I made myself head out into the “snow” today in NYC. Shocker of all shockers, it wasn’t even 1/8th as bad as the weather peoples said it would be. It was a wet sloshy mess and I got to slap on my boots (with the fuzzies inside) and just tromp through puddles while everyone else tippytoed.
I'm 12!
Sleep hasn’t been easily attainable for me, I’m overwhelmed with things I need to do both at work and at the end of my day when home (that pile of clothes will either clean itself or it will morph into a tights monster and chew me with its indiscernible crotch seams). This is why I started making myself do this, though, to not get bogged down in all the murky muddy ankle sucking schmegma of life. What was good, what was good… Did someone else actually change the toilet paper roll at work? Nope, that’s not it. Did I feel like a sassy shot of lady power in my outfit today? Nope, that’s not it. In fact, sitting here in my pjs and sweatshirt, I actually can’t recall what I wore to work today. Oh wait, I wore my shirt dress that makes me look like an internment camp officer. Great.
I felt loved. I still feel loved.
I’ve said before how much I love my walk. It’s sort of a micro blurp of what makes NYC such an incredible place to live: it’s always changing, there is always something new to discover. For example, on my walk home tonight I took a street I nearly always take. This time, there was a little surprise under the scaffolding.
Anyone know what this fellow is up to? Usually when I think graffiti is cute, it stands for something nefarious. From far away, I thought “oh, scruffy bunny with a raw heart.” Upon closer inspection, dude has electrical tape over his eyes. Either way, today’s One Good Thing.
broken hearted bunny friend?
:(
I couldn’t get out of bed this morning. Call it exhaustion, call it SAD, call it whatever it is, I couldn’t do it. I had T-Rex arms, they wobbled and shook as I tried to push my body up and off my bed. I couldn’t do it. I felt nauseous, I felt wrong. I immediately fired off an “I’m out sick” email to my team, declaring “barf!” I felt on the edge of barf all day. When I finally was able to get out of bed, I shuffled into my kitchen, the cold tile waking up my feet but nothing else.
I pulled my coffee maker out from its nook and began the ritual of setting it up. Rinsing out the old coffee, tapping out the old coffee. Adding the new water, tucking in the paper cone filter. Spooning the coffee dig, sssst, dig, ssssst, dig, sssst, dig, sssst four times into the cone. Snapping the lid closed and pressing start.
The heating rod coughed to life, bubbling the water around it, feeding hot liquid wakey juice through the grounds.
The “all set now” beep beeped and I tugged the glass carafe out of its cave, pouring the hot dark coffee into my Ohio mug.I sipped, it burned my tiny upper lip and I smiled. Coffee. One good thing today.
For whatever reason, I always feel comforted by the crispy triangle of pizza. Hot tomato sauce slithering down the throat and the faint kick of red pepper flakes soothe me from the inside out. Keep the vampires away with a clove of garlic chopped and sprinkled all over.
Most importantly, however, is that… and say it with me now: It’s won’t make you shit your pants.
Very quickly after settling into my new life I discovered something very special. Well, besides my incredible roommate. It’s my walk to work. It’s 20 minutes and it weaves me through Chelsea and dumps me into Union Square. I can look to the left on my way to work and see the Empire State Building. I can look to the right and see 1 World Trade Center. On my way I encounter rows of kids in matching T shirts roped together like little chickens, all of them chattering and clucking down the street. My Starbucks is like a puppy strip club – all of them on the pole waiting for their owners to grab their lattes and fraps.
I walk when it’s clear, I walk when it rains, I walk when it’s a bit too toasty, and I love to walk when it’s freezing. My thick coat turns into a mobile space heater, my body warming it up inside as I skitter quickly over the sidewalks, sweating as my fingers turn red with wind burn and chill. I love it. It energizes me as I head in and it soothes and calms me as I head back home – and on the way home my streets are calm and a little lonely, but it’s my walk and it has played a part in reconstructing my heart and my life. I love it.
This morning on my walk I spotted post Christmas curb appeal: the discarded Christmas trees. They smell amazing still, and these guys were a little festive in their death:
1 World Trade Center is coming along:
And sometimes, a man farts deeply into his corduroys as I walk by (still trying to find a meaning in THAT):
A Jessica Wu Ramirez Original!
YUM Good Thing
I love my Starbucks. Now, if you google mapped Chelsea, you’d see that I have more than enough location to choose from. In fact, as the cliche says, there is literally a Starbucks every 3 blocks on 8th Avenue alone. However, I love “mine” the most. The baristas are polite and actually return my smile and the focus is on each customer, not the one familiar one that tends to occupy all the attention (pal, if you want to keep talking about your new weight lifting gloves, wait until I’ve had my medicine).
AND, they make the BEST iced triple grande non fat toffee nut latte EVER. My roommate, who takes things literally reacted with “oh, I thought they were all supposed to be the same.’ In a perfect world this would be true. When I went to Caribou College (mmhmm, you read that right), we were taught consistency. The cappuccino in Beverly Hills (Michigan, that is) should be the same cappuccino in Birmingham. Again, this is not a perfect world. I’ve gotten some pretty sad lattes in this town.
But my toffee nut latte from the Starbucks on 19th and 8th Avenue is always so full of chachacha that after I sip it, I can feel myself smile like a freak, I hear myself say aloud “YUUUUM” and I thank my barista for a friggin delicious beverage. I’m fairly certain I say that to him.
Today’s One Good Thing is going to sound shallow: two people told me I looked pretty.
Now, put your fingers of fire down.
I didn’t realize, until my desk neighbor told me, how long it had been since I had been told that I looked pretty without a hair smoothing “soooo, what do you think?” prompt. I almost cried. It was unexpected. I didn’t get ready for work this morning hoping for or anticipating compliments in the “oh, I put some makeup on today to look pretty” sort of way. I just did my thing. It felt good. It’s ok to feel good. It’s ok to like a compliment.
It makes me feel like something inside me that’s good is finally coming out as my heart is repairing itself. Maybe the good is a hint of the real me.
Ah geez, I feel like I might cry right now!
I may have PMS.
Well I guess the obvious good thing would be that I woke up this morning. Problem is, I woke up quite late. Sleep was pretty poor last night and I was filled with “back to work!” anxiety. Hold the phone. If I’m going to write about One Good Thing in an attempt to find even the tiniest bit of positivity in my day, I am not allowed to bitch, bemoan, or be self deprecating in the same post. So there.
Today was sprinkled with tons of good things, as a matter of fact. I am a healthy human that is able to go to work every day, so there’s that. At work I got to reunite with my work wife, Lizardbreath. I got to enjoy that all too fleeting energy of being happy to be back in the office, getting back into the habit of the smiling good mornings, the logging in and situating, the trips to get coffee, tea, or brain clearing air.
One Good Thing was at the tail end of my crisp walk home, where I actually had to pull the hood of my puffy coat around my icicle ears. I marched myself into the gym near my place and joined. I’m going to feel good this year, I’m going to take care of my body. I’m going to focus on healthy outlets when I feel the itch to lean on a vice. So I joined the gym. I walked out feeling victorious and hopeful.
Your turn…
My friend Quail (codename to protect the sweet racked and guilty) and I share quite a few traits. We’re impatient with idiocy, we don’t understand people who can’t find the humor in life’s ridiculous moments, and we’re hardcore midwesterners, tractors in the backyard and all. It helps to share midwestern parents with another of the city folk because it helps to be reminded that we are the anomaly. It’s hard for sheltered countryfolk to truly appreciate things that seem SO AMAZING to us Manhattanites. That disconnect also helps keep us Manhattanites grounded and at least somewhat off the ledge of self absorption.
Our wonderful parents give us truly entertaining stories and reactions to life. I will never not grin at my mom saying “White Zinfinfeld”.
Well, Quail’s dad gave her this great idea for every day going forward that I’d really like to commit to – and that is to note at least one GOOD thing that I experience each day. Of course this idea came from the midwestern bible: Reader’s Digest. I devote a lot of my energy to negativity either in the form of snarking or lamenting about work stress. I need to turn it around. This is a new year, people, and I’m going to make it stellar. So, every day I will share with you a positive thing about my day. And please do share yours 
Screw misery, lets see if happiness loves company, too.
Today: Ginger Ale. Lucious lovely ginger ale.
Not just any ginger ale - ginger ale that was delivered.
