Those Three Boxes…

We all have them, cardboard boxes filled with stuff we never look at, but certainly wouldn’t throw away! Yet, we’ve been taking them with us year after year.

If you’re anything like myself, from age 18 on, you moved about once a year. Each September you (or your complaining dad) dragged your pathetic belongings from one crappy apartment to the next. Each moving day, my suburban dad would threaten this would be the last time he’d be schlepping into the city to help.  After a harrowing few hours of dragging bureaus up six flights of stairs, he and your city guy friends that you bribed with a six-pack would leave.  There you’d be, sweating in the 90-degree heat surrounded by a heap of cardboard boxes wondering what the hell was even in half of them. 

After you put your clothes away and made a trip to Ikea to buy weird teakettles and shelves with lots of consonants in their names, you’d forget about these boxes.  You’d stack them in a corner, not to notice them again until your 3 month sublet was up and soon it was off to the next apartment. 

For myself and a few of my friends I consulted, this routine continued year after year until 8 years later we finally decided to discover what was inside.

Here, our “precious” possessions revealed:

•  Journals – How embarrassing.  When you see the word journal does it make you forget about these boxes and wonder what you may have left behind at your parent’s house? You know, the ones that may contain a journal or two filled with your high school feelings and dreams. Dear lord. Must find those boxes and burn them.
•  Loofahs – I think I used a loofah back in 1999, back when I wasn’t late for work everyday. I’d take sudsy long showers with Bath and Bodyworks shower gel and loofahs. But, while those showers are just distant memories the loofahs and bath mitts keep coming.  They’re gifted to me in Yankee swaps, Christmas stockings and gifts from people that have no idea what to get me. 
•  Interview folders -  You know what I’m talking about, those leather folders you break out once a year when you garner up the courage to actually leave your job.  You mill around the lobby of some weird building, holding the cheap leather folder tight, you shake a few hands, answer a few absurd questions only to receive a “thank you but no thank you” email two weeks later. 
• Concert tickets – Who would ever want to forget River Rave 1995? Or what about Pearl Jam 1999?  Seriously, these ticket stubs are definitely worth saving in a box until you’re married and on your 17^th apartment.
• Samples & Swag – Butane lighters you got at Clery’s when you were 21, and lots of free shampoo!  If there is ever some sort of state of emergency and we aren’t allowed to leave our homes, I know my hair will be clean. There may not be food in the fridge but anyone in my house will be doing facemasks and hair conditioning treatments thanks to my Sephora online purchases.
• Old cell phones – I had the best intentions.  I wanted to donate them to Cell Phones for Soldiers or some other non-profit organization that had a need for my crappy wireless telephones, but it never happened. So, if anyone is interested in a box of Zac Morris cellphones, I’m your girl.

The boxes are also filled with scented talcum powder, CD cases and remnants of bright idea craft projects. What one does with talcum powder is beyond me.  But, as I part with the contents of my crates, I hope years from now when my kids are cleaning out my attic, that they don’t judge me on the crap I’ve been saving for years.

You know you’ve been in Boston too long when…

Maybe you went to school in Boston, or maybe, like myself, you moved here right after you graduated.  For those of us that moved to Beantown as young adults, there comes a time when you realize, huh, maybe this isn't just a place that I'm living in temporarily.  Maybe you started losing more and more of your "city friends" to the suburbs, but the thoughts of getting on a commuter rail still make you nauseous.  I've compiled a few ways to determine if you are in fact this "New Bostonian" - no, you're not from here, but after a decade you still don't want to leave. 

I started compiling some of my own observations on my time in the city, and after talking with friends, I realized we shared many of the same sentiments. 

Here, our list of a few ways to gauge how "New Bostonian" you are: 

• You’ve had a legal drink at The Blue Cat Café, Match and 94 Mass Ave
• You hate Nantucket
• You know fads like cupcake shops, healthy frozen yogurt and “healthy” burger joints are never going to last here
• You did your time in Allston Rock City or Brighton and lived to tell the story
• You partied at Pravda and Aria
• The term “Spare Change” means more to you than a few extra coins in your pocket
• You have a “T” story that will beat mine
• You’ve had a friend talk you into doing some sort of 5k or 10k, you barely trained and it was just as bad as you thought it would be
• You've learned that Jamaica Plain is a faraway land that people say is super hip but never really go to
• You’ve embarrassed yourself at Harpoonfest – multiple times
• You know that the Freedom Trail gets dangerously slippery when it snows
• You’ve cried while trying to find a resident parking spot in the North End or Back Bay
• You’ve been quacked at more than five times on your lunch break
• You’ve gone to parties and bars to celebrate it happening, but you’ve never actually seen the Southie St. Patrick’s Day parade in person
• Red Sox games are things you go to when you get free tickets or when people come in from out of town

I know you have more, please share in the comments below.

Debt in the City

It took 7 years to do the math, but someone finally figured it out.  If Carrie Bradshaw was a real living human and not a character on an HBO show that ended in 2004 (and yes, we’re still talking about it) she would be $3,000,000,000,000 in debt.  I’m no math genius, but I’d say there’s no getting out from under that.

To find out more about this fictitious fashion debt situation visit the-frenemy.com (best blog name ever).  

Seeking Sophisticated Street Meat

I ate street meat today, and it wasn’t 2:16 a.m. Recently, a few of those gourmet food trucks that people were really into about 2 years ago finally rolled their way into Boston, and most recently City Hall Plaza. For you 9-5ing Bostonians, news of this rolling restaurant probably makes your stomach grumble. With the tragic lunch options available to all of us in the Financial District/Downtown X-ing/Gov’t Center areas, we don’t care where it comes from, we have 15 minutes to get it and please make it taste good.

Lunch Lowdown

A new place will open up and my co-workers and I will eat there so often that the mere smell of their cuisine makes our stomach turn. A few examples of lunch joints that are no longer options because of the smell of their food:

• Boloco – This place is not Chipotle.

• Cosi – I’ve had enough of the free bread scrap bowl.

Then there is the long list of places that eventually learned my name and wanted to get to know me better – some would say they considered me a “regular”. I haven’t returned to any of these. I also have a place that insists on calling me “Rihanna” and begging me to sing “Umbrella” every time I’m waiting for my gosh darn salad. There’s also a Mexican joint in an alley that gives away free hard candy that I can only stomach once a month, and the guy that works the kebab cart on Washington Street that really likes my red winter jacket. Oh, and I can’t forget about the really nice guy that calls mayonnaise “juice” and even when I asked for “no juice” he is determined to put it on my sandwich.

I love the new spots that open up in the same locations where the last “great idea” failed. How many “healthy burger” places can 10 blocks handle? Should $11 salads really be served in Chinese to-go containers? I mean really people.

 I think wistfully of a time long-ago when I would shop on my lunch hour, or sit at a table that didn’t have my computer on it. Those days are over kids. Glorious lunch hours like that come with job descriptions with the words “entry-level in it.

So today, like every day, I joined the rest of the workforce on the hunt for a midday meal. The crowd milling about the food truck parking lot was hopeful. Wishing for a winner, hoping they could come back again on Monday. Was this driving dive an end to our lunch misadventures? Well, we gave it a shot. I really wanted something from the Clover Food Lab truck but their big sandwich today was the Soy BLT and a BLT without a pork product is a complete waste of calories. So instead, I got myself a Mango salad with chicken off one of the Asian trucks – it was only $5! Let’s just hope these trucks roll out of town before the scent of their foodie fumes makes me nauseous.

And no, I will never bring lunch. Are you crazy?

Girl Crush: Sloane Crosley

This girl is funny. Once upon a time, Sloane Crosley had one of those publishing jobs that every chick in a New York based romantic comedy always seems to have. And like in all jobs and offices, you email your friends. A lot. Well, the story on Sloane (according to the internets) is that a friend of hers at the Village Voice LOL’ed so hard at one of her emails that he suggested she publish it. A few years later Crosley has authored two collections of essays - I Was Told There'd Be Cake and How Did You Get This Number. She writes about unicorns, ponies, the Oregon Trail, dating, moving, weddings, quitting your job, her weird parents, summer camp and of course the rat race.

On kids avoiding tele-marketers, etc.:
"Kids across the country have grown up accepting the idea that no one can harm your family if at least one of its adult members is in the shower. No one knows why."
— Sloane Crosley (I Was Told There'd Be Cake)

On the birds and the bees:
"I never asked my mother where babies came from but I remember clearly the day she volunteered the information...my mother called me to set the table for dinner. She sat me down in the kitchen, and under the classic caveat of 'loving each other very, very much,' explained that when a man and a woman hug tightly, the man plants a seed in the woman. The seed grows into a baby. Then she sent me to the pantry to get placemats. As a direct result of this conversation, I wouldn't hug my father for two months."


— Sloane Crosley (I Was Told There'd Be Cake)

Crosley also started one of my favorite blogs – Sad Stuff on the Street. People send her pictures of sad things on the street and she says funny things about them and posts them on the internet. Umm…genius?

Oh, and her first book is being developed into a TV show by HBO. Hmmm…maybe there really is a market for a book chronicling my paper route, bad haircuts, wacky parents, weird first jobs (I went to lunch every day with a guy that was OBSESSED with selling cutco knives in his spare time) and various strange things that have happened on public transportation. Do stay tuned.

Elephant in the Room

Did you look closely at the Royal wedding party? Do I have to say this aloud? Look, I was a weird looking kid (who turned out fine), and believe me; no one was putting me in their wedding party – nevermind a ROYAL WEDDING.  I know, I know, I’m going to give birth to troll children and burn in hell. But, whatever, you were thinking it too...