just check the weather.

As we’re posed for even more snowstorms in the next week, I can almost guarantee I’ll do something to inspire a Part II on this. Until then, enjoy the snowstorm and don’t eat yellow snow. Or, if you’re a New Yorker, just don’t eat snow.