I have got to get better about writing these things down. When I don't, I get overwhelmed at the amount of crazy New York things to remember. So, in an attempt to catch up, I have created a Top 10 List. I like lists. They aren't intimidating. They have a decisive start and finish, which as a reader, I appreciate. And I haven't written a list in a while. So here we go.

TOP 10 MANHATTAN MOMENTS

(As of lately. In no particular order. Locations may vary.)

1. Going to Potomac, Maryland with my roommates. The weekend was packed with 7 of the 8 members of the Odell Family plus one grandmother, a beautiful home, Chick-Fil-A, a Naval Academy football game, a disproportional amount of guys to girls (PTL!), car rides, California weather and one giant St. Bernard. 

2.  August: Osage County

3.  Playing the "Make It To The Next Subway Car" game. You know, when you are on the subway, but your exit is at the opposite end of the train. Each time the subway makes a stop, you jump out and see how far you can run down the platform before the doors shut on you. I think we made it 1 and a half cars in our longest sprint.

4.  Visiting Dallas to see the world of Ivy Hopkins. Imagine: 3 girls all under 5'3, one very patient "go-with-the-flow" boyfriend, one Carny infested State Fair and an absurd amount of friend food. Welcome to Texas.

5. Georgia's Bakery  before work. Cappuccio please!

6.  Buying 5 fake Coach bags from Chinatown for an assortment of aunts and friends of friends. I get a little fired up if I talk two much about these treks to Chinatown, but let me take a minute and talk about some misconceptions one might have. There are 2 big ones that come to mind. First, You don't just "drop" by Canal Street. You plan. You wear appropriate shoes. You avoid carrying a handbag that you purchased on Canal Street. It's like walking around with a sign that says "I WILL BUY YOUR KNOCK OFF. JUST HARASS ME A LITTLE MORE." And you can't forget to bring a massive tote bag so you don't have to carry a ratty black plastic trash bag filled with your scandalous purchases back to your apartment. Second,  you can't just swing through Chinatown and "grab a bag." Instead, there is walking, searching, scoping out. When you feel like the time is right, you unleash for magic words, "Have any Coach Bags?" Hopefully those four words are met with a little Asian woman flagging you to the back of her shoe-box of a store. She will then reach for a hidden button. A buzzing noise follows. Before you know it, you are ducking under the pegboard wall of purses into a small hallway, up a staircase and through a few more buzzer triggered doors. Jackpot.

7.  Grilled Cheese and La Madeline's Tomato Basil Soup. Lots of friends chatting away. Lots of Fellowship at Apartment 9A. 

8.  Seeing a man walk down Broadway with a cat balanced on his head. For the second time in two weeks.

9. Going to Princeton for the day with dear family friends. Our day was packed with the Princeton vs. Harvard football game, a tour of campus, a famous Princeton Hoagie for lunch and a lecture in the auditorium where Einstein proved his theory of Relativity. Just another day. 

10. Riding the subway with two roommates and a man with a baby stroller. But no baby. The stroller was packed with diaper bags and junk.  We were intrigued. Especially when he took the stairs and asked random people to help carry his baby-less stroller up the flight. Twice people stopped to help him.  Odd that he kept appearing next to us on the platform. Creeper. 

It's raining Cats and...Cats

What is with people and their cats?In the past 2 weeks I have things I have never seen before. That isn’t saying much when you live in New York City. But both of these things, well, involve cats.

I saw a woman walking her pet on the street the other day. That’s normal, right? Wrong. She was walking her cat. 

On a leash. On Broadway.

Today I saw a man strolling down Broadway. He seemed pretty normal. Tall. He was wearing a hat and sunglasses. As I sped up, I notice that he wasn't just tall. On top of his baseball hat, was his cat. Yes, his cat. Precariously balanced on his hat, was his full-grown black cat.

Seems like the natural place to put a cat.

Thankfulness.

A wedding. A feast.

15 friends. Atlanta, Birmingham, Dallas, Miami, New York City, Washington D.C.  Together. Car rides, plane trips and late nights. Finally. The Hyatt Place. Wake up! Good night. Together. Sleep. Manicures and Pedicures. Canon Camera. Sweet taste of good conversation and a Starbucks drink. Catch Up. Grace 17.20. One generous and hospitable bride.  Robes, picture books and William & Sonoma. Tasty food. Thoughtful words. Such grace. Wardobe change. Depart. One rehearsal. One video. How did we get here?. Boys. Girls. Bride Groom. Parents and families. Glamour. Jesus. Perspective. A meal. Everyone. Words of wisdom. Stories of laughter. Two moms.  Two people in love. One big God. On the road. Late night. Piled in. Why you have short nail? A show. Side splitting. Laughing. Exhausted. Sleep. Excitement! The Day. Hair and make up. Packed House. Ready. Marriage Licensee. Beauty of a bride. Pure. Joy. Surrounded by support. The aisle. Speed walk. Ceremony. Worship. In love. With their maker. With each other. Kiss the bride! A loud cheer. We have come so far. Party bus. Mr. and Mrs. Celebration! Together. Photo booth. Sushi. Cigars. Snap pictures. A Lot. A band. Fajitas. Texas friends. Sweet tea. College friends. A gathering. Dancing. Big Big smiles! Photo booth. Full stomachs. Hugs. Dancing. The Car Wash. Bouquet. Garter. Last dance. Pictures! Rose petals flying! Goodbyes. Hotel. Friends. Full, tired and satisfied. Night two of multiple personalities. Long nail Sex-ey. BANG BANG BANG People are trying to sleep in here! Uncontrollable. Laughing. Escape. Sleep. Deep. Rise and shine. Headaches. Packing. Check Out. Disperse. Starbucks. Behind the wheel. Back to our home. Bar-B-Q. Hospitality. Generous. Fantastic weather. Laid back. Decompress. Precious family. Roadie. Cherry Coke. Packed bags. Back on the road. One more home. Relax. Processing. One last meal. Flying Biscuit.  Off we go. Good bye friends. Hello Marta. Tick. Tock. Forever. Hartsfield Jackson. Uh Oh. Run. C1. C8. Chaos. Board. Hugs. Missed flights. Delayed flights. Lost phones. Home. Where ever that is. Love my friends. Until next time. Another wedding. Another feast. 

Mr. Hedge Fund

Yesterday, I heard a friend talking about going to get coffee with some guy.
Should she go? Should she not go?
Such a quandry.
I start to think, why am I not getting any random coffee date proposals?
Oh well, fleeting thought. No point in dwelling on something that didn't happen.

That brings us to today.

I'm heading to work. I get off the subway at my normal stop. I begin the three flight climb up to the world.

For some reason I am the only one taking the stairs instead of the escalator.
Wait, not the only one. I have a buddy.
I'm wearing heels, so this guy (who is walking right next to me in the wide open flight of stairs) is about my height. Businessy looking. Not bad looking, just not so much dateable. . .

Flight One.
"Seems that we are the only ones doing the stairs today", he says.
Haaa, seems like it.
"I guess no one else wanted to get the exercise!"
Haa, guess not.

Flight Two.
"Hey, I'm Joseph."
Uh, hey.
"Where are you from originally?"
Dallas. You?
"Is that a 214 area code?"
Haa, uh yea. (Freak)

Flight Three.
"What do you do?"
I'm in advertising. You?
"Hedge funds. You familiar with that?"
(I live in New York, of course I know what hedge funds are.)
Yea, vaguely.
"Well, I would love to explain it to you over drinks."
Haaaa, whoaa smooth. (which I actually say to him)
"Hahaaa, here you go. (as he hands me his card.) See you around!"
Bahaaaa haaaaaaa. Did that just happen?

I make it to the office and sit down at my desk. Let see what his card said.
Managing Director and CEO

Oh my.

I doubt he is older than I am!
And to think, I could be dating a CEO!

Stop means Stop

It's Sunday.
It's been about a week since I went on a jog. The day is perfect, 65 degrees and sunny! Sunday jogs in the spring are the best. New Yorkers are busting at the seems to get out of their 600 square foot apartments and stretch their legs. There is always great people watching on these jogs. I gear up, have some Grape Nut Crunch and coffee and gulp down a glass of water. Off I go.

I start the run like any normal run. By dodging European tourists as I run past the Met. I swing around towards the park and pass under the bridge where the homeless man sits with his Scoop bag, trinkets and fruit meticulously laid out for all to see. After a slight incline, I round the corners of the Great Lawn and finally make it over to the West Side.

I begin to slow down upon reaching the red light. Hm. I will just wait before I cross the street. I come to a stop. And then it hits me. It's like I'm standing in the ocean waving to a friend on the beach only to get slapped on my backside by wave that came out of no where! That is how I feel when I'm hit with the dizziness and nauseous feeling. OH NO. I am about to pass out. Is this really happening?

I see a bench. I just need to sit down. I just need to walk across the entrance to the park and then I can sit down at the bench. Ok. One step at a time. Almost there. . . . OUCH! What am I jolting into? OW! Shut. What do I keep hitting? Are my eyes even open? And where is all of that noise coming from? BAM.

Oh. My. Gosh. What just happened? I come back into full consciousness. I make it to the bench. I look back to see where I just came from. You have got to be kidding me. Did I seriously just duke it out with the steel barrier (complete with large metal stop signs) that blocks the entrance to the park? Um. . . Yes. Yes I did. Did anyone see me? No, no the didn't. Or they did and they're so embarrassed for me and the abrasive dance I did with the roadblock that they won't even offer me help. I'm OK. I'm OK. Breathe.

I'm totally fine now, except a gash on my leg and scratches all over my hands. Maybe I should be glad that the big metal arm was there. Instead of falling to the ground, I ricocheted off the stop sign a few times. Yea. Now, instead of healing from a concrete related head injury, I'm just limping around because the bruise on my thigh is so massive.

What a day. I think I will hold off on the Sunday jogs for a while.
But, hey, it could have been worse.

My Very Own American Idol

Where, you might ask, did I encounter My Very Own American Idol? Well that would be on the C Train, heading Uptown, of course!

And what do you mean My Very Own American Idol? someone else might ask. 

Let me culture you.

I'm sitting on the train getting all into my very first Beth Moore book, when I hear someone humming. Is that humming? What is that sound? The mild humming rapidly melts into a high pitched song coming out of the mouth of a girl sitting across from me. The girl seems normal. Cute hair, big cubic zirconium earrings, skinny jeans and sneakers. Oh, and head phones on.

Is that really her singing? Everyone is looking around wondering where this voice is coming. . . WHOOOAAA. Definitely her. She is now belting out some song about "I'll provide for youuuuuuuu uuuu uuu iii aaahhhhh uuu. And you need meeeee me me me." She lets her voice do that staccato trill thing, that sounds more like someone clearing their throat while riding in the back of a truck bed thats doing circles in the Gay Street parking lot. Oh my gosh. I'm laughing to myself now. Well, note even to myself, I'm laughing out loud. She can't see me. Her eyes are closed, she is very involved in her music. Boy, she is gaining some serious momentum.  I mean, the train is loud but that voice of hers is clearly winning.

Sad, this is my stop. See ya' Mariah.

So that, my friends, was my very first experience with My Very Own American Idol, reject that is. Truly wish you could have been there.