Nothing to See Here…

OK, well, they aren’t famous YET but I’m an optimist. Maybe Letterman will hire me and I’ll be able to quit this corporate gig and write stupid stuff and get paid for it.

As I said earlier, I’m up in New York this week. When I’m not being completely oblivious, I’m pretty darn observant and I’ve observed quite a few reasons why I couldn’t live up here.

Top 10 Reasons JustLinda Could Not Live in New York City

1. I like to eat at Red Lobster and they’d kick me out for such classlessness (Duh! That was an easy one… I practically gave that one to you guys!). I’d probably need to know what foie gras is, too. And I’d need to be able to eat at places like the Rainbow Room without embarrassing myself terribly and I’m just not sure that such a thing is possible.

2. Then there is the issue of my hair. New Yorkers have to walk – outdoors – in the wind. They all wear hats and scarves. I do not have the type of hair that could possibly withstand the wearing of a hat. I do not have the type of hair that can withstand the wind, either. So if I did move here, it would require a Kojak type of move and I suspect I probably have a lumpy skull and couldn’t pull that look off at all.

3. New York women are serious about their shoes. There is no such thing as sensible shoes around these parts. Oh, sure, some of them commute in their Reboks and Nikes and then change into their very un-sensible shoes at the office, but I’m quite sure they would not tolerate me and my practically-orthopedic looking footwear.

4. I absolutely could not deal with the logistics of having young children in this city. I see these women rolling around babies in plastic-covered strollers, carrying them up and down the subway stairs and off and on busses and quite frankly I’m not sure I like my kids enough to do all that – I’d probably have to put them up for adoption or something.

5. Nobody here knows how to make a regular fucking salad. They all have fancy cheeses and foreign substances and weird dressings on them. I want a freaking garden salad with ranch, for god’s sake. Stop trying to sell me the Taj Mahal when I just want a double-wide trailer.

6. I like to make eye contact and smile – even at strangers I pass casually on the street. There are two problems with this: first of all, there are too many damn strangers on the street and I’d probably suffer facial muscle damage from all the smiling and eye contact. Secondly, it is evidently against the law for New York natives to smile and make eye contact. Yeah, it’s true. I think Rudy Giuliani tried to get the law repealed a few years back but they told him “Eh, Rudy – we already let you clean up our fucking taxis, you’re pushing it a little too far wanting us to smile.” So, no smiling. And if there is eye contact, it’s usually intimidating and scary, like a “get the fuck out of my way, you freaking tourist” type of look. They eat midwesterners like me for lunch here.

7. Four words: New York Style Pizza. They are pizza snobs here and don’t understand that some people (for example, St. Louisans) like their crispy thin-crust pizza (and regular salads, too).

8. I’m waaaaaay too cheap to live here. These people pay upwards of $8.00 per DAY just for the privilege of spending 40 minutes crossing over some bridge. Um, HELLO? Do you know how much that adds up to each year? And tipping is completely out of control. Every time I turn around I’m tipping someone for opening a door or hailing a cab even though I have clearly gone through life knowing how to open my own doors and hail my own cabs. Just call me Ebenezer. I don’t like to part with my money as often as is required here.

9. All the shiny, flashy lights and signs distract me. I’ll be sitting in a conference room in a meeting and the Times Square flashiness outside the window draws me away from the meeting and next thing I’m all into the big light-up ad for Waterford crystal or the Discover card or something and it gets me in trouble every freaking time. “Linda? What do you think?” they will say. I will reluctantly pull my gaze from the TDK ad and say “Wut? Me? Could you repeat the question? Aren’t the sparkly lights so purdy?” New York gives me the adult version of ADHD.

10. New York people are liars. They tell me that the restaurant is a ‘short walk’ and that means 8 of the short ‘street’ blocks over and then 2 of the long ‘avenue’ blocks up and me in my practically-orthopedic shoes (which still are not Reboks and I am not currently gellin’ like a felon) and my asthma and my Ted Nugent hair and all… by the time I finish the short walk, I’m ready to consent to an iron lung or one of those cute little rolling oxygen tanks that the ladies at the casinos all seem to have plus I really want a cigarette. Short walk my ass. WHERE IS MY SUV?