Tag Archives: Tim

A Tourist in My Own City

The past two weeks have been CRAZY, but that good sort of crazy that makes you want to smile from ear to ear, despite the lack of sleep and blisters on the bottom of your feet. I’ve been so lucky to have spent some time exploring my city with my cousins, Molly and Kate, and good friend, Kayla. It’s amazing how much I truly don’t know about the neighborhood that I reside in – so much history surrounds me. This post is a quick recap of my weekend spent with my cousins.

Cousins in Time Square

Molly and Kate trekked out from Seattle to see the city for a few days, what ensued was a reunion after years of not seeing each other. Arriving just after New Years, the three of us set out to grab dinner with their Uncle Tim and Aunt Freddi down at Morton’s by the WTC (Thanks Uncle Tim!). I hadn’t seen Tim or Freddi since the 2nd grade, so it was great to finally reconnect and listen to old family stories. I absolutely adore both of them and feel so lucky that I was able to spend a lot of quality time with them over the course of the weekend. All five of us spent the next day shopping down 5th Avenue and in SoHo, making several stops at Barney’s, Bloomingdales, Bendel’s, and Massimo Dutti. Freddi is a shopping queen and has the cutest style – it was so great to go shopping with her and learn from a pro. That afternoon we walked through the slush to a cute little bakery, Sweet Revenge on Carmine Street. It’s an adorable Cupcake Shop that pairs the sweet treats with wines and beers – how cool is that!? We all were pretty shopped out so we decided to head back home for a nap and then meet up again for dinner at Vic and Anthony’s (on 19th and Park). We once again had a fantastic dinner and after hours of chatting (that’s the way dinner should be!), we parted ways. Molly, Kate and I ventured down back to Dempsey’s where we encountered a BudLight party – who would’ve thought? The next morning we grabbed Brunch at Philip Marie’s in the West Village. It was more than I could ask for – great Eggs Benedict and a cozy place to escape from the less than pleasant weather outside. Unfortunately we had to say our goodbyes to both Tim and Freddi that morning, as they needed to return to D.C. for work.  

The rest of the weekend the cousins explored New York via Times Square, Central Park, the East and West Village. I don’t think I have ever walked so much in my life – we were averaging 20,000 steps a day according to my brand new Nike Fuelband SE.

Kate and I finding our Irish roots at McSorleys

One Sunday evening, we ventured over to Brooklyn to meet up with one of Molly’s friends from UW and found Momofuku Milk Bar on the way; crossing off an item on Kate’s “To See” list. On our last day we also were lucky enough to get tickets (Thanks Tim!) to see the WTC memorial. Talk about a thought-provoking and inspiring place to visit.

It was so sad to see both Molly and Kate leave for Boston, but I’m so glad I got to hang with them. Hopefully they’ll be back sooner than later.

Selfies on the Subway

Selfies on the Subway

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Let it be known that I am not one to be late for anything. If you know anything about me, I’m sure you are well aware that I am never less than fifteen minutes early for anything. I would be considered what you call “OCD” when it comes to getting anywhere.

Yesterday, however, I did the unthinkable.

I MISSED MY FLIGHT. YUP, I MISSED MY FLIGHT.

Laugh all you want, but I promise that is the last time I ever leave two and half hours prior to my flight in Manhattan.

On the verge of tears

On the verge of tears

Nothing even begins to compare to that feeling in your stomach when everything turns to sh*t. The butterflies began when I walked downstairs at 3 o’clock to catch a cab to JFK. Unlike most days where I can just wave down a cab in 2.7 seconds flat (check out my holiday guide on catching a cab), it took 45 WHOLE MINUTES to get a cab to go the airport (and that was after the promise of a generous tip and a gleaming smile).  As soon as I hopped into the cab, the butterflies subsided, but only for a minute, before I realized that getting out of Manhattan was going to be anything but easy. I proceeded to sit in traffic the rest of the way to airport for the remaining two hours – the worst part wasn’t the traffic or the $62 spent on the taxi or the unbearable smell of halal in the cab, just knowing that I wasn’t going to make it on time was enough to make my emotionless self cry.

In the two hour cab ride, I drained my fully charged iPhone to a trifling 17% bombarding a multitude of people with phone calls, texts and snapchats – American Airlines, my parents, the hockey team, and best friends – you name it, I messaged them.

Goodbye NY

Goodbye NY

Once I arrived to the terminal, the water works started. It had finally settled in. I was not going home that night. I don’t know who was more upset – the woman who tried her best to decipher my words between sobs or me. I called my Dad and before I knew it I was booked on the last SEAT out of NYC to San Diego until Saturday (thanks Dad, you rock!). I headed back into the city on a bus, more upset than anything and grabbed a cab back downtown to my awesome friend, Tim’s, apartment. Before I exited the cab, the driver made his best effort to remind me how upset and stubborn I was and then proceed to tell me I had the attitude of a cow from Calcutta – say what? Hey! I’ll take that as a compliment, thankyouverymuch.

Once I got to Timmy’s I hopped out of the cab, my emotional and physical baggage in tow, and landed him the biggest hug he’s ever gotten. He mostly stood there, began chuckling to himself, and lugged all of my suitcases upstairs. Once again you’re such a rock star Tim! Atop of his three-story-walkup was my amazing “mini-me”, Menta, waiting arms wide-open, with the greatest hug and consoling words a girl could ask for.

After a night filled with Ukrainian pirogues, potato pancakes, white pizza, lots of jokes on behalf of the hockey team and snuggling on the couch with Menta, I felt a lot better. I think that’s when you know you’ve found some quality pals – they’ll pick you off the ground, but not before they poke some fun at you first.

Headed Home

Headed Home

Today, I was a planner. I left Tim’s at 11:45 and was at JFK at 12:15 – isn’t it funny how things work out? I had told the cab driver my misfortune the day earlier and all he could do was laugh and say in his heavy Pakistani accent, “I hope you make your flight so you can share your laughter with your family.” It took me all of 25 minutes to get through check in and security. As some readers already know, I am not the best of packers, but I did get both of my bags under the restriction – one weighed in at 47 and the other at 49 – can I get a medal for that? Once through security I found myself in the Admiral’s Club, nomming away on a grilled cheese and chocolate milk and writing my Sports Law paper that was due a couple hours later. Right before my flight I made my way down to the gate, and to my great surprise I had found one of my NYU friends Grady at the gate. A little less than 30 seconds on the plane, and I spotted my neighbor Emily who was traveling back from Madrid and another Scrippy. Seriously, HOW SMALL IS THIS WORLD GOING TO GET?

Anyways, I’m four hours into this flight, counting down the seconds till I get back home. Two hours, one minute and fifty three seconds. Fifty two. Fifty one. Fifty. You get the point.

Knowing my Dad, I am sure I’ll be getting my fair share of “I told you so’s” in the next couple of days, but there are many things I learned from this. First of all, my friends are awesome –I dare your friends to be cooler/more supportive/ understanding/ funnier/ compassionate/caring! From Katie and Alex putting up with my storage issues to Menta hearing all of my venting to Tim who let me crash and invade his bachelor’s pad – all four of them were such a huge support system in this huge mess (and on the daily). Second of all, I need to learn how to breathe. I’m usually pretty good at handling stress, but the stress of letting somebody down is probably the one thing that bothers me the most. The last and important thing I learned (from my Dad) is that the last mile is the most important one. Whether I’m running a marathon or trying to catch my flight back home, you better bet your bottom dollar that I will (for now on) make sure I am doing everything I can to make it happen – until I cross the finish line or get my California burrito.

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Song of the week: “Crying on a Suitcase” – Casey James (How appropriate, right?)