Drunkards on the Metro

So I have been taking the ‘late’ train from Grand Central from time to time lately after performances or rehearsals (i.e. 10:50 p.m…late for this middle-aged Momma) and have been exposed to a new set of partyers: the halfway-to-drunkeness-in-the-city/on-the-way-to-more-debauch-in-the-‘burbs set. Not a cute bunch. Look, I am sure I used to be a LOUD AND OBNOXIOUS drunkard myself so this is odd coming from me but it is so, so weird to be an observer on the other side.

Case in point: I was sitting in a middle car last night, minding my own business, reading the paper, across the aisle from a young lad and his Pop. Everyone in the car was reading, chatting or snoozing and the train was ready to leave GCT. A mellow vibe. Sure enough, a gaggle of shall we say, boisterous youngsters gets on and are clearly collectively bombed, unleashing a barrage of profanity right near this kid of about 9 or 10 years old. Sure, kids are gonna hear this stuff around and probably say these words but as a parent, I felt for the Dad. Was he supposed to ignore it? Move his kid to another car? Ask them to chill? What would you do if you were him? Just curious.

Anyhoo, they got off at White Plains (thank the Lord) and I silently wished them a safe night. I was PRAYING that they were in walking distance of their next watering hole or had the smarts to take a cab. So cray cray that I will be dealing with this when my little youngster is out with his friends some day. But by then, I’ll be so old, I’ll be watching reruns of Merv in the nursing home with Steve. We’ll just give someone the Power of Attorney to hire Chase a 24 hr on-call driver and car and we’ll drool away over our applesauce with our cronies, knowing somewhere in the back of our befuddled brains that he’s got a designated driver and he’s not stumbling out of some Metro North train and into harm’s way! Aye yay yay, such a yenta I’ve become!

Wassup with the Manscaping?

So I have now been to two NY Sports Clubs gyms near me (Dobbs Ferry and Hawthorne) and I can’t help but notice that there is some serious manscaping going on. I really don’t get the male eye-brow waxing thing. It’s rampant up here. It’s as if you need to have a Celtic band tattoo around your arm and waxed eyebrows in order to be a member of the gym. Oh and of course the requisite Yankees cap (but no complaints here about that.) I just think dudes should leave the brows alone. Maybe pluck a few of the unibrow hairs, sure. But please chill with the manscaping. I’m just saying. Now have a good workout (:

F*@kin Stupid Dishwasher!

Does anyone else ever get really mad at inanimate objects? And curse at them? Like when you are trying to load the dishwasher and it won't close or when a sippy cup smashes down your foot (those things are surprisingly lethal)? Okay, okay, I know, I am spoiled American who should not complain about a thing as such but I like to rant so I must.

Yes, I am blessed to have a dishwasher. I get it. And yes, there were many years when I did not have one so I should just thank my lucky kitchen stars and leave it at that. BUT I cannot stand it when the wheels on this old bastard (the dishwasher, not me) jam and then the door jams and I end up exasperated. I wind up calling it bad names like a co*ksucker. I really should address this with my shrink. But secretly, it's a little fun and gratifying, isn't it? To get mad at things that can't talk back?

Sending love from the 'burbs...

Gaby

So I Decide to Take a Walk and…

I am just minding my own business, enjoying my dusk-time stroll in my neighborhood on this crisp Superbowl Sunday and sure enough, my city paranoia sets in within five minutes. I have to admit it, I have always been a little freaked out by the woods and the ‘Great outdoors’ in general. Don’t get me wrong, I like them a lot and strangely consider myself a nature-girl, but I’ve always said that I’d feel more comfortable at 3 a.m. alone in Times Square than in some Blair Witch-like woods in the afternoon. A little too vast for me. But, since moving here, I’ve been determined to kick my issue. I even got past my freak-out last week when I got up at 4:18 a.m. to feed Chase and was convinced I saw a To Catch a Thief Hitchcockian burglar pass by our sliders. I think it was my shadow but poor Steve had to calm me down for about an hour afterwards. I was ready to kill a bitch. I was like “no one fucks with my flock” and got all Mama Bear protective of my family and house. Somehow, I got over it and finally fell back asleep. It probably helped a little that it had been snowing and Steve tried to convince me we were safe because there were no tracks in the snow out there. Deep down, however, I was sure that some crazy person was still out there wearing special snow-gliding shoes.

So, back to today. I’m walking along, looking at houses and trees (a novelty still) and I hear some whistling. It’s loud and shrill and intermittent and I immediately think it is catcalls from construction workers (who are not even there) and was ready to start cursing people out (I’ve gotten catcalls since I was about 9 years old…probably thanks to my large can) but it turned out to be BIRDS. After laughing at myself for being such an idiot, I thought, “what the hell are they doing back from the South?” My ass would still be down there if I were their ass. Dumb clucks. Anyway, I move past the imagined catcalls in my mind and two seconds later, a blacked-out Escalade pulls up next to me with Giants flags on their roof and those undercover silent siren lights going and I am convinced they are going to kidnap me. I concoct a plan where I will hide my cell phone inside of my vagine (I did have a baby last year) so they think I have no phone when they pat me down and then I will whip it out later and call for help. Issues. It turns out, they missed the house they were going to for a Superbowl party and were backing up around the corner. So I laugh that one off too but make a note in my mental Roladex to use my vag tuck trick God-forbid I should ever need it. I managed to enjoy the remainder of my trek, silently judging or admiring each house and curb appeal (or not) and decided that I need to write this shit down. Can anyone relate to my insanity? Well, thanks for reading. And thanks to my fly writing partner Tamar for encouraging me to blog this type of stuff. More to come soon. Love, Gab

Intro by a Transplanted Ho

Sure, it’s been done before. A lady moves from the city to the suburbs and writes all about it. But those ladies need to share the floor with this native New Yorker because I HAVE TO share some of my observations since I moving from Harlem to Hawthorne. Therefore, I created this blog just for you! Hope you like it and thanx for visiting