11 Tips for Touristing in New York

In honor of my family coming to visit in just a week, here are 11 tips for being a tourist in New York:

1. Carry a map. Especially if traveling with a man.


2. Get in shape. What steps you go down, you must come up.

3. Ignore the voices. Besides that one guy in front of the train station, most people around you aren't crazy. They're just all talking on bluetooths.

4. Wear comfy shoes. Just because Carrie Bradshaw could hike New York in Manolos doesn't mean you can.


5. No fannypacks. You may get mugged just for the heck of it.

6. Eat a bagel. Warning: May be habit-forming.

7. Have a slice. Or two. Or three...


8. Keep walking. Not everyone behind you is stopping to admire the green netting of a construction site. Please pull over.

9. Carry a camera. You are a tourist after all. Just do yourself a favor and don't wear it around your neck.


10. Suck it in. The subway will often test, and then rip to shreds, your definition of personal space.

11. Boost the economy - buy souvenirs. Do not wear any I heart NY paraphernalia until safely away from the city.


Happy touristing! Who's next to visit?

Why marriage is great

Last night, as Scott tucked me into bed (he wasn't quite ready to go to bed when I was), he pulled the covers up around my shoulders, looked down at me and said softly, "You look pretty."

Those are the best moments.

The Power of Love

As Scott and I surfed the channels of the satellite radio in our rental car this past weekend, something occurred to me: Whatever happened to the power ballad? I used to love that whatever I was feeling, there was a huge, powerful song to match. Or to listen to 327 times on repeat because I danced to it with [insert guy here I liked at the time]. They knew my teen angst. They felt my pain. Celine Dion and Mariah Carey were two my favorite power balladiers. But now, everything is a getcha-booty-movin' dance mix. WHY? Who orchestrated the death of the power ballad? I haven't bought a Celine Dion album since "A New Day Has Come" (2002). And Mariah is the worst offender. Now she's one of the one-named artists who shakes what her mama gave her (or more like what her money gave her). Why did they have to take a good thing, and all that amazing talent, and turn it into bootycall music? I don't get it. Somebody PLEASE write a new power ballad that doesn't make me ashamed to say I'm a fan.

Halfway

So, today (or yesterday, by the time you guys read this) was the exact middle of the year. 183 days in. 183 days out. And so it occurred to me to reflect on everything that has happened thus far. Really, not that much has happened. It's just that the one thing that did happen was HUGE. Namely: We relocated. And not just anywhere. To New York City. And within a month's time. I'm sure other things have happened, but everything is sort of overshadowed by the big move.

But six months into the year and four months into our NY stint, things are still pretty good here (although you can make your own assumptions about work from the fact that I refuse to blog about it). But I'm thankful we're both working. Our apartment is serving us well. I've accommodated to no kitchen drawers. I just tell myself the perk of a small kitchen is that I can reach everything I need when cooking. The walk to work is getting hot and sweaty, so I'm looking forward to fall already. But I tell myself I can just sweat off some extra pounds. We just visited a church for a second time, and we plan to continue for a few weeks and see how it goes. We haven't had a lot of luck making friends up here yet, but we're hopeful that will come with building a church family. We've mastered the art of having dinner delivered to work, although we try not to do this too often. But I still think a Chick-fil-a here would make my NY experience complete.

Speaking of Chick-fil-a, I'm trying to contain my excitement of eating there this weekend when we travel down to Scott's parents' for the holiday. No. 1 combo, here I come. God Bless Chick-fil-a! Uh, I mean, America...

Happy halfway!