In Which Miss Jill Decorates Her Apartment from Broken Hopes and Dreams

One of my favorite things about New York is that it is a city full of transients. Although that makes it more difficult to develop lifelong friendships, it makes it much easier to obtain mass quantities of free stuff as people flee the city.

Moving Sale
10:00 a.m.
Couch: $100.00
Pots and Pans: $40.00
Assorted Columbia textbooks about human sexuality: $10 each

8:00 p.m.
Everything: Free! Please take as much as you can! I'm leaving for China in 8 hours. And everything in the fridge is yours too.

I'm grateful that we understood this principle when we moved into a new apartment, because my interior decorating style is very strongly influenced by the free/cheap section on craigslist. One morning prior to our move, my roommate and I went to a woman's house to look at a dresser. Little did we know, we had stumbled into a treasure trove. As we carried away half of the furniture and the air conditioner from the bedroom she said, "I wasn't going to get rid of any of this stuff, but I can't take it with me and my ex-boyfriend is still going to be living here." And that, my friends, is the New York version of punishing a cheater by messing up his ride.

However, the difficult part is hauling your spoils to your apartment. My friend helped me transport a coffee table, a large lamp and some other random stuff that I bought from a departing student. We traveled to my house in taxi, laboriously removed our booty from the trunk and stared at it, daunted. Then my friend ingeniously turned to some homies chilling on the street corner and asked, "Hey guys, are you busy right now? Do you want to help us move some furniture?" "Sure," they replied sportingly. Although I now suspect that one of them is a nocturnal elevator urinator/barfer, we were grateful for the assistance.

In Which Miss Jill Learns to Rebuild Broken Bridges

Lest you get the wrong idea, please understand that I would never, ever do what I am about to describe. However, that does not stop it from being funny.

Actress: I always have random people calling me.
Miss Jill: What do you mean?
Actress: When people are looking for jobs they give their prospective employers my phone number.
Miss Jill: Were you their boss?
Actress: No. I've been a principal, a paralegal, a businesswoman-you name it.
Miss Jill: @#$#@$! What do you tell them? How do you know what to say?
Actress: I just wing it. I must be good, because they always get the job!

In Which New York Stereotypes Are Confirmed: Crazy Bosses from Expletive Part One

The Nanny Diaries, The Devil Wears Prada, The Godfather- New York bosses have some serious public relations issues. I have realized that this is because 90 percent of them are the diabolical spawn of an unholy union between Osama bin Laden and Chucky (shout out to the 7th grade personal narrative from which I got that matchmaking idea). Because they are so prevalent, I am going to start collecting crazy New York boss stories from people and posting them from time to time. My friend “Jane” will start us off.

Although my former boss was fastidious about his appearance, he was also a very, very messy eater. He would constantly hand me important documents smeared with pizza sauce or chocolate and pretend like everything was normal. One day I was on the phone with an important client and he burst into my office. I figured that we were not encountering an emergency situation, so I continued talking. He started pacing frantically and whispered, “JANE! Get off the phone.” I said my apologies and hung up the phone. “Ok,” I said. “What do you need me to help you with?” His face red and sweaty with agitation, he yelled, “I sat in some chocolate and I need you to tell me where it is.” It was the most intimate moment possible for a Mormon girl of a certain age as I found myself learning the mysteries of the inner reaches of his thigh. “Ummm…, “I stammered, “I’m pretty sure that you don’t want me to touch you where the chocolate is, but it is in the part of your body that is probably the hardest for you to see.” Exasperated, he fled to the bathroom.

In Which Sports Drinks Fall From the Heavens Like Manna

Poverty is very real in this cold, unsympathetic city. For example, I received this text from a comedienne friend, "Eating mac and cheese for Sunday dinner but I don't have milk or butter so I had to make it without." I have the sinking feeling that that recipe is not heading for the latest edition of the ward Relief Society* cookbook.

Last night I was traveling home with said friend after her show in Queens, and we found ourselves facing insurmountable challenges. We had been waiting on a train platform for more than a half hour, when we heard someone yelling "ASGDFJHNKJGVNFJHJEAABBGF" from upstairs. We were concerned that it may be an official announcement from the New York Metropolitan Transportation Agency, but were unable to find a reliable translation. We went upstairs and again heard, "ASGDFJHNKJGVNFJHJEAABBGF" issued from a mouth that made me wonder if MTA employees have dental benefits. We finally ascertained that although there were quite a few people waiting on the platform, none of them would be going home anytime soon.

We gave up and braved the horrors of Times Square to walk to another train station. It was hot, we were surrounded by homies and fanny packed tourists, and it was past midnight. I was thinking about sitting underneath a glowing Target billboard and letting myself drift into the afterlife when a miracle occurred. In pristine condition sat these Gatorade bottles, still in their original plastic wrapping, on top of what may or may not have been cardboard with trash underneath it.



We debated over whether to claim our karmic spoils and I asked,"What if we are secretly being filmed on Dateline?" My friend confidently replied, "We will explain to them our financial situations. I'm pretty sure that they will understand." I was also concerned that the bottles had been injected with A.I.D.s (I don't have health insurance), but we decided that we should take them because bottles that size probably cost $5. I am going to drink it today, so if this blog is never updated again, you know what happened.

* Mormon organization for women

In Which Miss Jill, a Follower of a Non Mainstream Religion, Discusses Another Non Mainstream Religion

I have no idea what this picture means, but it comes up if you do a google image search of "Jehovah's Witnesses."

I mentioned in my last entry that a fine gentleman on the street asked me to translate his landlord hate speech into Spanish and I acquiesced. I realized today that it was not an isolated incident. I was calmly sitting on the D train, reading, when a woman asked me if I spoke Spanish. I figured that she needed directions or help of some kind so I answered in the affirmative. A grin spread across her face like a child's on Christmas morning. "I'm so glad," she said. "I have something that I would like to speak with you about. It is Jehovah."

As she pressed a tract into my hand, I realized that it was too late to start speaking English to her really fast. "Um, thanks," I replied in a monotone. "Before I get off, there is something that I feel impressed to share with you," she said solemnly. She handed me a little book and pointed to a section about repentance. Rude. My eyes darted across the page as if I were reading, but I was actually thinking about how I wanted to go home and watch 20 episodes of 30 Rock in a row while eating food from one of those Arab street carts. I was overjoyed when she stood up to get off the subway, and dismayed when she dropped oranges all over the floor and was unable to exit before the doors closed on her.

I have an ambivalent relationship with the JWs. Once a couple knocked on my door and greeted me with, "Wow! We never thought that anyone would move back in here after the fire!" In that case, the information that they gave me was useful.

In Which Miss Jill is an Unofficial Employee of the City of New York

I am trying to understand a phenomenon that I have been experiencing since I moved to New York: people constantly think that I am an employee of the New York Board of Tourism. Rarely does a day go by when someone does not ask me for directions.

For example, I will be standing in a crowd in Harlem that looks like this,



and inevitably someone (not a white person) will approach me and ask a question such as, "Where is Harlem Lanes?" I have a difficult time believing that I look like a Harlem native.

A few weeks ago I had to go to Queens, and I was a little confused on how to get back to Manhattan. A Russian woman with a preadolescent child approached me and asked for directions. I apologized and told her that I had never been to Queens before and that she should ask someone else. A train approached and I boarded it, but quickly realized that I was on the wrong train and got off at the next station. I was examining the map when I felt a tap on my shoulder. The Russian woman was back and asked, "Why did you get off? Where are you going?" I replied, "Because I don't know where I am. Please ask someone else for directions." I walked away and she followed me. "No seriously," I said. "I don't know what I'm doing." She continued begging me to help her and I continued telling her not to trust me. She persisted for several minutes until I did what any reasonable person would do: I fled at top speed and hid.

My last story took place on a fine summer morning in Washington Heights (a predominately Dominican neighborhood). I was walking down the street and a man approached me and asked, "Do you speak Spanish?" I looked around, noted that I was the only non-Latino in my line of sight and said hesitantly, "Uh, yeah." He smiled. "Great. I need you to tell that man that he is an (expletive deleted) idiot and if he doesn't bring me my (expletive deleted) refrigerator, I am going to (expletive deleted) kill him." I translated, "Good morning, sir. This man is wondering when you will have a chance to please bring him his new refrigerator. He is really grateful."

Se me fue el tren

To: Miss Jill

Year: 2003

Re: lookin for love?

So how about you? How's your life been going? Are you dating anyone? 'Cause if you're not, I wanna set you up with somebody that I think would be perfect for you. He's president of (college club) & is one of the most sarcastic people I've ever met. The only thing wrong with him though is he gets really bad, smelly gas.... But maybe that's not such a bad thing. (depending on your preferences!) But let me know if ya want me to hook you up. :)

Love,
Well Intentioned Friend

Yes, I saved this email for six years. The best part of this potential set up was that I already knew this person, he was my arch nemesis and I called him "The Bad Pants Boy" because he always wore floods.

An Introspective Journey with Miss Jill

I have come to the realization that I have no right to make fun of anyone:

* Who quits their job with a strongly worded email and texts their boss, "You should probably check your email."
* Whose roommate made an appointment for colon hydrotherapy for them and they actually went
* Who buys the entire set of King Henry VIII and wives dolls in England
* Who hangs out with people they met on the side of the road
* Who shops at the dollar store
* Who meets people at the laundromat and spends two hours talking to them about Rastafarianism
* Who buys random food off the street if it costs $1
* Who is super sad to not be in the middle of a developing country's political upheaval

In Which Miss Jill Fondly Remembers Her Former Home

Thanks to La Gringa's Blogicito for this picture