PAX

Another notch on my belt. One more reason I love New York.

PAX- Like Subway Sandwiches. But it's salads. You pick a pre-wrapped bowl of lettuce. Take it to a bar, with a man standing behind it. He then asks you what you'd like in your salad. There are a million toppings to chose from. The killer though, is that they charge you per topping. And different toppings are different prices. I am a sucker for a Jam Packed salad, so I pay the price. Both Financially, And- Calorificly (I don't think that's a word, but you know what I mean). Next to each topping there is the amount of calories in each serving they give you. I let my eyes go out of focus at any sight of numbers. Ignorance is bliss when you don't know how much they're charging you for a cup of cranberries, and how much that cup of nuts is costing my ability to fit into my pants.

The workers at PAX have gotten to know me all too well. "Where is your friend?!" They asked while I ordered my creation Sans my roommate Lauren "Oh she's working" I let them know, assuring them she's not cheating on them with Subway- having an affair with carbs. She's just at a photo shoot.

"You's guys ah Models ahn''t cha?"
yes we are, we live just down the street. (I smile)
"So's, what's y'alls do? Like fashion? Have you been in magazines?"
Yeah, yep fashion magazines.
"Ahh. That's coo." the woman validates my career as she hands me my change.

Skeptical if she was sincere, if she was judging me, or being sarcastic. Her pearly white smile now assures me and warms my heart. She really does think I'm cool.

We've bonded.

THAT night. I come back. You know it- More PAX, I just can't get enough. All of the possible combinations have got the hamsters running laps inside my head! What about switching up the nuts, tossing it in a different dressing? Possibly chopping the mixed greens instead of simply fluffing them up and around?!

Upon my return, I've (by then) changed my attire, washed off my makeup and pulled my hair back. Did I do this to possibly detour the PAX employees from noticing that I'd been in there 4 hours earlier? Not initially, but once I realized that washing my eyelashes and eyebrows off, I become a fifteen year old boy with no eyelashes or eyebrows. I go with it. Me? No.... I wasn't in here earlier.

I walk up to the salad bar. And there is a new guy. Who doesn't really know what he's doing. But I can walk him through it. I've got faith.

I'm thinking he's from Nigeria. I think. I hate to stereotype, but I'd put money on it.

I stare at the Giant menu, then glance down at the beautiful display of toppings. I reference back to the different options of lettuce. I really wanted to branch out this time.

"Are you married?!" the worker asks as he analyzes the sparkles that shimmy around my left ring finger.
Yes. I am.
"Can I ask you something?"
(I'm pretty sure you just did)
ya, sure.
"How old are you!?!?
Twenty-two. Why?
"Well You just look so young. sixteen maybe! I wondered. How long have you been married?"
well well, don't you have a lot of questions! It will be 4 years in December. are YOU married? I ask him as I notice the gold band that rests on his wedding ring finger.
"No. I need to find the right lady...."

"I'm twenty-four... 1995" he offers up free info about himself.

1995?

"yes 12-25- 1995. My birthday"

I think to myself.
a) that would make you thirteen
b) obviously you are concealing some information about your real age
c) you need to become better at lying.
d) if you're going to lie, at least pick the date of a less popular holiday than Christmas. Ca'mon dude, you might as well just go ahead and claim you're Jesus Christ.

"Oh. Ok" I smile and scoot along, anxiously awaiting my newest and latest concoction.

As I get more anxious, he wants to talk more. He asks if I could help him find the right lady.

"I don't live here! I live in California!" I excuse myself from playing matchmaker.

"It's ok! I will go there!"

"eh...heh...heh" I force out a few awkward laughs, trying to figure out what I will say.

"Let me give you my e-mail! You give it to your friends!"

" I don't have any! They're all married! All so far away!" I toss out some measly little white lies.

I smile.
And wish him luck with finding his love.
"She's out there somewhere! You just have to be patient!" I advise him with my hearty wealth of wisdom.
And wave goodbye.

Oh PAX, even though you're now making me work hard for my grub, I'm still you're girl.

ya hear?

There are times when I think "Man, it'd be great if I had my iPod right now."

(back when I said "if I had nothing nice to blog about, then I won't blog at all", I was in the middle of dealing with our car getting broken into, getting robbed of the iPod and GPS system, having to buy a new window, and all of that good stuff. Now I am living my life iPod-less.)

So, my new scheme is that I will listen to a really killer song right before I leave the apartment, so I will have that stuck in my head as I march through Manhattan.

Suddenly as I step off of the subway- it's as if the man who continues to walk directly behind my left ear, approximately only five inches apart from the heel of my shoe- knew what i was thinking. He could feel my pain, the musical despair I was going through. So. He whistles. Loudly. Even when I thought I was picking up my pace, there he was; whistling a happy tune. Right behind me.

Automatically, the scene from Dumb and Dumber pops into my head.

"Radio!? Who needs a radio?!
( Lloyd and Harry start to sing a horridly off key song, "Mock- YA!... ing-YA! ... bird- YA!... ya-YA!")

I picture this man intruding into my thoughts, interrupting my sulking with; "iPod? Who needs an iPod?" Whistling Willy sings to me through his pursed lips.

Shortly after, we part. I head towards the exit of the subway station, while he; is heading elsewhere. Transferring to the land of birds, whistles and rainbows I suppose.

Thank you sir. For you have now made me doubt my whistling skills which I once boasted about.

BUT! HAVE NO FEAR- roughly seven steps away from my departure from the whistler, there is a woman. She is wearing a crown, and fairy wings. She's singing her heart out. A fellow (male) free spirit is there, playing an array of instruments. They're show stoppers, accumulating crowds of tourists taking photos with their phones, camcorders (yes, your still aloud to call them camcorders), and plain old cameras. It's kind of Tori Amos meets...Blues Traveler?

I thought to myself; If I had my iPod, look at all of this I'd be missing out on!

I exit the subway station and there's a woman proclaiming "She only married him for his money, it was never going to work out!" "Yeah Yeah Yeah" her friend agrees in the most new yorker accent.

As I've said many of times, People watching is a favorite hobby of mine. Although, I've never claimed "people.. listening". Yes, I am beating around the bush, re-wording it to sound a bit more appropriate: All in all, I've become the ultimate eavesdropper.

Minding your P's and Q's is so West Coast, no?

Wait

Sticky, Sweaty, and Exhausted.
"I Give!"

I vow to myself, that I will bow out of the incoming and ongoing traffic accumulated by fellow pedestrians, and step off and into the next available "rest stop".

Of course, since I'm in one of the busiest cities in America, I draw near a Starbucks. Boring! ( Boring, but safe.) Do I stay or do I go? Being that I'm in Times Square, suffer from a combination of claustrophobia and and anxiety disorder; my body decides before my actual mind makes up it's - mind, and reaches out, grabs the door handle, and I'm in like Flynn.

It feels like I'd just spent 9 months running circles in a hot and steamy womb, and as I leaped into Starbucks,cheeks flushed, forehead damp, it was like my first breath of fresh air, on earth.

Waiting in line at a Times Square Starbucks, is quite similar to the wait you'd experience at a pediatrician's office (at least the one I went to as a child...and teen). The Giant Fish Tank. Disney Movie replaying over and over. The Cubic roller coaster (where the mangled, bright wires are threaded with colorful chunky cubes, which you dink around with, unsure what the actual point is). The crying children. The magazines. I think if someone invested some time into researching, I bet all of that chaos has a lot to do with the whole ADD/ADHD epidemic. Ca'mon. What the hell do you focus on!? Way too many options!

I found myself adoring the young lady in front of me's darling bracelets. Wondering what the dude by the window is drinking, it looks so foamy and delicious. My ears drag my attention over to the conversation behind me; a couple talking about their incoming out-of-towners, they're soo not looking forward to it.

Oh yeah- the menu, what to get... what to get?

"... yeah, we discontinued that." the barista delivers the unfortunate news, to the darling in the bracelets.

"Discontinued what?!" I think to myself. As if it was of great importance, as if that specific drink could be THE drink, of which
I'd recently become a shareholder, investing mass amounts of stock. For some reason that information seemed suddenly crucial.

Oh yeah- ok. the menu- what to get... what to get?

I settle on an Iced Vanilla latte. Sugar-free. Oh, and a bottle of water.
"Oh, the machine isn't working. Do you just have two dollars?"
"I only have a $5 bill..." my face telling him that obviously, together, my bottled water and caffeinated beverage would add up to more than $5 anyway.

"Well, if you have two dollars, I'd just charge you for the water, and since the register is having problems, I'd give you the latte for free"

"No, it's ok. I can pay for both! Here."
"Oh, it's working now. But I'm still not going to charge you for the latte."
" It's really just fine. I can pay for it."

[2.00] reads the register
"Two Dollars please!"
I hand him my 'five.

he winks. Hands me $3. Which I stick into the tip Jar.

Smart guy.

I meander back into the end of the establishment. There is a tiny table for two. Perfect. Me and my bag, which weighs that of a small child.

I set down my bag. My portfolio. My map. My wallet. My cell phone. And my drinks.
AHH.
Not only was I just given birth to, now - my umbilical cord was now snipped. I was free. Nothing hanging on my shoulder, nothing glued to my hands.

It's a weird spot. I've got a front row seat to the restroom. And I swear. I SWEAR- that people go in, yet never come out. It's a unisex restroom. A one seater. So there's no questioning how many persons "The John" should consist of. I may have been somewhat aloof to the individual departures out of Le Lou. But I definitely decided to now, creepily and carefully watch those that went in, to see if they came out.

In goes a blonde in her twenties, donning a bright summery ensemble, and uber-chic flats.

I was sure that I was about to discover some secret passage way. Some private entrance for VIP into an underground club. Sweet.

Ohp. Never mind. Out she comes. She did take a long time in there. I do believe the she also had her hair up when she entered, and her hair has now fallen down, over and in front of her shoulders.

"Ok, Brynn- you are being completely out of line, downright nosey, and disrespectful- STOP." I rarely talk to myself, and/or refer to myself in third person. Though, there is always a time and a place for everything.

I opened my Map of the city, and the subway routes. Studying where I need to go, where I've been, where I'm staying, where my agency is, oh- and where Whole Foods is. At this point; I'm pretty proud of myself. I'm figuring and mapping things out quite nicely. I'm such the New Yawker.

"You usin' this Chaya?" Tony soprano's distant cousin asks me, as he takes hold of the chair my tired old Marc Jacobs rests in.

"No, go right ahead." I grab my bag off of the chair, and set it down next to me on the hedge, by the window.
I'd already called Andrew, my mom, and anyone else I'd felt like bothering. I didn't know what to do with myself. But I had a whole hour and 45 minutes until my next casting down the street. I should've brought my book.... Hmm. I pull out a pad of paper and a pen. Time to take record of my surroundings.

More eavesdropping.. Behind me there is a man and a woman. I decide that their business- is now my business: Without turning around, which would be totally outing myself and my being a complete snoop. I observe the context of the conversation. I think it's a business coffee date. They talk business. She loves her boss, her co-workers. her schedule. Blah blah blah b-oring! I tune out.

Wait-!
" So, then I'm mid shampoo, and just decide to start busting out this musical, like I'm on Broadway! "

Oh no she didn't.

" No one is auditioning this time of year. But I wanted to stay in New York and soak it all in."

I suppose she means both figuratively and literally. Her shampoo suds and the New York experience I assume is what she's soaking in.

" I talked to my mom, and even she says that she thinks that I'm the happiest I've ever been. She can even hear it in my voice!"
I'll bet, especially if she caught you in your Sudsy performance. I fall in love with this girl, and the fact that she has taken her conversation to the uncomfortable stage. Where the counterpart has now crawled back into his shell, and I rarely hear a peep out of him.

I am right by the window. Two Cholo's walk by, they both are sporting hair nets, covering their perfectly coifed, greased up, slicked back hair. Passing them is a woman who looks very expensive. She's wearing all black. A big ruffled collar, and a skirt that falls beautifully. She's perfectly pieced together, even the giant band-aids on her forehead, calve, and elbow look so fabulous.

Oops, I've forgotten to pay attention- out of the Restroom comes a guy with a topless cup of iced coffee. What? Everything seem so strange. Shouldn't he be coming from the other way with an almost full cup of coffee? After further analysis; I've come to the conclusion that he's spiked his drink during his stint in the restroom. Now I've just been left questioning what would he spike his iced coffee with? Vodka? Rum? Robitussin?

Up walks a man. He's obviously reading the same fashion magazine as my very own father. The man is wearing a pale Polo shirt, which appears as if he'd received it for free from his bank, or his car dealership, or the golf course which he frequents. He's wearing white tennis shoes, they're almost identical to my dad's Court Classic's that he buys at Costco for twenty bucks. In remembrance of the Twin Towers, he's pulled both of his tall, white athletic socks upward and stretched to the maximum capacity. He's with his daughter. They both have giant cookies which are speckled with an assortment of colored M&M's. Where you'd find salt and pepper shakers at a table-for-two at a fine dinning restaurant; here- he's placed a bottle of hand sanitizer and a few napkins. I miss my dad.

Leaving it at that note, eerily homesick, it's suddenly time to go. I take off my gladiator sandals, slip on a pair of heels, and set off into the sunset of smoke and smog.

I (heart) NY

Today was spent in a sweaty hussle around the city that never sleeps. Which is funny, because I slept for 12 hours last night. (went to bed at 8:45pm and woke up at 9:00am). Of course, it takes a whole City with an "insomniac" reputation to finally upstage my own insomnia, for it to backdown and tuck itself into bed at 8:45pm.

I had to go to the agency to do some things, but shortly after met up with my friend Jade.

Jade and I met in Los Angeles at a photo shoot. She's one of those models you meet and realize that there's a hell of a lot more to, besides a pretty face and twiggy legs. Come to find out she was from Bellingham Washington, so, of course she was coo! A lady from the Northwest. Soon after we met in Los Angeles, she up and moved to New York, but through the beauty of the modern day technology, we've been able to keep in contact.

This afternoon, we met at Starbucks, then took our drinks the nearest park. We sipped our drinks as we indulged in eachothers lives. Shortly after, we frollicked around town, she was the hottest tour guide New York has to offer. We decided to go to Whole Foods in search of samples. As we chomped on Chips & Hummus; we agreed that samples are god's gift to this world. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. After our sample extravaganza. Jade sets out on a Journey to find a nice cold bottle of Kombucha (which she informed me, levels out the less intelligent side of your brain, so - if your more of a left side intellect, the kombucha will give your right side a little boost), which was on the middle floor. Yes, this Whole Foods has 3 floors. It was Disneyland for Tree-Huggers.

Eventually- We parked ourselves on a bench, in -go figure- another park, and dove back into the deep conversation that we had shared earlier, along with our iced coffees.

Mid conversation- a man with dewy, dark chocolate skin, interrupts us, to let us in on his perspective- he thought we were a sight for sore eyes. In fact, he said he couldn't look at Jade's eyes for too long, because they were.. (he found himself at a loss for words)... "Hypnotizing?" I suggest.

"YES!" he agrees. "I'm Mario, by the way"


"Marr-rio, or Mair-io?" Jade asks.

"I say Mair-rio. But you can say it however you'd like."
Mair-rio it is.

Mario goes on to share his past times in the City of New York. The celebrities he's met. His overwhelmingly underpriced apartment, due to rent control and the fact that he's lived in it for the last 25 years. On an average of 3.5 minute intervals; a bullet of saliva would bounce of his tounge, onto my foot, onto the cement, and most possibly somewhere onto Jade as well. In my head I was trying to figure out if it would be out of line to jab him with a "Say it don't spray it!" or a "How 'bout the news, not the weather!" But I withheld. Jade and I had just previously been speaking about ADHD and how we both thought we have a little bit of it dancing through our heads. Mario- without a doubt- had quite the case of ADHD himself.

"You know who the BIGGEST celebrity I ever saw was?!..... I'll give you ONE hint!..... She's a mormon."

"Gladys Knight?!" I toss out there.
"Nope, she's white."
"Marie Osmond?" I guess again, being that I've got a little more knowledge in the mormon department.

"Nope, she wasn't a singer."

"................" Jade and I are speechless.

"Okay, she was married to Kennedy"

"Jackie Onasis?!" Ding! Ding! Ding! Jade wins!

(Was she Mormon? I question this fact. But I question the authenticy of Marios many stories, so I roll with it.)

"She had such an Aura about her!! She was soo beautiful!"

In between his memoirs about encounters with Jackie O, Stevie Wonder, some famous boxer (who's name has slipped my mind), and being mesmerized by Jade's beautiful green eyes, Mario's sentence comes to a hault:
"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU LOOK LIKE?!" he intensely questions me, expecting I'd cough up the answer immediately.

"........Who?"

"You remember Lacey Peterson, and her husband that killed her?!"

"Yes...." remembering Lacey to have dark features, with a pregnant belly, and seeming to be a shorter than average height.

"Wasn't that an awful thing?! How can someone come to do that?! He killed her!" Mario concerns.

"Ya, I mean how can someone live with that?" Jade fills in the awkward gap of silence..

"Anyway, so you know how Scott Peterson had a Mistress?! That's you! You look just like her!!"

"Reeeeeeeally?! Hmmmm. This- I haven't heard before! I will always remember that one!" I honestly tell him as my smile stretches from ear to ear.

There are times when I think that there can't be anyone more socially awkward and random than myself. And then, there are times like these; when I'm put in my place. There's always someone who's got a comment further out of left field than you ever thought left field could go.

Wishing I could switch spots with that cigarette behind his ear (which keeps on falling down onto the collar of his yellow Polo shirt), I dreamt of accompanying Mario around New York City, sharing extravagant stories, which most likely are crafted by a creative train of thought, leaving him lying through his teeth, though he claims he never tells lies, because he's just so horrible at it.

He then went on to tell tales about how in the hippie days, "you know- the days of Woodstock, do you know The Beatles?", that park was so great, so free. Once he was sitting on the bench and two blonde hippie girls walked up and each gave him a daisy. And they went home together. Jade and I, both being blonde, both having been accused of hippie-dom on several accounts in the past; quickly glance at each other and proceed to listen. Man, Mario had stories for days.

Jade and I have found ourselves to be similar on various levels; we appreciate different walks of life, love hearing what they've got to say, and are enthralled as we take it in for what it's worth. It was intertesting and quite refreshing to be with someone else who wasn't so anxious to find the quickest verbal exit out of our odd converstaion, delighted to see where the Mario train would take us.

Eventually Jade sticks out her right hand, as her left clutches the empty bottle of Kombucha: "It was Wonderfull to meet you Mario! I'm sorry I've really gotta use the restroom!" She was so polite to wait almost an hour to say anything and interrupt Mario's Marvelous Mumblings.

We laugh as we depart our pow-wow in the park. "How about that Mario?" Such a flattering fella', full of fact (and fiction).

It's people like that who make New York- New York. Two more hopeful weeks of random run-ins and life stories of complete strangers.

I Love New York.





( Me, and my new favorite Celeb look-a-like; Amber Frey)

Big Apple

I'm in New York. I took the most uncomfortable Red Eye. Arrived in Newark at 6:00 am (3:00 am LA time), had the driver take me to the apartment; and arrived here in the City at 8:00 am. Not wanting to disturb any sleeping beauties- I took 1/2 lunesta and crashed on the couch.

I was just awakened from a very strange nap; by phone call from my mom. I really shouldn't be sleeping anyway, but the remnants of my Lunesta would beg to differ. I really, really, really don't feel like going into my agency today. I think sleepwalking through manhattan isn't always the best way to spent your first day. I will greatly appreciate it if I could spend one whole day of slumber.

Well.
Off to the shower.

---EDIT---
I was given the go ahead (without even asking) to rest today, and go into the agency tomorrow.
There is a God.

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air

Last weekend, I found myself once again-attempting refusal to surrendering to another illness. Without properly functioning taste buds, much of a voice, or any stability in my body temperatures, I wasn't the most enthusiastic person to be around. Although, I can rightfully say that I consistently tried to remain upbeat.

Spending the 4th of July weekend with a 102 temperature isn't the "Hot" weekend us Yankees usually set out for. Spending the weekend hot and sweaty is expected, but most also are in a bikini under the bright and shiny sun, with an ice cold beverage in hand. Not so much in bed, in front of a bright computer screen, sipping Theraflu, with antibiotics by your side.

I wasn't going to neglect my spirits, and Andrew wasn't going to either. So I jumped into a pair of navy blue short shorts with white polka dots, a red top, and my dirty, white, high-top Chuck Taylors- and set out for a Patriotic coastal bike ride.

Our trip started off here in Santa Monica. We rode down to the Pier and along the beach into Venice. Breaking a sweat on top of a fever made me feel extremely cutting edge. Hard core. Bad ass. Deep down realizing it's stupid things like this, that prevent my full recovery from being sick.

Inevitably, we stopped off and enjoyed some lunch while indulging my favorite hobby- people watching. We parked our bikes a few times throughout our journey and strolled along the boardwalk. It was nice to get out into the real world, with real people, being that I'd been tucked away in our little apartment for a few days. Sooner than I'd hoped- I wasn't feeling as much of a savage as I did earlier in the day, and needed to get back home to resume my horizontal lifestyle. I dreaded the bike ride back. But like the true athlete that I am, we did it.

We spent the evening glued to the television watching movies, every once and a while peeking out the window to check out the fire works. ( Fire Works- that's another story, am I the only person that doesn't like them? I think they're depressing and could care less if I never saw a flame in the sky again. Andrew kind of frowns upon my negativity towards them. I understand, I feel the same way about people who don't like chocolate, I don't understand and question if those people have a whole soul.) I've now seen Borat, and can officially state that - in my opinion- it's been completely overrated. I can admit, I found myself laughing through several parts of it, while other moments had me disappointed that so many people I know and love; praise this film, occasionally quoting Borat and his so- very-obvious psuedo accent. I did find it very interesting that if you filter through some of the obscenities, you'll find a candid and underlining example of how idiotic Americans are.

Happy Birthday Uncle Sam.
Viva America.

7/11 a holiday for Cheapskates

I'd like to inform all of you American Consumers, that today, July 11th (7/11) is free Slurpee day!

Go on!
Hurry on over to your local 711 and indulge in a complimentary slurpee.




you can thank me later.