Chrissy's Blog

Another slow Monday night at work when my co-worker Jess turns to me.

“Did you know we have an isolation room?”

“No.”

“It’s right behind the x-ray room. You should go check it out.”

So, I do. What’s there? Five, teeny, tiny, squirmy, meowing kittens. Between meeting my Maine Coon boyfriend Miles the month before in Boston and these adorable little things, I officially no longer fear/hate cats. I am definitely still a dog person, but cats and I have made peace with one another. These angels are known as the Long Island 5. They were abandoned under a porch, and my clinic decided to take them in. I opened up their cage, and they came tumbling out like candy from a burst pinata. They climbed all over me, meowing. I fell in love with one in particular.

The black kitten in the bottom right of the picture, her name is Oona, named after my boss who has the same disposition, often. Oona kept climbing over me in order to dive herself into the small garbage can behind me. I kept lifting her out, but she was determined. I saw her plight and somehow just immediately bonded to her.

I went out for drinks with my friend Kayla. She wanted to go to one of the places that I had on my New York City Musts List. I suggested White Horse Tavern which is most famous for the spot where Dylan Thomas was drinking right before he went home and died. Kayla is an amazing person to vent to. I hadn’t seen her in weeks, and I just unloaded everything on her. She was the first of my New York friends who I felt truly comfortable opening up to. It was much needed therapy, and she seemed very excited to be my therapist. The trains were running slow, so when we got to Union Square, we decided to walk the rest of the way and enjoy the cool weather. Once we approached the bar, my heart sunk, and I stopped mid-stride.

“I’ve already been here!” I exclaimed. Turns out I had gone there with a bunch of finance people who failed to mention that this was the haunt of not only Dylan Thomas, but Bob Dylan, Ezra Pound, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and Hunter S. Thompson! The experience was a bit cheapened by the fact that I’d been there with people with no respect for literary legends!!! (See December 17, for any that are curious) I was also disappointed in myself that I didn’t notice all the Dylan Thomas things on the walls!

I hope all those exclamation points establish the shock I felt as I sat drinking in that bar. It was a fun night with Kayla nonetheless.

This is the epic tale of how I met Tina Fey. The night before, I was perusing New York activities online when I came across a reading at the Union Square Barnes and Noble by the one and only Tina Fey. Apparently she had written her memoirs and dubbed them “Bossypants.” I immediately threw my coat on and headed to the Barnes and Noble close to my apartment. I bought the book and ran home with an excitement the likes I have not experienced since I bought the final Harry Potter book at the midnight release. NERD.

Anyways, I stayed up way past my bedtime, we’re talking 3 or 4 in the morning, reading the book and laughing hysterically. It was the exact book I needed to read just then. She is my hero and inspires me to keep working at what I love. The next day I headed down to the book release an hour early, figuring that would afford me plenty of time. As soon as I walk in the door, though, I am greeted by employees telling me that it is sold out, and there is no chance for me to get my book signed. I was meeting an old friend from Seattle in that neighborhood in a couple of hours, so I had nothing else to do, but just queue up behind many other hopefuls. I patiently stood in the line, reading the remainder of the book, enjoying myself to be honest. It felt like boot camp. The employees kept getting in everyone’s face saying that there was no way we were going to get our books signed, that we should give up. Many people in the line ahead of me did just that.

Not I.

Like I said, I was enjoying myself, and I felt like I deserved this. If Tina Fey knew what I’d been through, she would be more than happy to sign my book and probably even give me a hug. I am confident in this. Finally, they let some of us upstairs to the actual floor where Tina Fey was. I couldn’t see her, but I could see Grizz and Frank from “30 Rock.” I was so excited. It was going to happen after hours of waiting in line. My old friend, Eric, called me, and I told him my dilemma. He was supremely understanding and encouraging. He offered to come wait with me, but I told him that it was not easy to get as far as I had gotten. So he waited on a lower level of Barnes and Noble while I patiently waited to meet Tina. It wasn’t as glorious as I had imagined. I had hoped that I would be witty, and she would naturally fall in love with my charm, take me home, bake me a pie, hire me, and become my bestest friend EVER! Does that make me creepy, or does it just make me a really good fan?

As I got closer, I could hear other people trying to be witty and failing. I saw some give her gifts, which she accepted graciously, but with extreme hesitation. By the time I got my book signed, she looked exhausted. After all, she had agreed to sign an additional 100 or so books. I figured she’d heard it all before, so I just said, “Thank you so much.” She smiled at me, and I decided that it would be way cooler to sweep her off her feet with my charm when I run into her in the near future at a bakery or something. It’ll happen!

This is the window to some sort of shop-front by the Upper East Side apartment. Although, I lived in that area for nearly nine months, I never figured out what that space was for, or what the window meant. I felt it was appropriate to document it for future review. One day, it’ll all make sense.

This is your heart. This is your heart in New York. Any questions?

At this point in time, I started a list of things I wanted to do in New York before I left. Of course, the one that went straight to the top was food-related. I wanted to eat at Lombardi’s in Little Italy which is know as America’s first pizzeria. I got a pizza with pepperoni and spinach. It was fantastic!!! I also loved the atmosphere. The tile floors, the checkered table cloths. Although it is technically a touristy thing to do, it still felt authentically New York somehow.

I went to Brooklyn for a friend’s birthday party. This picture was actually taken in the wrong neighborhood. Her street ended in Avenue, and I went to a street in Brooklyn with the same name but ending in Street. Bah! I made my way there, though. This was a lovely sunset. I really love Manhattan, but I also truly enjoy not being in Manhattan sometimes, like enjoying a bonfire without getting too hot all the time. Does that even make sense?

Being the bookworms that we are, I took my mother and sister to The Strand Bookstore. Something about rows and rows of books makes me feel pure joy. Not even joy, pure optimism. Like there is just so many more stories to read, beautiful books to spend time getting to know. Lord help me, I do LOVE books.

During this time of difficulty, my lovely lady relatives came to town. My mother and my sister came to force feed me, brush my hair as I talked on and on about the disappointment, and force me out of that depressing apartment. On this day, we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. While it was wonderful to have them in town, I definitely needed some serious alone time. At the museum, I made my way away from them and towards the modern art section. I enjoy modern art. Not the what-the-fuck-is-that-modern-art, but the modern art that isn’t just a painting of Madonna with child. I consider myself an artist of the word, especially when it comes to crafting poetry. But there is something to visual art that I respect so much. This piece took my breath away. There were pages of my journal dedicated to how I feel. I spent hours on the phone with friends trying to put words to what I was experiencing. But this picture. Me looking into this modern art mirror. This is it. This is exactly how I felt. Beyond words. Beyond a logical explanation. This was me at that moment. Even beyond the break-up, which I often feel is just another event in a long line of difficult challenges that have been thrown at me over the last year. My life, Chrissy in 2011 is this photograph.