20 Ways To Trick People Into Thinking You’re Smart…

Frenchy: Hey, Marty, are those new glasses? Marty: Oh yeah, I just got them for school. Don't you think they make me look smarter? Rizzo: Nah, you can still see your face. down your bra?

Frenchy: Hey, Marty, are those new glasses?
Marty: Oh yeah, I just got them for school. Don’t you think they make me look smarter?
Rizzo: Nah, you can still see your face.

1.  Attend art galleries, and act deeply moved when you’re staring face to face with a giant painting of nothing but a big black dot.

2.  Say ‘palate’ whenever referring to your taste in food.

3.  Wear black framed, non-prescription ‘nerd’ glasses.

4.  Live in Brooklyn.

5.  Repeat ideas smart people have said in your presence and pretend that they’re your own.

6.  Use words like, actually, literally, honestly, and personally, at the start of most sentences.

7.  If you watch any reality television, You. Must. Not. Admit. This. EVER.

8.  Tell people your favorite television shows are Homeland, any HBO show (other than True Blood), Downton Abbey, or Breaking Bad.

9.  If you have nothing intelligent to contribute to Facebook, Twitter, etc., at the very least, use these correctly: there, they’re, their, your, you’re, we’re, were, then, than.

10.  Pretend you’re really up on politics, but only read the headlines.

11. Tell people your favorite movies are foreign films, and then name drop at least three titles.  Extra points if you pronounce them correctly.

12.  Hang out at any coffee shop except Starbucks, and preferably one that sells crappy coffee that costs twice as much as the chains.

13.  Shop at independent bookstores, and scour the historical fiction section (hopefully while wearing your black framed nerd glasses.)

14.  Tell people you studied abroad.

15.  Tell people you’ve read lots of books, and name-drop titles like The Importance of Being Earnest, Ulysses, A Tale of Two Cities, The Odyssey, The Old Man and the Sea, etc.

16.  Talk about Freud and drop at least one of his theories into conversation at a dinner party.

17.  Say you love every Woody Allen movie whenever given the chance.

18.  Use the word ‘juxtaposed’ in a sentence correctly.

19.  Use words like layered, texture, ripe, raw and supple when describing music.  Bonus points if you can use any of those words to describe Bon Iver’s music.

20.  When drinking red wine with friends, first refer to the taste as full-bodied and complex, then once you really have their attention, talk about how you love the hints of oak and cedar wood.

~The End.

Pictures courtesy of IMDB

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To Spill Or Not To Spill…

Do you ever get sick of yourself?  Like, when you’re talking, and suddenly you just want to scream, “Blah!  I don’t wanna talk about me anymore!  I’m over myself today!”  This happens to me a lot when I’m working at the salon, and mostly because I feel like so much of my day revolves around talking about my life.  I think other hair stylists will agree, when women are at the beauty salon they want to gossip, and let me tell you, I’ve heard some cray cray stuff in my time as a stylist.  What always surprises me, though, is how much clients want to know about me. Their questions range from personal to general, but I find that more often than not, I’m asked these questions: What brought you to New York? How long have you been married? How did you meet your husband?  What does your husband do?  Where do you live?  Do you want children?

Sometimes I feel like these ladies are looking at me all like:

You know you want to.

You know you want to.

I really don’t mind sharing things about my personal life, but sometimes it gets exhausting.  It can feel good to talk about myself and therapeutic to share stories, but there are other instances where divulging too much has made me feel overexposed.  I remember telling one client about the time Matt got really sick when we were living in Grenada and how scared I was.  An almost stranger knew about one of the most terrifying moments of my life, and I felt really weird about it afterward.

I think sharing personal anecdotes are one of the big ways women connect with each other (and human beings in general).  Women are emotional creatures, I get it, and I am very emotional, but I do find as I get older, I’m turning into more of a dude.  I don’t really like to have super long conversations on the phone anymore, I can’t stand gossip, and I’ve started to take things at face value more.  Maybe it’s because I live with a dude, maybe it’s because I’m content with where I am in my life, or maybe I simply spent my entire 20′s analyzing myself, and now at 30 I’m spent.  Either way, it’s safe to say I’m just not that into me anymore.  I mean, I love myself as I believe every confident person should, but I just don’t care to brag about how awesome my life is.

I guess I’m too busy living.

~The End.

Photo by Anne Taintor.

It’s Just How It Is (according to me)…

Everyone is dazzled by a French accent.  It’s just how it is.

Just ask Brigitte Bardot.

If you don’t believe me, just ask Brigitte Bardot.

You may find yourself appreciating things like stewed meat, beets, capers, meatloaf, fiber supplements, etc. after reaching the age of 30.  It’s just how it is.

If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would willfully eat a beet salad I would've said you'd gone cray cray.

If someone had told me 10 years ago that I would willfully eat a beet salad I would’ve said you’d gone cray cray.

Most people think they’re smarter, more talented, better looking, funnier, etc. than they actually are.  It’s just how it is.

Said most people.

Unfortunately said by most people.  If you disagree, you’re probably one of ‘em.  Sorry to break it to ya.

Cancer really, really sucks.  It’s just how it is.

Everyone already knows it.

Enough said.

One day you might realize that Hall and Oats is a highly underrated band that makes you want to bust a groove.  You might come to this conclusion at a wedding reception when the band is playing Rich Girl, or maybe it might occur to you while listening to the radio in your car, but it will most definitely not happen until after the age of at least 25.  It’s just how it is.

Hall and Oats

Love the handlebar mustache.

Listen here to:  Rich Girl

Mixed tapes are highly underrated.  It’s just how it is.

Screen shot 2013-03-30 at 6.13.41 PM

Charlie from Perks of Being a Wallflower would back me up on this (if he were a real, living human being.)

Taylor Swift dates too many dudes and writes too many songs about them.  It’s just how it is.

I'm not hating, though, Tay-Tay.  I still heart your music very much.

I’m not hating, though, Tay-Tay. I still heart your music very much.

Everyone has a mirror face and it’s awkward for everyone else witnessing it, except for the person making the mirror face.  It’s just how it is.

Kim K. is a perfect example.  Naturally.

Kim K. is naturally a perfect example.

Detroit (my hometown) is so much cooler than anyone gives it credit for.  It’s just how it is.

The D

Period.

Teenage drama is and will always be the worst kind of drama no matter how old you get.  It’s just how it is.

See what I mean?

See what I mean?

The accordion is an extremely annoying instrument that is not at all pleasing to the ear. It’s just how it is.

Sorry all you accordion lovers...

Sorry all you accordion lovers…

Everybody wants to rule the world.  It’s just how it is.

Right?  Right.

Right? Right.

Every girl born in the 80′s tried to form their own Babysitters Club when they were a tween.  It’s just it is (or was).

How it all began...

You know you all did it.

No one really knows who coined the term “catfish” or what it has to do with being a scumbag online.  It’s just how it is.

He's looking at you, Mante Teo.

He’s looking at you, Manti Te’o.

~The End

Photos by http://solo-vintage.tumblr.com/post/30864230906/hoodoothatvoodoo-brigitte-bardot-photo-by, http://tastefoodblog.com/2011/06/26/roasted-beets-with-feta-mint-and-pistachios/, http://awakeningcounseling.com/blog_01/hello-world/, http://www.discogs.com/viewimages?release=1790330, http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/one%20winter, http://www.hollyscoop.com/taylor-swift/complete-guide-taylor-swifts-boyfriends.html, http://weheartit.com/entry/35517184/via/joy_sandra#, http://detroitlives.org/2011/01/14/friday-photo-run-long-live-detroit/, http://i.imgur.com/s7aMEw8.png, http://media-cache-is0.pinimg.com/originals/47/12/22/471222d7b0bcd02fda31b5c90d5ca3e6.jpg, www.monsterpop.com.br

Leo, You Just Don’t Do It For Me Anymore….And Other Ways I Realized I Was Growing Up.

I was like any typical fifteen year old growing up in the late 1990′s.  I was in love with Leonardo DiCaprio.  Swoon.  I mean, wasn’t he just so dreamy in Romeo and Juliet, and forget about Titanic, um…to die for!
My walls were lined with posters of Leo like this one.

Oh, Leo, “you kiss by the book.”

Just when every teenage girl thought they couldn’t love Leo anymore, Titanic came out.  The combination of Jack and Rose’s courtship, highlighted with the haunting score of violins playing in the background as they stood together at the front of the boat intertwining hands was almost too much for any young girls heart.

C’mon, who doesn’t remember this scene?  It was epic.

I mean, could Leo be anymore dreamy than he already was.  Why, yes, yes he could, and he did it so well, didn’t he?

Back then, Leo was my go-to celeb crush, and it stayed that way well into my twenties.  I remember catching Titanic on TBS or some other cable channel, and having to stop whatever I was doing to experience Jack and Rose’s love affair one more time (and probably for the thousandth time.)

Recently I flipped the television on to find Leo’s face as none other than Jack Dawson staring back at me.  I got excited when I discovered that the movie had just started.  Matt was at work, my homework was done, and I had nothing else on my agenda but watching Titanic.

Fifteen minutes went by and I couldn’t help but have the following thoughts:

“Geez, Leo’s a bit scrawny, eh?”

“He looks like he’s about sixteen.”

“This movie is kind of corny.”

I continued to watch and willed myself to enjoy it, but I found that I was distracted.  I was checking my email, texting Matt, and going on Facebook.  Could it be…Was I over Leo?

After an hour of Titanic, I couldn’t deny it anymore.  I was not only over Leo, but I couldn’t understand how I was ever into him to begin with.  He was skinny and feminine, his hair was greasy, and he seemed immature to me now.

This could only mean one thing:  I had grown out of Leo.

And Leo isn’t the only thing I’ve grown out of.  As I approach thirty, I’ve been noticing other things that I’m over…

Journaling:

I used to live for jotting down my feelings in notebooks.  I haven’t done it in years, but recently when we moved into our new apartment, I came across a journal from about seven years ago.  There was a quote scribbled on the cover, and as I read it, I couldn’t help but feel that it was indulgent, childish, and dramatic.  As I held it in my hand, I cringed so much that I wanted to burn it or throw it away.  I never did get rid of it and instead tucked it away into a drawer, but not without looking up who coined the awful quote first.  When I googled it, I found that it was none other than the bratty Avril Lavigne.  Figures. I don’t have any intention of starting another journal anytime soon; I guess I’m just kind of over it, and that’s what my blog is for now.  I can only hope that a few years from now I don’t look back on this thing and cringe….

PDA:

So, I’m not talking about a little hand holding.  Holding hands is totally fine by me.  Matt and I hold hands all the time.  What I am talking about are the groping teenagers on the subway, sitting on their boyfriends laps and making out, as his hand creeps up the back of her shirt.  Gross.  Something has happened to me over the last few years.  Public displays of affection make me uncomfortable.  It used to not bother me at all, but now…well, it makes me want to look away or scream, “Where is your mother when you’re behaving that way?”

Loud Music:

I used to listen to my music really, really loud.  However, now I can’t stand to have music blaring loud.  I can’t concentrate.  I can’t think.  It makes me want to rip my hair out.  I also don’t like shopping at places where they play music too loud, because get this, I can’t shop properly!  Recently I went into Abercrombie and Fitch and between the screaming music, extremely strong perfume that they spray all over everything, and the dim lighting, I didn’t last but thirty seconds.  There is proof that my distaste for the store has everything to do with my age, because I loved that store something terrible not even ten years ago.

Pork:

So, you’re probably going, “Pork?!!  Huh???”  But yeah…pork.  This is perhaps the biggest sign of me being a real grown up.  When I was younger I used to loathe pork chops.  Like, with a passion.  When my mom would make it for dinner, she would have to make me a hot dog because I refused to eat it.  In the last two years, I’ve noticed my tastes in food changing; a little gorgonzola here (which I used to hate) a little goat cheese there (which I used to think tasted like feet, but now love), but perhaps the most shocking change has been pork.  Sometimes when I’m eating it, I’m like, “Who am I?” I used to vow to never ever eat pork, but here I am, eating pork and developing the palate of, well, an older and more adult-ish person.

~The End

Pictures by IMDB

Words With Trends.

***WARNING*** 

This post is a rant.

I have a confession.  Sometimes I get really, really annoyed with my generation.  I don’t mean to be a traitor or anything, but I can’t help myself.  In my daily life, as well as the internet on sites like Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest, I see the same trendy fads and phrases popping up nearly everywhere.  It’s like one day they’re not there, and then POOF, they’re EVERYWHERE.

So, I have to get this off of my chest…

I bring you…

My Top 5 Most Loathed Words With Trends:

1. Swag

As in, “He’s got killer swag.”

Oh, “swag”, I loathe you most of all.

Swag, swag, swag…Before ‘swag’ I never knew that I was capable of loathing a word so much.  I don’t know what it means, and to be honest with you, I really don’t care.  All that I really know is that I cringe every time someone uses it in reference to a virtue, and if I never heard the word muttered from any other human beings lips for the rest of my life, I would be a very happy girl.

2. Fingerstaches

Can we stop this? Please?

Can we talk about fingerstaches for a second?  I’d honestly like to know why, when, and where this mustache fetish started?  Not only is the term for this horrendous trend ridiculous, but I find the whole “let me hold up my finger with a fake mustache drawn on it” really sort of dumb.  I have actually seen people with a tattoo of this absurd fad, and I can’t help but think, “C’mon, seriously?!”  I mean, I get it, it was funny for about two seconds…wait, no it wasn’t.  It was never funny.  Ever.  So, can we all resolve to stop this mayhem?

3. Awesome Sauce

As in, “Dinner was totally awesome sauce!”

I’m cringing just reading this.

Oh…’awesome sauce,’ I really don’t like you.  This is one that didn’t bother me much in the beginning, but then I started hearing it, and then I started hearing it some more, and then I started hearing it so much, in reference to so many people, places, and things, that it made me want to rip my hair out.  Why can’t something just simply be awesome?  Try it.  It feels good to say something is just plain awesome.  It’s sincere.  It’s effective.  If I had the choice, I’d never hear ‘awesome sauce’ again, unless of course, it was in reference to a sauce that was actually awesome, like Frank’s RedHot, then it would be entirely acceptable.

4. Adorkable

As in, “She’s so super adorkable.”

The gal who inspired the craze.

I admire Zooey Deschanel.  She’s quirky, whimsical, and she’s also really, really smart.  She has marketed herself as the cute-dress wearing, 60′s inspired, unique actress who stars in the coolest independent films.  Plus, she has really great bangs, but that’s not the point.  The fact is, there is no other actress out there like her, and she did a great job at setting herself apart.  Genius.  You want to know what’s not genius?  The dumb stigma that someone labeled her with- “Adorkable.”  Yes, she is adorable, and she might even be a bit of a dork in her free time, but can we just call her what she really is?  A very smart business woman.

5. (Insert adjective and select a gender here) problems.

As in, “Being too short to see out of the peephole of your front door = Short girl problems.” (By the way, that happened to me.)

I blame you, Jersey Shore.

So, it all started with Jersey Shore, as most annoying sayings do.  Pauly D referred to Snookie and Co. as having “meatball problems” when bad fortune started to come their way.  That was it.  A mania was born.  Suddenly you couldn’t go on Facebook without someone lamenting about their, “short girl problems,” or “tall guy problems,” or “nerd girl problems,” and so on and so forth.  Everyone wanted in on the action, and it became, well, exhausting.  So, I have to ask, can we just keep all of our whatever guy/girl problems to ourselves?  Please?

~The End.

Pictures by Ghettoredhot, Pinterest, shortgirlprbs.tumblr.com

My Ode to Snoop Dogg (if he should ever read this)…

What’s that you say, Snoop?

Dear Snoop D-O-Double G,

I want to hereby thank you for preparing me with the knowledge of knowing what to do in  situations that involve the 5-0 (aka the cops). You see, the other day I took ride to CVS to pick up a prescription for my husband.  After completing my purchase, I exited the store, got into my car, and proceeded to pull out of my parking spot.  However, as I was doing so, I glanced down at the prescription I had just bought, and started second-guessing whether I had picked up the right one.  So, what does any good wife do?  She texts her hubby to make sure, of course!  As I was texting, though, a police car suddenly pulled up beside me, and I started to freak.  I’m no dummy; I know it’s against the law to be texting and driving, but the thing was, I wasn’t technically driving, so I wasn’t sure what to do.

Snoop Dogg, just like an angel from above, I heard your voice say to me, “When the pigs try to get at ya- Park it like it’s hot/ Park it like it’s hot/ Park it like it’s hot,” and I calmly pulled back into my parking spot and turned the ignition off.

And can I just tell you, Snoop Dogg, you were so right.  The police officers looked into my car at me, and I was like, “What?” because I knew there was nothing they could do about it.  I was in a parked vehicle, and I wasn’t breaking the law.

So, I just wanted to say thank you for indirectly providing me with the tools I needed on that fateful day, because to be completely honest with you, I had no idea that a song I listened to on repeat in my beaten down Ford Tempo back in 2004, would be so influential on my life.

So, thank you, Snoop Dogg.

Your fan,

Sarah Palma

~The End

Photo by fanpop.com

I’m In A New York State Of Mind…

Have you ever noticed how many delusional people exist to this world?  I’ve always said that New York is a sort of Mecca for people with unrealistic expectations, and the kind of place where it’s okay to dream really big.  In fact, you can’t not be a dreamer and survive in New York.  Just think of the teeny, tiny apartments that cost thousands of dollars a month to live in, and all the inconveniences that go along with New York living; having multiple roommates so that you can cover rent, grocery stores that are miles away, five and six-story walk ups, schlepping heavy laundry for blocks in the dead of winter.  Why would anyone go through all this?  It’s simple.  Because there is no greater place to make big things happen in your life than New York City.  Period.  I guarantee every person you pass on a bustling, taxi-honking street has some sort of dream or expectation about being in New York.  Whether it’s to star in a Broadway show someday, become chief editor of the New York Times, hit it big in the corporate world, become a famous blogger, become a famous fashion designer, publish a best-selling novel, write a screenplay that will win you an Oscar, etc. etc…And I should know, because as you may have already guessed, a few of my biggest dreams were mixed in there.  You see, this massive fool’s paradise is probably why I love New York so much to begin with, because let’s face it, I’m a little delusional, too.

You’ve heard the old adage about New York:  “If I can make it there (insert robust drum beat here) I’ll make it anywhere.  It’s up to you, New York, New York.”

Obviously this guy made it in New York…just look at him.

Everyone has also heard the success stories about making it big in New York, but the one thing nobody ever seems to talk about, are the thousands of people who come here year after year who don’t make it.  They’re the people who New York eats up and spits out.  They’re the same people who once got goosebumps while listening to those Frank Sinatra lyrics, but can no longer bear to hear the song.  They are those that slowly fade into the distance or simply “go back home” eventually.

My pondering on the subject started last night on my subway ride home from work.  There was this early twenty-something-year-old girl sitting nearby on an extremely crowded, yet surprisingly quiet rush hour train.  Her friend was standing in front of her and they were sharing an iPod as they listened to music.  Suddenly at the top of her lungs she decided to act out an entire scene from what I presumed was Mary Poppin’s, complete with both male and female roles (including an astonishingly bad imitation of some sort of British accent.)  She totally got her wish; every person in the subway car stopped what they were doing to stare.  Her routine climaxed when she impersonated a crash, which highlighted her ability to do sound effects as well.  Her male friend, a seemingly sweet and quiet type, stood there looking slightly embarrassed by the spectacle, but remained supportive as he said, “That was amazing.”  She replied, “I know, acting out the scene in its entirety is part of the process I go through before a big audition.”

I really wish my story ended here, but unfortunately it didn’t.  When she was done with the show tune extravaganza, she moved on to Nicki Minaj, so that we all could see that she was a gal of many talents, including rapping.  She rapped the entire song of “Super Bass” and also sang the hook as loud and as tone-deaf as her voice could carry her.  All the while, her friend stood there, ear phone in one ear, trying his best to look carefree, even though his cheeks had turned a slight shade of pink from embarrassment.  She paid no attention and was thoroughly engrossed in her rap, when she suddenly stopped and stated the following: “I watch every interview I can find of Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj, and do you wanna know what all of them have in common?

Girl’s Friend:  “What?”

Girl:  They both say that they like to impersonate characters every day of their lives, because it makes life more interesting, and because they love standing out.  Isn’t that just like me?

Girl’s Friend:  Totally.

Girl:  (smug) I guess that must mean I am going to be famous someday, too.

Girl’s Friend:  Yup.

Just as this conversation wrapped up, it was time for me to hop off the subway.  On my walk home I couldn’t help but envision all the rude awakenings that I was sure this girl was going to get, and I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her, too.  I guess I could see some of my younger self in her…Untainted confidence, hopefulness, and even though she was extremely annoying to me after a long day at work, I could still admire something about her.  She believed in herself.  Wholeheartedly.  I had to give her credit for that.

Maybe not everyone makes it in New York, and maybe some people do eventually fade into the dust, but I guess everyone has to figure it out on their own.  Still, I hope someday I can say that I made it…really made it…in New York.

~The End.

Photos by Pinterest.

Sometimes Being a Grown-Up Means…

Being (genuinely) happy when good things happen for other people.

Using a lint roller to look more presentable.

Learning from past mistakes.

Not wishing that you looked like someone else, were someone else, had someone else’s brains, body, bank account, job, etc.

Eating your vegetables.

Being flexible (and this has nothing to do with yoga, but more to do with giving and taking.)

Being fifteen minutes early (not late) for work.

Wearing sunscreen.

Not always having to get your own way.

Being honest about your flaws, and either embracing them or changing them.

Giving up on always being right.

Putting up with people and/or things that you don’t like (with a smile.)

Paying your bills (on time.)

Overlooking others faults and trusting that they’re probably just trying to do their best too.

Admitting when you’re wrong (and apologizing.)

Remembering your loved ones birthdays.

Giving up your seat on the train, bus, etc. for an elderly, disabled, or pregnant person (happily not grudgingly.)

Making sure to eat breakfast in the morning.

Not blaming other people for your problems.

Taking care of yourself emotionally and physically.

Flossing.

Drinking responsibly.

Going to work even when you don’t feel well.

Respecting other people’s time.

Listening (really listening) without thinking about what you’re going to say next.

~The End.

Picture by: http://thebottomoftheironingbasket.blogspot.com/2010/10/best-kind-of-juggling.html

Say Hello To My Little Friend…

Well, many of you told me that I was crazy and I have to admit, I sort of knew you were right.  A few months ago I wrote a post called Six Things I Might Never Understand and it got a lot of traffic.  On one day alone I had over 4,000 views, and every one of those readers heard about how much I disliked phone games, and how I don’t understand how anyone else can like them either.  I went as far as to give examples, Angry Birds, Words With Friends, etc., and almost every one of you told me how I was missing out, but I still wasn’t convinced.

However, something happened between then and now, over the course of four months to be exact.  I fell in love.  I fell in love with a game, but not just any game.  I fell in love with a GASP a phone game.  DrawSomething.

For those of you not familiar with DrawSomething, essentially it is a modern-day Pictionary where you draw on an iPad or phone screen with your finger.  You can play it with your Facebook friends, or if no one you know in the real world is around, you can play a complete stranger somewhere out in the internet universe.

My interest in DrawSomething started out innocently enough.  I played a few times on Matt’s iPad and I enjoyed it.  My pictures were simple, and I didn’t put much thought into them.  However, something happened.  Friends started finding me on DrawSomething and initiating games.  You could say my obsession with the game sneaked up on me without me even realizing it, because pretty soon I was playing regularly.  Little by little my pictures became more intricate.  I would sometimes spend twenty minutes on a single game, creating a masterpiece.  I purchased more colors other than the standard black, red, yellow, and blue.  I was playing sometimes four to five games a day.  I would wake up thinking about DrawSomething, and without even asking, Matt would simply hand over his iPad to me with a knowing glance.  I wouldn’t go to bed without checking to see if any of my opponents had drawn me a picture back.  Soon I had to face it, I was involved in a full-blown relationship with DrawSomething.

I felt like such a fraud.  Hadn’t I claimed to thousands of readers that I hated phone games?  I rationalized my fixation, saying that technically it wasn’t a phone game, for me anyway, because I was playing it on an iPad.  After a while I knew I had to face the truth, and more importantly face my readers.  I had to tell you all that I have converted to the other side where people like phone games.  I don’t know if DrawSomething is an exception to my rule, or if there will ever be another phone game that I like as much.  Either way, let me go on the record as saying that I like DrawSomething.  I like it a lot.

Here are some of my highlights:

Bonjovi

Scarface

Pinecone

Hamburger, fries, and Coke.

Skeleton

Does anyone else love DrawSomething as much as I do?

~The End.

How Sarah Got Her Groove Back.

So, Matt and I finally made it back to New York.  We are settling in quite nicely, and I have wasted no time getting back into the swing of things.  Like, work for instance.  We only got back last Friday, but I couldn’t wait to get back to my job.

As some of you know, before Matt and I moved to Grenada so he could attend medical school, I worked as a hair stylist in the city for years.  One of the hardest things about living overseas was not being able to work.  Because jobs are scarce in Grenada, Americans are not allowed to legally work, so I was left to my own devices, which usually included me doing hair cuts in our teeny apartment for other medical students.  It actually became a pretty lucrative business, if you ask me, and I managed to keep up my skills as best I could while away for two years.

Now that I’m back in New York, New York, the city that never sleeps, the place where dreams are made…and broken, I was eager to get my groove back, and start wielding those scissors (not violently, just cutting hair) again.

New York, New York...Ain't nowhere else like it...

So, I kind of thought I was going to go back to my old routine, without skipping a beat…you know just pop back in where I left off?  But I must confess, I skipped a beat, or a few beats for that matter.

The night before my first day back at work, I couldn’t sleep.  I tossed and turned, having nightmares of over sleeping and being late for work.  When my alarm finally went off at 5:30 AM I felt like I hadn’t slept a wink.  I got out of bed like a zombie, hurried up and got ready, and managed to down a cup of coffee before Matt drove me to the train that takes me into the city for work.

While buying my ticket for the train, I fumbled, as three people impatiently waited behind me for the train that was to arrive in three minutes.  Suddenly I felt like the “out of towners” that I used to get so fed up with back when I was in my New York groove.  Back then, if someone was in front of me that didn’t know exactly what to select of the touch screen to buy their ticket, I would mumble something under my breath to hurry them along, and then grunt something like, “Tourists,” as I scoffed away, coffee in hand, scarf thrown around my neck.  P.S.  I am sorry to any of the people I did this, too.  Just know that I got pay back yesterday, and I totally deserved it.

When I got off the train, I walked up to the little coffee stand on the street, where I used to order my uj, a small coffee with vanilla coffee cream.

Look at all those delish treats...

However, much to my chagrin, the coffee man who used to know me so well, didn’t so much as blink my way.  I was really hoping for one of those custard-filled donuts that he used to so kindly give me for free back when I was a New Yorker, but yesterday I got nothin.’

When I walked into work, I immediately saw some of my peeps, and things quickly started to turn around.  It was so good to see some of my old friends, and everyone was so welcoming.  Before I knew it, I had a client, and it was time to start doing some hair.

Let me just tell you, I only had four clients yesterday, but by the time I was finished I felt like I had run a marathon (not that I would know what that feels like).  I was so absolutely exhausted, that it took me all night, and all of today to recover.  The pure exhaustion took me back to the days when I was first doing hair in New York, and how I would go home at night and just crash, sometimes still in my work clothes.

While riding the train home yesterday, I began to marvel at the stamina I used to have. Around the time I left for Grenada, I could work non-stop for nine hours, and not feel a thing.  I could work a busy Saturday, then go home and go out to dinner with Matt, watch a movie, then go shopping, etc, etc.  I was like a fine-tuned machine!  I think it’s safe to say, I wasn’t a machine yesterday.  I was more like a car that needed some jumper cables.

Despite my elderly-esque exhaustion today, I really feel like I got my groove back yesterday.  I survived my first day back to work, after not working for two whole years, and I didn’t get eaten alive.

And any real New Yorker knows that’s an accomplishment.

~The End.

Photos by elizabeth-aboutnewyork.blogspot.com and pinterest.