I Can't Stop Clacking My Nails On My Desk.
Okay, everyone. It is official. I am a New Yorker. I have joined a gym (formerly my worst nightmare). And yesterday, after a whole day of not doing anything of value STRESSED ME OUT and gave me a headache, I got my first mani-pedi... known to y'all as a manicure/pedicure.
This is something that probably should be done in the BEGINNING of the sandal season, like, say, May or June. Not September, when I'll have to start wearing my Airwalks again before this beautiful color has even chipped off.
I never actually thought I would, or could, be the kind of person to actually PAY MONEY to have someone put paint on my nails (especially my toenails, they're particularly tiny and virtually un-paintable). However, a number of people told me I should have it done at least once (Sarra actually treated me to my first manicure last October and I hadn't had one since) and as I sat in a leather-cushioned chair, one foot in a mini-jacuzzi sort of apparatus and the other foot being massaged with lotion, then later, my hands and even neck being massaged, I thought, "Well, maybe it's okay as a treat now and then."
It seems to be such a classist situation though... all these tiny Asian women submissively positioned on their knees, rubbing, lotioning, filing, cutting the cuticles of what I imagine can often be the most disgusting part of the body while the owners of said body parts read People magazine, gab on their cell phones, or just kick back in the E-Z chairs, listening to karaoke versions of Japanese pop songs.
Other signs I am becoming a real New Yorker:
1) As I said, I joined a gym. Not an expensive one, not a fancy one, but it is a cool one, with a pool where I can swim in the winter and yoga and pilates and kickboxing classes. Let me make clear, however, that I have no interest in stationary machines where I have to focus on my heart rate or calories burned.
2) In reading Rooms For Rent on Craigslist.org, I recognize that 34th St. and 9th Avenue cannot be classified as Chelsea, but is in fact Hell's Kitchen and is not somewhere I really want to live.
3) I don't like the Olive Garden that much anymore.
4) I do like Indian food. (Maybe someday my sushi day will come. You know, on that topic, I was walking home the other day and this man randomly stopped me and said, "Do you know where I can get sushi around here? I just NEED some sushi right now!!" I thought it was so weird that he was being overtaken by a craving for it. But I digress.)
5) Sirens in the middle of the night don't wake me up.
6) However, the mere notion that I could someday get bedbugs is regularly keeping me up nights.
7) I get quite self-congratulatory when I catch both the uptown and crosstown bus back-to-back, just in the nicks of time.
Boy, I really rambled on this one.
What do YOU think constitutes a true New Yorker?
This is something that probably should be done in the BEGINNING of the sandal season, like, say, May or June. Not September, when I'll have to start wearing my Airwalks again before this beautiful color has even chipped off.
I never actually thought I would, or could, be the kind of person to actually PAY MONEY to have someone put paint on my nails (especially my toenails, they're particularly tiny and virtually un-paintable). However, a number of people told me I should have it done at least once (Sarra actually treated me to my first manicure last October and I hadn't had one since) and as I sat in a leather-cushioned chair, one foot in a mini-jacuzzi sort of apparatus and the other foot being massaged with lotion, then later, my hands and even neck being massaged, I thought, "Well, maybe it's okay as a treat now and then."
It seems to be such a classist situation though... all these tiny Asian women submissively positioned on their knees, rubbing, lotioning, filing, cutting the cuticles of what I imagine can often be the most disgusting part of the body while the owners of said body parts read People magazine, gab on their cell phones, or just kick back in the E-Z chairs, listening to karaoke versions of Japanese pop songs.
Other signs I am becoming a real New Yorker:
1) As I said, I joined a gym. Not an expensive one, not a fancy one, but it is a cool one, with a pool where I can swim in the winter and yoga and pilates and kickboxing classes. Let me make clear, however, that I have no interest in stationary machines where I have to focus on my heart rate or calories burned.
2) In reading Rooms For Rent on Craigslist.org, I recognize that 34th St. and 9th Avenue cannot be classified as Chelsea, but is in fact Hell's Kitchen and is not somewhere I really want to live.
3) I don't like the Olive Garden that much anymore.
4) I do like Indian food. (Maybe someday my sushi day will come. You know, on that topic, I was walking home the other day and this man randomly stopped me and said, "Do you know where I can get sushi around here? I just NEED some sushi right now!!" I thought it was so weird that he was being overtaken by a craving for it. But I digress.)
5) Sirens in the middle of the night don't wake me up.
6) However, the mere notion that I could someday get bedbugs is regularly keeping me up nights.
7) I get quite self-congratulatory when I catch both the uptown and crosstown bus back-to-back, just in the nicks of time.
Boy, I really rambled on this one.
What do YOU think constitutes a true New Yorker?
posted by jenna at 10:49 AM
1 Comments:
I think what may constitute a real New Yorker is someone who says, "I'm staying home this Christmas."
Now, don't ask me for my feelings about that...
But your love for the city is intoxicating.
I love you.
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