My Main Cast

It took me almost a year to find the close circle of friends that I now have in the city. Last July-September, I began hanging out regularly with a few woman in Manhattan. Because of our diverse ethnic backgrounds, we once jokingly called ourselves "The United Colors of Benetton" and personalized a Disney fairies image that now hangs in some of our offices. The name for our clique never really stuck - not that we've ever tried to label ourselves as if we were some sort of girl band - but the group has gradually updated itself since the initial Cast of Characters post to encompass a beautiful group of women that I am proud to call friends.

Hallmark should make a card that reads, There are 8 million people in New York City, and we found each other. I'd buy one for all of them.

In alphabetical order:
Debasha - the fashion corporate merchandise planner
Iris - the fashion designer / personal shopper extraordinare
Jackie - the cocktail waitress who receives $100 tips from Jay-Z for counting his cash
Mayra, the international manufacturing, research and multimedia supervisor
Natasha M. (Tasha or T) - the film and TV voiceover/actress and the best "Sex and the City" Tour Guide ever
Natasha S. (Natasha) - the finance executive and fabulous roommate dubbed by the Former SNL Actor: "A White Girl Who Swallowed a Black Girl" (check her out from behind and you'll see what he meant)
Ra - the shoe designer and footwear guru

Other main characters (around and about NYC):
Bobbi (Tokii) - the best friend from college, whose acting career takes her in and out of the city
Annisha - the publishing marketer
Candice - the flight attendant
Cassie - the Connecticut-based nanny, soon-to-be-fulltime-New Yorker
Gina - the fashion merchandiser who just moved to LA

A Year Ago Today: September Sunrise
No Title for Last Night
August's Sunset
Two Years Ago Today: VMAs, Mass Celebrity Sighting and Almost TGIF

United Colors of Benetton

Tonight is Girls' Night.
Meet the cast of characters from my nightlife in New York City.
We're like the United Nations or a gang of Disney Fairies.



Clockwise from top (with fairy correlation):
Natasha M., (Tasha) the film and TV voice over/actress (the adorable blonde)
Ra, the shoe designer (the token Black hottie*)
Iris, the handbag designer (the gorgeous White girl with an ass)
Mayra, the international manufacturing, research and multimedia supervisor (the Equedorian with the entire exotic package, including the sexy accent)
Me, executive assistant, blog author (the half Filipina/half White girl with long hair)

*Featured as the Token Black Fairy in our Disney remake and representing for:
Gina, the fashion merchandiser who just moved to LA
Debasha, the fashion corporate merchandise planner

Other main characters:
Tokii, the best friend, whose acting career takes her away from the city more and more and takes my heart with her wherever she goes (the next Tia & Tamara Mowry by appearance; next Angela Bassett by trade)
Annisha, the publishing marketer (the Caribbean beauty)
Candice, the sexy flight attendant (the Black Southern belle)
Cassie, the Connecticut-based, soon-to-be-fulltime-New Yorker, hot nanny that I would never hire to be eye candy for my husband in my home, and one of the top five prettiest people I've ever seen in real life (Puerto Rican with a Southern accent - does it get any hotter than that?)

The most interesting part of the above list is that all of us, with the exception of Annisha (from Trinidad & Tobago), are from or have lived in North Carolina.

There aren't too many Disney references that can be applied to our unmarried-gals-in-the-city lives, but this blog is full of cliché Sex and the City quotes. Many of my cliché moments are inspired by the most important women in my life within the five boroughs ... although that area is quickly expanding to encompass the world.

Phone Photo Op - Brawl on Bleecker

While perusing local sex shops in search of fun paraphernalia for Tokii's Bachelorette Weekend in the city, Candice, Marcie and I came across a brawl on Bleecker Street. It wasn't A Bronx Tale, but onlookers at the outdoor cafes found it amusing. When one reached into his pocket for what we momentarily thought was a gun, he pulled out a cell phone and appeared to be calling the police.

Phone Photo Ops - My World from Jersey

A friend of mine, who lives on trendy Thompson Street down in the Village, refers to Jersey as the armpit of the northeast. However, the armpit was looking pretty good to me this weekend while I helped my best friend move from the South Bronx apartment she shared with Candice for two years into the new Union City condo where she and her fiance will begin their lives together.

Note: No Sunday City Walk in lieu of two days of packing and heavy lifting in a fourth floor Bronx pre-war walk-up.

They have a condo with a master walk-in closet, two bathrooms and laundry on each floor in a newly constructed building, featuring 2-bedroom and 3-bedroom rentals starting around $2000 per month. To put that price in perspective for anyone not subject to the criminal operation that is New York City real estate, another friend of mine pays $7500/month for a one-bedroom on Bleecker Street in the West Village.

View of Manhattan from the roof deck of Tokii's Jersey condo.


Don't sleep on Jersey; the closet space alone is worth the 20-minute commute to midtown on the jitney or the ferry. Below are the first of Tokii and Nate's clothes to be hung in their first home.


Other new-construction rates in Union City and Weehawken run in the range of $1500 for a one-bedroom to $4000 for a 3-bedroom, which are fantastic considering that I pay $1000 for a tiny studio in Harlem, and the commute to midtown from Jersey is almost as easy. And it's incredible to realize that my acclimation to New York from the South has me believing that these are great deals!

“In Washington, the first thing people tell you is what their job is. In Los Angeles you learn their star sign. In Houston you're told how rich they are. And in New York they tell you what their rent is.”
- Simon Hoggart

Wall Street Pact

Over the weekend, my friend Candice sent me the following text message:

"I want to date people in ny like on sex & the city...someone with big artwork in a big apartment and we have to dress up to go out on dates."

Tonight I sent the following reply:

"I propose a pact. If neither of us are married by the time we're 35, we'll each put on something skimpy and walk up and down Wall Street."

When is it Official?

I once heard that you are officially on your way to becoming a New Yorker when you can give someone directions without referring to a subway map.

I left work early today to await a furniture delivery at my apartment this afternoon. My bed arrived without mishap. Now I just need a mattress. But I was almost more excited by a transcending experience I had prior to boarding an uptown 2 train after leaving work.

As the 2 pulled into the station, an older woman tapped me. I paused my iPod and she asked, "Does this train stop at 57th?"

"No," I replied as the subway doors opened. "This is an express. But the Q stops at 57th. Where are you trying to go?"

"57th and Broadway," she answered.

"You can wait for the 1 train on this platform and get off at 59th Street."

"Thank you," she called after me as I boarded the 2. I looked over my shoulder and waved back at her, pressed play on my iPod and took a seat. It was only then that I realized what I had just done.

I had just given someone directions without pulling out my subway map! Granted they were simple directions toward the easy-to-navigate Upper West Side. It wasn't like I'd just explained the downtown mazes below Houston Street, but nevertheless, I recalled what I had once heard about subway directions.

While waiting for my bed to be delivered, I researched the makings of a New Yorker. Here are my findings:

You Know You're a New Yorker When ...
and You Know You're a New Yorker When ...
and my favorite You Know You're a New Yorker When ...

From Lizzie Breyer's review of "Trading Up" in Knot Magazine:
There's something about New York that makes you a snob, if you live there long enough.

New York is one of the greatest cities in the world. It's diverse, convenient, eclectic and constantly engaging. But for that very reason, it makes you totally spoiled. Describe yourself as a New Yorker once, and it means the city's in your blood -- along with everything that comes with it.

You'll notice little changes in your attitude at first. You'll still appreciate nice cars -- they become pieces of art to be appreciated, daydreams enjoyed as you ride the 4 or Q subway lines under the traffic. You start eating brunch every Sunday, and mimosas creep into your regular diet.

But most importantly, you'll start to get annoyed by people who aren't quite as chic and, well, urban. Leave New York for a minute, and it becomes crushingly clear. Even Chicago doesn't seem so great after a summer in the Big Apple. The Midwestern accents? Ugh. And who wears khaki shorts and flip-flops to a bar? Where was the bouncer when THAT happened?

New York gets under your skin like that.

But no matter how guilty you may feel for becoming A New Yorker, remember this: you're not as bad as Janey Wilcox, the protagonist of Candice Bushnell's new novel, Trading Up. And I should know -- I'm a twentysomething blonde fresh from a stay in New York -- just the kind that Candace Bushnell likes to write about.

I'm a twentysomething brunette fresh off the boat in Manhattan, who plans to spend the next 10 years writing about her life in the city - the good, the bad, the ugly and even the boring. When I first started this blog in North Carolina back in July, I had 10 years and 30 days to go - as 10 years is widely considered the official benchmark of official New Yorker-ship.

As it stands now, according to both the 10-year minimum and the New York subway anecdote, I am four months in and well on my way.

Phone Photo Ops - Midnight Police Raid

It's just another night in the hood when you're sprawled out on your air mattress in the living room, Candice is cuddled up on the couch with a blanket watching LOST on DVR, Tokii is in her room working on her thesis, and around 2:30 a.m. you hear a series of pops, the police raid your apartment building, and you catch these images on your camera phone from Candice's bedroom window...







... And then Tokii had a sudden late-night urge to make some Jello.

Six Degrees of NYC

Last week, Tokii, Candice and I watched a new show on ABC called Six Degrees. The pilot was a little disappointing, in that the storyline seems a little unrealistic, a little too convenient, a lot unbelievable. And you have to wonder how far the story can actually go because there are only so many ways you can tie six people together until it's no longer interesting. Six Degrees is yet another way to romanticize New York City.

And that is why we'll probably keep watching it. I'm sure, in some way, many of us want to believe in the romance of this city. And in some ways, it does exist. Not in such wonderfully orchestrated and obvious ways like those brought to the TV screen in this show, but in smaller ways that lured people like me to want to live here, to want to fall in love with New York. Naive? Of course. A little hokey? Very. But I probably wouldn't have taken the risk of moving up here without a job or an apartment if it weren't for blind faith, a little bit of naivety and a borderline hokey dream of becoming a New Yorker.

As the show opened with a skyline view of New York City, I turned to Tokii and Candice and pointed at the TV screen: "I live there!!!"

"No," Candice laughed, "You see our parts of town on Law & Order."

Stealth Bomber Sighting & Girls' Night Out

Last night, I met up for the first time with Eileen in the East Village for dinner with two of her friends. Eileen and I played volleyball together in middle school. We were never really friends. She was a cheerleader and hung out with the popular crowd. I was awkward, lanky, lacked fashion sense (more so than other middle schoolers in the early 90s) and had about four friends.

I happened to run across Eileen's myspace page in an odd, almost unbelievable way. Last November or December, I was sitting in my boring apartment in a boring town, scanning the myspace photos of artsy, trendy and/or socialite-ish New Yorkers, and I happen to notice that her picture looked strangely familiar - like an aged composite photo of a someone I only remember as an eighth grader.

I clicked on the picture, whose screen name was "Eileen." Immediately I remembered her last name so I went to the search feature on myspace and entered her full name. Her picture popped back up in the search results. Wow. I thought, she looks amazing! Feeling a little like a weird stalker, I read some of her blogs and looked at her photos. Then, I thought, what the hell? Let's send her a message. So I did and she responded. I couldn't believe she remembered me. At first, I thought she was just trying to be nice, but I believed her after she mentioned that her immediate recollection of me (upon seeing my photo and message) were side barrettes, shiny shorts, jeans with different color panels, and cotton T-shirts of various solid colors - my exact wardrobe rotation in middle school.

We exchanged messages on myspace over the past few months and she offered invaluable advice about moving to New York City and becoming a New Yorker. When I met her last night, she was a fifteen-years-older version of the eighth grader I remembered. Hilarious, witty, radical and fabulous! At the restaurant last night, she introduced me to her coworker at a famous American leather goods company and best friend Annisha, and Annisha's lifelong friend Dana, who is a teacher in Brooklyn. Both being just as friendly, funny and fabulous.

After dinner in a trendy Greenwich Village spot, where we drank Sangria (that we all agreed wasn't that good), we headed to the Meat Packing District, where I got my first dose of Lower Manhattan night life. We toasted the night in a bar just blocks from Carrie's fancy apartment stoop in Sex & and City (in the show, her apartment was on the Upper East Side; in realty, the famous front steps and doorway are Downtown).

I arrived home at a less than decent hour, but realized that the rough neighborhood to which I was returning wasn't quite as intimidating as I thought it would be because dozens of late-night barhoppers were just getting back, too. Twenty-something girls were hobbling down the sidewalk in painful heels, the homeless were sound asleep instead of begging for spare change, guys of all ages were listening to music on street corners and once I came within view of Tokii's apartment building, I knew I was almost safe. The drug dealers who hang out on the front stoop of the building are almost like our 24-hour security and concierge. One of them stood up as I approached, took out his key and opened the door for me, told me I looked really pretty and said good night.

It was a good end to a long day that involved more disappointing bouts of apartment hunting that continue to leave me feeling emotionally drained. I'm glad I didn't spend the night laying on my air mattress, flipping channels on Tokii and Candice's TV and feeling sorry for myself. Tonight reminded me why I came to New York City - to have a life, the kind of life I want for myself in my late-20s, where something ... anything ... happens to me before marriage, babies, minivans and vacuum cleaners.

Oh yea, and a stealth bomber flew really low over the train station I frequent in the Bronx while I was waiting for the 4 train yesterday afternoon. It passed slowly overhead, banked left over Tokii's apartment and headed toward Manhattan. I don't know what the significance of including that sighting in this blog is, but it's not everyday you see a black, flat, triangular "Bat plane" fly over your head.

Cockroaches Not Welcome Here

Last night, Tokii and I had an all-out war with one of the biggest cockroaches either of us have ever seen. It was the two humans-on-one bug showdown of the year. We spent the better part of 20 minutes chasing a swift, invincible, super roach with a shoe, hairspray and a bottle of 409 degreaser from the hallway to the hall closet, back down the hallway, into Candice's room, behind her bureau, into her closet, and it finally ended with a fatal squish. Not suprisingly, no one came knocking on our door or called the police to investigate the 20-some-odd minutes of terrified shrieks, charging battle roars and frustrated screams from Tokii's apartment. Today, while I was at work, Tokii set off a bug bomb in the apartment. This weekend, I'm buying a can of Raid roach spray.

I didn't leave the office tonight until after 10 o'clock. On the subway back to the Bronx, I tried to discretely read the Newcomer's Handbook to Moving to New York City in my lap. I felt like one of those tourists you see in Times Square with an overpriced visitor's guide, a giant folding map, and that ever-so-inquisitive "which way is the Empire State Building" look. Some natives may scoff at the idea of trying to learn this city from a book, but Belden Merims 19th edition is well-written, informative and hugely insightful - no matter how dorky I feel reading it in public, carefully positioning the book in my lap to conceal the cover and spine so as to not subliminally broadcast my new, unfamiliarity to the city. My cousin "in-law-but-not-really" gave the book to me as a welcome gift to the Big Apple. It arrived in the mail yesterday and I began reading it almost immediately. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband (the son of my aunt's new husband) and their son. I hope to meet them when they get back from vacation this week or next.

Interesting Meaningless Information of the Week: Two guys broke the record yesterday for riding the entire metro system - every line through all 600+ miles - in less than 25 hours, the previous record.

First Weekend Recap

Saturday: Slept in. Woke up around noon when my aunt called. Cleaned a little around Tokii and Candice's apartment. Not that it was all that messy. Just trying to earn my keep a little since they're letting me stay here free (I plan to give them something toward this month's rent though). Met my aunts (two of my mother's sisters and a sister-in-law who live in Queens) at Applebee's off of Times Square. Terrence and I could not believe (well, we could believe) that all of the same menu items were twice as much as the prices in the South ... or any other Applebee's in the world. Hey, it's Times Square. We were also amazed by the sheer volume of random things that my Tita Connie had in her bag. She was like the Filipina Mary Poppins, but it's one of the things that makes her so cute. We laughed a lot and had a good time. Afterward, we strolled around a little. Saw Samuel L. Jackson - or his wax replica (I'm not sure which, it looked so real) - outside of Madame Tussauds Wax Museum. Stopped by Cold Stone, but didn't buy any ice cream; the lines were too long. My Tita Marie relayed the following story to Terrence and I (paraphrased the best I can remember):

"One evening, I was walking through Times Square on my way to that store over there, and it was so crowded. And I kept wondering to myself, why is it so crowded? And why is everyone looking up? I finally made my way into the store, bought whatever I was trying to buy, and when I came out, they were blocking the streets. And I was wondering why. And then I remembered, it was New Year's Eve."

Later, my aunts left Terrence and I at the Loews movie theater. We went to see Miami Vice, which was my treat to thank him (again) for all of his help this past week. It was a hard-to-follow, seemingly plotless movie but entertaining enough. Then, we returned to the Bronx.

Sunday: Slept in again. Woke up around noon. Went to the grocery store on the corner. Hung out around the apartment. Watched The Constant Gardener on my laptop. Candice texted to let us know she'd be back soon (she's a flight attendant and has been out since Friday). My resilient, little plant that I brought up from North Carolina (dubbed "Sasha") has sunburn on her leaves. I put her in direct sunlight on the window sill and I guess she didn't like it. Tomorrow Terrence and I are going to go to Manhattan and be tourists. Then he leaves for La Guardia Airport very early on Tuesday morning. And I have to figure out what the heck I am going to do with my life here.

Temperaturely Speaking ...

... I am in hell. According to news reports, I moved to New York City during the hottest week in the Big Apple's history (not hottest week since 1972 or 1848 - in history). On top of that, Terrence, Candice and I scoured the city with what few hours we had left on the rental van madly searching for box fans. Apparently there are none left in the city. Eight million people sitting in pools of their own sweat. Go figure. If any New Yorkers read this and know where we could find several box fans within a Metro ride-radius of the Bronx, I would really appreciate it.

Today, it has been three years since my former boyfriend Rickey passed away. I thought about him most of the day. And I thought about his family. I should have called, but it's hard for me to call them sometimes. I talked to his mom on his birthday back in June, and there is still something about hearing her voice that makes me feel like he's going to get on the phone, too. Like when she laughs, I remember how he used to go up behind her and tickle her in the kitchen. And then something inside of me hurts. I still have to emotionally prepare myself to talk to anyone in his family, and today has been so physically and mentally exhausting. I don't know that I can face that part of my reality head on.

Terrence and I arrived in the Bronx this morning around 9 a.m. (and about 87 degrees) after a 12-hour overnight drive, in which he drove the entire way (what a trooper) and I slept on and off (how typical). We were riding over the George Washington Bridge in the early dawn. It's a moment I'll always remember. There are no words to describe the way it felt to see the Manhattan skyline loom before us. It was a new New York City to me. It wasn't a New York City I was just visiting. It was a New York City in which I would be living.

There was not much time to revel in the bittersweet excitement, however, as we rolled in the South Bronx and assessed our next move. The elevator in Tokii and Candice's building is out-of-order so we made approximately 15 trips each - from the van parked on the curb, up four flights of stairs (in one of those old buildings with high ceilings so the stairways are extra long and steep), and no air conditioning or fans. But we didn't complain - just muttered, groaned and sighed. It really felt important that we help each other. He wanted to get my stuff upstairs as quickly as possible (given the less-than-friendly reputaton of the South Bronx), and I didn't want him to do it alone. Plus, we needed to turn in the rental van by mid-afternoon.

We piled my boxes in a corner of Tokii and Candice's living room, where they will stay until I find an apartment, and then we each took ice cold showers. Terrence later reported that from where he stood showering, looking down over the busy road and the park across the street from the bathroom window, he observed a presumably homeless man taking a dump against a tree. He said he felt really awkward about watching this normal bodily function taking place in a highly abnormal setting with cars and pedestrians passing by, but he just could not stop looking because he just could not believe his eyes. Lately he has been more preoccupied and amazed that all of the windows in Tokii and Candice's apartment are wide open, without screens, and we rarely see any mosquitoes.

It is just so hot all day and throughout the night that we don't even want to sit next to each other. Sweat causes our clothes to cling to our bodies and the backs of our legs to stick to the couch. At one point, I looked at Terrence and said, "I think we messed up. We're in New Orleans."

His response was a short sigh followed by, "Damnit."