Stowed Away

Being a stowaway on a business trip is like being a plus one but better. As a stowaway I have very few responsibilities thrust upon me, I’m simply required to stay out of the way of the ‘worker’, entertain myself during ‘working hours’ and avail myself to the ‘worker’ when and if they need companionship (dinner banter, a drink at the hotel bar, a friendly “how was your day”, pillow talk, etc…). In return for these pleasantries I am supplied with posh accommodations in a distant city and occasionally I have scored the extra perk of piggy backing onto an expense account. Over the years I’ve been the secret stowaway on trips to Telluride CO, Philadelphia, Washington DC (several times) and just recently Florida – it is truly a wonderful way to take a economical break from the daily drudgery of worker bee life – I highly suggest it.

It’s funny how the mind works, I travel alone often, I even went to London sans company. However even though I am very much a modern independent woman I always feel “alone” eating in restaurants at a table for one or taking a turn through a museum without a companion. Yet when I am a stowaway I DO all the same things without an escort but I never feel alone. I don’t have the urge to take a book to dinner, instead I sit confidently enjoying my meal, sipping a glass of wine all the while thinking that I’m NOT a single traveler I just happen to be traveling with somebody who is very important and busy. I strut through the tourist spots embracing my freedom to do whatever I want when I want knowing that in a few hours there will be somebody asking me about my adventurous day. During my most recent trip I became so confident in my independence that I even spent an entire day at Disney World – alone. This was quite a feat and I do admit I was apprehensive regarding the ‘creepy’ factor of a 39 year old wandering through the Magic Kingdom without a buddy or a child. However with the power of the internet in the palm of my hand to connect me to my friend base I texted, emailed, BBM’d and facebooked my way through a kick butt Disney day.

The Power of Positively WARM Thinking

My poor sole was lacking in vitamin D and just plain old warmth. Summer ‘09 was a total bust. With constant rain and temperatures topping out in the high sixties I never attained my bronze fertility goddess glow and entered the fall/ winter a sickly shade of pearlized lavender. By mid Jan I was DONE with this weather and sent out a missive begging my palls to partner me in a jaunt to anyplace that served tropical drinks under swaying palms. My peeps all fell flat – too busy, too broke, too whatever but I had sent out my call to the world and like most things in my life the answer came streaming back from a source that I had never thought to tap. A day after my cry for a vacation cohort an old buddy noticed my ‘on line’ status and shot me a quick IM bemoaning his current fate; he was trapped on a lengthy business trip at a luxury resort down in sunny Florida. As we exchanged pleasantries I logged into my Jet Blue account hovering my blinking cursor over the very tempting BUY NOW button as I impatiently awaited an invitation to stow away on yet another friend’s business trip. Within the half hour my flight and rental car were booked and within 45 minutes I was rummaging around my apartment un-space bagging my summertime togs.

Fast forward one week later I was napping poolside with the sun streaming down turning my nose and chest a warm shade of magenta. It was mind boggling that in less time it takes me to travel by train out to Mom’s on LI I was transported to a totally different world – how could this still be January? What kind of alternate universe did I travel too? No coat, no gloves, not even socks! I was wary of the whole “bare feet’ in the middle of January – it usually takes careful planning and several ‘treatments” beginning late March to have my toes ready for prime time Memorial Day weekend (my winter feet are not prepared for this type of surprise outing). But with T-bone’s prodding, “Let those toes out there! They want o be out!” I scrubbed them down, lubed ‘em up, coated them with a lovely neutral polish and set them free! Ahhhhh T-Bone was correct, my piggies were in hog heaven.

Excuse me Sir but your nose is in my hooch

I am a huge fan of mass transit, good thing since I have utilized it exclusively since selling my cranberry 4 door Saturn in 1996. It’s speedy, rather reliable, economical, and best of all I never need to shovel it out of a snow bank or scrape sheets of ice from its windshield. The down side of course is that I must share my travels with the public, and this is where the love affair with my chosen form of motorized mobility quickly turns sour, very sour.

There are of course the usual offenders, the stinky food consumers, the nail clippers, the nose diggers, the pole leaners, the “my balls are too big to close my legs” sitters, etc. However recently I have noticed a surge in an new form of rush-hour subway misconduct, the “I know there is not enough room for me to fit between these people however I am such a lazy a-hole that I will teeter my keester on the edge of the subway bench then bend forward so my head is directly in line with the strap hangers’ crotches.” Yep, three out of my past 5 days of commuting I’ve been smack up against a man (I have yet to see a woman do this – but I wouldn’t put it past them on the 7 train) who has his nose ¾ of an inch away from my nether regions. Doesn’t it suck enough that I have to stand jam packed like a sardine on the 7 train wrapped up like Nanook because of the subarctic temperatures but now in addition I have to host a stranger in my ‘lady area’? It’s a great core exercise though, with my feet firmly planted just far enough away from the overhead pole to be comfortable my pelvis pulled in tightly so as to not graze the bobble headed douche bag when the train banks ‘round the turn at Queens Plaza and my ass pulled in with my back arched so I don’t lean into my fellow commuter behind me, it takes all I have not to fall over during my 6 minute ride to Woodside.

But in hindsight I guess I shouldn’t complain, I mean the online dating thing has dried up (along with some other options) so with the joy that a new year brings to all of us I extend a grateful “THANKS” to the #7 train passengers who would rather sit bent in half with their top lip resting on my third coat button instead of standing for a 20 minute journey because without you I truly would have no ‘action’ at all.

Anti Social Networking

Oh so many good blogging opportunities are tossed into the bin for the small fact that the people whom I wish to blog about are actively linked to my facebook. Oh facebook you fickle mistress – I love you for you feed my innermost hunger for faceless cyber stalking yet just when I’ve collected a juicy blog worthy nugget your rotten head whips ‘round to bite me in the bottom.

The good thing though is that I keep a double secret private stash of such not internet publishable stories so when the time comes to write my memoirs or to produce my feature length biopic for the silver screen all of these life altering (not my life – others’ lives) episodes will be preserved. For the curious readers who are asking themselves, “Hmmm I wonder who will portray G in her movie?” – well it is no other than Queen Latifah (an obvious yet inspired choice). Others whom I have tapped to appear to portray friends and relatives are John Leguizamo, Liev Schreiber, Bonnie Hunt, Ali McGraw, Oliver Platt, Eric Dane (McSteamy),John Cusack, and Jason Alexander. Friends this is just a working list that will be expanded however if you feel that you have been neglected please submit your actor of choice directly to me.

Lastly here are three stories that have been stripped of all details because of my great deal of respect for the parties involved –either that OR I really don’t feel like being stabbed in my sleep.

· A person and a place then not a place.
· A person with stuff to look at makes me confused.
· A person, the internet, an email.

Idle Hands

I have two more days of leisure until my boss returns from her big holiday trip to North Africa. I have so far filled my down time at Mi7 with celebrating my office’s very first Holiday Party and…. well really that is about it. I could do some filing and tidying and still have time to mourn the recent death of our desktop orchids but I felt that I should use this time to close the door on 2009 with a revisit to the world of INTERNET DATING!!!!

How could I leave you all high and dry? How could I ignore your cries for MORE stories from the wide world of faceless email courting? Well today is your lucky day, for no other reason than lack of anything to do I signed onto OK Cupid and within 20 minutes I received a letter in the ol’ inbox. Now this guy is not really crazy as compared to the “I like blue” gent of months past however all of you who know me will recognize immediately this guy’s major mistake. Please read an excerpt from his email below:

(set up – his email is in response to my posting. Specifically to my response to the OK Cupid question, “What are you doing with your life right now?” My answer is, “Discovering creative ways to inhibit the sub arctic air from seeping in around my AC unit”.)

Subject: STOP with the creative ways...
“Go to the Home Depot down on 23rd Street and look for Painters tape (don’t be overwhelmed just ask a man in an orange apron to help you). This is a blue tape and you can use a regular scissors to cut it to the lengths you need.”

Continued - “Good stuff foam, this is something that comes in a red can with big letters on the label that say GOOD STUFF. Just be cautious in application, you can wind up making a mess if you aren't careful with it, and you should be wearing gloves.”

Continued -“ It sounds harder than it is but it's the best solution to your problem.”

I was going to delete the email BUT then I decided to respond, here is my retort in total:

Thank you for putting a pragmatic spin to my AC situation and for REALLY over explaining the process. I however worked as a professional Prop Master for years (had my own corporate Home Depot credit card within 2 weeks of undergrad graduation) so I am very aware of blue tape. YOU should however graduate to Gaff Tape - if you are intimidated by the black colored Gaff Tape you may want to first purchase the white (it’s more unassuming). I would never spray good stuff on my AC – it dries like cement and the yellow gunk is not only unsightly but permanent. I have already in cased my unit with soft insulating foam, tape backed foam, and have heat sealed the window with shrink wrap plastic (did you think this 'sounded hard' or did you assume I thought it 'sounded hard'?)- this is why I am NOW exploring creative ways in which to battle the biting cold. And no I will not stop my “creative ways” for that is vehicle that propels me towards creative solutions.

Baking (part 3) – This stopped being fun once the oven timer went off

3:30pm with the storm ramping up and my Fresh Direct order safely in my possession I began the baking. Blog Girl’s instructions were to use Martha Stewart’s recipe which I completed rather easily – thank you – and without sounding too boastful my gingerbread dough smelled fantastic! As my brown blobs of ginger goodness chilled in the fridge I cut out the template house pieces that Blog Girl so helpfully posted online. In no time my templates were complete and my dough was ready for phase two.

I didn’t want to bake too many pieces at once, just in case something went wacky so I began with just one house (6 pieces). Martha directed that I roll the cookies to ¼ of an inch but Blog Girl instructed that I go to 1/8 inch… indecision, great thanks. I stayed true to BG (blog girl) since these were her houses in design and went with the 1/8” thickness. My new fondant cutter worked like a charm slicing through the cool dough (yes I now own a fondant cutter) and in no time my first batch was in my 350 degree oven for a length of 12-14 min (as instructed by Martha – BG gave no direction as to baking temperature or time). At the end of my 12 min cycle my cookies were flat, dark and had a slight taste of burnt coal. I will cut to the chase and tell you that after 4+ hours of trial and error (and 8 inches of snow fall) I discovered that the cookies should be at least ¼ inch thick, placed on the top rack of the oven and baked for no longer than 10 ½ minutes. Martha and BG – you can both suck it! By 10pm the dough was not done (1/3 still in the fridge) but I was done with the dough.

Baking (part 2) – In search of Cinnamon

First Location, Corner Bodega
Upon entering my neighborhood bodega I quickly made a bee line towards the rear of the one set of high shelves that held the overflowing stock of adobo meat tenderizers. I was immediately overwhelmed at the number and variety of items, I never knew that the Woodside community had such a need for softening meat and poultry products, but I digress. I read every label at least twice but I could not locate the cinnamon. At this point I realized I was alone in the bodega, not even the clerk was in attendance. I yelled out, “HELLO? HELLO?” Then out from the darkened doorway immediately to my left appeared a man with his pants completely spread open with his belt dangling limply at his sides. “Yes?”, “Ummm (eyes diverted) do you have cinnamon?”, “No. No cinnamon” and with that he turned on his heels and returned through the darkened doorway. I left the bodega feeling like my gingerbread would always be tainted by this very dirty situation.

Second Location, Asian Grocery Market

The smell of fish was blinding, the crowd of intent shoppers was abrasive, and besides not being able to decipher the grocery labels the items themselves were unrecognizable. I found some small jars that appeared to be spices but I was totally out of my league. I asked one of the 8 cashiers if they stocked cinnamon and without a glance up from her register she grunted loudly and pointed in the direction of the spice rack that had so mystified me. I returned to the area and called back to the cashier, “HERE? Over HERE? The cinnamon is here?” She quickly lost patience with my unfocused Afikoman hunting skills and began shouting at a 4 foot tall man who was about 123 years old. He looked at the cashier, then at me, then at her again as she kept shouting and pointing. He shuffled over in his house slippers squeezed past me to the end of the row and held out a paper bag of cinnamon sticks. I smiled and shook my head while delivering a silent look that conveyed this sentiment - yeah thanks for the trouble but I need the Caucasian prepackaged ground stuff with a plastic shaker cap.

Third Location, Mexican Fruit Stand
Ah big, airy, clean and empty. I casually sauntered ‘round the indoor fruit and veggie stand thinking about all the tasty treats people who cook could make, all the while searching for the very recognizable spice jars (bottles? containers?). After completing my tour I approached the cheery cashier and inquired about the cinnamon. Pleasantly she smiled and with an outstretched arm pointed towards a peg board covered with small plastic bags. I smiled back and repeated, “No, cinnamon.” She repeated, “Cinnamon” and pointed at the peg board. With trepidation I approached the dangling clear plastic bags and within just a few seconds I discovered to my surprise a red and green package with a palm tree labeled “Canela Molida - Ground Cinnamon”. Gracias Mammi!