First DMV Trip.. I could end the post right here...

Welcome back everybody. I have been slacking this week on my "firsts," but boy do I have a story for y'all! I have been struggling lately trying to decide whether to stay a resident of Ohio, or become -GASP- a QUEENS resident.... Yeah, I guess I'm a New Yorker now...one day though, one day I will be a Manhattanite-the True Yorker ;)

So, I decided I would take what my big boss calls a "Cough Cough" day. That's when you're "sick" from working the weekend or working too many extra hours that week. It just wears your immune system down...lol I only took half the day though because I was feeling like I might be sick Friday afternoon. Ha. I was never more sick than when I left the DMV.

Okay, so I specifically researched the DMV locations closest to me. One was very close, but I don't have a bullet proof vest yet (its on order) so I couldn't go to that one. Then, there is one in Long Island, too far for only half a cough-cough day. I was left with one choice, the one semi-close with parking (thankfully-or so I thought). It takes about 10 minutes to get to the building. Not long to go 2 miles right? I pull in to get my ticket..you have to PAY to park at the DMV....... I know its New York, but really? And the best part of that is, while the DMV takes cash, credit, welfare checks, food stamps and basically every other kind of payment inside, the parking booth takes cash only. That was a sign of how the rest of the visit was going to go.

So I'm super irritated already and I ask if there is an ATM. Of course there is.. in the next building door in a grease shack. Great. Anyway, I got there around 930 and the doors opened at 830. When I walked in, it was filled. Imagine a mega church sanctuary, rows and rows of pews. That was what the front half of the building was designed. The back half, where you actually walk in was about 15 rows of people in line to see TWO tellers. Yes TWO. My blood pressure was steadily on the rise. I gritted my teeth and thanked the Lord for Internet on the Iphone. Little did I know I had two more lines ahead of me, equally as long and equally as tedious! Like a good New Yorker, I had already printed, signed, and prepared my forms so all I had to do was show up.. so I thought.

After an hour and 15 minutes in the first line, I walk up to the teller and she politely examines my forms, initials them and tells me to get in ANOTHER line, moving twice as slow because it is a Photo line, with thrice as many people in it. Meanwhile, there is a group of non-English speakers (probably 15 of them) walking around trying to find an interpreter.. only to cut the line once they found one. I'm sure I was in a prehypertension FIT. To make matters worse, I had been next to the scum of the earth for about 3/4 of the time. And when I say scum, I am being very nice. There were two boys behind me (by boys I mean males in their 20s) who were at the DMV I guess because the bus just happened to stop in front of it. One of them appeared to be a Caucasian and the other an African American male. The entire time they continued to talk about "nigga this, nigga that, nigga nigga nigga" and that was what the white boy was saying. The Black boy responded in turn as if nothing wrong had been said. They talked about various topics, including bitches and hoes, they grabbed at their crotches. It was pretty much the most foul situation. I felt like I was in a boys' locker room at a halfway house. Anyway after another hour and 45 minutes, I get my picture taken. HA! WOO. Can't wait to see if I am smiling it... Then, on to the next line. By the way, the guys were there getting permits..

So at that point, it was time for me to go to church. I got a number and sat in the pews. My feet worshiped the bench. By that time it was about 12:15pm. I was restless. Thankfully I brought a book (all you do is wait in this town, so you come prepared). However, when I attempted to read, the screaming babies started. The non-attentive mothers let them run, scream, cry, hell they could be terrorists but the mothers would not have known because everyone is on their Boost mobile phones. What happened to the glamour of NY? Oh yeah, Im in Queens. Okay. Moving along.

I finally get my number called (about 1pm). Im so excited that I do not even care that I have wasted my entire cough cough day, my numb, swollen feet are hurting or that I have been surrounded by all my pet peeves for the past 3.5 hours. I run to the counter and the woman greets me with a glance and a demand for my paperwork. I oblige her happily, although she could not care less if the world crashed around her, let alone helping me. We get all the way through the process, she asks for the address. Now, my address is not something that can fit in 20 characters. She just puts the first half on the license card and charges my credit card and hands me back a piece of paper. I just stared at her with a blank face. Then I asked, "where is my license?" She pushed the postcard-sized paper back at me and said "they'll mail it." So basically, the license bureau spent around 4.5 hours of my time to give me a 60-dollar piece of paper, that represents a license that I am not going to receive because they could only print half my address on it. Great. I was fuming. I could not even leave because I had to walk over to the greasy spoon next door and use the ATM which was on wheels to pay $6.00 to a parking lot that should be free.

Now I recognize that the DMV is not going to be pleasant ANYWHERE. But nearly 5 hours, an entire cough cough day, 60 dollars for a piece of paper and a license they don't even give you immediately is too much for me. I don't see Diddy or Mariah standing in a DMV like that.. oh yeah because they have drivers and live in Manhattan.. I <3 NY.

Boy don't try to front, I know just what you are....Womanizah!

Well well well. I've been pondering over what to write this week and while nothing major has happened on the "New York Firsts" front that I am trying to stick to on this blog, some things have been happening personally. Yeah, you guessed it. I am going to write about "relationships-and the lack of them" I warned you, you can look away if you want to, but here I go on the NY Dating scene. Or maybe I should say the New York-I see a smart-young-female-withaJOB-and-living-alone-So-I-should-take-advantage-scene.

I have been in NY for about a month and I must say it is teeming with seemingly, let me stress that again seemingly, available men. And, I will add that several of them have not been afraid to speak, hence NYPD. So, recently I've met a few native New Yorkers--not Manhattanites, but New Yorkers (there is a difference). I want to get into specifics, but I can't do that without extreme embarrassment on their part, and while I do not have many readers, you just can't trust these people not to stalk you..LOL. But I will give the necessary details of their horrible traits..

Alright, so one guy I know does not have a car. No big deal really in NYC except that in the areas like Queens, Bronx, etc the subway stops are all located near, dare I say, less than safe neighborhoods (again with the exception of Manhattan. In fact, lets just ignore the fact that Manhattan even exists for this post). So sure they can get around easily on the trains and buses. However, I find it difficult to swallow when someone asks you out to dinner, but tells you to drive. What? I am sure anyone can imagine the look on my face when this guy asked me that. First of all, you're asking me out on a date and basically saying to pick you up instead of making arrangements or ASKING if we can meet or something--and HE KNOWS I am not from here and its impossible to park anywhere. Trifling.

So another person I randomly met (there's a lot of opportunity to meet people randomly when you get lost every minute you try to drive somewhere here) was very nice. Respectful, funny, and attractive would all be words I would use to describe him. Oh yeah and psycho. After our first interaction and several calls later (yeah my ego was gettin' big) I decided we could get together and hang out at my apartment. WRONG! BAD! HORRIBLE IDEA! He comes over and everything is cool, until he asks me if I would mind him moving in with me. LOL. After my initial reaction, and it really was a laugh-out-loud, I told him he didn't know me and that I am not that type of woman. I would have to be engaged to even consider something like that. And that is when he LOL'ed. Trifling**. And this dude is extra trifling for being over the age of 29. Trifling, with a side of Desperation.

These situations are humorous to me, but I do have to admit when more than one person or thing comes into your life that you do not want, you have to ask yourself what about you is attracting that person. I wonder is it?...

-My Southern Drawl (In case you didnt know, now I'm from the South because I am from Ohio-get a map idiots and a speech therapist. I'm from the same area where newcasters from around the world train to speak using CLEVELAND OHIO Dialect!)
-an addendum to this one... people also tend to think I am stupid because of how I speak..often explaining things over and over when I assured them I understand and do not have a hearing problem.

-My thicker-than-average, Fick (fat and thick mixed), body shape--apparently NY men seem to think its interesting because everyone around here is either stick thin, or morbidly overweight, I am a happy medium it seems.

-My braces smile. People are always talking about it, like good teeth are something unheard of in the area (and it seems kinda true, the water is not that great).

-My smiling, head-nodding, generally friendly (yes, here I am considered FRIENDLY..lol) salutations and greetings, even to people I don't know, even when they give me dirty looks or act like they didn't see me or hear me.

And I think that is about all. I mean, no one really knows me or anything else about me so what else can I say? I guess I know how to attract 'em (said with my best Southern accent).

NY dating scene = Trifling**

**1. (adj.) Describing a situation, person, or event that is pathetic.

i.e."Man, you didn't wash yo' a$$ after sleeping with that girl?! You just triflin'!!"

urbandictionary.com definition--not that I would ever use this as a reference, but it seemed fitting for the post :)

Oh when its a Roach, I can't even!!

Another first time experience, another bout with my blood pressure. I have been doing many sit-ins and shadowing a lot of people around my office for the sake of learning the ropes at this fine institution. So, this past week in one of my many sit-down-and-look-pretty sessions that I have perfected, my supervisor was at the end of a presentation and was just asking for questions and comments. I was sitting there grinning with my Coach bag between my legs (yes the metallic one with fringe that everyone covets and my old supervisor Kelly hated) and I look across the seat from me, maybe 2 feet away and I shrieked. Yes, in the presentation, although not many people paid much attention as they were starting to stand and exit. A huge ROACH was staring me in the face. I lost my wits about myself and squeezed my full bladder tightly as I got weak in the knees and gripped a seat for balance (all that COKE at lunch did not help the situation).

Roaches? oh its a no-can-do for me.

My supervisor rusehd over to me and asked "What's wrong?!" I could not speak, only point to a HUGE roach and when I say huge, I am talking H-U-G-E! hmm... okay. Think of a piece of dog poop (i know this is gross, but when I explain you will understand). The poop usually has 3 segments to one complete turd. Okay? Well imagine the size of that with two huge antennae sticking out of it. I was beyond words and to further my exasperation, my supervisor walked over and tapped it with a piece of paper. He claimed it was dead--roaches don't die. They can withstand atomic bombs. If that roach just got a whiff of some garbage juice that sucker would be more alive than a bear in the spring time, looking for a fluffy white rabbit to, well you know the rest. Anyway, I grabbed up my bag, wiped the sweat that beaded over my lip and shook out my clothes. I asked my supervisor if those were normal around here. He responded...lol.. I had to let out a laugh, sorry. But he said, " I am sure you have had roaches everywhere you have lived or been." I sucked my teeth and pursed my lips. I simply responded, that I personally have never had a roach in my lifetime and would bet a Benjamin on it. Now, that is not to say I have not seen roaches in other places (pondegrosa..lol)...and some other people's houses, but never have I ever HAD roaches. I was slightly insulted, but he is from SoCal, so they are used to huge pests as well (I guess).

At that point, I was traumatized. I had to pee, I was sweating, I had just been accused of having roaches, and I had just seen a gigantic one in hibernation. My head was pounding (that's my blood pressure) and my supervisor again asked if I were alright, and soon dismissed me to calm down. But how do you calm down from seeing a huge roach and recognizing yet again this is going to be my life? I digress. Roaches, murders, traffic restrictions...ugh. I'm sticking it out though, I guess.

Allow me to reintroduce myself...

I've gone over and over in my mind on whether to write this or leave this experience to the mercy of my memory. I guess I'm not too trusting of my memory. I also haven't written a blog for some time, and not in this particular fashion in a very long time so naturally my writing is rusty-at best. Its also difficult to try to think lately, as I have spent so much time on auto-pilot (you know when you can walk around and exist to others, but really you're just a shell of your old self). I guess I am diving back in and taking hold of my old writing self and reflect some new things about me too! I want this blog to be reminiscent of my new, New York life-including work, love, and whatever else there is besides those two things. So I am going to try to write and recall as much as I can here and I hope its worth reading.

Now some background info. I moved to Queens, more specifically Jamaica, New York for a job at a prestigious private and religious institution. We will see how that works, but I digress. So, I live on-campus in an apartment (I would never have chosen the location, but when it's free, you smile and take it with poise and grace and be thankful for not paying NY rent). There isn't much here in the way of Queens, seeing as its where real New Yorkers, better known as Manhattanites, think "regular" people live. Sadly, they are right..I'm just sad that I am one of the "regulars" now. It also does not help that every person I know in New York (3 females and by "know" I mean I have familiarity with 2 of 'em) live in Brooklyn--apparently the place to live if you're an educated black person--I didn't get that memo. Anyway...

I want this blog to also serve as a record of my "New York Firsts" as my dear, former New-Yorker, friend has encouraged me to consider. And so now, my first first.I have been in the great borough of Queens for approximately two weeks now. Well 13 days to be exact. I have already had to see a doctor, met one of NYPD's finest-a cop, and survived about 5 mental breakdowns. Only one of those is a first though, and that is my cop.

The tepid details of how I met this cop are not important and I will leave them to your imagination. And so it began, I got off work early one day and he picked me up. Seeing since it was his first time in this area (interesting right?) I showed him the campus and naturally, my apartment. It was a nice time, he was cute, and I was thinking, "Oh THANK GOD, I've befriended a male New Yorker and a cop and a single man all rolled into one!" I was thinking that I had hit the jackpot. The man is nice, respectful and a former army man, y'all know that's bonus points in my book. What could go wrong with this? I was thinking its just a match made in heaven. Then a couple bombs drop.........

After some relatively deep and personal information surfaces, we move into the intense and sometimes melodramatic discussion of the number of partners we have both had (some argue this may not be appropriate, but I argue I have to read the risks before I even THINK about taking a healthy dose of some love-medicine!) So, we discuss what we are looking for and then the numbers question just blew up in my face. I thought I would be bold and just put it out there, thinking I am an adult and so is he... until I hear that number; HIS number..........



80.



Sorry, for that space... I still can't believe it. I had a hard time typing it.. so imagine what I felt like hearing it and then trying to control my facial expression, at which I failed miserably. He looked so calm and confident when he said it too and that made it even more shocking to me. After 5 seconds though, I regrouped and said, "Um, Excuse me? Did you say EIGHT-TEEN or EIGHTY?" Yeah, I asked him that..lol

This fine, he-might-be-touting-a-disease-or-two- young man said "80..I know a lot of people that are in the hundreds." I just smiled politely and tried to keep from panting as my initial attraction to him died a slow death. I quickly turned the subject elsewhere and as fast as I had known it was going to be a great match, I knew it was a great "First" and an even better "Only" experience. So much for NYPD.

If 80 is going to be a standard in this town, I better go on up to the Monastery of this school and pick up my habit, wimple and veil for the sake of 81. Oh the best part is.. he has a kid too. Great.

I <3 NY.