February 7, 2008...3:15 am

It Doubles as a Rice Krispie Treat Holder

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Today New York City forcibly beat the shit out of me with its cold, hard fists. Any New Yorker can tell you that once in a while, well, the city just does that. Just when you finally get a day off, your ambition takes over and you think, “Today is errand day! I’m going to hit the bank, Duane Reade, the cleaners, the gym!” And then the city throws a gold-toothed smirk your way and reminds you, “No, insignificant slob, today is blizzard day,” and before you know it your running shoes are frozen to the dirty ground and people plow into you as they zip through the storm.


It wasn’t NYC’s Blizzard Fist that ritualistically beat me today, it was its arguably kinder sibling, the Spitting Rain Fist. I left The Boyfriend’s apartment today with only a blazer on because I heard it was going to be unseasonably warm today. Correct. But as I stepped out the front door of the building and noticed the drizzle I was confronted with an all too familiar debate: to return to the apartment, wait for the insufferable elevator and grab one of the 6 million cheap drug store umbrellas I’ve acquired, go to the drug store and buy another umbrella, bringing the grand total to 6 million and one, or get drizzled on for my entire 15 minute walk. I recently solemnly swore I would not purchase another umbrella until my stock has dwindled to less than three, so purchasing another one was out. I chose to walk. To get spit on for 15 minutes while smarter city folks eased by with their umbrellas. Blow number one.


At work we now have meetings about The End, about what will happen to us when the Mother Ship that is my job ceases to exist. They verbally notified all us disposable employees of our termination. They mailed us personally addressed termination notices, and just in case we didn’t get it they hand delivered termination notices to us individually. Like, “Hey, in case you didn’t notice, you’re dumped. HA!” I didn’t really know what to with this supreme waste of trees, so I left it on my desk all day until 3:30pm, aka Rice Krispie Treat time, rolled around. And then I noticed the genius secret purpose of the termination notice: I can put my Rice Krispie Treat down while I type while simultaneously protecting it from the sticky surface of my desk. It doubles as a Rice Krispie Treat holder. Ah, the meaning of life: a series of hidden meanings in seemingly meaningless objects. Ah. Ah.


On the way home the city committed numerous other violations including continuing to spit on me (My fault for forgetting my office umbrella at the office? Well, then it wouldn’t be an office umbrella, now would it?). Other New Yorkers buzzed by me at the speed of thought, the commonly accepted speed limit for pedestrians in New York (others are to be shot, or at least bumped into or shoved if not run over entirely). But the most horrible, unforgivable violation Manhattan committed against me today was to deny me…. COOKIES ‘N’ CREAM ICE CREAM! This flavor, commonly found in freezers around the god damn country was absent from not only the grocery store, but two delis after it. Each location stocked with a handful of brands and dozens of flavors. But no creamy delicious cookies ‘n’ cream.

 NEW YORK, SOME DAYS I JUST DON’T GET YOU. Now please apologize so we can have make-up sex and get on with our lives. Thank you.

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