28 Before 28: Visit a New Baseball Stadium

10 Sep

In my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

Citizen's Bank Park

Citizen’s Bank Park

My, oh, my, the Mariner’s this year! I’ve been an avid fan since 2007 and have witnessed dismal seasons. But as I write this, they are in the second wild card spot for the American League and only one game behind Oakland. AHHH!! Back in February when the Seahawks won the Super Bowl, I joked that the Mariner’s were also going to win the World Series. It’s still a long shot, but it’s possible! We COULD do it.

So I was browsing their schedule a couple of weeks ago to see which teams we’d be facing in this epic playoff berth. The day I checked happened to be the first day they were playing the Phillies in Philadelphia for a three game series. I had the following day off and wanting to escape some personal drama, I made a last minute decision to hop a morning bus to Philadelphia the next day to spend the day there. I convinced my friend Quincey to go with me, and we were off!

Citizens Bank Park is beautiful! The people are so nice! I’m used to going to Mariner games at Yankee stadium where I’m harassed at least a couple of times by obnoxious Yankee fans. But the city of brotherly love lived up to its name. This is how a typical conversation with a Phillie fan went:

“You’re a Seattle fan?”
“Yeah, I went to college in Seattle and have been a fan ever since,” I say with hesitation, waiting to be berated.
“That’s great! Beautiful city! You sure have a great team this year.”
“It’s about time we have a good season!”
“Yeah, I wish the Phillies were playing that well. Enjoy the game!”
“Why thank you! You too!”

How nice is that?! Sometimes spending enough time in New York makes one forget that there is the possibility for human kindness and compassion in the world. But it’s out there.

One Mariner fan and one Mariner/Met fan.

One Mariner fan and one Mariner/Met fan.

It was a fun day trip. We ate Philly cheesesteaks north of the stadium before we arrived so I didn’t get a chance to try any of the ballpark food. But I loved the game there. Best part was the Phillie Phanatic. What a great mascot! He had an ATV that he drove around the field with abandon and even got into a play-verbal argument with the Mariner dugout. The Phillies might have a disappointing lineup this year, but they’ll always have the phanatic.

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28 Before 28: Take a Boxing Class

8 Sep

In my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

My gloves. They also came in pink, but I'll always prefer black.

My gloves. They also came in pink, but I’ll always prefer black.

A couple of weeks ago, I broke up with my significant other. It was something I knew had to happen and felt confident that it was the best decision to make. Between making the decision and when I actually got to sit down with him to do it, I had a span of four days to stew it over. In classic type A fashion, I spent a good amount of time researching tips to getting over break-ups, moving on, letting go, emotionally healing.

Did you know that science has shown that what happens in the brain of someone who is going through a break-up is nearly the same thing that goes on in the brain of an addict going through withdrawals?! The brain begins to lack the pleasure-inducing endorphins that it was getting from the companionship. It causes depression, feelings of sluggishness and even physical pain. One way to combat this is with physical exercise. So I found a boxing gym close to me and signed up.

My last couple of weeks have been flooded with work and amazing friends buying me booze and listening to be complain/cry. But I have managed to attend two boxing classes. The first one was with five middle-aged Hispanic ladies. I felt right at home. None of them were exceptionally athletic, and we were all sweating profusely and making ugly faces while doing something like 100 squats. It was 20 minutes of cardio, 20 minutes of strength training, then 20 minutes of freestyle one-on-one time with a punching bag. The instructor showed me a couple of basic punches, and I worked on perfecting them. The class was perfect. I left exhausted and sore but with a clear mind and heart.

The second class I went to was me and three dudes. It was the same instructor as before and, and he spent a lot of time focusing on helping me while the guys did their own thing. We did a lot less cardio and strength-training and spent over half an hour with the punching bags. I was happy just bouncing around, jabbing and hooking to my heart’s desire. But the instructor honed in on me and lectured me on self defense. At some point it wasn’t even about boxing anymore as he told me to punch with my nail’s facing my attacker so that I could get his DNA under my nails?!?! Whoah! I was just there for stress release, not to learn how to avoid getting dragged into an unmarked vehicle. I found myself biting my bottom lip to keep from laughing as the scenarios got more intense. I mean, I’m glad I have an idea now of what to do if someone tries to stab me from the side, but I don’t expect that to be happening any time soon. I guess no one does though.

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Risk Averse

2 Sep
Burning of the Witches Festival, Prague, 2007

Burning of the Witches Festival, Prague, 2007

About two weeks ago, I had dinner with a friend of mine who has a knack for popping in and out of my life. We fomented our friendship in Prague and for a while when I was new to New York, he was living in Brooklyn.

I admire him a lot. He can lean towards the hipster side of things, but he leads a life that I envy in a lot of ways. After college, he cultivated his bartending skills. He spends a couple of months in one place, living a meager existence while squirreling away as much money as possible, working at as many bars that will take him. Then he heads somewhere new to him with one tiny backpack and wanders wherever he wants to go, until he has barely enough money to fly him back to the states where he can crash on someone’s couch until he finds a bartending gig that will start the cycle over again.

During desperate times in my life, I’ve thought of his travels and adventures and thought that’s exactly what I should do. But for better or worse, I like my things. I like my life. I like the friendships that I’ve established and the career (however humble it may be) that I’ve built. So I stay. I settle for the vacations here and there and go about my daily routine.

Back to our dinner. We went to a Himalayan restaurant near my apartment, and we caught up. I heard about his upcoming travel plans which include train hopping and road tripping across the country and then booking a flight for Southeast Asia where he’ll ramble at will. I asked him for Central American travel advice. I want to go to Costa Rica, or Nicaragua, or Ecuador. Anywhere new! But I can’t find a travel companion, and I’m nervous about going alone.

“Well, that’s because you are risk averse,” he told me.
“RISK AVERSE!? That’s not true.”
“It’s absolutely true.”
“I took a boxing class today for the first time!”
“That’s spontaneous, not risky. You’re spontaneous and brave. But you are risk averse.”

I spent the rest of the night making him regret he ever said that. I somehow found a way to repeatedly circle the conversation back to “risk averse” and how I could not be risk averse, what are the steps I could take. He couldn’t give me a real answer on it and resorted to teasing me for trying to plan out how to be less “risk averse.” They Type A in me just can’t hide.

Risk averse. I have spent the last two weeks walking around thinking about that. It pops up in my head like a catchy pop song. I’ll be buying a salad for lunch and as I order, I think, “risk averse?!” Part of me wants to say I’m not. I’ve taken risks, tis true. Staying in New York after a devastating break-up. Risky. Battling evil cats at work. Risky. Drinking whiskey after beer. Risky.

But another part of me wants to be mature enough to take it as constructive criticism. I tried to think about how he must see my life and my choices. While I know he respects them, they could seem risk averse. Some of them are. I see the choices in my life that have been the easiest path or the path of least risk of pain. And while I don’t believe that I am one to be labeled as risk averse, I don’t think it’s a bad thing that he got that annoying phrase stuck in my head. My life could use a few more risks, a few more hasty decisions.

He left for Chicago yesterday morning. I have no idea when our paths will cross again. But when they do, I can’t wait to enumerate to him the ways in which my life in the interim has NOT been risk averse. Knowing me, I’ll probably have an outline.

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28 Before 28: Eat at White Castle

17 Jun

In my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

20140617-171043-61843208.jpgA couple of weeks ago, I used a personal day to take a Saturday off and hang with my boyfriend. We decided to spend a day being kids at Coney Island. As we approached the boardwalk of rides, games, and oddities, he pointed out a small stand and the opportunity to knock another thing off my list.

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We made sure to ride all the stomach-churning roller coasters first before we dug into fast-food. I ordered three little sliders and a side of onion rings whilst the boy ordered sliders and a sack of something called chicken rings. In an unexpected turn, the chicken rings stole the show instead of the sliders. The sliders were good, cheap, little fast food burgers with a thin patty and oddly sweet tasting bun, but the chicken rings were delicious little chicken fingers in a perplexing shape.

All in all, I enjoyed it. But I’m not a fast food person, and I don’t know where the White Castle obsession comes from for East Coasters. It probably has more to do with childhood memories and habits. I don’t get it in the same way I never got people’s obsession with In N Out. On the other hand, my raging obsession with the Veggie Works Burrito from Del Taco is something most people don’t get either. It brings me back to my days being 16 in my new car, late at night driving around the desert, grabbing a sloppy burrito before heading home. Oh youth.

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28 Before 28: Get a Facial

16 Jun

In my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

facialFor the “Get a Facial” item on my list, I didn’t think much about it other than knowing that it is supposed to be relaxing. I bought a Groupon, and after weeks of working a ton of overtime and dealing with general life stress, I decided to treat myself. I had picked a small Asian spa in my neighborhood about two blocks from my apartment.

I show up to a spa which is a renovated office. Each spa room a former cubicle. As the tiny Asian girl leads me into my room, I realize I have no idea what a facial consists of or what is about to happen to me. I lay down on the cot in my cubicle and wait. My mind drifted to an existential state of “What am I actually doing here?” and “Why do people get facials?” and, of course, “I’d rather be reading my book right now.”

Eventually the lady came in and began my facial. Soooo, it’s just a face massage. They put lotions and whatnot on your face and then massage your face. It felt nice, but I’ve never been stressed or tired and thought that I wanted my face to get rubbed. On this particular day, my shoulders, back, and legs were killing me from working a 55 hour work week on my feet. But my face felt fine. After the face massage, she put some sort of lotion and mask on me and told me to wait there for about 20 minutes. She went to the next cubicle over to call someone on speakerphone. I listened to them yell at each other in some Asian language, worried that in the midst of relationship drama, my facial lady would forget the poor white girl in the cubicle over.

She did return, though. And it was about five more minutes of her trying to sell me a gamut of different facial treatments.

“I guess you have fine skin.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
“I can put some sunscreen on? You very pale?”
“Okay.”

I tipped her and left. I feel as though I found yet another thing that is something most girls enjoy that I consider a waste of my time and money. That’s an hour of reading I could have gotten done. That’s money that could have bought beers and some jalapeno poppers at a bar with friends. I doubt there will be any more facials in my future.

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28 Before 28: Visit the Statue of Liberty

27 May

In my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

20140527-123909-45549125.jpg I continue my bucket list of touristy things to do in New York with this classic gem.

In making the journey out to Liberty Island, I wanted full access to the statue which has been closed on and off since 9/11. Access to the crown has become limited, and they only allow 200 people up per day. Lucky for me, my boyfriend knew about this, and we went online to buy tickets…in February. The demand for crown access includes about a three month waiting period.

Finally our day arrived. It was a perfect May day to spend out on the water and in the sunlight. The boat was, of course, packed with tourists, as was the island itself. The park is spread out and there is plenty of space to enjoy the nice weather and the views.

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View of Manhattan from the base of the statue.

We made our way through security and handed the park ranger our tickets.

“Wow, crown access!” he said, pulling us aside. We weren’t allowed to bring anything with us except for our phones in our pockets. I was nervous about the stairs to the top, so I insisted on taking the elevator to the pedestal. The 360 views from the pedestal are impressive, but we were anxious to get up to the crown. We went to the park ranger guarding the staircase to the crown and handed him our tickets.

“No more access to the crown today,” he said before his mouth broke into a smile and he started laughing. “Just joking with you! The question IS who wants to stare at whose heiney?” I offered to go first.

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View of the staircase up to the crown.

The staircase is narrow, and being the weak sloth I am, I was nervous about making it all the way up. But it really wasn’t too bad! I had been told it was 300+ stairs to the crown, but that count must include the stairs to the pedestal, since I only counted around 200. It went by quickly, and we found ourselves in the crown. The nice thing about the limited access is that we had the entire crown to ourselves and two park rangers who were happy to give us information, show us where to take the best pictures, and take pictures of us.

In the crown

In the crown

It’s rare to have a touristy experience without being smothered by other people, their cameras, and their crying children. But this felt like an amazing opportunity. It was a fun day and I’m glad I did it. My favorite picture of the day is from one of the windows of the crown, looking out at Manhattan, one of the spikes of her crown pointing the way.

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How to Use the Ladies Room

21 May
Blurry Bathroom Art

Blurry Bathroom Art

A bizarre epidemic has swept female restrooms, particularly in bars. I’ve been encountering it more and more the past couple of years, and it is on its way to becoming ubiquitous. It strikes women in their twenties, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that women in their thirties are doing it as well. It’s causing unsanitary conditions, and it needs to stop. I’m talking about women hovering when they pee.

Most of us were raised to sit on the toilet, but women, in scores, have decided to not do this in public, but instead to squat over the seat while they urinate. These misguided souls are so disgusted by public bathrooms that they imagine a toilet seat covered in disease-causing germs. This is simply not the case.

To clarify, I’m talking about the seat. The bowl, the flusher, the door handle, the floor. Yes, those areas are riddled with billions of bacteria, and I fear those areas of the bathroom myself. Yet, the seat really isn’t a problem. Our butts do sit on them. But not the germy part of our butts. When sitting on a toilet seat correctly, no genitals or anuses will touch the seat. If you find your nasty bits coming into contact with the seat, you are doing it wrong and should seek out someone you trust to talk to about your problem. If you do it right, only the skin of the thighs, and maybe a little bit of buttocks will come into contact with the seat, not much more skin contact that sitting on a public bench wearing short shorts.

When you hover, you are part of the problem, not the solution. In this hover/squat position, women tend to sprinkle the seat with their urine. Sometimes a gentle mist, sometimes more. I’ve had friends defend themselves to me saying that they wipe it down after they’re done. You are still wiping urine off of what would otherwise be a clean seat. Unless you’re wiping it down with Lysol wet naps, you are still leaving the toilet seat more germy that when you began.

The toilet is an engineering marvel, making all our lives easier. The beauty of it is that if you sit down, your vagina and anus are hovering in air, not touching or contaminating anything. Your urine falls perfectly into the bowl and is flushed away. If we all peed while sitting on the seat, no one would have to errantly sit on a damp seat in a darkened stall.

So by all means, be a germaphone who carries around hand sanitizer and uses paper towels to touch door handles. Indulge yourself. Just stop being a menace to society and sit down when you pee. Learn to pee like a lady.

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28 Before 28: Do a Circle Line Cruise

19 May
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In line to board the boat.

In my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

I love having friends and family come visit me in New York, because it gives me an excuse to do all the touristy things I have never done. The circle line cruise is one of the most touristy things to do in New York, other than those obnoxious double decker buses. My parents were in town and wanted to see the sights. It was a gorgeous May day, not too hot or cold, and no clouds to be seen after what felt like weeks of heavy rains.

View of Lower Manhattan

View of Lower Manhattan

The views were spectacular, and I enjoyed being able to see the city from the water. The guide on the boat provided a steady amount of commentary on what we were seeing and fun facts about the city. To his credit, he tried to warn everyone to stay seated and not rush from one side of the boat to the other, as this would block other people’s views. However, tourists are tourists and once a couple of people started doing it, everyone started doing it. I’d like to say no one in my party was guilty of this, but my father insisted on getting up a couple of times.

Brooklyn Bridge

Brooklyn Bridge

There are a couple of different options for the cruise, and we opted for the 2.5 hour, full island cruise which makes a circle around the entire island of Manhattan. If I had to do it over again, I would have opted for one of the shorter cruises. The northern tip of Manhattan doesn’t have all that much to see or note other than Yankee Stadium (barf) and the tree-filled hillsides of New Jersey. Oh, and this giant “C” painted by students from Columbia.

C for Chrissy

C for Chrissy

I had a blast on the cruise, but I attribute a lot of that to the fact that it was a beautiful day to sit in the sun with my loved ones and cruise along a river, admiring the incredible city I’m so lucky to call home. I also managed to acquire my first sunburn of 2014. Due to the jacket I was wearing and the way I was sitting, I was only burnt on my right hand. The newest in my collection of awkward burns I’ve acquired in my life.

First sunburn of 2014.

First sunburn of 2014.

 

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The Common Sense Factor

13 May
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Penelope. The greatest Golden-doodle I have ever encountered. Photo has nothing to do with this post.

I’m proud to have risen in the ranks at the clinic I work at. It took a long time to be trusted and respected as a good technician. I’m at the point where I function as the head technician on the weekends. About a month ago, we had a position open up. My manager (the true head technician) asked me my opinion on the different interviewees he had. I pushed hard for him to hire a young guy with little experience. On his working interview he showed up early, asked all the right questions, and was fearless in dealing with a cranky cat. My manager chose to hire another applicant instead, a veterinarian from another country who had more experience.

My manager and I debated back and forth about it. His decision came down to the fact that she had more experience and had high education credentials. I am not a manager, so there is not much I could do about his decision. All I could tell him was, “I just worry about the common sense factor.”

Common sense is a simple way of putting it. While most of the world thinks my job is snuggling with adorable animals, it takes a lot more than that. My job can be life and death. Making a small mistake could kill an innocent animal or lead to me or my co-workers being bitten or scratched. We don’t have room for someone who can’t think critically for themselves. A month into training my new co-worker, I find myself being cornered by doctors and other technicians complaining about her. I don’t know what else to do about it. I can teach someone to hold. I can teach someone to operate equipment, to draw blood, to run anesthesia, to perform a dental. But I can’t instill common sense.

It’s been frustrating dealing with someone who takes out their phone to text in the middle of a procedure, who still can’t work the microscope, who isn’t sure how to work the telephone. But those are minor complains compared to the possible disasters that could befall someone who doesn’t think things through.

Last week, we sent her to the reception area to get a dog who had come in on appointment. She was to bring it to the back to be looked over by the doctor. She didn’t look at the chart. She didn’t approach the dog slowly to observe its reaction. All she did was see a cute dachshund and grab it with one hand. The dog snapped at her hand which was not holding him securely, and the dog went tumbling to the ground, falling on its back. The dog wasn’t injured, but the client was furious. The new co-worker complained to me that it tried to bite her, that she didn’t know. I asked her how she didn’t notice the giant “Be Careful” written on the chart, and how she thought the dog would like being carried like a teddy bear.

The job of a veterinary technician requires a lot of thought. I don’t care if she’s book smart or went to a fancy university overseas. Give me that kid from the Bronx with only a high school education who knew how to safely and securely handle a stressed-out, hissing cat. The kid who stayed calm and held that scruff, asked the doctor if he should do something else, who watched the animal carefully to make sure the exam proceeded safely. I could have taught him the blood machine, and the EKG machine. But for the life of me, I can’t teach this woman I’m stuck with common sense.

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28 Before 28: Go to Roller Derby

13 Apr
Melis and I at the free photobooth before the match.

Melis and I at the free photobooth before the match.

In my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

I’m a huge fan of any form of female badassery. And as an avid sports fan, it does bother me a twinge that women’s leagues are ignored in favor of men’s. Men can be amazing sports gods, and women can just be fans.

Tis not the case in roller derby!

Two of my closest lady friends and I went to our first Gotham Girls Roller Derby bout last night. Other than seeing the movie “Whip It” I had no idea what to expect.

Manhattan Mayhem's Jeer-leaders.

Manhattan Mayhem’s Jeer-leaders.

The pageantry of it was by far the best part. The bout we watched was Manhattan Mayhem vs. Bronx Gridlock. Each team had their own Jeer-leaders who would throw beads into the crowd and helped little kids attending make signs for their favorite players. All of the players adopt incredible names such as Sweets McBacon, Full Metal Jackie, and Mayday Malone. Even the refs had fun names like Ref in Peace and TestosteRON Jeremy. I’ve been brainstorming a name for myself  and have only come up with Whammy Wilson, although it’s a work in progress.

Beginning of the jam.

Beginning of the jam.

The derby itself was a little confusing, and we spent a lot of time trying to figure out why teams were getting the points they were. I also assumed there would be more skating. Most “jams” had one skater called a “jammer” trying to push through members of the other team without getting pushed off the track. Once they broke through, they would skate one lap and be allotted points. So most of the time we were watching the skaters not move much, just pushing each other back and forth. I wish I understood the rules better. I think I would have enjoyed it much more.

Hula hoop halftime show.

Hula hoop halftime show.

But I still enjoyed it immensely and want to go more regularly. I found myself cheering for Bronx Gridlock, because I fancy myself an outer borough girl. But my heart and residence has been in Queens, and I’m looking forward to becoming an avid fan of the Queens of Pain. Maybe one day, even becoming a player.

 

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