Elsewhere on the Internet...

Tables and bookcases and Murphy beds, oh my!

I've been remiss about replying to comments. Thanks to everyone who leaves them. I love feedback, reactions, and questions. I don't write, because there's a metaphorical fire in me or something. I do it, because I like to share ideas with other people. You're the reason I'm still blogging - hooray!

Because I get emails with questions from time to time, and no question is stupid or individual - with the exception of "I like your blog. Could you send me some pics of your bare feet?" - I'll be posting answers to questions right on the blog from now on.

Here's a question I got from a fellow Amanda back in December:

Hi there! This is going to sound really stupid, but I am planning a solo trip to the USA in Feb 09, and I would love to go to New York but I am scared to go there alone.

I was wondering if you had any advice for me, since it will be my first time travelling on my own.

My response:

NYC is a great place for a first solo trip to the U.S. There's so much to see and do, and there are people from everywhere and anywhere here. For that reason, I feel like I don't know where to begin. Or end, for that matter. I'll cover a few basics.

I'm not sure what your budget is, as far as accommodation goes, but I'd actually advise you not to get a hotel in the tourist trap midtown area. Instead, check out hotels on the Upper West Side and even downtown. They're probably more affordable and in a better area. I can't say much about hostels, but I know there's one on Central Park West near my old apartment that's always full of smiling Europeans. I hear the hostel's really clean, unlike the Whitehouse Hotel hostel I once stayed in down on Bowery. (I contracted a skin infection after staying there and had to use a prescription cream to clear it up. Yum)! If you're staying awhile, you might save money doing a short sublet and staying in a real NYC apartment. Many people rent apartments by week - just check Craigslist and be very careful about scams.

Be sure to ride the subway when you visit. It's not too complicated, and you can always ask for directions. Even the locals have to do it sometimes. Get a weekly unlimited Metrocard, rather than putting small increments on a card. It'll save you money and time. Numbered subway lines are always faster than the lettered subway lines. I tell you this, because it's good to get accommodations near them, if you can.

Whatever predilections you may have, NYC will feed 'em. For shopping, wander around SoHo. For fun people watching, hang out in Union Square. For getting drunk and artsy, slink around the Lower East Side. There are tons of guidebooks all about the possibilities, so do some research. Each day, I advise you to pick up a free AM New York. The paper itself is nothing special, but there's always a schedule of activities going on in the city.

I've hit up most of the city's famous tourist attractions, so here are the ones I recommend: the New York Public Library on 5th Avenue, The Empire State Building, Grand Central Station concourse, and Central Park. The museums are great, if a bit daunting. Check out Museum Mile on the East Side and try to go on days when you pay what you want. You can probably see there's a theme to my response, and the theme is "I'm cheap."

I hope this helped a bit. NYC is the safest big city in the world and full of transplants, many of whom fell in love with it after visiting. Maybe you'll be one of them. Best wishes for a great adventure!

Remember when I wrote about Shaggy Steve and the bevy of other awkward creeps I sometimes meet a work events?

I recently got a comment from a reader named Laura who has also encountered the harrowing hairy one. See, I told you I didn't dream this guy up!

Clicking on the link will bring up Laura's comment, but here it is, in case you don't want to relive the nightmare.

I just went to a "Gen-Art" party in Miami, FL last night and was approached by none other than "Shaggy Steve," bearing exactly the same pick-up line, business card and haircut you described here. I found him to be so creepy (and reeking of mildew) that I had to google him. I love that you described your encounter with him exactly the way that I would. I also love that he uses the same material every time he's out on the town.

If my blog can comfort just one other woman distressed after meeting Shaggy Steve, it will have served its purpose.

Writing about Boston has been postponed until I have enough time to sit on my butt in front of the computer and make something funny come out.

That sounded weird...

But!

(Butt!)

I've been writing a bit about home decor. Check out my living room side table and these options for hanging art.

Me on being sick in the city:

If you think the city is lonely or brutal, wait until you’re sick. You know the infamous sick passenger who delays subway service? Everybody hates him or her. Mind you, I’ve never been on the train with this person. But something about being delayed twenty minutes before my express train is taken out of service entirely makes me blame the victim.

“Maybe if someone would stop eating food off the floor of the Grand Central Station bathroom, this wouldn’t happen,” I think. Not to mention staying in bed when feeling ill or particularly seizure-prone.

Read the rest here.

I did some quick reviews of Domino: The Book of Decorating and Todd Oldham's Handmade Modern for my guest blogging gig.

True story: I got the Domino book from the library and accidentally dropped it into the bathtub as I was reading. Bad. Very bad.

I wrote another guest post about why I like to sneak into movies.

Also, I'm writing now about design. I started from the bottom.

I'm now guest blogging here.

I'll still be blogging here, too.

Click on over to my first post. Please leave nice comments. I really want more of those from you guys. I promise I will like them.

Okay, this is my last short entry tonight. I'm procrastinating taking a shower, which no one should do past the age of 10.

Here are some interesting searches that brought people to my blog today:

dante's maxim symbolic retribution
what does a parasite look like in poop
"shaggy steve" photographer
"i dropped out of teach for america"

If this doesn't summarize my life in New York, I don't know what does.

Wowie. This blog is featured on a poop joke blog aggregator.

That's been a number two priority of mine for awhile.

I have to keep telling myself I'm nearly halfway there. Unlike a marathon, NaBloPoMo hasn't chafed my skin or made my feet swell. At one point in the past, I blogged nearly every weekday without a fun abbreviated name to justify it, so I should be in shape. I enjoy blogging when I have something to say, but this thing is killing me.

Fact #1: I am now a professional writer. That's what I do for work. It struck me last week. I pay my bills doing what I studied in college. How many liberal arts graduates can say that? This is a big fat "I told you so" to my parents, that's for sure.

Fact #2: When you sit in front of the computer and write all day, you don't really want to do it when you leave work.

Fact #3: But during NaBloPoMo, you pretty much have to.

Fact #4: I'm not giving up on this goal, but I have to be lazy sometimes. I need to leave my apartment and spend time with a human who's not a co-worker or a bold name in my in-box.

This is what I'm wearing to do that:

The stripes and reds and blues of this outfit give it a nautical look. I randomly remembered wearing the navy striped tee on Valentine's Day 2002 when I went out for heart-shaped pizza with this guy I dated for five minutes. He was ahead of my time. I think I'd date the college-version of him now, but maybe he's not as cool as I remember. He's married, after all, and has been for awhile. I don't think anyone so young should get married unless there's a threat of being stoned. The bad way, I mean. With stones. The hard, jagged kind.

No, nine is not my lucky number. Yes, I have to say that a lot when I wear this vintage brass nine necklace. My mentor Kelly gave it to me. She made it. I got to choose from a few different numbers, and one and eight were taken. I like that nine is ambiguous sometimes, like at a shoe store. When I wear this necklace, little kids on the subway often point and identify it - always proudly, usually correctly. Their parents look at me like they can't decide if I think I'm a fashionista or Flava Flav.

The red sweater is a staple that's long enough not to show how high-waisted my denim skirt is. I know it's en vogue to dress at Camel Toe Orange Alert, but I just can't go there. I have hips, so I think I'd look chunky. Plus I don't want to have this phantom penis fabric bulge when I sit down.

Come to think of it, this pleated front skirt is perfect for any guy who needs to pass as a woman. Extra bits can swim around undetected. It's deeply, darkly, dudely demure.

You cannot have a bad day in red tights, unless you work at a theme park or department store Christmas promotion. I like how they peek out window-like from the space between my shoe and its strap. The navy flats are a librarian's fantasy in leather and rubber soles. I like the homespun hip button and that they are one of my few pairs of shoes that doesn't click or clunk. I should wear them more often. My new blister is as much as indication of that as it is a deterrent.

(from this lady who gets comments)

I wrote my six-word memoir.

Sometimes it is a relief to be told what to do. We are two artists who are trying to come up with new ideas every day. But our most joyful and even profound experiences often come when we are following other people's instructions When we are making crepes from a recipe, attempting to do a handstand in yoga class, or singing someone else's song. Sometimes it feels like the moment we let go of trying to be original, we actually feel something new - which was the point of being artists in the first place.

-Harrell Fletcher and Miranda July in Learning To Love You More

Cade's mom sent me this column a few years ago. It inspired me then and it inspires me now. Excerpt below:

The truth, young people, is that writing is no more difficult than building a house, and the only good reason to complain is to discourage younger and more talented writers from climbing on the gravy train and pushing you off.

Young people are pessimistic enough these days without their elders complaining about things. Shut up. Life is pretty good when you grow up. You own your own car, you go where you like, and you sing along with the radio or talk to yourself or chat on your cell phone. You pull into the drive-up window and order the Oreo Blizzard. What's not to like?

I've been getting a lot of emails lately from people asking me to advertise products and services on this blog. It's especially nice when these products and services don't require enlarging a penis, because I don't have a penis. And some of you readers out there do, but I like to think that you aren't so self-conscious about it.

I got a personalized message a few days ago from someone who really wanted to seem in touch with my blog content, but I can't figure out the last part of the first sentence. Maybe one of you can help:

Hi Amanda-

I found your blog on NYCbloggers.com. First off, congrats on your AM New York coverage and sorry to hear about your breakup...tasting food is overrated anyway.

As a fellow marketer, NYC transplant and someone that will soon hit the big 2-5 (cheers to a quarter century!), I thought you and your readers would be interested in a new free service in NYC...

I started this blog in 2005 anticipating a handful of visitors, most of whom would come from the same gene pool as me. But over the years, it's grown to have some faithful readers who can and can't spell, do and don't email. On Monday, a reporter from AM New York (hi, David!), NYC's widely-read free daily newspaper, emailed me. He said he enjoys the blog and wanted to know if I'd talk to him about the recession, specifically, how it's affecting my life as a young New Yorker.

I did what any attention-seeking blogger would do: I said something along the lines of, "Yes, I'd love to talk about the recession! I know so much about the recession! Let's talk about the recession! Oh, that damn recession!"

Today, an AM New York photographer (hi, Dennis!) met up with me outside my office and proceeded to make me feel like a rockstar, the low-key kind with shoes from Old Navy. We had a lot of fun traipsing around and trying to rationalize why I was posing at a deli with a styrofoam container and tongs of lukewarm spaghetti for an article about the economy. Answer: In desperate times, lunch at Au Bon Pain is but a fading memory.

In the coming weeks, I'm going to be making some changes to this blog that are long overdue. You'll see what they are. But thank you to everyone who has read up to this point. It's so nice to hear from any of you, even from the person who says I'm smug and unoriginal. No one's called me that before, err in the last month.

I wanted to close this with something cheesy involving the phrase "when you blog upon a star," but I may just eat some Pringles instead. That's how us low-key rockstars roll.

Yesterday, exactly one month before my next, quarter century-turning birthday, was beautiful. I'd been editing and such at work for a few hours when I got an offer for especially lucrative freelance work from my mentor. It'll require very quick turnaround next week, but that's all the better to enjoy an unburdened (next) weekend with, my dear.

Then I went to lunch in this park area near my workplace. I was moisturizing some desiccated nostril skin - damn Kleenex and those office sneezies - when this man came up to me. He asked if he could ask me something. "Yes, you already are," I thought. He continued, "You're Amanda, right?"

It was the first time a blog reader stopped me in public. You know, one that doesn't know my phone number already and occasionally pinch my butt. I love getting emails from all you beautiful people, but an in-person greeting is much more exciting - and embarrassing, if you happen to be moisturizing your nose at the time.

So I met Bryan/Brian, and we chatted for a bit about the life blogged, shameless publicity stunts, and recycling. The whole experience was more sunlight than limelight. I've hung out with a few people who know me from my blog. It's cool and immediately comfortable, but a mite disconcerting when a near-stranger tells me how hilarious Jing is. Anyway, I would be up for more contact from whoever reads this. And no, that is not an invite for you to call me right this second, Daddy.

After work, I went to the Kate Nash concert. I'd anticipated a bevy of conservatively dressed cuties in primary colors, but most of the audience wore flowy dresses, earth tones, and tanktops. An alarming numbers of girls did have red hair, though. I was among the Nashiest in a floral, jumpery looking thing loosely inspired by the photo below. Also, stirrup leggings. Somehow I pulled it off without looking like someone from the cover of a Babysitter's Club Book.

I stood for four hours and danced with half my body. The concert ended with "Merry Happy" which includes the lyrics, "I can be alone, yeah. I can watch the sunset on my own. I can be alone." It's not Emily Dickinson or anything, but it was the perfect way to end the 24th day and maybe even year.

My sister, Megan, mentioned it only a few years late. "Your blog? It's kind of funny sometimes." Now she reads it everyday.

And my mom and dad check in now and again. I never know until I get a frantic call like the one a weeks back. My mom played an alarmist Jiminy Cricket, insisting I return the book I accidentally shoplifted before I get caught, arrested, and imprisoned and live a life of destitution, prostitution, and various other -utions, all very bad.

But most people who hang out with me regularly don't read the blog. Honestly, I suspect my girlfriends don't like my writing or maybe they know me enough already. They've heard most of the interesting stories and anecdotes, so why get online and rehash them in a much more polished format?

I've never been one of those people who advertises the blog to co-workers, random acquaintances, and the like. When people come into the fold, I'll mention the blog. I'll send the url once and that's it. However, I yearn for a readership like a flat-chested twelve-year-old yearns for a real bra. I guess I just want people to come to my blog honestly.

But there's an exception to that, or was one: I used to tell guys I went out with about it right away in this very Super Mario Brothers world's-last-level kind of way: "I'm sorry, but the princess isn't here! But there's this thing on the Internet full of a bunch of random stuff about her that may help you on your mission."

It really got to me that one time a guy didn't care to potentially read about himself online. How does one turn down such a thrilling prospect? It kind of hurt. But maybe he was on to something. People blog with motives and subjectivity and poetic license. Reading about oneself can be hurtful. And it's a pain for me to handle the questions that can come from posts. "Were you talking about me? Are you trying to be passive-aggressive? Why do you portray me as an idiot?" Answers: Maybe. Nah. It's funny.

It really wasn't a big issue when Cade and I were together - the blog was more of a uniter than a divider. Honestly, I had an image and relationship to maintain, so I definitely delivered the expurgated version. I question doing this. Maybe I shouldn't have, but is anyone totally raw on the Internet? I think not. Everything should be written at some point, but not necessarily by me.

And then there are other things I really want to blog that someone else puts the kibosh on. Like that time _________________________________. That was so very bloggable. My family members have prefaced entire conversations with, "Don't even think about blogging this," and I have promised silence. Sometimes begrudgingly.

So I've been going out with this guy who is so nice and fun and Jewish, which you know I love. He hasn't read the blog at this point, because it was time to switch things up. I didn't want to have the last few blogged years of my life at his feet like pulp from a dropped watermelon, sticky and pink, while I was still slowly getting to know him. Worrying about pacing and googoo eyes in real time occupies enough romantic energy, so why also deal with the nagging worry that he'll read too much - or not enough - into something?

But I'm doing it. Things are going well enough. I know enough about him that I won't feel overexposed, or at least, he knows enough about me not be shocked. I think. I'm not ready to out him on the blog by any means, but he just might deserve a reasonably pleasant post.

Like me, like my blog.

My efforts have been scattershot these last few days with work, personal growth, and getting my hair reworked. Sadly, I haven't had time to sit down and blog self-importantly about how I'm fretting about my new hair color instead of the plight of endangered plankton.

I want to address the adorable notes I've had on recent posts. First of all, whoever you are, please keep 'em coming. I love feedback. Especially when I'm not sure exactly what it means. "Hmmm... So this person thinks I'm totally trite and selfish, but I can slap sentences together real purty? Well, that's something."

Imagine my shock when informed that I am just another one of those bloggers who moved to NYC from Hicktown, USA and annoyingly blogs about it. I was sure I was the only one. I didn't pioneer that niche?

Also, I thought I was the only blogger who transcribed conversations that are often only funny to the people who were having them in living (sometimes off-) color. And the ironic pictures? I don't even want to think about all the competition out there.

I enjoy writing; I really do. This blog is a wave to some distant audience - I use it to exercise some muscles, but mostly to let people know I'm still here. Thinking about stuff...and stuff. It helps me keep in touch with myself and a few other people.

In the future, I intend to have varied experiences in all sorts of places. It will probably lead to writing. But for now, well, I never promised anyone Amanda's TOTALLY NOVEL AND SELFLESS MsAdventures.

And it doesn't look like I'm moving anytime soon.