Check it. My first blog post for a NY audience:

In other news, I made two groundbreaking discoveries today.

1. GOOGLE READER! WHOA! Where have you been all my life you little dream feed?! Talk about making sense of the madness out there in the messy digital landscape of blogs and sites and news feeds that are constantly coming my way. (HUGE SIGH OF RELIEF)

2. LIFE PLAN! Back on track. Goals and plans and ideas and inspiration. It’s all up here (points to brain).

Okay, back to reading, researching and trying to muster up the energy to go down to the shit show that is Trader Joe’s on 14th to pick up some cheap ingredients for dinner tonight!! STAY TUNED.

“I try to never allow myself to think things like, Now I’ve made it! I think it’s that midwestern part of me; the part that says, no matter what happens, you just gotta keep working. You can’t take anything too seriously, but you gotta be serious about what you do.” –Conor Oberst

All this speculating leads me to one inevitable conclusion. I want some flowers!

Walking past grocery stores and bodegas, I always see them and think to myself, SOMEDAY I will buy myself a bouquet of daisies. SOMEDAY THAT WILL BE ME! And last night it finally was.

I was walking down Bedford with a friend, about to call it a night, when the flower man asked us politely if we would like to pick some out. It was late and he was about to close down– would we please take some for free and promise to make it home safely? No, not just one bouquet– take another! Take some roses too, he insisted.

Finally! After weeks of wanting to walk down the street with one bouquet, I got to be the person walking down the street with five. And I will always consider another possibility the next time I see a stranger with flowers. Maybe they too were the recipient of a random act of kindness. Maybe they met the flower man.

It started out innocently enough. You went to a bar when you turned 21 and there he was, serving you your piscola with enough charm to rival Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday. THAT SMILE! THOSE EYES! Death by melting heart!

Years pass and nothing happens. He moves away. You develop Great Gatsby Syndrome (GGS) and begin to get all of these lofty ideas– building it up in your mind– like, oh if only we had gone for coffee or thai, we most certainly could have been! But whatever, life goes on.

One day, quite some time later, you find yourself in the same city as this little crush of yours. And it’s not just any city– it’s New York. Even better– Brooklyn! So you look him up and go for drinks.

There you are, sitting in the middle of– shit, you don’t even know the name of this place– who cares?! YOU’RE HERE WITH HIM! And you’re looking all cute in your red lipstick thinking, THIS IS IT!

Except that at the end of the night, you leave wondering what the hell happened. You can’t read it– you have no plans for the next hang out (always a terrible sign)– hell, this guy could win a million bucks in Vegas with his Poker face. Like, for real. Does he like you? Does he hate you? Does he even want to be friends?? WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT??!

Ah, New York. This is so us. You are the smart, funny, yet horribly unreadable and nauseatingly unpredictable guy of my dreams. You have had me crushin’ on you for years, and now here I am, trying to make something happen. It’s kind of hilarious, and kind of awesome and kind of weird, and absolutely scary. It’s life. WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?

It’s September. Where I’m from this means it’s still boiling hot outside– no, not even a quick dip in the pool can cool you off during this time of year in Tucson, Ariz. You’re walking around in cutoffs and crop tops, wearing sandals and sunglasses and you’re all tan and glamourous. But here in New York? Start breaking out those winter coats, y’all. Load up on the lotion, because shit’s about to get ashy up in here. Yes, Old Man Cold is right around the corner.

And don’t even get me started on the rain. Yes, rain. You know, those weird droplets of water that fall out of the sky from time to time? The ones that require you to wear jackets with these things called hoods (??), or better yet– require you to carry these little dome-shaped tents on a stick, also known as umbrellas? I know. Weird.

It’s been raining a lot here. A LOT. Like, I think I’m a few trips outside away from getting tennis elbow from having to hold up my umbrella. And city rain does NOT equal desert rain. It’s not all aromatic and beautiful and “feel the power of mother nature”-y. It’s much more– dirty water filling up in your shoes, angry people ramming their umbrellas into yours without saying sorry, and no cabs anywhere– guess you’re walking home or better yet! Taking the humid funky subway that drips dirty underground rain water into your mouth when you’re just trying to mind your own business and get home- y.

JOYOUS!

And just when you’re thinking to yourself, it’s okay– how many more days can it possibly rain? It’s gotta be coming to an end soon, yeah? You check the weather reports, and BAM! You see this…

Woo hoo!

That trench coat I bought for Hurricane Irene isn’t looking like such a stupid buy anymore, is it?

Friday evening everyone at work was sort of panicky, which is not a great environment when you work in a store that is already comparable to Black Friday- all day, every day. The city issued maps with zones for evacuation, and of course yours truly happened to live 3 storefronts down from the red zone. THE RED ZONE!! As in, yes, your apartment is going to be underwater come Sunday and you will be too if you don’t GTFO.

So of course, upon seeing the map I did what any other desert chick about to be smack dab in the middle of a hurricane would do. I bought a trench coat.

Work was cancelled Saturday, mostly because the MTA completely shut down. Let me tell you something. When the subway shuts down the city shuts down. Seriously, we are talking G-H-O-S-T T-O-W-N. I stayed with a friend from college at her prime apartment on Bedford Avenue, and it was more than creepy to see the main drag go lifeless. There were people out– a few here and there– but the lack of cars and the ominous clouds really set up this eerie horror movie vibe. It didn’t help that we watched “The Crazies.”

As for the storm, luckily, it was a dud. I didn’t ever even see the winds pick up or the rains pour down the way it has some of the other times it’s rained since I’ve been here. Then again, I wasn’t exactly staring out the window or watching the Weather Channel the whole time. The building I stayed at had arguably the best hurricane plan I can imagine. Some of the guys who lived there were caterers whose gig had been cancelled, so they organized a classy feast. We’re talking fillet mignon, risotto, mozzarella and tomatoes, gourmet cake, fresh pressed ginger apple drinks, the whole enchilada if you will. (Damn, I would kill for an enchilada right now…) After the grub there were roman candles on the rooftop, a pretty decent band to check out, unlimited peanut m & m’s, tons of people to chat with– essentially everything you could want in a hurricane hideaway.

Sunday was only slightly windy and barely even rainy (but it WAS cold in my humble desert opinion), and taxis were back on the road by 4 p.m. Slightly uneasy (can you say hurricane hangover?), I headed home to survey the damage. Everything was intact except for the mirror on my wall, which fell off and cracked in half. Not bad for a hurricane that shut down New York City. Not bad at all.

I have to say, maybe it was all the hype around the hurricane (I was pretty much a nervous wreck packing up my room) or maybe it’s the fact that I’m one month in and about to embark on two new jobs here, but today, I’m really missing home. This is the song that comes to mind…