Things I don't miss about Atlanta:

• Driving and all it encompasses (traffic, getting gas, new tags, etc)
• Humidity and it's menacing effect on my hair
• 70 degree Christmases
• Going into an office
• Having to set an alarm that I ultimately sleep through
• Malls
• The song Mr. Mom (this doesn't really have anything to do with Atlanta it's just always on a list of anything I dislike)

Things I miss about Atlanta

• Chick-Fil-A, more specifically, waffle fries
• Seeing people I know when I go out/People knowing who I am
• Not constantly being out of breath
• Hank
• Cheap Mexican food, specifically cheese dip
• Beers that don't cost $7
• Johnny's Hideaway
• Wreaking havoc (this includes you @cmdemichele)
• Country music on the radio
• Public restrooms

(This doesn't include friends/family because that's a given. And this isn't that kind of blog.)

To: Harriet

This poem is dedicated to @cmdemichele. It is about the pigeon who lives outside my bedroom window.

Every morning I wake up to your coo, coo, coo
Dearest pigeon, is that all you know how to do?
I'm sure you are also covering my fire escape with poo

I once had a rooster, too
He also woke me up every morning, but not like you
Harriet, if you are not silent, I will be forced to shoot you

No pigeons were harmed in the writing of this poem.

I actually have grown to love Harriet dearly. If you must know why I named her that, it's because I believe that she is spying on me through my window. If you don't get that reference you should probably be reading a different blog.

One day I will post a picture of her, but it's difficult as she hates paparazzi.

I still hate New Jersey.

I'm coming up on my 6 week anniversary with the city, but part of me still forgets that while I have learned to conquer the Upper East Side (let's be honest, I made this place my bitch) I still don't really know anything about the rest of Manhattan. This became very clear to me last weekend. There's nothing worse than that hollow, neauseating feeling in your gut when you're sitting in a place, knowing that you missed an integral step and now am either going to have to own up to the fact that you are, still, an idiot, or lie. I usually do the latter when I should always go for the first choice.

I offered to baby-sit in Garden City (it's in Long Island, I had to look it up too) and day of I realized that while I had been there once before, I was under the guidance of @Jvanner1 and an abundance of wine, and had no idea how to get there. A lot of my decisions are made before I remember that I can't just walk downstairs and get in my car and continue on with my life. I looked up on HopStop (greatest invention ever) how to get to Garden City at least 17 times before I left my apartment, and still had to interrupt @Jvanner1 at work and ask her to look up the trains to take and where to get off because when it's something important I have the memory of a goldfish. My uncanny ability to read and understand colored signs got me to Penn Station without a hitch. Once again, I put forth my best efforts to translate that Train 13-Nassau Boulevard meant that I look for a sign that says Train 13. Ah, yes. I hate when people aren't properly impressed when I do amazing things. I'm savoring my new self-worth until I start thinking about the last time I was on the train... and we paid for tickets. And a conductor came around and stamped them. I started getting uncomfortably hot as I gauged that I would not have enough time to go wander around Penn Station looking for a place to buy a ticket. And I had made it this far. Maybe this specific train didn't need tickets. Or he would be blind and I could pass off my MetroCard as a train ticket. The train pulled away and I began praying that Nassau Blvd would be the first stop, even though I knew it took 40 minutes. I saw the conductor and pulled my go-to move, fake being asleep. Probably would have been more believable if it weren't 4:30 pm.

"Ticket please m'am."
"Hm?" (Keep headphones in, sleepy eyes.)
"Your train ticket."
"Oh, umm... let's see..." (Thank YOU giant purse)
"I'll just come back."

He put attached a reminder ticket to the seat in front of me which I promptly ripped off and and spent 10 minutes arranging it under my shoe so that it "must have gotten knocked off." Instead of initially admitting that I hadn't bought a ticket and pulling out the "Sir, I am sooooo sawry! I'm not from around here, I just came in from Atlanta. I didn't know I needed a ticket!" Noooo. Faking losing a ticket was the obvious choice. That scene was reinacted about 3 more times while I sweated and prayed everytime he left that we would reach my stop and I could escape a free woman and never ride the LIRR again. Finally I was issued a very formal I.O.U. to be paid to the Long Island Rail Road. Better than train jail I guess.

That Sunday I woke up after witnessing my first sequin blazer (want one), taking a cab home (7 blocks. Has to be some kind of record) to perform the ritual act of first making sure I have my purse and then taking inventory of all my things. (This happens when you have a severe tendency to lose EVERYTHING.) SO far *knock on wood* I've been good about keeping track of my wallet, phone, purse, etc., but this particular night had taken claim of my debit card. Not too big of a deal, I used to lose so many cards that I strictly used temporary cards. I checked my bank account to see if I could track down the name of the bar (I mean restaurant) where I had last used it and noticed something odd. My most recent charge was for 12/4 (that day) at a Chuck E. Cheese in MAYS LANDING, NEW JERSEY. I called the bank to be sure, and it was confirmed that my card had been swiped at 10:18 am at a Chuck E. Cheese in Mays Landing, NJ. I didn't know what was more embarassing, this teller thinking that I woke up on a Sunday morning and went to Chuck E. Cheese or that I was in New Jersey. That is some true second rate parenting right there. Maybe if you werne't out partying on a Saturday night you could afford to take your kid to Chuck E. Cheese with your own money! Also, if you're reading this, I would like all your prizes. They're technically mine.

Sadly, that wasn't the most grotesque human act I encountered that day. A sweet gentleman named Wally (first sign) bought @Jvanner1 and I some very romantic post-bar, pre-cab pizza. I feel like I have lowered my dating standards here due to the fact that I really don't know anyone, but even I have to draw the line somewhere, especially after receiving this text:

Liz: Do you have a job?
Wally: Yes i work in a deli i make food 4 peapol lol in brokleen what kind of work do u do from home

I couldn't even respond for fear that he would cut himself after the scathing review of his complete and utter disregard for the English language. "Brokleen," you've got yourself a winner. I would appreciate it if you didn't let him loose on my island.

17 more days until my birthday! What have you gotten me? And the cutest little tree in the whole city!

Much love!

Christmas means one thing: TRIFECTA is upon us

If you have ever had the pleasure of being in my presence between October and January, you probably know that I LOVE CHRISTMAS. And not just the normal amount. Because my birthday is the day before, I take it upon myself to be the face of this spirited holiday. If I were ever to create my own PSA, it would be to let kids know that Santa doesn't go to houses with fake trees, and to not allow this kind of behavior from their parents. I am more passionate in my war against fake trees than I am against Applebee's or hashtagging on Facebook or mayonnaise-based salad dressings. And I don't settle for just any Christmas tree. GIANT Christmas trees. This fiery passion resulted in a lot of unnecessary pain for my parents on the rare occasion that they allowed me to pick out the tree, because of course I chose some monstrosity of a tree that were known to break tree stands and be tied to the wall. Not sorry.

I've always enjoyed having a holiday birthday. I've never had to work on my birthday (except for one year, and I still refuse to go to Maggiano's for that reason. How dare they.) It's easy to get wrapped up and assume all the decorations, lights and gifts are in honor of your birth. I could do with out the ever popular "So do you get ripped off with presents and people just give you one?" As if! You obviously don't know me if you ever think I would settle for a split birthday/Christmas present. And if you don't know me, then why are you talking to me? The greatest birthday tradition coming on its 3rd annual is without a doubt TRIFECTA. Trifecta is the birthday celebration with @mrunyon86 (DOB 12/23), @lizsassypants (DOB 12/24) and @Jesus_M_Christ (DOB 12/25-note, probably not his real Twitter, but I still recommend following.)

Yes, that is Jesus in a tuxedo t-shirt. Because I like to party, and I like my Jesus to party too. If you're going to make a fool of yourself on your birthday, there's nothing like having someone else there to share it!

To get in the holiday spirit New York style I dragged @Jvanner1 to Rockefeller Center last night to see them light the tree. And apparently see Justin Beiber? A close second on my list of "Oops..." I've made here, only after getting on the wrong train and ending up in Harlem. We walked off the subway and into what I can only assume would be considered a throng of people. Pretty sure they got rid of all the occupiers because they needed the metal gates to hold back the masses for this event. And I don't even care that I'm about to be that super annoying who judges people that don't live in the city even though I've only lived here oh, 30 days. PEOPLE FROM NEW JERSEY ARE TERRIBLE. The only comparison I have is being front row at Big Boi when he performed at Music Midtown in 2005 the year it rained so hard (I know you remember that).

One delightful woman insisted on loudly suggesting "LET'S KEEP MOVING PEOPLE. TRYING TO WALK HERE. LET'S KEEP MOVING." I politely offered to rip the weave out of her hair and shove it down her throat and see if that made it easier to convey her message, but sadly she wasn't interested. Mother of the Year, who was clearly grooming her 11-year-old daughter to be part of MS-13, continually screamed at her daughter while encouraging her to "Jab your elbow in that bitches side!"

We left shortly after that in an effort to preserve whatever Christmas spirit remained inside me, but these New Jersey housewives were having no part of that. Apparently the smartest way to get what you want is to sacrifice your child, as many of these monsters, I mean "mothers" (head to toe in velour and what had to be Lip Smackers lip gloss), would push strollers into the crowd, simultaneously yelling, "DON'T YOU SEE THERE'S A BABY IN THERE!?" Well lady, this is awkward, but did YOU know that your baby was in there before you ejected it into the mass of pedestrians?

However, once we escaped Basketball Wives: Holiday Edition, we found ourselves walking down 5th Avenue, and came upon The Plaza. When I saw the street, lined with glittery, glamorous stores, giant wreaths and Christmas lights covering every possibly surface, I finally understood what people meant when they said there is nothing like New York City during the holidays.

**Update: I teared up walking down the street tonight because there are lights on everything and every street corner smells like Christmas trees (when it doesn't smell like falafel). Christmas spirit is officially restored.