I think I’m perfectly capable of cooking a 7 course meal if I so chose; but I have a case of the “instant gratifications” and when I’m hungry, I want to eat, not cook. I also have this amazing and unfortunate indifference when it comes to variety…. I have no problem eating an omelette for dinner every.single.day.  I really don’t care if my food looks appetizing, hence, my “refrigerator stew,” where leftovers get thrown together in a pot to die. 

Usually, I just lie and say I’m a great cook when I’m trying to impress a date. Pretending to be cute and domestic works 90% percent of the time because no one really ever calls me out on it. This last time, I backed myself into a corner that I could only cook my way out of.  No ordering take-out and pretending I made it. This was the real deal and I needed help. 

I called my favorite guy friend (Hey Tom) known for being brutally honest asked what he would want if a girl was making dinner. “Steak and naked”. Yea ok. Thanks, Tom. I guess I’ll make steak. 

Then I called my brother, who actually can cook and asked for his favorite steak and potato recipe. I don’t really eat steak, I don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like, but apparently men really love steak, so basically I had no choice.

I bought all the ingredients. I studied the recipe, I knew when and what temperature to preheat the oven to. I made a background music play list, I bought wine. I was overly prepared. 

What if it’s a disaster? What if he gets sick? What if he realizes I’m a phony and never calls again? What if I burn the apartment building down and I lose my favorite shoes?

All of these scenarios are smashing together in my head. Then I hear Tom’s voice say, “Steak and naked” and everything becomes so simple. I take off my pants.

I’m not sure if it was knowing that my date was distracted, or if maybe my adrenaline kicked in, but somehow cooking in my underwear was much easier than cooking in my clothes. 

I don’t think he really cared about the food. I’m also pretty sure he thinks I’m a complete lunatic. I’m not sure whether it was because I really am a good cook, or if I get super-powers from prancing around in my underwear; but I do know that the steak turned out to be delicious, and from now on, anything important will be done without pants.

My mind has been so preoccupied lately that I almost forgot about Halloween. Almost, because everywhere I went this weekend there was at least one person with some part of a costume. The sailor on the subway, the barista in bunny ears, that bum outside of the Duane Reed in a cape. 

Halloween has never been a favorite holiday for me and I think, like most things, it goes back to childhood. My mom thought that sugar was the worst thing ever for children, after cigarettes of course. Growing up, dessert was always fruit and if we were extra lucky, maybe we got sesame candies from the health food store. I actually wish I was kidding. Our house gave out mini boxes of raisons and bags of pretzels. We only ever got a couple of trick-or-treaters before the word got out and all of the kids went straight to our neighbor who gave out king-size snickers. We had left over healthy snacks for months. 

My mom had to think of some brilliant scheme so that we could dress up and collect candy like normal children, but not immediately come home and inhale all of those delicious kid-size chocolates. She came up with her own holiday, The Great Pumpkin’s Birthday. Apparently, The Great Pumpkin from Charlie Brown celebrated his birthday on Halloween and conveniently,  all he wanted every year was all of our candy. We got to pick a couple of pieces to keep for ourselves and the rest were handed over selflessly so that The Pumpkin could be happy. In return, he gave us a present too, it was usually a book. 

I never thought to question my mom’s reasoning (obviously she raised us well) and I still don’t know if this October Holiday rendition of Charlie Brown is accurate because I’ve never had the patience to sit through the whole special, but my instincts tell me it probably goes a little differently. 

 Happy Halloween and a Happy Birthday shout out to The Great Pumpkin, that sugar stealing bastard. 

This morning at the corner bodega, while I was picking out an orange for breakfast, the homeless guy next to me was stealing peaches. He would pick up two at a time, shove them into his plastic bag, and make the sign of the cross. He did this contradictory ritual 4 or 5 times, making sure to finish his invisible cross before moving on to the next two peaches. For some reason, I found this fascinating at 8am and just stood there and watched him. 

My first thought was, “Peaches… good choice, lots of vitamins.” You normally don’t see homeless people eating fruit. This guy wants to be healthy. If I was homeless, I’d probably want peaches too. Then I thought, “Obviously this guy doesn’t want to have to steal if he is so concerned with making crosses.”

Just then, Mr. Peach got caught, the bodega owner starts chasing him and he is hobbling as fast as he can down the sidewalk and I turn away to go and find some coffee because this is just too much action so early in the morning. I don’t know if he had to give his peaches back or not. I want to think he got away. 

For some reason I’ve been thinking about this episode all day. Even though you’re not supposed to steal, you’re also supposed to feed your neighbor or something like that. The homeless man apologized with his little crosses after his “sin”, did the bodega owner do any signs of the cross for not loving his neighbor? Probably not. So who’s really in the wrong here? Hmmm…..

I’m all settled into my new place and it feels a lot more like home than my last home ever did. So far, I wouldn’t say it’s been exactly easy, but it’s been amazing. I’ve learned a lot, and I’ve only been here a week. 

Most of my neighbors are old-head Jamaican gentlemen which I love. I feel like I gained a whole new set of grandfathers who sit on the stoop and spit wisdom on sunny afternoons…I’m lucky that they share some of their life lessons with me. After telling them my story and that I just moved here from Philly, my favorite new grandpa says;

“Sweetheart, the thing about living in New York is that you’ve got to learn to be in charge of your own breaks. The city won’t give them to you. You can never out-do anything here. You can try to outparty, outwork, outsmart New York, but the city will always win. Always.”

I feel like that’s some damn good wisdom for a girl that tends to go, go, go. If I’m gonna take advice from anyone, I’m thinking it should be from someone who knows a thing or two about a thing or two, and who better than a grandfather? Even if he isn’t really mine. 

When I was growing up my parents used the reasoning, “Because it builds character” for everything. 

Me: Why do I hafta to eat tofu? 

Mom: Because it builds character.

Me: Why do I hafta mow the lawn?

Dad: Because it builds character.

Me: Why are The Cosby Show & The Golden Girls the only TV shows I’m allowed to watch?

Mom & Dad: Because they build character. 

I grew up hating this character thing because it represented everything non-fun. I couldn’t grasp it and I just didn’t get it. 

Years later I learned that character really is important. It’s the umbrella for all of those other super important traits like integrity, morals and ethics. It dictates how people act and treat you. Sometimes, you have to cut people out of your life who’s character isn’t up to standards because bad character is contagious. You’ve gotta work to protect the character that your parents spent all those years building with tofu dinners and The Golden Girls marathons. 

Character is everything. Lawn-mowing exercises both the mind and body and The Cosby Show was some damn good television. Thanks Mom & Dad… I get it now. 

Yesterday I forgot my ipod. I pictured my monotonous day without my personal soundtrack and almost turned around to go get it, but couldn’t find my keys in my humongous bag and I was already late so I sucked it up.

I walked past the dude on the subway platform that I see every day, but instead of asking me for money like I always assumed he did, he tried to sell me percocet. I was caught off guard and laughed. He smiled and winked at me. Is this what I’ve been missing everyday? Not like I want to buy prescription drugs from this guy, but it’s nice to know he’s got his own little business going at the Spring Garden El stop and he’s not just looking for my spare change.

Waiting for the light to change I’m forced to listen to the street-corner-preacher instead of my playlist. He’s not just spitting random nonsense but yelling about how we need to end racism. What would happen if more people listened to Mr. Preacher Man? Maybe nothing, but maybe something.

I found myself noticing more, and getting a little more out of my day. Don’t get me wrong, I will never purposely leave my ipod at home. Sometimes I need a little Diana Ross followed by some Leo Miles to get me through the day; but sometimes it is nice to listen to the city’s soundtrack instead of my own.