I Stepped On A Squished Rat & Other Horrific Tales

Before I get into what occurred around 6:30PM ET this past Wednesday evening I'll just provide you with a bit of background. I've lived in  NYC for about seven years now, (3 years continuously and 4 years during undergrad) I've gotten used to the things that make the city unique. Everything from the putrid smells of summer to the copious amounts of rats that come scurrying out at you on late evenings. Yes, I've gotten used to it all; but that doesn't mean that I think it's acceptable. During my tenure here I've made some wonderful memories and bonded with some beautiful people.  However, the city has also kicked the shit out of me; it can truly be an unforgiving bastard when it wants to be. I've watched the sunrise from penthouse rooftops and I've seen body bags (with bodies in them) on the sidewalks. There really isn't any in between here, although once I thought I had bed bugs and it turned out to be a false alarm so I suppose sometimes things aren't always as bad as they may seem. Anyway, I'm rambling so let's get into the incident of the squished rat and other horrific tales. I've seen some truly monstrous things, please do not proceed if you have a weak stomach.

The Tale of the Squished Rat

Midtown is trash. NYC has a population of 8 million people and normally that doesn't bother me unless I'm in Midtown. Unlike the wasteland that is Times Square, midtown can't be avoided. My last office job was in midtown. Every day I would get on the overstuffed subway and commute 20 minutes with a bajillion people. Getting above ground wasn't much better. Once you finally make it to street level you have to contend with tourists, people who don't walk in straight lines, cyclists and a million other aggravations. I haven't had to commute in over a month (PRAISE GOD), so I'm not used to dealing with rush hour anymore. However, this past Wednesday there was a work mixer at my new job that I decided to attend. As the train pulled into the station I tucked my Kindle into my purse and made my way down the long corridors of the Herald's Square train station.  Finally above ground, I was nearly knocked down by a rather rude woman who I assume thought I was invisible considering the force at which she ran into me. Brushing of her attitude, I patiently waited for the light to turn green so that I could walk across the street. I watched the light change and my sandal covered foot left the curb.  As I stepped down into the street, my foot seeped into something, squishy. Gross, I thought to myself, clearly someone dropped something mushy in the street, it's just my luck to have stepped in it. I turned my head to see what the offending substance was when I saw it. My beauteous bejeweled sandal had just come into contact with a flatten rat. I saw the tail and the intestines just sitting there in the middle of the road. I felt my stomach began to bubble as vomit rolled up into my throat. I took a deep breath, and calmly walked to the nearest Starbeezy's where I asked for a cup of boiling water and proceeded to scrub my shoe and foot in their filthy restroom. Basically I should have stayed my ass in Harlem.

The Starbucks Pervert

Speaking of Starbucks, I'm sure I've given them way too much coin in the past decade or so. On one particular day my sophomore year of college, I was waiting for a friend in the Union Square Starbucks. I ordered my drink and beverage and took  seat at a empty cafe table. I noticed a disheveled looking man seated at a table not too far from me, but NYC is full of disheveled looking people so I didn't let it pull me away from phone. (This is before Instagram and before I had an iPhone so I have no idea what I could have possibly been looking at.) After awhile, I got the feeling that someone was looking at me so I looked up again at the man. That was my first mistake. While customers had been coming in and out of the coffee shop, this man had been masturbating. I looked up to see his rusty peen in his hand under the table. Needless to say, I abruptly left that Starbucks and my drink behind and I've never returned to that location. Not in almost six black ass years.

The Rotting Foot

A month or so ago, my lady friend and I ventured into Victoria's Secret to procure some lady undergarments on the Upper West Side. As we approached the store we noticed a homeless gentleman laying down outside of he store. Suddenly the foulest stench known to man permeated the air. I immediately began gagging and my friend frantically ran to the door to try and escape it. As we approached the store entrance I looked back (I don't know why I always look back smh clearly I'm a masochist)  to see the man peel of his sock. If its even possible, the stench grew even more vile. The man revealed a rotting blacking nub that used to be a working foot. It was awful. As we stepped inside the store the security guard was frantically running back and forth spraying perfumes  as the stench wafted in. Needless to say it put a damper on our shopping excersion. (I did get some pretty panties though.)

I have seen quite a bit during my tenure as a New Yorker. Somethings I won't write down here because I'd rather not recall them.  As long as don't encounter anymore squished rats or rotten feet I think I might be OK.

xoxox Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxo

Entitlement (Or In Other Words How to Embarrass Yourself In the Nail Shop)

I grew up pretty squarely middle class, we were comfortable and really didn't want for anything.  Despite all of this good fortune, my parents still expected a lot from us. We were to be well mannered and behaved while excelling academically in school.  If we met their expectations then we pretty much got what our hearts desired (within reason). Until college I just assumed that's how the rest of the world worked. Whether  you were well off or not, you were polite and treated people with decency and respect. It wasn't until I got to undergrad that I realized how tragically wrong I was. As an RA, two out of the four years that I spent at my wildly expensive PWU, I can assure you that evil little toddlers become shitty little 18-year olds who subsequently turn into self-serving adults.

Working in the residence hall mail room I soon discovered that not everyone is taught please and thank you in preschool. I once had a mother call the RA phone at 5am to ask me where to order her shit spawn some birthday balloons. (3 years later I'm still pissed). Even later in my most recent place of employment I spent a considerable amount of time cleaning grown people's snot tissues and garbage off of coffee tables. (Clearly the Barney clean-up song isn't played in every household.)

Some of y'all need reminding

But none of this,  none of this entitlement and pompous behavior is more pronounced then it is at my nail salon on the Upper West Side of NYC.  I'll admit to spending time twice a month in my beloved salon. It's really cheap,  the employees are amaze and typically it's quite a pleasant experience. That is until "she" walks in. (I'm using "she" here as a universal term. There has been many a man that I've encountered who fits these same characteristics, each one more pompous and self-important than the last. Like the man who touched my hair in the club last week, and when I snapped at him he responded by saying "but I like it" as if that justified a strange nasty man hand in my hair. Or the man who TOLD a friend and I to move down in the movie theater so he could sit. As far as I'm concerned that fool could still be waiting for me to move.) But I digress, every few months or so "she" walks into the nail salon and my stomach tightens in disgust.

The first time it happened some lady was waiting on a gel dryer for her manicure as her brat child grew more and more out of control. (Nail shops are not for children!!) As the child dissolved into a puddle of terror, the woman instead of handling her offspring proceeded to rip the poor manicurist a new asshole screaming because she felt she'd waited too long for her mani. (Ma'am can you not see the line of women in here getting gel?!!) The manicurist literally burst out in tears as everyone else in the salon looked on in horror.

Now don't get me wrong I truly believe in good customer service especially when hard earned money is being spent. (This is also why I will never for the duration of my Black ass life purchase anything from Ikea EVER again.)  However there is a time and a place for everything. People who are just outwardly rude and entitled disgust me. What's amusing is that these people usually end up embarrassing themselves. Which brings me to the motivation behind this post.I'm sitting here right now in my pedicure chair writing this piece because the woman next to be just made a complete fool of herself.

When my sis and I walked in, there were a couple of women waiting so we put our names down on the list. After sister started her pedicure I waited until another technician was free and then took my spot in my chair. Perhaps 8 or so women walked in after me and wrote their names on the list. (I'm lowkey nosy so I was paying attention.) The woman to the right of me was on the list right under me and the woman to my left was a few names down the page. My pedicure gets started and so does the woman to my right. Another woman sits at a manicure station. Suddenly out of nowhere the woman to my left slams her computer downs and screams "Are you serious?!! I'm so DONE!!! You're gonna take all these women before me and I was here before them!!!

..................... The entire salon is silent. The woman to my right and I look at each other and then both say to the heaving ball of rage. "No you weren't." The woman to my left calmly resumes reading her magazine. I glance at sister trying not to chuckle as the guy doing my pedi tries to hold in his giggles as well.

All that entitlement and where did that get you? Looking a ridiculous ass fool that's where. Perhaps people will learn to be more polite and more kind with time. Until then I'll sit back and watch them humiliate themselves.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxo

Harlem: On Being Home & Belonging

 "Harlem was home; was where we belonged; where we knew and were known in return; where we felt most alive; where, if need be, somebody had to take us in. Harlem defined us, claiming our consciousness and, I suspect, our unconsciousness." ~ Ossie Davis 

The other day I got home from the gym and opened my mailbox to find my lease renewal form waiting for me.  Though my lease isn’t up until the end of June, I had expected to see the paperwork fairly early this year. (My building has recently switched owners causing quite a bit of ruckus in the process.) As I ripped open the envelope, I stilled myself in preparation for the increase in rent.  (NYC rent is NOT a game.) As I peered down at the number for my rent I blew out a breath coming to the realization that after two years in my little studio, it is no longer feasible to continue living here. (Not in this little space for that much money.) I knew then that I would be moving. Only three more months in my first real big girl dwelling, a home that I’ve called my own.

Two years ago, after finishing undergrad at NYU, I went back to my hometown for a little bit, biding my time until I could move back to NYC to begin my graduate studies at Columbia.  Even then it was Harlem over any other neighborhood that had been calling my name.

Except for the four years that I spent at NYU, I’ve always lived in neighborhoods that have been “isolated”; cut off if you will, from the rest of the city. I was raised on the South Side of Chicago, almost as east as one could get. (Damn near in the lake if you know anything about Chicago’s geography.)  99% of the people in my neighborhood and the surrounding areas were brown people. I went to an all black preschool, elementary school, and middle school. In the majority of the activities that I participated in (bougie block parties, Girl Scout sessions, forced basketball lessons) the people that I interacted with looked like me. It's difficult to understand how comforting that is until you no longer have that blanket of protection. Until you’re the only Black person in the room. ( A near constant state of being for me during the past six years.)

In high school my horizons were opened in the best way possible. I realize in retrospect how rare that type of “diversity” actually is.  I would take an express bus from 67^th Street and Jeffery until 110^th street in downtown Chicago (no stops in between) and transfer over to a train that dropped me off near my school on the near north side.  This was my comfortable cushy ass experience from birth until 18 years of age when I moved to NYC to begin my freshman year at NYU.

Thinking I was destined to live like a young chocolate Carrie Bradshaw I was in for a rude awakening. First I had to contend with being the only black girl in my year for my program and when I went to Duane Reade (Walgreens) I could find nary a hair product that I recognized to tame my kinks and curls.  My frustrations of course didn’t end there, but as I got older and I hope a bit wiser I started to find my niche and seek out my own group of friends.

But then there were those days, days that I still have every now and then when I just wander about the city, people watching and contemplating. On days like those I always seemed to drift towards Harlem. I know people feel that same way about Brooklyn and other hoods, but with Harlem the history was always so prevalent in my mind. The Garvey parades in the 1930’s, sites and locations from Malcolm X’s autobiography. The apartment parties during the Renaissance. The places and spaces where Hughes, Hurston and McKay talked, wrote, lived and experienced.  Not too far from Columbia, it was the ideal place for me to end up.

116th and Lenox, Last Sunday

Harlem is familiar; it’s always been just like home. I feel as at ease here as I felt standing on the bus stop at 69^th and Jeffery back home or when I spent summer days lounging about at 63^rd street beach listening to the men drumming as I ate jerk chicken and rice. Nowadays much of my time is spent on express trains running from 59^th Street to 125^th Street (no stops in between). As the train hurtles towards my stop, towards my home, I never feel isolated I simply feel freer.

As June 30^th quickly approaches, I have some decisions to make. I’m open to the world (or at least that’s what I keep telling myself), but the truth, is I’m not sure if Brooklyn or LA will ever measure up to the love I have for Harlem or even for my hometown. Right now all of that is up in the air.

People ask me why Harlem, why am I so attached? It’s because of my history and my people and the fact that it’s always embraced me without judgment. I’ve never felt the isolation that I felt when living in the West Village. In my fellow Harlemites I see my family and my friends.  In these past couple of years I’ve had some crazy experiences and I’ve learned a lot about myself. One thing though is for certain; Harlem has never asked me to be anybody I’m not.

xoxoxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxox

Eastern Standard Time

A few weeks ago I spent the weekend in DC and I fell in love; which I'm rather shocked about. Besides the loyalty that I feel toward my hometown of Chicago, I've never really been drawn to any other city aside from New York.  For as long as I can remember I have dreamed of living in NYC. When it came time to apply for undergrad, I sent my application off to my dream school and I hoped to sweet baby Jesus that I would some how get in. I did. And about 8 months later I found myself crying as I said goodbye to my parents and sister and boarded a United flight with three huge suitcases. It only took a few weeks for me to realize that I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. This clearly wasn't going to the the chocolate girl version of Le Sex and the City.  Instead, I called my mamma every night  crying and plotting my way home and away from the University that I now call my alma mater.  Miraculously, I stuck it out and  five years later I'm still here (albeit in a much better neighborhood and state of mind). Though I've been considering alternative cities as I finish up my Master's degree in the coming months, I don't think I really was serious about any of them until I carried myself (and way too much clothing for two days) to DC.  Have you ever felt like you just belonged somewhere, that you were completely at ease and free? There are so many exceptional people living in DC, you can feel the energy there its very young and up and coming. But its warm as well, men open doors, people use their manners. Its just easier, a bit slower, and a bit more sane. I guess I didn't realize how lonesome I was for the type of energy or maybe even more for the type of people that I was surrounded by that weekend. All I know is that though I'm head over heels in love with NYC, there is certainly some room in my heart for DC.  For now I suppose DC is my infatuation because as the bus rolled down the NJ Turnpike and I watched the sun setting on the skyline as we approached the city, I remembered why I loved NYC in the first place. I've been in love with it ever since I've heard these words.

" A city like New York ,  where everything is moving all of the time at this constant driving pace. It’s like a living organism, breathing and chainging. And, over time youre relastionship to becomes like this  incredible romance. At first, its intoxicating, irresistible. Then slowly it becomes comfortable and safe. You have this cellular connection to it . As if you’ve known each other forever like your oldest happiness and sometimes you’re on the outs and sometimes you’re making up.  And every now and then you catch yourself in this transcendent moment, where you think to your self. Oh my God I’m madly in love with you and I always will be." ~ Eastern Standard Time

However I will say if the right oppurtunity presents itself. I won't hesistate to pack mysef up for an adventure in the DMV.

xoxoxox Chocolate Girl In the City xoxoxoxoWords of Wisdom

Obligatory Hurricane Post (Stream of Consciousness)

I’ve decided to write an obligatory hurricane post because I’m stuck in my apartment alone. On the bright side, I have delicious snacks, Breaking Bad, a Kindle and a little friend to keep me company.

So what’s been up with me these last few weeks. Nothing too dramatic for once. My coworker told me last week that I’m the Black Bridget Jones which is sadly accurate.  Let’s do a review of my weekend shall we.

Apparently this is me, only chocolate dipped.

I’ve been feeling pathetically homesick lately. I think I get this way when the holidays begin to creep up on me. I’m nostalgic and I miss the CHi, also these NYC ninjas do nothing for me so no distraction there. On Friday I have a tragic four hour class beginning at 9am. Its literally the most foolish class I’ve ever had. I spend half of my time trying not to scream at my professor for calling me “Aramedee” BITCH THAT”S NOT MY NAME!!! I’ve clearly corrected her 75 times and yet she refuses to pronounce it properly. Alas my only entertainment is to look at the facial expressions of my Chinese classmates. My professor is one of those irrational sorts who talks in circles about Foucault and other fancy white men that I suppose I should care to know. Its rough enough for the native English speakers but for the international students it has to be torture. My poor classmate always looks horrified and confused. I've given up on the class in general so when I’m about to nod off I just look at her face for a nice pick-me-up.

Once we got let out at one, I literally raced from campus like my ass was on fire. I live for weekends and I refuse to consider school until Sunday nights.  I took myself all the way downtown to get a fresh bag of Garrett’s popcorn. (Yes, they have one here in NYC.) And of course these New Yorkers don’t know shit so the store is  always half empty. I got my popcorn (the mix with more caramel than cheese), grabbed a bottle of wine and hauled my ass back to Harlem  I proceeded to stuff my face, catch up on SCANDAL, and then took a epic nap.

They're both gone already

Somehow I was convinced to go out that night (well it was mostly the allure of the coconut sangria that the venue is known for). It was one of my classmates birthdays and we went dancing. (Usually I spend Friday nights in my underwear watching mindless television, the week is so exhausting that I usually can't be bothered to try and get myself together until Saturday)

Me  Friday afternoons and evenings

So this is gonna sound ignorant and I know down to the depths of my little Black heart that it does but wtf I’mma just say it. I think African men can just smell that my ass is African or somethin. Now if you know me ,you know that I avoid African men like I avoid  my old ass neighbor Lonnie who keeps asking me out to dinner (the man is 65 years old and he wears Spike Lee jogging suits). Anyway as soon as I have a drink in my hand and my hips are swaying this tiny African is on my ass. I’m sorry but I just can’t....like WHY???!!!!  Go AWAY!!! I twirled around with him for a tad and then told him I was there with my girls, then of course he had to be an awkward lurker for another damn hour. Also  why are grown men till standing around the dance floor staring at women?? I know I’ve discussed this before. (Whatever i don’t pretend to understand the male species, except for my gays of course). I  stayed for awhile got fairly nice and then hauled myself home.

Um so I know this is a shocker to everyone who knows me but I have acquired a gym membership (it’s only $10/month, smh I still have to buy shoes)  and I run 3 miles 3-4 times a week. (I know I’m shocked too). I actually enjoy it ....ALOT. Tis is all to say that Saturday morning I got up and went to le gym. Now this is what I don’t understand.... um... why do dudes try to talk to you in the gym or oggle your behind whilst you're running. Yes, I realize that I have on spandex and luckily my pigmentation does not allow me to turn a tragic red color. However, I get rather sweaty and it ain’t cute.  I’m sure I’m not smelling too fresh and its quite awkward when its quite possible that I  have a sweat stain round my bottom. I’ve started wearing my longer t-shirts so that i can run and stretch with some semblance of modesty.  Going to the gym on the reg has been quite a feat for me. Especially because, few weeks ago I fell off the treadmill while adjusting my ipod, no one helped me and I have big scar on my foot...I still got my three miles in tho.

After the gym I went to the grocery store in preparation for the demise of NYC due to Sandy. Usually I’m bougie and I trek to Trader Joe’s but I had already been to the gym and that was quite enough for the day so I settled for my neighborhood store... Mistake? Yes it was. Mind you I never sleep past 10am (this real person ish is for the birds) so I was done with the gym and at the grocery store before noon. Luckily there was still some chicken left upon my arrival but I stood in the checkout line for damn near 25 minutes. I thought that my frozen yogurt was gonna melt and I was getting quite pressed. My only solace was seeing how pissed people were getting about having to wait so long... honestly its not that serious I just didn't want my Half Baked to melt.

After I finally made it home tugging my granny cart full of groceries behind me I chillaxed until it was time to head to me bestie's for his Halloween shindig, As usually I was the only Negro in sight. Luckily there were some sprinkles of Indians and Asians for additional flare. The music was good (bestie likes only Black music) and the drinks were flowing so it turned out to be a good night, I also may have eaten like 3 cupcakes from Georgetown but I just closed my eyes and pretended that I hadn’t.

I was suppose to be a Bollywood dancer. I just really enjoyed my makeup

One small thing was puzzling to me during the eve. I became chums with a boy and we hugged in one of our intoxicated moments. I honestly think he’d never hugged a woman who weighed more than 130 pounds because clearly it became the highlight of his life. At the end of the night he hugged me again for an awkward amount of time and told me I was an exceptional hugger (?) I’m quite perplexed. What can I say though I do have  some nice cushion and I smell quite nice. Still.....

Anyways I spent yesterday recovering and checking my phone to see if school and work would be closed. Mercifully they were because I made no effort to actually do any homework. (Sad....)  The city has completely shut down, its very strange because NYC for once is silent. But this heifer Sandy hasn’t even really showed up from what I can tell. Its windy but its not even really raining so perhaps it won’t be a big deal after all (Just like Irene from Summer 2011) Anyways that's been my life lately, a lot more tame than normal. I’mma turn up this new Kendrick Lamar and and cook some lunch.

xoxoxoxxo Chocolate Girl in the City xoxoxoxox

PS. I guess I should at least attempt this homework PPS. Never mind shit is closed tomorrow as well :)