Mr. Victor.

When I moved up to Harlem in the summer, I quickly found out that I’d be having to use a laundromat for the first time in my life. There’s only one in my neighborhood, and it’s been in operation for twenty-something years under the watchful eye of Mr. Victor. He’s a neighborhood legend. But how could I know that when I first stumbled in, heavy-laden with Trader Joe’s bags full of delicates?

Over the course of several months, this man has become my friend. When I show up at his door, he usually says in his Jamaican drawl, “Hi, sweetheart. You work today?” and tries to feed me. I’m not sure how many times he’s handed me a banana during my spin cycle and insisted that I eat it, the whole time clucking about how I’m “too skinny”. It’s always hard to get myself out the door on laundry day, but Mr. Victor makes it worth the time and trouble.

This morning, I walked into the middle of a spirited argument between him and an old friend about piercings. Suddenly aware of the additional holes I’ve had punched in my head, I decided it was better not to weigh in and, instead, opted to try my disappearing act on for size. I guess Mr. Vic picked up on that, because after a few minutes, he sidled over and gently thumbed a cartilage piercing before cupping my chin and saying, “Hi, sweetheart. You don’t pay no mind”.

He’s an old man. Married. Children. Grandchildren. And because of this, I don’t mind his familiarity. In fact, it’s been a big comfort on the days when I’ve shown up with a tearstreaked face. He’s learned it’s better not to ask, but is quick to give out a little extra affection when I’m in need. It constantly humbles me to see what a genuine interest he has taken in my little life back east and, for that matter, how he so easily recalls the life stories of each person to cross the threshold of his business.

I love that old man with all my heart. How could I have known that what seemed like a terrifying chore would become both a highlight and a necessary staple in my week?

God bless Mr. Victor and his gentle spirit. I’ll really miss him when I’m gone.

Displays.

I started making displays at work recently, under the careful supervision of Chris Bailey, the King of Displays himself. Now, what you need to understand is that Chris Bailey is someone most of my coworkers call “the cranky old man” and for good reason: he speaks his mind all the time, but what’s on his mind isn’t always nice. Besides that, he’s a father of two and is old enough to be MY dad. But somewhere under all of that would-be tough exterior is a very sweet man who has helped me learn so many things in our time together on overnights.

He’s showed me how to make bales, pull pallets, put up product quicker, make my facings more beautiful and, as I mentioned above, make displays. In fact, he trusted me enough to officially put me in charge of all the displays in the store (including his) while he was out of town the other week. And if you’ve ever seen the man’s work, you know that’s a bit of a daunting task, but I managed!

So this is what I’ve been up to between the hours of 3 and 7am five days a week:

Letterman.

My friend Will works as a page at the Late Show with David Letterman and hooked me up with tickets to the taping a few weeks ago.

It was a really fun experience that I’m grateful I could have. I even got lucky enough to sit in the second row, which Will later told me is a pretty big deal. Why? Because it’s television: they fill the first two rows with the best-dressed and/or best-looking people, according to Will. And he’s the expert, right?

Well, my seat got me plenty of camera time, I’m told. I don’t have a TV, but my parents back home DVR’d the episode and sent me a photo of me on television!

New York is such a weird place. The concept of television is even weirder, though.

Revisiting Coney Island.

I have a couple of skills in life, and one of them is the ability to disappear. I’ve mastered the art of being in a place until suddenly… I’m not, and you’d scarcely even notice I left until long after I’m gone: just ask any of my old roommates.

When I was in school in Utah, I had a place in the mountains I frequented that was my thinking spot, or the place I would disappear to when I needed to be alone. There’s only one person in the world who knows where it is besides me and he’s been sworn to secrecy, but the point of this place was that it was my designated area for figuring life out. If I started to feel overwhelmed, I just hopped in the car, put some good music on and drove until my phone lost reception, which meant I was halfway there.

But even before UVU, I hid out in the Suzzallo library during my year at the UW and did all my best deep thinkin there, whether it was related to my academics or not. Because of my time spent in Suzzallo, I decided to transfer to UVU. Subsequently, my Utah thinking spot helped propel me to New York. So naturally, with my relocation had to come a new place to let things settle.

I tried a few places on for size, but eventually came to settle on Coney Island. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about Luna Park and its surrounding waterfront quiets my mind completely and allows me to feel centered, peaceful, happy and still. That said, you can probably guess what kind of week I had when I say that I was out there twice in the past six days. Oy vey.

Logic says that I should have picked somewhere closer to home, considering that it’s a long ride on the Q, my phone pretty much always dies on the way back and I usually end up spending way too much money on fair- to decent-tasting ice cream on the boardwalk, but logic and I have been seeing other people for a while now.

I’m not sure what I’ll do during the colder months or after Luna Park closes down for the season, but I still have a little over a month to figure it out. Until that day comes, I’ll just be grateful to make my connection uptown with salty, wind-blown hair; sand in my shoes and a clear mind.

I highly suggest that everyone find a place like Suzzallo, my thinking spot and Coney Island. The time I’ve spent in each of those places and disconnected from the world around me has taken me on adventures I never could have imagined. I’m pretty sure they’re all magic, to be honest.

One of the best things about my dad.

If you are a boy or just a person who is kind of uncomfortable talking about Mother Nature, consider yourself warned: I’m about to go there. Yes, there: this post is going to include the word “period”, and it’s going to get repeated a lot. But before you get too nervous, my friends, it won’t be as bad as you imagine. Probably.

I grew up in a home where the girls outnumbered the boys. Between my two older sisters, my mom and I, my dad and brother had to hear a lot about the most-frequented lady topics: boys, clothes, our friends, boys and… What’s the other one? Boys?

Anyway, when the time of the month showed up for someone and she found herself lying on the couch whining about being bloated, having cramps, finding massive zits or what have you, she was never alone. That’s right: my dad was right there commiserating.

“I’m bloaty, too,” he’d say, making a face and holding his stomach. “I feel gross.”

And we’d say, “Daaaaaad. This suuuuucks.”

“I have cramps and I hate everything!” He would whine. “Ouch!”

I can remember several times that I’d ask my dad to pick up supplies at Fred Meyer while he was out and he’d return with my preferred brand of both toiletries and Ben & Jerry’s. Or we’d be out running the errand together and he would ask me if I needed a candy bar, too, which is something I hardly ever turned down. Cause chocolate always helps, right?

Being far away from your parents is never an easy thing when you are from a close-knit family and some events in life really tug at your heart strings when you realize you have to endure them alone. So you know I texted my dad the other day to say, “Dad, I’m so bloated and I feel awful and ugly. I wish you were here to eat ice cream with me”.

To which he responded, as you probably expected, with “Me too”.

I’m so lucky to have a fun, loving father who played Pretty Pretty Princess with us as little girls, made us breakfast, helped us cope with being a woman, took us on trips and just plain supported our family without complaint, which he’s still doing today. Every day, my dad is taking care of me from the opposite coast just by loving me so much. I’m blessed to have someone like that in my life. I can’t wait to see him in a few short weeks.

Here’s to my dad, and to all the cookie butter I’ve consumed in the past three days.

Put a bird on it!

I don’t have any art, so I hang dresses on the wall.

Just kidding, I party a lot.

Just kidding, I work too much.

Just kidding, I’m actually asleep most of the time.

Reigning Queen of Overnights.

Tonight at work, I was crowned Queen of Overnights. Not that there are many of us to choose from for the title, but even still, it’s flattering. So with it being just my manager and I for the evening’s festivities, she let me plug in my iPod to blast through the speakers in the store so we could rock out to something other than the Sad 90s CD. Then we decided to divide and conquer: she took upstairs, I covered downstairs.

I’ve never been more cheerful or productive on the clock. Seriously. Cause how can you not smile and whip through ten cases of stock when you’re singing Yellowcard at the top of your lungs because nobody can hear you? Or balancing on the freezer case facing cookies to Afrojack? It was the best night I’ve had yet.

I love my job.

The Deku Tree and what it teaches me.

Within days of swapping coastlines, my sister Rachel sent me a housewarming gift: a small tree, which she said was for good fortune. And in our first few months together, the young plant was christened “The Deku Tree”, (see Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time) and had a home on the kitchen table of my old apartment.

Now, that place didn’t get much light. So by the end of May, I noticed my little Deku prematurely losing its leaves and became distraught. I honestly considered taking it on walks in the park to get those chloroplasts in full swing. But despite my best efforts, time in the dark continued to weaken my plant.

It was roughly mid-June when I realized that I, much like my small tree, was not getting proper light, so to speak. Not feeling ready to own up to my reasons for changing scenery, however, I said it was mostly for the benefit of the tree. That’s actually what made me so excited to see a big room with a southern exposure: I immediately thought of The Deku Tree and knew I’d found our new home.

I was reflecting on that a lot this morning as I tidied up in preparation for my dear friend Carlye’s visit to the Big Apple and realized that I do best when I have something to nurture and with the loss of my boys come April, all my emotional affection and concern gets poured on this tree. I mean, it’s not unusual for me to make a loaf of bread or two dozen cupcakes for a friend who had a bad day, or to bring an ill loved one my favorite book to read when I’m under the weather. It’s just what I want to do, and am still teetering on the edge of feeling like I can do that in my fairly young, tender friendships here. I guess I’ll get there.

What do you do when you have a terrible need to give affection? Any suggestions? Cause this little tree can probably only take so much water and “Wanna hear about my day?” stories.

“I don’t hug trees, but I shake their hands.”

On Monday, my friend Ryan rented a car and he, our friend Oneal and I drove up to the Hudson Highlands to explore Minnewaska State Park. It was a perfect day for hiking, (a little shy of eighty, with a nice breeze) and we did about an eight-mile loop on Gertrude’s Nose. The views were stunning and the company was even better!

Here are a few photos Ryan took and a couple from my phone, since he’s more prompt about editing than I tend to be. I’ll post what I shot when, yknow, I get around to it. He’s a fabulous photographer, though! It was so fun to see him, Oneal and I photographing the same things with completely different styles. And besides, it was just nice to hike with people who stop for photo ops as much as I do!

A Seattle lightning storm.

Maybe you know this and maybe you don’t, but some of my very dearest friends in this world are frat boys. Bros. Stereotypical collegiate males living in a frat house, all except for the stereotypical part, cause they’re the sweetest, most genuine, loving, patient, giving men I have ever known. For the last three years, they have taken care of me, cheered me on, kicked my butt when I’ve needed it and wiped my tears away. At this point, they really are family to me.

Going to school out-of-state and making this trans-continental move are similar in a couple of ways:

1. My boys got me to be brave enough to take the plunge.
2. I miss them all like crazy every single day.

Earlier tonight, Brian and I were in major need of a catch-up session, so I called home on my lunch. Catch up we did, but I also got the chance to talk to several of the guys who got me laughing so hard I was crying and smiling so big that my cheeks hurt.

But the best part was after Brian and Evan had climbed on the roof of the house to watch a lightning storm and put me on FaceTime. I could barely see them, but the storm was obvious and I could hear their voices clearly. And even though I was sitting on the stairs at Trader Joe’s, I felt like I was right next to my boys. I think I needed that.

Not many people (and not any in New York) know me like those guys, and it was nice to feel so understood for a while. As I settle into and deepen my Gotham roots, the life I left behind increasingly feels like a dream, or a completely closed chapter of my life story. Tonight reminded me that I’ve still got my family behind me and that they haven’t forgotten me. I can’t wait to visit home, order A-Mart and just sit on the couch with my brothers again.