Our Stop

Everyday, Ben and I take the subway to go... everywhere. To get to work, Ben takes the 2/3 line south to Penn Station where he gets on the Long Island Railroad (LIRR). I take the 2/3 north to 116th Street where I hop on a crosstown bus.

New Yorkers know how lucky we are to live one block from public transportation. One block! It takes minutes to walk to the subway.

Some people live a 10, 15, or even 20 minute walk from public transportation. A 20 minute walk twice a day in 100 degree heat, rain, or snow can exhaust even the toughest commuter. Trust me.

I definitely couldn't hike 20 minutes in heels on a Friday night, and that's a fact. I tried several times. Those attempts usually ended with me hobbling or sitting on the sidewalk, in pain, complaining about my feet while Ben begrudgingly hailed a cab.

Not a perfect ending to a fun night on the town.

Below is a picture of me at "our stop." Our ole, faithful 96th Street and Broadway stop on the 2/3 line. How I love thee.

* FYI tourists... never stop to take a picture immediately after walking through a subway turnstile. New Yorkers will scowl, curse, or bulldoze right over you. Ben took this picture only after we surveyed the area and waited for a break in the flow of commuter traffic. I sprinted as soon as the camera clicked.

Fast Food

We're starving. We don't (I mean "Ben doesn't") know what to cook for dinner. We want some grub immediately.

What do we do?

Eat from a food truck.

Our favorite is the Super Tacos food truck at 96th Street between Broadway and West End Avenue.

Definitely try the burritos.

They're the best.

Getting Around

In the last post, I wrote about how much everyday items cost in New York. Today, I write about how much it costs to get around the city. I'm talking about common forms of transportation like subways and buses and taxis, not rickshaws or trams or ferries. Look here if you're interested in that.

To ride the buses and subways...
A single ride costs $2.50.
A 7 day Metrocard with unlimited rides costs $29.
And, a 30 day Metrocard with unlimited rides costs $104.

I buy the 30 day Metrocard because I use it four to five times a day. Visitors often like the 7 day Metrocard if they plan to use public transportation a lot. If you don't know what to do then just put some money on a Metrocard and use it until it runs out and needs to be refilled.

Subways and buses are fixed fares no matter how far you go, so that's the cheapest way to get around the city. Unless, you're a tourist and want to see all of the sights.  Then, do one of the 48 hour "hop on, hop off" buses. Trust me. I know.

Ben and I usually take taxis when splitting the cost with other riders, it's late, we're exhausted, or I wore high heels that left me immobile by the end of the night. Sometimes, I slip in a few extra cab rides when my Carrie Bradshaw side surfaces and I have some extra cash. Consider it a guilty pleasure.

The interesting thing about taxis is how the costs really add up if taking them a lot.

If we hop into a taxi and go from our apartment in the Upper West Side to our friends' apartment in Queens exactly 11.6 miles away, then we will pay between a $24 and $30 (depending on traffic) cab fare.

If we jump into a taxi and go from our apartment in the Upper West Side to meet friends for brunch at The Stanton Social (which I highly recommend) in the Lower Side Side exactly 6.77 miles away, then we will pay a $25 cab fare.

If I slide into a taxi after happy hour with my colleagues on Fridays at the East End on the Upper East Side exactly 2.35 miles away, then I will pay a $10 cab fare.

I told you... it gets pricey. Still not sure? Then, check out the mother-of-all comparisons.

If Ben and I ride a bus from Chinatown in NYC to Cincinnati, Ohio exactly 637 or 724 miles away (depending on the route), then we only pay $30 for a one way ticket.

For the same price, we can go 7 miles to the Lower East Side or 637 miles to the Buckeye State.  Interesting. And, little mind boggling.

Now, you know what to do. When in the city and perhaps in doubt, depending on how fat your wallet is... you can flag down a taxi or navigate through the subways or... just foot it home (which is ultimately the cheapest form of transportation).

Money Tree

Non-New Yorkers often ask how much stuff costs in the city. And, I have to admit, it's one of my favorite questions to answer. Partly, because it's interesting, but mainly because I need their sympathetic stares to remind me that the rest of America isn't as pricey.

Is the city really that much more expensive than your average American town? For most things, yes, it is.

Unless, of course, you want fresh flowers. Those are only a few bucks at the corner bodega. Carnations? Three dollars. Half a dozen roses? Five bucks. Lilies or some other exotic flower? No more than ten bones.

Manicures and pedicures also seem to be a little cheaper in the city. Nail salons sit on every block, and they usually charge around twenty dollars for a mani/pedi combo. We, northerners, apparently make good nail beds and painted toes a top priority.

But, you don't need fresh flowers and nice nails to live. Those aren't necessities. No, the stuff you really need is where they get you.

A small box of Honey Nut Cheerios? $5.99. Oil of Olay face wash? $6.99. Movie tickets? $13 each. Domestic beers? $6.00 a bottle. Scratchy toilet paper? $5.99 for 4 rolls.

I can't help but want some pity. I feel validated when non-New Yorkers agree that we pay too much. It's a good reality check. And, we, Manhattanites, need that every once in a while.

Out With The Old and In With The New

This year, we got new windows. New windows. NEW windows!

They upgraded our apartment and we didn't pay for it (yet). That never happens in New York. Never.

Our old windows were fine. Intact, not broken or cracked. They were probably 100 years old and repeatedly painted over with lead-based paint, but they technically worked. So, you can imagine my surprise when our building superintendent told me that we were getting new windows.

I didn't question it. I didn't ask for more information. I just said "awesome" and then fist pumped the air Jersey style.

After they installed the new windows, magical things began to happen. Incessant car honking stopped. Pedestrian voices deafened. I slept better. The windows actually opened and allowed fresh (as fresh as fresh gets in the city) air to enter. We could actually access the fire escape in case of an emergency.

The new windows took on a much greater meaning. They represented a well rested, quiet life with a potential escape route if necessary. They represented good housing karma. They, obviously, meant a lot to me.

Thank you, Housing Gods! Thank you very, very much.

New Ads

I recently noticed how the ads on Itty Bitty have changed over the past five years. In the beginning, ads for Foot Fetishes Anonymous and unregulated Chinatown bus companies and under-the-table Craigslist jobs flooded the site. Not always the most high brow organizations or opportunities.

Now, I see ads for Ann Taylor Loft, Upper East Side Manhattan apartments, and chiropractors.

When did Itty Bitty become mainstream? When did Itty Bitty get so classy?

I don't know, and I guess that I don't care. I'm really just happy that the ads are slightly more legit and a little less unscrupulous.

Cooking Woes

I have issues with my cooking. Ben clearly has issues with my cooking. And, now, even my friends have issues with my cooking. I am no Giada De Laurentiis.

I am part of a book club in NYC. Its members include about a dozen different young, intellectual ladies - obviously myself, coworkers, friends, and friends-of-friends. We meet once a month at someone's apartment to discuss a chosen book and any other topics of interest.

Whoever chooses the book of the month also chooses the theme of the meeting, like what food to make. For example, when we read "The Night Circus" by Erin Morgenstern, everybody brought a dish they might find at a circus. People brought chicken fingers, carmel apples, finger foods, mini corn dogs, etc. It's fun when you befriend yourself with top-rate, first-class cooks.

Several months ago, Anna hosted a book club and the food theme centered around peanut butter. Everybody cooked a dish that somehow incorporated peanut butter. Yum, right?

Unfortunately, Ben was in Washington DC for business, so he couldn't act as my personal chef and make my dish like he usually did. I had to make it.  No bueno.

I scoured the internet for a good peanut butter dish. I landed on the Jif peanut butter website. Of course, Jif would recommend a peanut butter good recipe! It was like I went straight to the source, straight to the guru of all peanut butter infused entree creations.

I settled on making "Zesty Peanut Butter Salsa." A dish rated four out of five stars by Jif users and, most importantly, used only four ingredients with a prep time of 10 minutes.

I bought all of the ingredients at Whole Foods grocery store. Only the best ingredients for my fellow book clubbers! I read the list of ingredients over the phone to my mom as I walked home - peanut butter, salsa, cilantro, and apricot preserves. My mom said nothing for a minute and then cautiously asked, "You couldn't find any other recipes?" F-o-r-e-s-h-a-d-o-w-i-n-g.

I got home. Washed my hands like a good chef. Read and reread the directions several times to ensure 100% deliciousness.

I painstakingly measured the ingredients. Poured them into a bowl. Mixed them together.

While cooking, I ignored the weird shade of salmon my creation turned. I overlooked the chunks of cilantro and apricot that stuck together. I pretended not to smell the vomit stench that wafted from the bowl.

I assumed that my PB salsa just needed to marinate. It simply needed time. So, I snapped on the Tupperware lid and put it in the fridge, as instructed. I knew it would turn out okay in the morning.

Or not.

The next morning, I woke up late. Grabbed my PB salsa. Rushed to the subway. Finally, when seated on the subway, I peeled back the corner of the Tupperware lid to see my masterpiece.

Uh oh. The PB salsa still looked and smelled like vomit. Apparently, other commuters thought so too because I got some sour looks from the people beside me.

When I got to work, I frantically showed the girls, who agreed. My PB salsa masterpiece appeared to be a complete failure. But, (this is the part that tells you what good teachers they are) they still said "I tried my best" and "we'll eat it anyways because we know how hard you worked on it." One girl said to let it continue to marinate for the next 10 hours in the mini-fridge at school. Sadly, that still did not do the trick.

That night, at book club, no one ate my PB salsa. Instead, we threw it 10 floors down Anna's trash chute. It landed at the bottom with a loud thud. Anna prayed that the bag didn't bust and splatter on the chute walls. Her lease probably didn't cover pouring putrid substances down the trash chute.

So, for future reference, if it sounds iffy, it will probably taste iffy - not Jiffy.

* Actual photo of Zesty Peanut Butter Salsa from the Jif website. 

Do not be fooled by the attractive photo.

A Forgotten Celebrity Sighting

Geez... so many celebrities, so little time. I forgot that we saw... wait for it, wait for it... Usher!

Ben and I, much like celebrities ourselves, moseyed out of the club for elite flyers at JFK (thanks to Ben's work trips). No overcrowded and loud terminals for us during the Thanksgiving rush! We did it right.

Instead, we enjoyed the perks of the club. We surfed the (free) internet in (free) overstuffed chairs while drinking and snacking on (free) food. We relaxed in solitude and used private restrooms. We breathed freshly circulated air as our phones charged in one of the many available outlets. Yes, the club and its amenities definitely helped us cope with the stress of traveling. Wink, wink.

We worked hard to hide our relaxed demeanors and protruding bellies as we sauntered out of club and to the terminal. We stood off to the side, not ready to join the masses quite yet. The upper crust must always have felt this way too, I thought. I browsed through a celebrity gossip magazine when Ben poked my arm.

"It's Usher!" he whispered.

I quickly hid the magazine under my arm. Couldn't let Usher catch me reading such sordid and trashy writing. Embarrassing.

I distinguished him among his entourage within seconds thanks to his faux hawk and dark sunglasses. He and his entourage strolled by and disappeared through a neighboring gate and onto a plane headed to Atlanta. I ran to the gate door and relished the last few seconds of second hand stardom.

Usher surprised me. Not only did he forgo hidden hallways and security to get through JFK, but he took his sweet time doing it. Usher knew best... "Ain't gotta rush... I just wanna take it nice and slow."

Another Celebrity Sighting

Well, time to add another celebrity sighting to the list... Russell Simmons!

My girlfriend invited me to her bachelorette party in East Hampton, which I eagerly accepted. We stayed at her future mother-in-law's four bedroom house nestled among big trees with a private pool in the backyard.  Where do I find these friends?!

One night, we ate dinner at the Georgica restaurant, which turned into a lounge/dance club later in the evening. As we ate, the waiters prepared the table across from us for a large and, obviously, wealthy party. They fluffed the flowers. Refolded some napkins. Brought out bottles of Cristal.

You know, the usual.

The party trickled in... mostly models, all young. Then, in waltzed the big dawg... Russell Simmons! I almost choked on my steak.

Later, in the VIP section of the lounge, Russell and his bevy of 20-year old models danced right beside us. Normally, the bouncers would bar me from VIP, but apparently the bachelorette party proved to be my ticket into the upper echelon of society that night. Our group danced right beside Russell. So close, in fact, his sweat flung onto me and my ponytail whipped one of the glamazons in his entourage. I used every awesome dance move in my arsenal in case he needed a short, blonde to employ in one of his multi-million dollar businesses.

Still have yet to hear from him.

Cost Effective Traveling

Ben and I found a cheaper way to travel from NYC to home... the Sky Horse Chinatown bus company. We pay $30 during the week or $50 on the weekends to ride a charter bus from Chinatown in NYC to Cincinnati, Ohio. The trip takes 12 hours. We leave a "bus station" in Chinatown at 10pm and arrive at a Chinese restaurant/Perkins parking lot in Cincinnati at 10am.

Quite a deal.

The first time we took the bus, we prepared poorly for the long journey. But, the second time, we came ready. We learned from our mistakes.

We took shots of NyQuil. We wore comfy clothing. We brought neck pillows. We donned eye masks. We wore earbuds and listened to a "nap time" playlist. We munched on pre-packed apple slices.

I left no stone unturned, nothing to chance. We took the 12-hour journey very seriously.

The NyQuil made the journey smoother. It calmed my nerves. The bus drivers weren't necessarily bad drivers, just speedy. The swerving and the feeling of veering off cliffs often startled me awake. At times, I mistook us for extras in the movie Speed or The Fast and the Furious. Except, Keanu and Vin Diesel did not appear to slow down our bus.

Our bus made four stops during the 12-hour journey. The first stop happened at about 2am at a truck stop somewhere in Pennsylvania. We switched drivers there and took our only bathroom break.

The second stop happened at an abandoned hotel in West Virginia. The driver opened the bus door, yelled "West Virginia," booted riders, slammed the door shut, and then peeled out of the parking lot with (I imagine) a wicked grin on his face.

The third stop was on a side street in downtown Columbus, Ohio. We ran into a little problem on the way into Columbus because a marathon blocked most streets. The marathon made our driver very unhappy. He yelled a few choice words and drove down several streets to park elsewhere. People with suitcases ran from every direction and chased the bus, afraid of missing their one way to Cincinnati.

The fourth stop happened in Dayton, Ohio. We pulled into a strip mall parking lot where the driver yelled "Dayton." He again booted riders, slammed the door, and peeled out of the parking lot at a rather high speed.

We left skid marks all the way from New York to Cincinnati.

At each stop, the passengers looked uneasily at each other. The driver spoke with a thick accent, so the city names sounded a little different from how a native New Yorker or Buckeye might pronounce them. People constantly checked their cell phones and googled our locations to confirm our whereabouts.

As we left Dayton and drove onto the entrance ramp to the interstate, a guy seated in the middle of the bus yelled "STOP! I need off!" Ben and I looked at each other. Poor guy. Obviously, there was no going back.

Or was there?

The driver swerved to the right ON THE ENTRANCE RAMP and slammed on the brakes. He opened the door without a word. The guy jumped out of the bus, ran across a ditch, climbed over a fence, and then walked toward town.

I. Did. Not. Make. That. Up.

We arrived in Cincinnati an hour ahead of schedule... efficient or, perhaps, very scary. We relaxed at a Perkins restaurant and gave thanks for surviving the trip until our parents arrived to drive us home.

It's safe to say that if we survived the Chinatown bus trip twice, then we will survive anything.

Where To Go?

One of my greatest fears living in New York City has nothing to do with robberies, muggings, or even murders. It has more to do with john. Or, should I say, The John... as in the toilet.

We live in an old, old brownstone with some equally old plumbing. I fear that one day the plumbing will break and leave us without a useable toilet. Ben says I'm crazy.

Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not.

We only have one bathroom in our apartment. We don't know any of our neighbors. The nearest and only "free" public restroom (in Starbucks, of course) is one avenue and two blocks away. In an emergency, one avenue and two blocks is pretty far.

So, the person who said "The only thing to fear is fear itself" obviously never lived in New York and always had the pleasure of having multiple johns in his home.

Swanky Pool Time

On Wednesday, my girlfriend invited me to the pool at the Thompson Hotel, a swanky hotel in the Lower East Side. Only hotel guests or celebrities were allowed at the pool, but my girlfriend knew an employee at the hotel that let us in to enjoy the amenities. Lucky us.

I typed Thompson Hotel into my iPhone and it took me to a different hotel in another part of town. At first, I didn't realize the mistake. I just knew to walk up to the doorman and ask for Christian, the guy who would lead me to the pool.

"Are you Christian?" I asked the doorman.

He tilted his head and cocked his eyebrow.

"Um... excuse me," he said.

"Are. You. Christian?" I asked again.

"I, well..." he stammered.

By this point, I stood very confused.

He continued, "I'm Catholic. That counts as Christian, right?"

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "I mean, is your name Christian? Not your religious affiliation!"

I finally made it to the right place 

and enjoyed this view for the next couple of hours. 

Pretty, pretty nice.

Locked In

My girlfriend, Jennifer, vacationed in NYC and stayed with me for a couple of days during the week while Ben was in Washington DC for work. I planned to leave early for work on her last morning in city. The night before Jennifer left, I showed her how the automatic door lock worked so that she would not need a key.

I opened the door, flipped the switch, and let the door slam shut.

"Easy!" I exclaimed.

"Easy," repeated Jennifer.

I reminded her that once she shut the door from the outside she would not be able to get back inside the apartment. So, if she forgot anything, I would mail it.

Everything seemed fine and dandy.

I woke up early the next morning. Got ready for work. Tiptoed to the door so I wouldn't wake Jennifer sleeping on the air mattress in the living room. Grabbed the door handle and tugged. Tugged again. Tugged a little harder. Tugged with all of my might. Tugged with both hands on the knob and one leg on the wall.

The door did not budge.

Jennifer, awake by now, laughed. I panicked. I called Ben who vaguely recalled that the automatic lock was broken. Not only does it lock people out, but also locks people in!

Jennifer laughed again, but this time a little panic crept into her voice.

I called our building superintendent to help, but he had a doctor's appointment in Brooklyn and would not be in our building until after 10am. What?!?! Work would be half over AND Jennifer would miss her flight. Uh oh.

I then emailed my principal and told her that I would be late for work because I was locked in my apartment. At first I worried that she would think I made up the story, but the whole situation was so absurd that I knew she would believe me. And, she did. She mainly worried about our safety, which I said was no big deal. If needed, we could climb onto the fifth story fire escape and shimmy down to the ground. In fact, I assumed that was how Jennifer would have to leave to get to the airport on time.

A few minutes later, our super called back and called his brother who came an hour and a half later to unlock the door from the outside. I could not thank him enough. He just shook his head.

We survived. Crisis averted. Mostly.

16 Again

The other day, my girlfriend drove four of us in a car to our monthly book club meeting. A car! Ah, the luxury. A beautiful, quiet, clean, climate controlled, uncrowded car!

Nobody pushed me when I opened the door. Nobody crowded me. I had a good 12 inches of buffer space all around me. Honks, street noise, and people yelling were inaudible. The temperature stayed below 100 degrees. The commute turned easy, almost effortless.

Excuse me while I sit back I relish the memory.

Ah...

I feel 16 years old again whenever I ride around the city in a car. It's like one of us just got her license and her parents let us borrow their wheels for a night of freedom. A friend with a car is a rare find in the city. A true gem.

Thank you to my friends who have let me sink into their backseats and join them for the ride.

Watch Out Below!

Earlier in the summer, I waited at the crosstown bus stop in the early morning with a dozen other New Yorkers on their way to work. Everyone stood quietly and read their papers or sipped coffee or closed their eyes for those last few minutes of solitude. The only sounds belonged to cars driving by and honking.

Suddenly, a woman screamed and everyone jerked their gazes in her direction. I couldn't see what made her scream, but everyone started to hop around... something... moved... weaved around feet and bags...

Then a huge and extremely disoriented (or brave) rat escaped the crowd and commotion and ran by me. Pretty sure he winked and flashed a thumbs up as he sped down the sidewalk.

Unfortunately, the lady a few feet away wearing earbuds and listening to music missed the excitement and the rat ran right over her feet. It literally ran across the top of her sneakers. She shrieked and we looked on, horrified.

My only thought... groooooooss.