Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Dear NYC,

An unsent letter from July:

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Dear NYC,
Today, it was 107 degrees in your subway tunnels. While I stood on the platform waiting for the 1 train, I remembered that my underwear were patterned with images of Christmas trees.
I win.

Happy Holidays,
The Woobs

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Dear NYC,

This morning, while making my daily jaunt across the threshold from eager to jaded, I mistakenly used my debit card to gain access through the subway turnstile. After my body slammed into the crossbar, which subsequently caused a five-commuter pile up behind me-I furrowed my brow, took a step back and swiped it again. My debit card. And again, slammed my body into the crossbar- this time in defiance of the reality of the situation. You see, NYC, I filled my MetroCard yesterday so I knew it wasn't my fault. I looked to the little "turnstile-swipe window thing" for some kind of clue as to what was going on. You know the one that tells you: 'insufficient fare' or 'please swipe at this turnstile again' or 'yo mamma's so fat..' The window was blank-no words of wisdom to guide me through the situation.
Long story short, by the time I figured out that I'm an idiot-all the commuters at the turnstile had vacated but one. I looked at the lady behind me, and because she was older and drew her own eyebrows on her head, I figured she would be kind enough to pardon me for my mistake. In other words, I walked blindly into a commuter trap. I lifted my debit card in the air, gave a chuckle and said "whoops". You know what she did, NYC? She did nothing-just looked at me with stale eyes and coffee lips, void of emotion. I quickly stepped out of her way and fished in my bag for the correct form of entry. To prove that I was no subway beginner, I caught up to eyebrow lady on the platform and made sure she saw as I stepped to the platform's edge, craned myself sideways, and peered down the tunnell to see if the train was coming. Then I turned to her gave her a right good stink eye.

The end.

The Woobs

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Dear NYC,

So far today has been wonderful, and it promises to get even better. I know this because I can practically hear the whitening trays squishing up onto the grills of Matt, Al, Anne and Meredith as they prepare to kick off the holiday season. Tonight's Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony is just what I needed, NYC. Your streets are bustling and honestly, the only way for me to feel that I'm part of the pulse of your yule tide is to thrust myself into holiday fuckingawesomeness and be there tonight.

I'm sorry to RSVP so late-I just learned what the word 'ephemeral' means and I think this will be my chance to use it in a sentence. How's this: " The city held it's breath as the darkness turned to light and reflected the ephemeral joys of the season on our faces." Or "Celine Dion was great! She rose from the ground in a cube of ice and with a high note, she splintered the icy mass and emerged unscathed" FYI- I just learned what 'unscathed' means too.

Xo,
The Woobs

Friday, November 9, 2007

Dear NYC,

While walking past what I'm fairly certain was a pile of human feces, I thought "SHIT! I forgot to pay my cable bill."

Thanks for the reminder,
The Woobs

Thursday, November 8, 2007

Dear NYC,

Sitting on the subway, I looked up and saw a little girl slumped over, asleep in her mother's lap. I could tell they were poor because their clothes were tattered and the women's eyes were like coffins built for a life dealt a hand of hearts in world of clubs. The unbridled shittiness of this image was so overwhelming that I felt myself blinking away tears.
Just then, the song on my iPod changed from "The Living" by Natalie Merchant to The Game's "Hate It or Love It". Feeling a bit of relief from the change in melody, I crossed my Anne Taylor-clad legs, took a sip of my grande low fat, double-shot cappuccino, and knew that everything was going to be ok.

Fondly,
The Woobs

Friday, November 2, 2007

Dear NYC,

You're kind of like the dirty rabbit's foot that sits in the bottom of my purse; I worry that if I get rid of you, all hell will break loose.

I'm only telling you because you asked.

Abrazos,
The Woobs