“Buses are for Poor People” or Why I Hate Buses

For those of you who have been in my life for the past couple of years you may have heard me say “I don’t take buses, they’re for poor people”. This is a bold statement, even for me but I had come to this revelation one day and just blurted it out. I’ve tried to explain my distaste to people since but I always come off, understandably, sounding shallow and ignorant. This would be explained if I were, say, Thurston Howell III or George Burns (the archetypal rich people of course…?) but since I am usually counting change to buy TP or most currently on Unemployment, I have no right to say “poor people” with such dismissal. I was thinking today and tried to come up with where this disgust for public transportation came from and then little events from my childhood kept popping up. I thought I’d share them with you to maybe explain, justify- probably not, but at least show you what buses have done to me to leave such a bad taste in my mouth.

 One of my first memories of the bus was one I would take to school. I had just moved from Miami to Long Island and I was going to Saint Peter’s by the Sea kindergarten. I’m not sure if I started later then everyone else but I was the new girl combined with my life-long gift of being the weird girl. My only memory of the bus is that we were going to have show-and-tell for school one day so I decided to bring in my guinea pig.. only I decided to bring my guinea pig in every day for 2 weeks prior to the actual show and tell. So I was the girl on the bus with the guinea pig. I thought everyone would think I was the coolest. Not so much.

Then there are those scarring memories of being teased on the bus in middle school. Most days I would come home crying and most nights I would cry myself to sleep at the thought of having to take the bus the next day. Again, the gift of being the weird girl. I remember one day my best friend at the time was sitting next to me on the bus when the girl behind her called me a lesbian. I must’ve been in 5^th grade at the time and hadn’t done anything particularly “lesbian” besides maybe…look out the window? My friend then pointed at me, said “you’re a lesbian” got up and sat next to the girl behind me and never talked to me again. Stacy Dalleinne, you’re an asshole. They weren’t all traumatic memories during that period, however.  There was one particularly proud moment. One day after school I had gone to the mall and purchased the new cassette single of Ace of Base’s “All that she wants”. I went home and listened to it on repeat for hours (much to the chagrin of my family) while playing Mario Brothers. Boy weren’t those kids impressed when the next morning I knew EVERY WORD to that song as it came on the radio. God, it was a high.

Then there was the bus my sister and I would take to the International School of Paris, a kind of summer camp in, funnily enough, Paris. The ride wasn’t so bad but the view of the Chaperone’s feet on this bus left something to be desired. She would sit there wearing sandals but she would always forget to wear one key accessory on her feet- her toe nails. There were none. Not a one. Maybe the creator of Uggs had her in mind when he invented those beauties. Cover ‘em I say!

Now let’s delve into the world of long trips on buses. One summer my Dad was moving from Paris to Prague (yes, I’m fancy) and we took the bus from one to the other. The ride was 8-10 hours, squished next to my sister and bored out of our minds. I was armed with my Donald Duck comic book in French and I would plead my sister to translate the five words of French she knew to try and understand what those crazy characters were up to. This was not only frustrating but utterly unfulfilling. I still have no idea what they were yammering on about. Ah, but that was not the only entertainment we had for the arduous journey. We also had a Walkman and my sister, dad and I would take turns listening to the one B52’s cassette we had. Not even Love Shack B52’s though, the one before that. 

But if you think that’s bad then you have no idea what were in store for on the return trip. Apparently our bus driver was the world’s number #1 ABBA fan, that or Satan, because he played ABBA music videos for the entire 10 hour trip. Had I grown up in the 70s or had a penchant for disco swedes this might not have been so bad but when you’re 11 years old watching the entire, vast and unending repertoire of ABBA you will be scarred for life. My sister and I still cannot listen to ABBA without shuddering and rocking back and forth to block out the pain. Try us. 

 

Let’s see. Then there’s the bus my sister and I took from Florida to New York once. We had been spending Christmas in Saint Augustine but wanted to get back to New York before my parents, for New Year’s Eve or something so we decided to take the bus. Seemed simple. Take the 5pm and arrive in New York 17 hours later. For some reason though, bus companies are lost on the concept of reserving seats for a particular trip. Instead we had to wait for hours and hours at the station, hoards of us attempting, futilely, to get on each bus as they would quickly fill up and we had to wait, crammed in with hundreds of other people trying to get a seat. Finally, I remember being pushed up against the wall by a mob and waving a hurried goodbye to my then frantic mother as my sister and I hurled ourselves to the front of the line and managed to finally get on one of those majestic beasts. At last. Now to relax and fall asleep to wake up in our home state. That would’ve been ideal. Unfortunately at 3am our bus pulled into a station and they kicked everyone off while they cleaned it. How efficient these companies are! Well apparently “cleaning” the bus meant throwing everything out that had been left on the floor, under our seats. So my sister’s huge volume of something-or-other was not there when we commenced our journey and so I then had a very angry Jennifer for the remainder of my trip. This and the fact that it got to the city about 6 hours after it had been scheduled to arrive left us ripping out our hair. This is when I decided never to take a long bus ride for the rest of my life.

Another key bus memory I have was in Colorado. I had just had my heart broken and had decided to spend the summer with my parents at their summer house but didn’t want to wait the couple of weeks until they would take the nonstop 3 day drive there (traumatic memories) so I decided to fly out early. Since their house is in a remote town this meant taking a plane to a tiny plane and then a bus. The second plane landed in Grand Junction, Colorado which, if my observations were correct, is one of the layers of hell. And not one of the cute ones either. This was a real Podunk town. After I walked across the street from the airport, careful not to trip on the passing tumbleweed, I checked into a Deluxe Motel 6 resort. This city seemed like far too shiny a pearl not to explore so I decided to take a bus to the mall. This was the most frightening bus I had ever taken. Not necessarily because I was in any great danger, but because I was exposed to the sordid underbelly of Middle America. I was the first one on what seemed to be a handicapped bus and I must’ve missed the sign that said “stereotypes of trailer trash enter here” but my fellow passengers followed instructions. At the first stop what looked like a 13 year old girl entered. A very pregnant 13 year old girl. The next stop gifted us with a 500lb woman who shuffled to the back. The third stop brought a man in his 40s, shaved head and arms covered in tattoos. I don’t remember there being many teeth in his mouth as he sat next to the 13 year old, put his arm around her and kissed her. Yep, that was his spawn in her belly. Luckily the 4^th stop was the mall and I ran out of there before any other rednecks could get on. The trip was traumatizing and the rest of it is a blur. I do remember sitting in my bed later that night eating a McDonald’s salad with a spoon. A fitting end.

I’ve taken buses since then but the lasting memory that comes to mind when I picture taking a bus was one I took to work in NYC that was filled over capacity, as per usual. A large older woman was squished against me clutching a plastic bag. Inside that bag were two packages of Depends. This is what I think of every time someone suggests taking a bus in Manhattan. An old woman and her diapers.

So maybe when I make the statement “buses are for poor people” what I mean to say is “buses carry some of the most excruciatingly painful and horrifying memories for me and no thank you, I’d rather walk”

Ode to a Cat: Part 1

Since there is nothing more thrilling than hearing someone talk about their pets, I thought I would take a moment to discuss the wonders of my cat. It's just a shame there is no sound so you can't hear me use a baby voice as I regale you with tales about my itty bitty widdle kitty. Alas, this will have to do.

I got my cat from a shelter a little over a year ago. I had started volunteering there mostly because I wanted a cat but, being a nomad, didn't actually live anywhere so I had no home to share with a pet. My duties consisted mostly of petting cats, brushing cats and looking at cats. On my first day, within moments of me asking if the shelter needed any help, I was given a dog to walk. It wore a little vest that said "ADOPT ME" and off I went. Now, when they first said walk a dog I thought "oh man, i'll look so cool and i'll swing by work and everyone will be like 'cool, a dog'. What fun!" Unfortunately, while the dog (a small pitbull I think) was very sweet, it also had one if its eyes bulging out of its head exposing the red around it and looked like a bloody gumball about to drop out of its face. Not cute. As I walked the pooch, praying that it wouldn't have to go #2, (in walking my sister's dog in the past I had learned that I had a 50-50 chance of throwing up if I had to pick up the poop. I have a bad gag reflex and the smells and warmth in the bag.... ugh! Too much for my delicate disposition to handle). Luckily/unluckily this Peter Lorre look-alike had the squirts so I just looked the other way and continued on my way. Anyway, it was a quick walk that, needless to say, did not involve me parading it in front of my co-workers.

Peter Lorre

Back to the cat. While I was at the shelter to help out I, selfishly, was spending most of my time picking out a cat for me. At first there was a calico that I named Razzamatazz (not officially, just in my head) but since I can never make decisions he was adopted before I had a chance to make up my mind. Then one day I saw this pretty little gray tiger striped cat with big beautiful green eyes who was soo sweet. She purred and meowed and I thought, "This is the one!." Then I saw a teeny tiny white kitten and decided THAT was the one until I found out it had already been adopted so I went back the the original ONE. (I hope she doesn't read this!)

I went to the owner of the shelter right then and there and did the paperwork and she was mine. I was all ready to pack her up and go until the owner reminded me that I was supposed to be helping out and needed to stay til closing. So for the remainder of the day I pet her while picking out a name. I don't really pick out good names for pets. When I think about getting a pet and naming it I'm like, oh wouldn't Camus be cool or maybe little Nirvana but as soon as I get a pet I name it something uninteresting like Myrtle. My first was a guinea pig I named Jonathan (very imaginative). Then a cat named Tiara (terrible), Sugarcube (I was into Bjork at the time), a frog named Mortimer (no idea), Mina, Fuzzy Lumpkins.... so it should come as not surprise that my cat has a lame name. For some reason she looked exactly like a Cosette to me. I don't know what a Cosette looks like, I've never met one, the only time I've ever heard the name was in Les Miserables but she needed to be a Cosette (which I'm not sure is better or worse than the name they gave her in the shelter, Lady Godiva)With time Cosette has turned to Cosi (or Cozy or Cozi I can never decide on the spelling) so I have a cat named Cozy.

I hadn't gotten a pet for some time because I believed I was cursed. None of my pets last long and I thought if I got another one it too would die an early death. But then I decided I wanted a pet so I said "meh, whatever". One cat had some disease, 2 got hit by cars while under my mother's care (ahem), the frog jumped on my sister's head, I looked away for literally a second, and it was never seen again...no idea where it went. I came home one day to see my hamster's cage door wide open and he was never seen again either, I think my crazy landlord hamster-napped him.... Because of this I am a little protective over her and she repays me in scratches, bites and soiled kitty litter. Seems like a fair trade.

When I first got her she was very timid, staying mostly in a corner but she was affectionate and would sit on my lap as I pet her. About a week into my new catdom she started scratching and scratching so I decided to take her to a quick visit to the vet. Well it turned out the "2 year old" cat I adopted was more like 8 years old, she had a heart murmur, was missing teeth, had an ear infection and ended up costing me $300 for them to basically tell me I had a cootie cat. I freaked out at first but I had specifically wanted to adopt an older cat since they have a harder time getting adopted, and I knew she had been on the streets so I sucked it up and she eventually got better and, for a short time, things were good. Theeeennnnn I noticed she started to do a happy dance. A very happy dance. That bitch was in heat. And I mean ALL THE TIME. I would say 3 out of 4 weeks she was wiggling her butt, slithering around like a creep and caterwauling til all hours of the night. Well, she was supposed to have been spayed...but that was not the case.

To be continued....

The Curse of The Gypsy

Recently I have become quite exhausted by what seems to be the main driving in force in my life- to live everywhere and see everything.

I have always had an insatiable desire to travel. I'm not sure if it's because, as a Sagittarius, I am labeled a wanderer or because my sister and I would fly to Europe to visit our father or drive cross country with our mother every summer and its a force of habit but I have an innate restlessness that hinders me from enjoying 100% of my surroundings in the moment, because I know that with time I will want to pick up and experience somewhere new.

I can't even count how many different apartments and houses I have lived in in the past 30 (stings every time!) years and along with that the countless jobs to go with each new location. I will low-ball at about 20 each but it may even be closer to 30 at this point. When I was 24, tired of my sedentary life in a NYC cubicle, I decided to backpack across Europe by myself. An ironic personality trait of mine is that I like to be independent so I often choose to do things by myself and then immediately get lonely and feel sorry for myself that I am alone. Hmm. It was during this life altering trip that I realized that what I would really like to do is to live everywhere in the world for a couple of years (OK, maybe not everywhere.. we can cross off anywhere where it is super-hot all year long, too religious, where women have no rights, there are tarantulas, war, or dictatorships).

I'm not one of those travelers that is content rushing from major city to major city, seeing all of the attractions that my guidebook tells me to see simply so I can hurry there, touch a wall and say I had been there. When I was in Florence there was a girl in my hostel visiting Europe from South Korea. Whereas I had given myself 10 days to soak up the town-perhaps a few too many but I was in no rush- She had taken a train up from Rome that morning (5 hours), in her one day in Florence she was not only going to see all of Florence, but also take trips to nearby towns Siena and San Gimignano before leaving the next morning for Milan (another 5 hours away). This blew my mind. I don't see the point in that. If you have one day, pick somewhere you can enjoy, checking off a list will never give you a proper feel for a place. 

After traveling for a couple of months I decided to live in Italy because I had fallen in love with everything about it. And even while there, making amazing friends from all over the world, learning a new culture and language and seeing some of the most beautiful scenery I had ever seen, I didn’t feel like Italy was where I could see myself forever. And that’s the problem, I don’t see myself as being anywhere forever. When I try to envision my future and a place where I'll eventually have a house and a solid foundation, I literally cannot think of anywhere where I would like to live forever. And then I start to get a bit panicky and stressed at the thought of being stuck in one place. While other people would love to settle down and set roots, I flee in the opposite direction of that permanence. When my time was prematurely cut off in Italy and I returned to New York. Throughout the duration of my stay in New York, I wanted desperately to return to Europe so every apartment I rented and every living situation I had was very temporary because I wanted to be able, at any moment, to pick up and move. This led to four years of squatting, couch hopping, and subletting before I decided to pick up and move elsewhere. In retrospect I had had a great time in NYC, I made great friends, worked at an awesome hotel chock full of celebrities, and went to cool places but I couldn’t let myself enjoy it because I wanted to be somewhere else.

I then left that life and went to live in Florida. This time was not as successful. I didn’t feel like I really connected with the people, the pay was low and the jobs humbling and so after thinking I would stick it out longer and try to make a life for myself for a couple of months, I got a call that there may be a job for me in London so I jumped at the opportunity. In returning to New York (albeit temporarily), the place I realized I had missed so much while away, I felt really disconnected from everyone and everything. I was only gone 3 ½ months but it felt like I hadn’t left at all, only I was no longer a part of everything and that is a hard feeling to have. They say you can never go back but if I'm constantly moving locations in the future, then it means that I don’t really have a home base, and don’t really have a place to go back to. 

The thing is, no matter how hard and gut wrenching it is to say goodbye to the many amazing people I have met along the way, it is my choice and my need to keep moving that changes everything. Everyone moves on with their lives and I am on a seemingly endless quest for the perfect place for me. As I scratch more and more cities off the list, I wonder if such a place exists or if I will always be pushed by this desire to experience something new. In doing this can I ever have long lasting, meaningful relationships or will my life be an endless relocating-making friends-to say goodbye to them- and start again somewhere else- cycle. It's exhausting and it is hard. Very hard. So with the prospect of moving to London next week I am equal parts excited and nervous. While my goal has been for quite some time to move there, I love the energy, the music and fashion scene and everything just seems cooler with an English accent, the thought of once again starting from scratch, the long painful process of getting to know people, slowly making friends and establishing a life and the fear that after a certain amount of time my desire to move on will creep up on me and force me to begin the process again, elsewhere scares me. While I feel equal parts Stevie Nicks' Gypsy and Chocolat's Juliet Binoche I wonder if I'll ever get to be Julia Roberts at the end of Eat, Pray, Love. Sigh.

Spiders are not our friends (with illustrations!)

If there is one thing I am absolutely terrified of, it is our friend the spider. I know I am not alone in this sentiment but something about those creepy crawly monsters just gives me the heebie jeebies. I don't care if they're killing insects and a part of the life cycle or however weirdos try to justify them..just lump them in with sharks and alligators and get them away from me! I'm so creeped out by them that I can't even bring myself to kill them because I don't want their evil residue on whatever shoe, book or tissue is lying around to squash them (not that I have tissues lying around as I am not a teenage boy!) When I see them it is usually followed by my cry for help, "MMMOOOOMMMMMMM" and she comes to save the day. When she is not around and I am left to my own devices, well hilarity ensues. There are two specific instances that come to mind, one I am currently dealing with (not that a spider is perched on my shoulder at this moment) and one that I will never forget. Enjoy. Mwahhahahahaha...

No Jerk Animals Allowed

When I was in my early 20s (decades ago) I worked as a receptionist at a local fitness center (yes that is how I got such toned abs!) One morning I was getting ready for work at around 5:30am or so and I was looking around for my uniform. As I didn't see it crumpled up on the floor I figured my mom had thrown it in the laundry so I headed to the laundry room.
Now, as most of us live in the 21st century, when we picture a laundry room we probably envision things like a floor and a ceiling. Well you are all spoiled! Our washer and dryer were conveniently located in our basement...which was accessed by going outside, lifting a heavy rusting metal door, swinging it open to reveal  concrete steps (or I'm assuming were steps but were difficult to see under the cobwebs and dirt) and going downstairs. Now, I might be an arachnaphobe but I am not exaggerating these instructions: It was best to dive downstairs with all limbs tucked in, breath held and while running. On your way down you would switch the lights on but, as there were often spiders and cobwebs lurking in the corners, it was best to do so with a light speed (which spellcheck thought would be more appropriate as lights peed) pace, with your hand covered in a long sleeve to avoid any arachnid encounters. When you got down there, swatting back the spiders lurking on the step's corners, you were met with a dirt floor, and wooden ceiling COVERED in spiderwebs. (Kind of reminds me of Indiana Jones at the Beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark) Do whatever you needed to do AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE run back, swat off the lights and run out, slamming the door behind you, thereby preventing any further attacks.

Heading Into the Spider's Lair

So on this particular morning, after having showered I stumbled out into the still-dark morning and lifted the door. I ran down the stairs, flicked on the light and reached into the dryer. Now while I was rummaging through the laundry to find my shirt I felt a very slight shift in my hair. Since it was wet I figured it was just falling into place or there had been a slight breeze, either way I foolishly ignored it. I grabbed the shirt, flicked off the light and ran upstairs. I went into the bathroom, shuffled around and glanced in the mirror. Something made me take a second glance and to my sheer terror in my hair was a wolf spider. In case you don't know what they look like here is a picture:

Is there Anything Worse?

Needless to say I did not keep my cool. I quickly swiped it out of my hair while screaming bloody murder. So much so in fact that it woke up my entire family and both of my parents came running down from their room and my little sister from hers. After that, when I could be coerced into going to the basement, I wore a hooded sweatshirt with the hood tied tight on my head...

I have recently moved to Florida and at my new job I park under palm trees when I am at work. The view is lovely, and it sounds exotic...however...I started noticing something whenever I work the night shift. I don't know if it's karma or fate or what but each night I leave work, there is a solitary white spider on my car door. I first discovered this little gift from God when I was driving home. It was dark and out of the corner of my eye I saw a little movement to my left. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a creepy white spider slowing lowering itself toward me. In an ordinary situation I would dive in the other direction or turn and kill it but since I was driving and there were cars ahead and behind me I had to, while simultaneously looking to my side and in front of me, reach down blindly and shuffle around through the used tissues M keeps stashed in the side of the door, grab one of those crusty wonders, quickly open the window and throw the tissue at the spider so it would be sent to its death outside and out of my sight.

Quite a Predicament

Now I don't know if each night it is this same spider seeking revenge or a different one every night but 90% of the time I leave work, if I peer into that little section where the door meets the car, I find this waiting for me:

So We Meet Again....

Last night after work, knowing the drill, I spotted this little devil and immediately began trying to murder the beast (or at least get it the hell off my car!) I cautiously reached for a large wood chip lying around and kind of pryed it out of its nook but then it began crawling around on my car door. As a genius, I sprayed crystal light on it trying to drown it in low calorie deliciousness. It didn't work but spraying sugar water all over the car didn't seem like the smartest thing to do...I got another wood chip and flung it at it which eventually led it to leap off my car. I hurried into the driver's seat and strapped on my seat belt, surveying the window to see if there where any others lurking around when I saw a teeny tiny itsy bitsy version of my sworn enemy....which means it had babies....in my car...and they have millions of babies at once.... something tells me this is a bad sign. Can't wait to get off work at 11 tonight!

Prepared For Battle!!!

Hahahaha. Sorry what's that? Oh, you wouldn't get it....

As we all know I am somewhat a master of amusing myself. I often laugh out loud (although NEVER lol) at some observation I've made or inside joke I have with myself. I am capable of spending hours and hours (and hours and hours) alone in my head without getting bored. Call it independance, cleverness, insanity..,. but it has gotten me through solo backpacking trips and many a dull day staring at the ceiling so I'll say it's a positive attribute. 

I haven't quite gotten my footing friend-wise during my relocation in Florida (i.e. I spend all of my time with my mom or my cat) so of course this has come in handy.
Recently M and I took a tour of the local tourist attractions. I was given a pass for free entrance and we went to a wax museum. I remember begging and pleading my parents to take me to this same museum when I was younger and, this time, it looked like it hadn't been renovated since I had last attended..in 1990. There were many figures without nameplates identifying who they were intended to be, they were dusty with ramshackled hair, Brad Pitt looked identical to Angelina Jolie (only without the wig) and there was a big display dedicated to the film Face-Off (which came out around 1998 if I remember correctly) with John Travolta leaning forward as if he'd had too many drinks at the latest Scientology mixer. The collection they did manage to scrap together had many old timey characters (I can't imagine a child saying "Mommy, Mommy! Look! There's Robespierre!!") including nameless royalty and other historical characters that noone remembers. Anyway, there's the set-up, here are the pics:

A local dreamboat

Didn't end up so well....



Eagerly anticipating my fortune...



Eagerly anticipating turns to anxiously awaiting



Me and come creeps



He-who-can-not-be-photographed-in-focussAHHHHHHHH

Sharing a laugh (inside joke)



They didn't get the joke...



Saint Augustine likes shiny things..

Thank you for sharing these moments with me. Honestly this blog was made mostly to amuse myself and it worked.

Look! There's Something!

Motivation is pretty hard to come by if you are..say, me. Due to my penchant for languishing in bed and making sure none of my Facebook friends are having too much fun, I haven't gone out much since I've been down here. The little excursions to the local grocery store and newly joined gym (which are ironically/conveniently) located next to each other have been an every day event to keep my sanity and, as I had previously mentioned, the library is my new best friend (not one, but two branches!!)

Today, mostly to procrastinate looking for a job that doesn't exist, I decided to make my way to Downtown St. Augustine, the old historical part. I have been enjoying driving around and getting more comfortable behind the wheel. In doing so I have come to the conclusion that Floridians are terrible drivers. I've been seeing ads and hearing about how there is a big Crystal Meth problem in Florida so I just assume they're all on drugs. It's not that turning signals are optional here, they just don't seem to exist. Not to say that I am an expert driver by any means, but I'm still a little anxious behind the wheel and people whipping between lanes hither and thither doesn't really relax the nerves. I've also done a wonderful tour of incorrect parking lots and close-but-not-quite-right shopping centers. It's amazing the places you wind up when you keep finding yourself in the turn-only lane too late to switch and have to go very circuitous routes. But since I don't have much else to do with my time, I'm not too bothered by it all.


So, after many wrong turns, being cut off by SUV carrying a boat, and being stuck on a draw bridge, I finally found a place to park semi-near the center of the old town and began my journey. This journey lasted about 30 minutes. It's not that exciting walking through touristy shops by yourself with no money or knowledge of your surroundings. Here are some pictures I took along the way:

Entrance to the Main Street of the Old Part of Town...Probably not what it's called...

 

 

Sweet Little Loving Children or Terrifying Goblins?

Bridge I had gotten stuck on and pretty, yet smelly, water

Castillo de Something or Other

 It was a nice little walkabout and but it started getting hot (see previous blog if you'd like to know my thoughts about that) so I got in my car, took a few more wrong turns, followed a beat-up truck that was most definitely being driven by a drug-addict and eventually made my way home. It was nice to see the sights but even more comforting to be welcomed by my cat, doing what she does best.

Home, Sweet Home

Whoops!

People who know me would say that, besides being one of the most amazing people they've ever met, I can be a bit impulsive. I get really excited about the IDEA of the things and then jump into them without really thinking about them too much. I used to think this spontaneity kept me young but, as I just turned 30, it does not seem to be working.

If I might use the past few weeks as an example... I decided to quit my steady job at a fancy hotel where I hobnobbed with (i.e. handed room keys to) multitudes of celebrities, say goodbye to my group of good friends who I love dearly, move out of my apartment where I have been living with my best friend of 12 years, pack all of my belongings, stick them in a car and drive down to Florida to start a new life. On paper it seemed like a good idea. I could live in a pretty, historic city, on the water, live relatively rent free, the sun would be shining, fresh air... A nice breather after a pretty horrible winter in New York.

Before

After a week of living down here the reality has sunken in.. Not to be negative, after all it has only been a week and I am still getting adjusted, but there are a few things that are taking getting used to. For instance, the amount of time I am spending with M & B after having lived on my own, more or less, for many years. They are on a pretty set schedule (up at 6am, 2 hour walk on beach, lunch at 12pm, B takes a nap, M takes me around town to get my bearings and comfortable driving after 6 years of not, dinner at 6, M & B are usually in bed by 8 or 9pm) and I just weave in and out of it trying not to step on any toes. As a self-proclaimed social butterfly, retiring to my room by 7pm to spend the rest of the night surfing the net and watching movies is getting a little old. But since the only two people I know here are over the age of 60 ("Isn't that all of Florida," you're probably thinking) I have become quite familiar with the city's library DVD collection.

After

Also the job search is a little..whats the word? Bleak? Depressing? Humbling? Yes, all of these. It seems I will be making, if I am hired, around $8 less an hour for the same amount of work I did in NYC. True, the cost of living here is less but again, $8 less for the same amount of work...And, interestingly enough, me being from New York almost seems like a negative down here, like I have to prove myself even more to them. Don't they know we are a superior race? ;) (JK if there are any prospective employers reading this...)

But above all, and what prompted me to write this post, are two very big "Doh!" moments that I've had while being down here.

1. I don't like being hot. Actually, I loathe being hot. It makes me incredibly irritable, and and an overall unpleasant person to be around. And I get hot easily. And not in the 80s, the 70s! High 60s even!!! I actually recoil in fear at the thought of the temperature ever getting to the 80s. Also, the fact that I sweat like a water buffalo if the temperature jumps above 60 degrees does not bode well for me living in Florida. Yesterday it was 73 degrees in February. February!  I perish the thought of what temperatures June will have in store for me. What was I thinking?

A typical face when I am hot...

2. Sorry, maybe this is a little gross and I was having creepy dreams about it last night so I woke up feeling like a Cootie Queen, but I am actually allergic to the sun. Yes, I am allergic to that giant yellow heat ball of gas and flames that seems to be resting upon my roof down here. And maybe it would be comforting to know that there is medicine I could take to prevent it or heck, an actual name for it (impossible to find) but no. There's nothing. So if I am out in the sun for too long (we're talking 30 minutes, not 12 hours) I get tiny little red itchy dots on my arms, legs, chest, basically anywhere the sun touches. And, mind you, this never happened to me in New York or even the beaches of Italy. In fact, the only two places it has ever happened to me in my 30 years are Belize and FLORIDA!!! Who is allergic to the sun and moves to the Sunshine State? So, after having dreamt of a much more creepy version of it last night, I awoke to begin research to see if I could find a way to prevent it. And this is what I found. Finally! Now I no longer have to worry about looking like a creep!!!

"When going out in the sun, wear full sleeved clothes and pants, a wide brimmed hat and sunglasses. Women can tie a big scarf around the head to protect the head and neck."

Oh yeah, this is gonna be great....