Greetings Holiday Celebrators! Yes, we are currently mid-holidays, what with the chipper cheerleader of Christmas in our rearview mirrors, and the wasted and roofied sorority girl of New Years laying in the road ahead (and the bespectacled lawyer of Hannukah shaking his head in full disapproval). And you know what that means: goin' home for the holidays! It is now time to get educational on yer butts. Since I had to travel to Buffalo to see the fam and parole officer, I was able to notice some key differences between the citezenry of the Nickel City versus that of the City That Never Sleeps. I have chronicled these observations. In list form. Because you're lazy! And here they be:
1. The majority of the homeless of New York are said to live in the abandoned subway and train tracks all along Manhattan. Buffalo has no abandoned subway tracks, so all the homeless live at the downtown library. That's the only way they have access to the Twilight series. You should see the "Team Edward" shirts they made out of garbage bags.
2. New York is full of snappy dressers! Oh, boy, so many places to shop (at American Apparel)! The fashionable of Buffalo tend to be mostly vintage, because they have no idea what the kids are wearing these days. Legend has it that all Buffalo area Hot Topics were burned to the ground when they ceased to carry wide-legged pants and button-down silk shirts with flames on them.
3. New Yorkers are always on the go. If you take a second to stop on the sidewalk to ask for directions, buy a hot dog, or immerse yourself in the long-time NYC tradition of going to the bathroom on the curb, you will get run over by a people train so intense and angry that you will lose all of your limbs before you can say "don't rip off my limbs!". Buffalo is the very opposite. If there is a crowd of people going somewhere, just stand and wait for them to put you on their shoulders. This is what we Buffalonians call the "Human Taxi". Just tell them where you're going, and they will get you there in no time flat. If you give them a destination, and they only respond with cheers and handing you a trophy, congratulations! You just won the big game!
4. Buffalonians live across the river from Canada, the nicest country on earth. New Yorkers live across the river from New Jersey, the state with the sharpest hair. Both regions have adapted by showering more often.
5. The cultural makeup of New York city is representative of every country in the world. Buffalonians are made up of the Polish, Italians, and Komodo dragons. Don't disturb us when we're sunning!
I hope that helped you make the right life-altering decision as to which city to move to, seeing as those cities were your only choices. So which side of the state is more awesome? GUESS WHAT! The CDC says it doesn't matter! So if you live in New York State, go ahead and move to Florida or something. I have heard that their alligator soup is wise and grandmotherly and that their old people are delicious. No, I said it right.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Biological Clock Snooze Buttons
OH boy. I have wanted kids since I was, myself, a kid. I have no idea why - I have no ability to take care of myself, let alone some future criminal. Why, just the other day I decided to finally clean up the carpet of boogery tissues that had scattered about (both Kevin and I were sick within a two-week period). Finally? Who LIVES like that! I'll tell ya who! The best future regretful parents in the world! But since I am not financially stable, married, done doing childish things like pursuing a job in entertainment, or even full of job (opposite-jobLESS, so it makes sense), I must find a way to hit the snooze on that biological clock. Here are three "Snooze-Buttons" around the city that are just a subway ride away!
1. The playground on 48th in Sunnyside, Queens. This is across from my favorite coffee spot, so I take a gander from time to time. A warning up front: this may have the OPPOSITE effect if you're not careful - just looking at one of the angel-faced cuties running around the playground sends my ovaries into a tailspin. But then I realize that the angel-faced cutie is running around completely unattended.
Now don't get me wrong, most of the time I'm there the parents are having a great, responsible time with their bebes, but once in a while, one of the members of the "Never Wanted This Thing in the First Place" club infiltrate even the most idyllic of family fun sanctuaries. For instance: as I was walking home from aforementioned coffee shop ("Sugar and Joe's". Try the cookies.), and one of the dues-paying members of the NWTTITFP club (they're unionized!) was walking across 48th in front of me toward the playground. She had her red-coated son's arm in her right claw, and was dragging him across the street.
Now, New York mamas, I have seen this many times and I understand where you're coming from - the light's about to turn green, the subway doors are closing, or the street meat vendor is looking to close up. I understand that junior needs a little more hustle in his step, so the claw-and-drag method is just a NYC adaptation, I get it. But this little dude was hovering! Not a tiny little sneaker was on the ground at all! It looked like Mom only wanted to play with the kids arm at the playground, and it was just inconveniently attached to the rest of her child. I mean, come on, Madre! It' a short street and the little walky-man on the signal was still hangin out, so what the crap? You're kid's legs are gonna atrophy soon and all he'll have to show for it is an empty arm socket.
So how does this delay my need to breed? Here's how: I know for a fact that if I had a child now I would be that Mom. Just dragging and tossing my kid around on my way to open-mics before the sign-in starts. Since I have no intention of having a slow and comfortable life for a couple of years, perhaps I will avoid the possibility of some horrified onlooker calling Child Services because I'm power-yanking my kid across Queens Boulevard.
2. Park Slope, Brooklyn. This is where people who intend on having children actually move to. They're usually somewhere in their 30s or 40s, walking around with their pricey prams and going on and on to their girlfriends about playdate schedules and the wondrous, wondrous beauty of potty training. And boy, do they have money. Soooo much money. They're apartments probably have kitchens in them, and not the dreaded "kitchenette"! I wouldn't be surprised if instead of babies in those prams, there were just baby-shaped wads of cash. That can cry and poop. I bet that's what happens when you have enough physical money to make a money-baby: they come alive and you have to raise them just like a real person, but when times get tough you have to consider the idea of disassembling your money-baby to stay afloat. It would be such an amazing test of morals! Whoa, back on track, Andretti...
Now I have nothing against these mommas. They waited til they had the money to give their kids everything they want. And growing up super-rich without any need to fend for yourself has no personality consequesces, right? Really, being in Park Slope reminds me that I don't even have the money to live in Park Slope, let alone raise a child anywhere near a place that family-friendly. I'm not married to a doctor, nor do I have some amazing, high-powered job that allows me to take years off for procreation. We have just enough money to take care of our dog, who is all the child we need right now. Unfortunately, she is not made of cash.
3. The Subway! Not the delectible sandwich shop said in the way my mother would say it (example: "I'm going to 'The Subway' - I got a coupon!"), but the mass transit behemoth here in Ol' Gotham. Three words: high school kids. In fifteen years, I will not be ready to be the mother of the teenage boy on the 'bway that's staring at your boobies and giggling with their buddies. I think it will take more time than that to even save up the bail money it will take to spring Kev Junior out of the pokey after he got caught smokin' reefer at the Queensboro Plaza station. Just sayin'.
Well, that was cathartic. Thanks for sticking it out! I hope we all learned something here. I think I'm gonna go get my tubes tied. That's reversible, right?
Shanin "Cash Baby" Allen
1. The playground on 48th in Sunnyside, Queens. This is across from my favorite coffee spot, so I take a gander from time to time. A warning up front: this may have the OPPOSITE effect if you're not careful - just looking at one of the angel-faced cuties running around the playground sends my ovaries into a tailspin. But then I realize that the angel-faced cutie is running around completely unattended.
Now don't get me wrong, most of the time I'm there the parents are having a great, responsible time with their bebes, but once in a while, one of the members of the "Never Wanted This Thing in the First Place" club infiltrate even the most idyllic of family fun sanctuaries. For instance: as I was walking home from aforementioned coffee shop ("Sugar and Joe's". Try the cookies.), and one of the dues-paying members of the NWTTITFP club (they're unionized!) was walking across 48th in front of me toward the playground. She had her red-coated son's arm in her right claw, and was dragging him across the street.
Now, New York mamas, I have seen this many times and I understand where you're coming from - the light's about to turn green, the subway doors are closing, or the street meat vendor is looking to close up. I understand that junior needs a little more hustle in his step, so the claw-and-drag method is just a NYC adaptation, I get it. But this little dude was hovering! Not a tiny little sneaker was on the ground at all! It looked like Mom only wanted to play with the kids arm at the playground, and it was just inconveniently attached to the rest of her child. I mean, come on, Madre! It' a short street and the little walky-man on the signal was still hangin out, so what the crap? You're kid's legs are gonna atrophy soon and all he'll have to show for it is an empty arm socket.
So how does this delay my need to breed? Here's how: I know for a fact that if I had a child now I would be that Mom. Just dragging and tossing my kid around on my way to open-mics before the sign-in starts. Since I have no intention of having a slow and comfortable life for a couple of years, perhaps I will avoid the possibility of some horrified onlooker calling Child Services because I'm power-yanking my kid across Queens Boulevard.
2. Park Slope, Brooklyn. This is where people who intend on having children actually move to. They're usually somewhere in their 30s or 40s, walking around with their pricey prams and going on and on to their girlfriends about playdate schedules and the wondrous, wondrous beauty of potty training. And boy, do they have money. Soooo much money. They're apartments probably have kitchens in them, and not the dreaded "kitchenette"! I wouldn't be surprised if instead of babies in those prams, there were just baby-shaped wads of cash. That can cry and poop. I bet that's what happens when you have enough physical money to make a money-baby: they come alive and you have to raise them just like a real person, but when times get tough you have to consider the idea of disassembling your money-baby to stay afloat. It would be such an amazing test of morals! Whoa, back on track, Andretti...
Now I have nothing against these mommas. They waited til they had the money to give their kids everything they want. And growing up super-rich without any need to fend for yourself has no personality consequesces, right? Really, being in Park Slope reminds me that I don't even have the money to live in Park Slope, let alone raise a child anywhere near a place that family-friendly. I'm not married to a doctor, nor do I have some amazing, high-powered job that allows me to take years off for procreation. We have just enough money to take care of our dog, who is all the child we need right now. Unfortunately, she is not made of cash.
3. The Subway! Not the delectible sandwich shop said in the way my mother would say it (example: "I'm going to 'The Subway' - I got a coupon!"), but the mass transit behemoth here in Ol' Gotham. Three words: high school kids. In fifteen years, I will not be ready to be the mother of the teenage boy on the 'bway that's staring at your boobies and giggling with their buddies. I think it will take more time than that to even save up the bail money it will take to spring Kev Junior out of the pokey after he got caught smokin' reefer at the Queensboro Plaza station. Just sayin'.
Well, that was cathartic. Thanks for sticking it out! I hope we all learned something here. I think I'm gonna go get my tubes tied. That's reversible, right?
Shanin "Cash Baby" Allen
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Unhealthy!
Ok now that the excitement is over, I suppose it's time to write an actual entry. Partly because I should not start blogs that I cannot keep up, and because I'm sick and have nothing better to do (note: the word "sick" can be interchanged with the word "unemployed" at any given time). I have decided to answer some of your nonexistent questions as a way to introduce myself. If any of your nonexistent questions did not get answered, mainly because none of you really exist, please do not hesitate to fill in the blanks creatively. Here we go!
What the hell is an "unscrupulous miscegenator"?
A phrase that barely makes sense. I am, myself, miscegenated, which is a term that means "of mixed race", since my mother is white (fact!) and my biological father is mostly Black, with some Native American mixed in there (rumor!). I do, however, allow miscegenation to happen without any regard to scruples. I once witnessed a Bengal cat fornicate with a South American Tabby cat and said nothing.
What is this blog about?
That is a wonderful question, invisible questioner! This blog is about my experience as a multiracial 27-year-old female with a Master's degree and no job, who is engaged to a very awesome and patient man, who moved to New York City from Buffalo, NY two months ago in order to pursue a career in stand-up comedy. I shit you not.
Who are you anyway?
I am kind of a douchebag
How cute is your dog?
OMG OMG OMG she is soooooo cute!
Well, that does it for today's blog. I am going to take some meds (meth) and drink some tea (meth-tea) and just take it easy. Oh, and if anyone has seen a Bengal/South American Tabby hybrid cat, tell him or her that we need to get a drink one of these days and catch up.
Shanin
What the hell is an "unscrupulous miscegenator"?
A phrase that barely makes sense. I am, myself, miscegenated, which is a term that means "of mixed race", since my mother is white (fact!) and my biological father is mostly Black, with some Native American mixed in there (rumor!). I do, however, allow miscegenation to happen without any regard to scruples. I once witnessed a Bengal cat fornicate with a South American Tabby cat and said nothing.
What is this blog about?
That is a wonderful question, invisible questioner! This blog is about my experience as a multiracial 27-year-old female with a Master's degree and no job, who is engaged to a very awesome and patient man, who moved to New York City from Buffalo, NY two months ago in order to pursue a career in stand-up comedy. I shit you not.
Who are you anyway?
I am kind of a douchebag
How cute is your dog?
OMG OMG OMG she is soooooo cute!
Well, that does it for today's blog. I am going to take some meds (meth) and drink some tea (meth-tea) and just take it easy. Oh, and if anyone has seen a Bengal/South American Tabby hybrid cat, tell him or her that we need to get a drink one of these days and catch up.
Shanin
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)