On Walking

I'm new to New York, but I have been here before. I've come on a couple of vacations and even spent a couple weeks here last summer for a job... and if there's one thing that I associate with New York, it is walking.

You might associate walking with nature, long strolls in the woods, maybe even going on hikes (which is just an annoying way of saying walking outside right?) and sure, these situations involve walking. But nowhere in the world (I'm obviously an expert) do you walk more than in New York. 

Now, I have tried to make my life as lazy as possible, positioning my apartment only a few blocks from the subway and my school essentially right off the subway line (obviously my doing) but I have STILL been dealing with some serious walking... to the point where it is borderline exercise. I know you think I'm being dramatic, but I'm not. Thanks to my impractical adorable footwear choices, I have been wrapping my feet in band-aids every morning. At this rate, I'm going to have to book weekly pedicures to keep myself from becoming some kind of  callused monster. No significant other (hahahaha) will ever want to play footsie with me. 

I'm considering just giving up and hiring someone to carry me around. In New York, thats probably actually possible.

-onny

Sunday Funday

It is Sunday here in New York, which for many Sex and the City characters would signal a need for a girls brunch at a favorite cafe. For me, however, this Sunday morning was spent sleeping in until 10, sitting in my pajamas until 1pm, and successfully watching enough Scandal that I began to wonder if Netflix might have developed some kind of notification system without telling anyone, in which my mother would soon be receiving an alert that I apparently hadn’t moved in many hours and she should call someone to check on me.

In any case, come 3 o’clock, it was time to add some glamour (and carbohydrates) to my day, and so I jumped up and googled the nearest Panera. What ho! Only 20 minutes on the subway and bread soaked in broccoli cheese soup a healthy salad would be making its way into my body! Time to prepare!

I jumped through the shower, let my hair air dry and put on minimal makeup, because, Sunday. After a 20-minute facebook check during which time I forgot that I had put underwear on and was alarmed when I stood up and felt something on my butt, (This is an overshare, isn’t it?) I was finally ready to get dressed and go to Panera. Here's the thing, though. New Yorkers walk a lot and I had worn some rather impractical shoes on my saturday trip to [insert something that sounds more glam than Forever21 and Best Buy], so I wasn’t really into the idea of wearing anything other than tennis shoes. Of course, I didn’t want to look like a tourist, and I might be new to New York, but if I know anything, it is that tennis shoes are a sure sign of tourist-hood. So, naturally, I threw on some yoga apparel and my nikes and out the door I went. And, no, the hilarity of the fact that I put on work out clothing to go to Panera is not lost on me.

I arrived at the pearly gates of heaven  fast food restaurant at around 4:30pm. This was actually ideal because there was no line. I stepped up to the counter and rambled off my order... to which, the employee replied "You realize that comes with two pieces of bread?" While my brain screamed "SHUT UP JUDGE JUDY" at the poor young woman, my actual mouth managed a coy "oh does it? okay, I'll have some for tomorrow..." PHEW I've covered well. Nice job.

-onny

One New New Yorker

Three suitcases. Three massive, empty suitcases sprawled across my Wisconsin living room. Like big, empty animals. Like butchered animals, with their stomachs gaping open. Does that even make sense? When someone butchers an animal, do they open their stomachs? I have no idea. What am I saying?

Last week, I was in Wisconsin. I’m from Wisconsin, so that shouldn’t surprise many people. Last week, I packed up three massive suitcases, the kind you take with you on a long European vacation. And I checked them on an airplane, and I got on the airplane, and I cried on the airplane, and I said goodbye to my midwestern life and transplanted myself to New York City. 

I’m here for graduate school, and I’ll be getting two Master’s degrees in two years. And I’m starting a blog, because I think my life might be borderline interesting, and you might think so too. I make no promises. I might write a lot, I might forget this blog exists after a week. I might write about food, clothing, coffee, or really anything else. I might be funny. I might be serious. Lets just figure it out together, okay?