Friends Functioning As GPS

Who needs an I-Phone to call up a map or an in-car GPS? I myself prefer to rely on the navigational skills of friends.

My running group changed locales. We'd been meeting for our Tuesday track runs at  the a private high school but with school kicking back in that became unavailable. So last night was our first night to meet at the Guilford College track. I know where Guilford College is but what I had assumed from the road was the track was actually the soccer field. I also found the football field and auditorium, but no track.

I called my friend Melody who had graduated from Guilford. "Suppose, hypothetically, one wanted to find the track at Guilford College but was instead staring at a soccer field," I said. "Where might one go?"

"Well, hypothetically, one might want to leave the parking lot and turn left," she said. She then stayed on the phone with me as I called out landmarks.

"Apartments."

"Yes, that's right."

"Tennis courts."

"You're very close."

Finally I spied it. "Ah ha--track!" I cried.

"Glad to help. Enjoy your run." And she was gone.

You have your way of staying in touch with your friends, I have mine. And considering how often I find myself lost or misdirected, I probably talk to my friends a good share more than you do yours. Thank heavens I have no sense of direction.

Cheers,

Dena

The Curse Continues

I met my best friend Trisha in college when we were sophomores. That was 18 years ago. To this day, we do not have  a decent picture of the two of us together.

It's not that we haven't tried. Girls night out, college bars, weddings, bridal showers, lunches, visits, vacations... we photograph them all. Yet inevitably, one of us looks smiling and stunning while the other looks like something unpleasant may be crawling up their butt.

But finally, FINALLY (!), while in NY last week, the incredible happened. G. snapped a picture of the two of us on the city streets that was stunning. We both looked casual and relaxed, trendy, smiling - the gods had answered our prayers. We actually high-fived one another in the street cheering, "The curse is broken! The curse is broken!"

Ha. Trisha just called to tell me that last night G's mom accidentally deleted all of his New York photos from the computer. Said photos also already having been deleted from the camera. Are you kidding me???  So the curse holds and never shall there exist a mutually acceptable photo of the two friends.

Why? Why?????????????? =)

New York With Two 9-Year Olds...

As mentioned, I travelled to New York with my best friend, her 9-year-old son, and a friend of his. Most of you know my lack of affinity for children of any age and might be concerned things went awry. Not at all. I had a ball with these kids! Part of it was that I was fun Aunt Di-Di. I had to laugh at my poor friend who spent God knows how much money on the boys only to hear, "Aunt Di-Di is the best!" That's the joy of being a novelty...

But really, so much fun. We went to Toys R Us and rode the giant Ferris Wheel and we went to FAO Schwartz and roamed the aisles and attended all the demonstrations together. We took them to the Empire State Building and Times Square, went for a bike ride in Central Park, walked the perimeter of Ground Zero, and took a ferry ride past the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. We bought pretzels from a street vendor and rode the subway and took taxi's and ate at great New York restaurants. The boys were troopers through it all with very little whining or complaining. The energy of youth--no matter how much we did, we just could not tire them.

One cute thing. We've done all of the above yet guess what sticks out in the minds of the boys as one of the highlights of the trip? Seeing rats in the subway. They were snapping pictures and pointing excitedly as the rats crawled over the tracks.  Glad we could introduce a bit of culture into their lives.

We weren't how the boys would react to Ground Zero or if they'd really "get" it. But they asked questions and we had great conversations as we strolled around the area. At one point, G. was walking beside me and asked, "Do you believe in God?"

"I do," I said.

"Me too," he said, and took my hand.

I thought I would be exhausted spending that much time with kids but I have to say I think it really added to the experience. And of course, spending time with Trisha is always a plus.

Let's hope the good kids vibe continues. My 12-year-old niece is coming today to spend the rest of the week with us. No entertainment plans yet in place, but I'm sure we'll figure it out.

Smack Down With A New York Cab Driver

Yeah, that's right. I brought it, baby. 

So last week was my first trip to NY and I admit I harbored biases of dirty streets filled with muggers and crazy people and subways filled with gangs.  Saw none of that. Admittedly, we stayed with the tourists, but I felt safe every place we went, including the subways. The point being, however, that I was nervous about being in NY and especially the fact that I had to catch a cab on my own from the airport to the apartment where I was meeting my best friend. But I left La Guardia and found the taxi's and directed the driver to the address in Chelsea.

My friend warned me to be specific about the address.  For example, it was #42 8th Ave, not 42nd and 8th. I also had a cross street name. So I give the address and the driver pulls up to 42nd Ave. "You get out here," he says. (He was from India, I believe, and spoke only broken English).

"No, this is 42nd Avenue," I said. "I need number 42 on 8th Avenue."

"Yes, yes," he said, gesturing. "42 and 8th. That way. You walk."

"Not 42nd avenue," I said. "8th Avenue.

"8th Avenue?"

"Yes." I pointed at the slip of paper in my hand. "I need 8th Avenue, building number 42."

He screeched away from the curb and started yelling. "I can't believe this! What you are doing to me? What is this? I take you where you say and now you change. This is unbelievable!"

I remained calm and repeated to him my mantra. "I need number 42 on 8th Avenue."

"You tell me wrong! You tell me wrong!"

Now I'm stressed and pissed. "I did NOT tell you wrong," I shouted back. "I told you exactly where I needed to go - 8th Avenue, cross street Humphry. I told you it wasn't 42nd and 8th!"

Once I got loud and shouted back he immediately backed down. "Okay, okay. Maybe I misheard."

"That's fine," I said. "Let's just find 8th Avenue."

We weren't far, and a few minutes later he pulled up to what was indeed the corner of 8th Avenue.

"There for you," he said. "8th Avenue."

"This is the 400 block," I said. "I need #42."

"Yes, 8th Avenue. You walk."

Forget it. I have no idea how long a NY city block is or if we're really even close and I've got my luggage with me. "I'm not walking that far," I said.  "Can't you just drive to #42 and let me off there?"

He's upset again. "What is this? You are here! You walk to building."

I sat in back and crossed my arms. "I'm not getting out. I want #42 8th Avenue."

Okay, this guy hates me now. But he streaks down 8th Avenue like demons are chasing him, all the while muttering, "I am off work now. I have a home I need to go to," and the like. Finally, he gets me like 2 blocks away and I agree to get out. I believe we both wished good riddance to the other.

Far from being upset by the experience, once it was over I rather enjoyed it. I got into a fight with a New York cabbie and won. Very empowering stuff. More tomorrow.