chef boyar-JFK

wow. it's been a hot minute since mama updated her blog. apologies for the delay! life in NYC sure doesn't leave a gal with a ton of free time. but, after much harassment from some of my goofball coworkers who happened to discover the blog (despite its somewhat NSFW content), i've decided to make my glorious comeback and grace you all with one of my all time favorite ridiculous tales.

one of my girlfriends, lauren, travels a ton for work. (no, this isn't a story about joining the mile high club. surprisingly enough, i actually don't know anyone who's a member. side note: friends. approach me immediately if you've been withholding this very valuable and epic information from me).

anyways. lauren was headed home to san francisco after a two week long journey on the east coast. it'd been a hectic trip: multiple cities. dozens of cranky clients. too many disgusting hotel meals. so you can imagine her frustration upon arriving at the gate at la guardia airport to find her flight home was delayed. after each announcement, her hope plummeted as her departure time was pushed farther and farther away. of course, the only way to stay sane and pass the time was at the airport bar.

so there she was. sipping on her glass of sauvignon blanc cursing the airline gods. among her, were many an airline passenger doing the exact same thing. among them, a guy around her age sipping on a beer. after a few minutes of coyly making eye contact, he struck up a conversation (they say misery loves company. turns out, it also makes for a great pickup line). so they commiserated over their delayed flight, shared their stories of where they're from and what they do (his name was christian. he was a chef working at a restaurant in london. home for a few weeks visiting his family in arizona).

they enjoyed another beverage together. lauren started to think things were looking up! he's a chef for crying out loud. and a cute one at that. there had to have been a reason she met this young man at this moment in time. if anything for the potential of living out her dream: free food and a pen pal across the pond.

but then she heard over the loudspeaker: her flight was canceled.

grumbles erupted around them. frustrated, they threw the last drops of their beverages back, closed their tab and made their way over to the customer service area with the swarm of unhappy airline travelers. at least they weren't alone in the situation. they had alcohol on their side.

after forty minutes of arguing, back and forth, un-booking and rebooking, their flight was miraculously un-canceled and scheduled to leave in 2 hours. with that time to kill, christian suggested they grab a bite to eat. of course lauren complied, excited by the idea of picking a chef's brain over food (and consuming more wine). so they sat. and they ate. and they laughed a ton. and they ended up drinking an entire bottle of wine. lauren was actually having quite a pleasant experience at an airport, which was otherwise unheard of.

but then her phone rang. it was an automated update from the airline. the flight was canceled. again.

so back to the customer service desk they went. accompanied by their white wine buzz. as it turned out, there were no other flights departing that night or the next morning from la guardia. (which isn't surprising. airline travel is so easy and accommodating in the NYC area). they were ultimately both rebooked on flights departing from JFK the next day. they'd have to cab it from la guardia that night and stay at a hotel near JFK airport.

maybe it was the wine talking. maybe it was her apprehensiveness to stay alone in a shady neighborhood. maybe it was how sweet and adorable the chef was. or maybe she just wanted to be featured in my blog. but since her company was paying for the hotel room, she offered him to stay with her. but not before they became facebook friends. so in the instance he did in fact turn out to be an ax murder and chop her into a million pieces, there'd at least be a paper trail.

so off to the hampton inn they went. they checked in. went outside to smoke a cigarette. and made their across the street to the only thing that was open: a gas station bodega to purchase more booze. lauren got a bottle of wine. christian a six pack of beer.

back at the room (which, for the record, had two queen beds. lauren made sure of that. she didn't want to come off like a floosy) they sat in their respective beds and drank their respective beverages. they turned on the tv and watched the movie tremors. because nothing says romance like a kevin bacon thriller while chillin' in a hotel room with a strange man you just met.

the movie ended. the majority of their beverages consumed. an awkward silence overcame the room.

so…, christian said, do you… want to come over here?
that’s your move? lauren slurred. making her way over to his bed.
yeah, I guess so!

well, that was all it took. and there, in that shady hotel room, lauren boned the chef. with one of his foreign condoms straight from london.

her 4 a.m. wakeup call came around much faster than she'd had liked. the pounding wine hangover wasn't doing her any favors either. but she got up, snuck out of the hotel room of shame, and headed home. where she went straight to the office.

after a long day at work (and a burrito to cure the hangover) lauren's roommate picked her up from the office so they could grab some pho for dinner. while in the car, her roommate noticed something.

um, what is that thing on your neck? she asked lauren.
what thing on my neck?! lauren panicked. she'd had her hair up at the office all day.
girl, i think there's a hickey on your neck.

lauren pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror. and sure enough. there it was. in all its red round glory. a hickey right smack in the middle of her neck. in plain sight.

at least she had a damn good story behind it. worth it.

san francisco: a love letter.

dear san francisco,

five years ago you took me in. with no job and no direction, i started my journey above kitty's nails in the tender nob. i had no idea what i was doing or where i was going, but i trusted you, and was quickly enamored by your beauty, charm and wonderful weirdness. ready to discover a new life after college, i dove right in, and thus our love affair began. 

over the course of our relationship, you guided me and forced me to discover new things. i took risks. i met new people. i had many an interesting encounter with various bums. i opened myself up to a whole new world of opportunity. and, most importantly, i found out who i wanted to be. i never wanted to let you down, and as a result, had the best five years of my life, with the most amazing people, in the most incredible city in the world. 

it was you who introduced me to my love for running. because of you, i was constantly surrounded by a pack of pals who know how to have SO MUCH FUN and who will always have my back. you made me realize a big city can be oh so very small, but that isn't always a bad thing. and finally, you taught me how to trust and believe in myself. 

so, thank you san francisco. for taking a chance on a bright eyed, bushy tailed 22-year-old mess. i'll never take advantage of the important role you played in shaping who i am today, as i am forever grateful. i might be moving on to different things, but you will always have a special place in my heart. stay awesome. stay weird. stay hyphy. 

xoxo,
m

the end of my freshman year(s) of life.

first, let me start of by providing a few definitions.

freshman year(s) of life, noun: of, or referring to, the years preceding college when twenty-somethings are supposed to be acclimated into the "real world," but are still struggling with managing and maintaining their binge drinking, college partying and terrible decision-making tendencies.

real world, noun: pertaining to life after college, or what is perceived to be the life of an "adult" (and I use that term loosely).

rage, verb: the act of extreme, take-it-to-obscene-levels, partying.

adult, noun: who the fuck knows what it means to be an adult.

i hate to admit the aforementioned language has been my prime vocabulary over the last four years. i thought upon entering the real world, i'd turn into an adult magically overnight.

oh, was i mistaken.

my routine since leaving college has been a lather-rinse-repeat of one rage-fest after another, sprinkled with a few new anecdotes:

• the responsibility of upholding a profession - "what do you mean i have to do this every day? i upheld a strict do-not-plan-anything-before-1p.m. policy for the last 4 years, and now you're telling me i have to be in the office for an 8 a.m. meeting? ON A FRIDAY. how am i supposed to go out thursday night? wait... can i at least break for naps?"
• paying bills - "hold on. mom, dad, you're not paying for my rent and utilities anymore? woah, woah, woah. when did this happen? i know i have an income now, but its predominantly to be spent supporting my drinking habits."
• meeting new people - "but. i have friends. and they're AWESOME. who is this scrub trying to shake my hand right now? is she really wearing her hair like that? what is that top? don't even talk to me anymore."

and thus has been my freshman year(s) of life. i'm going to assume most people can get away with one, maybe two, years living their life as such. i'm not quite sure how i managed to survive four years of these shenanigans. but here i am, on the cusp of my twenty-sixth year of life on this earth, in one of the most amazing cities in the world, and i find myself at a crossroad. much like robert frost, although i'd like to think i'm much better looking than he, i too see two paths before me. do i continue down this road of whatever the hell this is that i'm doing? albeit fun, i'm convinced it's slightly masochistic and ultimately self-destructive. or do i try to be an actual adult, and participate in adult-like activities?

i'm not trying to get too philosophical, but let's say, for the sake of argument, i were to wake up on a saturday void of the pounding hangover headache, no crusty make-up lingering from the night before, and without the stiff neck from passing out in what could only be described as some form of a pretzel. is that what happens in real life?

just some food for thought, as i can't help but wonder with my day of birth rounding the corner in a few weeks, what will become of my existence post-freshman year(s) of life.


all i know is it's gotten me to this point. apparently i'm a blogger as an adult. who knew?

but really now... can someone please get me a glass of wine?