Bring on the sunshine

Apparently, it's supposed to be nearly 90 degrees tomorrow in New York, and I could not be happier. The spring is my favorite time of the year because the weather's perfect...most of the time. And this time around? It's practically summer ;)

I suppose you want an explanation for my whereabouts? If I could pinpoint a place, I'd be glad to share but I honestly don't know. It's already mid-April and I'm still trying to wrap my head around it not being March anymore. Where did the time go?

This time last year I was stressing out about finishing my thesis in time for graduation. My biggest concern was what I'd be spending my three months off during the summer doing. Those summer vacay days are long over *sigh*.

However, even though I'm no longer a college student and I have no intentions of going on to become a teacher  and get those summer vacation days back, I do plan on enjoying my spring and later, my summer. 

My two year anniversary is coming up, as are a few trips, and my roommates and I looking for a new apartment (we've been here for almost a year! Crazy!). Instead of getting wrapped up in the daily happenings of my life though, I'll chronicle it here on this blog like I should have been doing this past month. 

In the meantime, while I promise to not forsake this blog in the immediate future, between posts you can certainly find me here (my newest obsession):

What have you all been up to?

The NYC side is overtaking my Long Island side

I've lived in the city heavily populated city-like area of Astoria for what? 3 or 4 months now? Now, I am hardly an authentic NYC girl - in my mind I am, but I can face facts and admit that since my childhood was spent on Long Island and I only have a few months under my belt, I am still a Long Island girl at heart. A bridge and tunnel-er at my core. I will say that I feel like I should get some city gal points for city next to a homeless man with a straight face as he de-robed on the subway the other day. That's his home, who am I to judge?

I won't say that I'm giving up on the Long Islander in me, but I am suppressing her. I'm becoming one of those people who hustles across the streets of manhattan avoiding lights, looking like they know where they're going, and I've finally figured out how to tell the cardinal directions of the streets without holding my iPhone up in the air and praying for a signal. Progress? I'd say so.

I even find myself getting annoyed by Long Island sometimes. Like why are Metrocard machines so damn hard to find out there? There are buses! I actually hadn't left the boroughs since Thanksgiving before my mom's birthday on Sunday, and you know what? It didn't feel like it. Maybe the city's stuck in a time loop because I swear it felt like 2 weeks.

With that being said, this video helped me realize that the New Yorker in me has been coming out, full-force. To my followers  that aren't New Yorkers - what do you think? Unfortunately (and not unfortunately), this is exactly how a lot of New Yorkers are. It's kind of funny!

You know when something isn't a good idea but you do it anyway?

Yeah, that happens to me sometimes.

There might be a psychological term for this and if there is, I have a very mild form of it. It's kind of like when you do something just to see what could happen even though you know there's 99% chance it's going to end badly, but you do it just for that 1% that something crazy good could happen? You like your odds anyway.

I was having that inner battle with myself the weekend I encountered my first real-life bar right. Please, hold the applause. I feel compelled to say now that I wasn't actually in the bar fight, per se. Being in it would imply I threw punches or took punches and homie don't even play that. Not in platforms, anyway.

The Bar Fight.

My college friend who I call "Country" (although she hates that because she swears Baltimore isn't "The South". Baltimore is the south and Westchester is upstate. It just is) came to visit for homecoming weekend so her, one of The Roomates, and myself decided to wander around Astoria and find something to get into. Country, whether she wanted to believe it or not, needed to be exposed to the city and I was going to be the friend to do that for her. This was the night I realized how heavily populated by hispanics my area is - specifically hispanic men. Specifically middle-aged hispanic men. I guess I should have noticed that on my last outing but fishbowl drinks, no dinner, and wine will have you thinking everyone's a Casanova.

We did our "rounds", which included us visiting our go-to clubs, but when we noticed that we didn't like the crowd, aka there weren't enough free drink offers and we weren't in the same incapacitated state as the first time we went there, we needed to find a more lively scene. This would have been a problem easily solved by going to a more lively club, but I had other plans.

There's this place that always plays good music but never has anyone in there nearby so I convince them we should check it out on our way to a new spot just so we can listen to the music for a bit. As we approach the restaraunt/club we see that the bartenders are wearing underwear (full bra and panties sets) and the guests have got to to be their cousins, brothers, and relatives of some kind because everyone looks alike.  This should have triggered the "don't go in there" alarm, and it did - until someone mentioned an open tab and us being more than welcomed to use it...

At that point it was kind of unanimous that we were going in there.

First problem - The music cuts off as soon as we enter and everyone stares at us. I joke around and ask if we're being punk'd but no one answers. I probably should have left here too.

Next problem - My friends are sending me all types of signals that it's time for us to get out of there. Country is visibly uncomfortable while this short hispanic man whispers sweet nothings in her ear, or rather . . .slobbers in her ear. It wasn't a pretty sight, but I figured we'd oblige and be social for five more minutes and then I'd say I was feeling sick and needed to get home asap. I didn't have much of a problem with the guys because I had my "f*ck off" face. You know the one.

I will say that the one good thing about the bar was that they had this awesome kareoke machine, and I really can't pass up karaoke. 

Just as I'm considering stepping up to the mic, Country's inebriated "date"gets mad because his friend pulled off his toupee (I don't make this up. It happens). He very sloppily throws the first punch with a near-miss to my friend's face and I take this as the most obvious cue for us to leave. 

Third problem? - The door is blocked by everyone that's trying to break up this fight so I literally duck and dodge my way to the entrance only to have the bartender signal the owner to block us from leaving. Why? Because those "free drinks" weren't so free after all.

I'm sorry? There's a fight in your establishment with some old man who offered to buy us free drinks and you're HALF-NAKED, but the problem here is that we're trying to leave? Go sit down.

Of course as soon as we're going to leave, the guys decide to make nice (???!!!!) and look at us like "Where do you think you're going"? So now we're the bad guys, and b*tch Nhya has to come out. Just grrrreeeeeatttt.

I size up the situation. Those two guys could barely fight each other, so I'd say Country, my roommate and I have a decent chance if it comes down to it. Then there's the whole issue of my platforms. I decide that the responsible thing to do is convince the owner that he doesn't want to keep us because we're not paying no matter what he says, I could have him locked up for selling alcohol to us minors (Not true, but whatever) and his drunk old man friend is the one he needs to talk to about the tab. It works.

I'd tell you the name of the place, but it's not worth it. Just know I won't be going back.

17-year-old Carry meets 22-year-old Carry

For all of you who are mathematically challenged (like I am) that's a 5 year difference. Duh.

This time five years ago I had been a college freshman for a few weeks and I'll be honest, I wasn't sure of myself. I wasn't sure how I would assimilate into that University, especially since I was very much a "people pleaser" - I wanted to get along with everyone, I wanted to do everything, and I wanted to make sure I did all of that without failing out or compromising myself. But although there were times when I got stressed or overwhelmed in school, I never once wanted to rush out of there. I knew that my college years would be the best years of my life, and they have been. So far.

Me at 17 with my lovely braces on the left, 21 on the right. I miss the burgundy-ish hair. Can't lie.

And now here I am, 22-years-old with a brother who just started college and siblings not far behind and I can't help but feel like there's a brand spankin' new chapter of my life unfolding. Everyone warns you about how much "the real world" isn't a joke. No one's going to hold your hand - you either sink or you swim. Now I don't want to say that I'm beyond that advice (y'all know I was nervous), but what if you prepped yourself so much for what was going to come that you're not experiencing any culture shock? I wouldn't say I have a full-proof plan, but I'm feeling good about things to come. I've learned (and continue to learn) that I cannot and will not please everyone. . .I just have to do what's right for me. And right now what's right for me is to compare my 17-year-old goals to my 22-year-old ones.

At 17 in 5 years I wanted to:

• Get a new network of non-high school friends by the time I graduated. Check!

• Get a license. Eh. . .not so much. And now basically living in the city hasn't helped with that. But it WILL happen!

• Meet someone I love spending time with, can be myself with, and won't make me want to attempt homicide. Check!

• Study abroad. This hasn't happened yet but I can go abroad without "studying" there.

• Graduate college with honors. Check! Ideally, I was supposed to graduate into a job. Let's give this a half-check.

And now, at 22 in 5 years (hellooooo, 27) I want to:

• Visit Europe at least once.

• Finally have my tattoo *cough*andthatlicense*cough*.

• Be set in my career, whatever that might be.

• Hopefully about to start a family with  a bunch of little CarryMels and Js. I'm not big on kids (no secret), but I feel like I might like my own.

• Be a certified Zumba instructor - everyone laughs at me when I say this but I am so serious. It's something I enjoy doing! 

I kept the list short and sweet, but there's a lot more I want to do in 5 years. I think constantly keeping sight of your goals helps a lot with making them realities, but I also think leaving a little mystery and not stressing them is what makes the ride more enjoyable.

What about you guys? What's one thing you really want to see yourself do in 5 years?

PS - I've been slackin' on my mackin' by not being consistent with my Tell 'em how you feel Tuesdays but I'm going to get that back up and running. I'm also thinking of doing something like a "Featured Follower" every week or so to help cross promote other blogs. Gotta plan that out. Oh! And I want a site button :], but I need help making one, lol.

Flashback: How he met my mother

To anyone who even remotely knows my family or who has met La Madre once (that's all it takes), they know that I get all of that dramatic blood running through my veins from her. I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one out of my siblings who took on that trait - oddly enough the rest of them are incredibly normal, mentally and emotionally healthy young beings. Go figure.

My boyfriend, being the astute individual that he is, learned more about me from 20 minutes with La Madre than he did in 3 months with me.

Photo credit

After much protesting and a little bit of using sex as a distraction I realized that I couldn't hide my family from J forever - especially since he had gone out of his way to integrate me into his. I decided that for his own safety I'd have him meet the whole crew in increments. Starting with the Boss herself. He thought my apprehension might have been because of the whole racial difference thing, but I assured him it was just because, no matter what race you were, my family could be too much for regular people.

Their first real meeting came when, against my better judgement, I thought it would be okay for J and her to hang out at the mall while I got my hair done. Because I only go to a certain salon for a certain thing, and because my hairdresser moves like a wounded turtle, the ordeal was taking up to 2 hours. I was panicking. He wasn't answering my texts, phone calls, or those special mind controlling signals I try to send out to him. I tried calling La Madre. No answer. It boggled my mind that they could keep themselves pre-occupied for so long. Then it hit me: she was talking to him about God only knows what.

Just as I was about to call my brother to get him to call La Madre, J shoots me a text saying 'hey'.

Me: r u ok?

J: Yea, y?

Me: because u haven't been answering me and it's been 2 hrs. and u could have died.

J: lol

Me: I'm so serious.

J: I'm with your mom. How much longer?

Me: another 20 mins.

J: damn!

Me: r u suuuuure ur ok?

Once I was finally finished getting done up and we were all heading back home I got them to tell me what I'd missed. Apparently, they were now really good friends. They'd eaten lunch together, browsed the mall (I'm sure J looooved that) and did some light shopping. It sounded like a date I'd enjoy and I was a little jealous, until he handed me this manicurist set he'd bought for me on a whim, and then I lightened up. The important thing was that it didn't appear that his opinion of me had changed which meant La Madre had been on her best behavior. No third degree? No questions about your retirement savings plan? And she didn't ask you if you had a single uncle? Okay, then. I'll take it.

Just as I'm relishing in the thought that all parties might have gotten though this unscathed, I make some comment that I can't even remember which triggers the crazy in La Madre to come out. Maybe I said she was driving too fast or asked for something, whatever. It was kind of like opening Pandora's box and as I'm trying desperately to close it, things are spewing out. Before I know it she's telling him how much she loves us and how she's sacrificed so much for her kids and wishes I would come home from college more to visit. In between sobs and steering she's turning back to me and telling me how she just wants the best for me and really wants to open up a baking business.

I know just how to react in this situation - you have to match her crazy with crazy - but because for whatever delusional reason I'm holding onto the chance that J might still like me, I don't say a word.

When we finally reach our destination, she gets out of the car, gives J the biggest, most somewhat questionable hug and tells him to call her 'Mom'. I'm dead.

Once she drives off I ask J, with my head down, if he still wants to continue the relationship. He actually thinks for a little bit, but then laughs and says he understands me a lot more after having met my mother. I tell him that I'm no where near as emotional as she is and he tells me that we're a lot more alike than I think.

I mean, I guess.

DISCLAIMER: Now I'm not saying that La Madre is certifiable crazy, by any means. She's actually the most self-less, caring, sensitive, annoyingly creative person I have ever met. She's got so much life in her that she almost doesn't know how to contain it all so she shares her dreams and aspirations with me, urging me to live my life to the fullest. My mom's biggest issue in life has always been her running on her emotions - and that's it. When she's happy, she's ecstatic with big smiles and tons of affection. But when she's not, the world might as well have just ended because her world did. Logic? Irrelevant. It's something you get use to. I think her bipolar characteristics could lead those on the outside to think 'somethin' ain't right', but I promise you, it just takes some getting use to.

In fact - think Tammy from Basketball Wives, only MUCH less hood unless she feels completely comfortable around the people she's with.

(In case you haven't seen the little tab to the left of your screen: follow me on Twitter. I follow back! & let me know so I can add you to my nifty little 'blogosphere' list)

Nhya Vs. McDonald's Sweet Tea

I nearly died today.

No, legit. And it would have all been at the hands of what I thought was one of the most magnificent creations brought to McDonald's. Ain't that some sh-t?

I always imagined that my near-death experience would be something that would open my eyes to all the great things in life, and y'know. . .teach me that I should appreciate everyday. All it did was make me really suspect of abnormally large drinks. Here's how it happened:

I'm walking back to my room from work with J (the boyf) and his brothers, quickly, because it's humid as hell in New York and I'm not tryna' have my hair frizz up. . .

Jokingly, I grabbed something J was holding because I knew he'd put up a fight for it - it was food, fyi. We go back and forth for it and his brothers are laughing in the background because they know that nothing stands between him and his food. Not even me. One of them cracks a joke saying just that, and as I'm sipping on my sweet tea, I start my usual fit of inappropriate laughter.

First mistake.

Before I know it, I start coughing. This is fine - I always have coughing attacks when I talk too fast while eating or drinking. Suddenly, however, coughing turns to choking and while everyone around me is still laughing at the previous joke, I'm realizing, slowly but surely that my oxygen supply is clogged by the syrupy yet deadly goodness that is McDonald's sweet tea. I grip my iPhone tightly because if I survive this experience, the last thing I'll want to deal with is a shattered phone screen (for whatever reason, I'm also still securely holding the iced tea.). I'm trying not to panic but because I'm naturally dramatic I'm thinking three steps ahead of what's already happening. . . is this it? This happens all the time - why haven't I stopped coughing?!

J's the first to realize that something's not right - probably because by now my nose has started leaking, I'm sweating, and my face has gone from caramel to purple - and springs into action.

I must say, I'm proud.

He starts rather violently yet lovingly slapping my back. At this point, his actions have helped me realize that I am in fact, choking to death, and I make my second mistake. I lose all sense of logic. My hands start flailing (still holding the iPhone, of course), I start gasping for air, and I make signals that I've seen in movies which I thought meant "help"! When he realizes the slaps aren't working, J starts doing his own rendition of the Heimlich maneuver which is like the real Heimlich maneuver, only much more emotional and amateur when done when you're scared your girlfriend might die because she can't drink properly.

Since I'm my mother's child, this is all becoming entirely too much for me and my mind starts racing to how just earlier I was talking about how sucky it would be to die at 21, and how I've always wanted to visit a 7th wonder of the world. And why hadn't I opted for the large fries instead of the medium for lunch when life was so short?! While I'm sifting through what-if's in my head, at some point my choking calms down. As I'm catching my breath, I let a few chuckles escape because, let's be honest - I was happy I was alive and the whole thing was kinda funny. If it wasn't happening to me.

J on the other hand is furious, and I can understand why. He tells me that I really need to stop choking. I tell him I'll work on that.

What I learned from that experience is that:

A) My boyfriend really is my knight in shining armor (who knew he actually knew the Heimlich?) and,

B.) Thank goodness I wasn't choking alone. How awful would it have been if I was found, dead and alone in front of my place of work with hair frizzed beyond the point of recognition?

So that was my Friday. How was yours?