On this 17th day of July, let us raise our glasses:
- To not leaving your apartment for approximately 44 hours
- To Century 21 stores, who provide free WIFI... in your apartment... shhh...
- To the moment when you think you feel your phone vibrating, only to realize it is your broken foot
- To Peapod, and this: Postmates. Even though it just began, it is "everyone's favorite delivery service." Hipsters deliver things to you on bikes.
- To dogs that don't look like dogs
Guys, I couldn't get a picture because she/he was so far away and I suck at being a major creep, but trust me. - To Central Park: the perfect mixture of poops you do & don't mind
- To pigeons as roommates
- To casting notices like these:
"Male and female actors, any ethnicity, 18-35, who have the ability to sit in a cafe and drink coffee. You must be capable of sitting in a chair and drinking coffee. If you cannot drink coffee, art department can put water in your cup and you can drink water, but you must be able to act like you are drinking coffee. While sitting down. Please list any prior experience sitting and drinking you may have." - To Ubers not in lakes
Brought to you by my intentional mistakes & Cleveland - To the sights (brick walls & windows through your windows, with the only imagery coming to mind being Hunchback of Notre Dame), sounds (the horrific cooing of your other roommates, the pigeons), & smells (amateur rooftop BBQs) of a new NYC apartment
- To everyone else having a job
- To wondering who the people who actually take those horse-drawn carriage rides are
- To very expensive French sandwiches via counter service that just aren't worth it
- To making artwork out of Whole Foods bags
- To FINALLY getting a picture of that fake dog
(I'm sorry but I have to share them all)
Instructions
The giant cartoon dog's owner walked back around! He originally walked past while I was crutching, thus zero opportunity for photographic evidence. Over the 10-15 minutes until he arrived again, I was deeply & seriously depressed by my poor timing, and ergo lack of non-dog dog photo. However, as if by miracle alone, the dog returned. And that's when I knew-- I KNEW-- this toast was over.
Providence. It brought this "dog" to me twice, once for a picture but also, first, for the rare opportunity for true marvel. Some say there aren't greater forces at play in this world, but I challenge them to watch an absurdly created dog glide quietly past them twice in one sitting on a day when they needed nothing more than that. Just ask them.
I lied to you. There were plenty more things I could've had happen today over that. Is that the point, though? Now that I'm back in the Toast Capital of the World (2 locations of TOAST + can you really think of a place with more toasts [speech, glass clinking] than NYC?), these blog posts can thankfully return to more fictitious farce than factual folly. It can once again focus on the one, the only, disaster that is New York City, using my misshapen misadventures as guideposts for how to fail. I look so forward to it.
When I started this blog almost one year ago (356 days ago, to be exact), I titled it 52 Recipes for Disaster, "52" being the amount of weeks in a year, the amount of recipes I'd create in that year. Ah, Providence. It was meant to force me to keep writing, continually. We can all see that--
[As I'm sitting here watching this young adult softball league pass by, with their socks and coolers, I realize I miss softball. Everyone misses softball, right?]
We can all see that didn't happen; it's been addressed multiple times in-blog, no need to rehash. I've let it go.
We can't control--
[Oh, gosh, another team is coming. Wow, they must've lost. Now this really reminds me of softball.]
We can't control what's going to happen to us all of the time. We can try-- we SO can try-- and I'm sure that's really helpful, but I'm a believer in timing. Fate, "meant to be", "everything happens for a reason"-- those are tricky words & phrases; they can imply a total lack of control or encourage submission to anything other than one's own self. I like to use the simple concept of timing.
If I had not been so unbelievably unhappy & frustrated with New York City, would I have started this blog? If I had not started this blog, would I have ever had a reason to contact Julie Flygare, the writer who created the first real narcolepsy community, single-handedly spearheaded the petition that got Honda to take down their offensive commercial, and will be the spokeswoman for Honda's promised narcolepsy PSA? If I hadn't been with my roommate when I saw the casting notice for "Peter Pan", would I have asked the lifeless empty apartment to convince me to submit for an audition? If my castmates had been talking about Disney World at any other point then when I was in the bathroom, would I have had to rush out around the corner in my socks to incorrectly step on and thus break my foot? (the truth comes out...) If I hadn't have broken my foot, would I have been home to see a feature film shot in my hometown? And be Melissa Rauch's one-legged stand-in, the first one-legged stand-in for an Academy Award-winning director? (I'd left that part out... It happened.) If that hadn't have happened, would I have ever had a reason to dye my hair a lighter blonde only to have it turn out the exact same color as whence I started, equalling the best possible hair dye situation? (all this happened) If I wasn't still on crutches, would I ever have the opportunity to live at 67th and Columbus, in Lincoln Center? WOULD I EVER BE BROUGHT TO LIVE DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY PERSONAL HERO'S SHOW "LIVE WITH
Whatever happens to you--
[Honestly, 5 softball games must've been just ended, what is going on]
Whatever happens to you after graduation, in your first year in a new city, HAPPENS. It happens because you did something at the right time. That's right: the right time. Because I trust you. I trust that you're not an idiot.
I thought I was an idiot during most of that long period of time when I didn't write a post. Well, if being an idiot brings me Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Sonoma wineries, a major film set with Gary Cole (oh. yeah..), arm muscles I never knew existed, a boyfriend who's proven to me that he'll literally carry me on his back, and a sublet in Lincoln Center, than being an idiot seems perfectly acceptable to me. And July 26th, 2014 will pass, and I'll still keep writing 52 recipes. Until all the idiot cows come home.
And before we go, one more Aristocat:
*Very poor jokes I've managed to avoid until now, but I can't; I'm not that good:
(both to be said in an obnoxious New Jersey accent)
- Providence? You mean Rhode Island?
- If you try to dye your hair blonde and nothing happens, does that make you a dumb dumb blonde?
None of these are funny.
