I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
With Thanksgiving a few grocery store fisticuffs away, I’ve been daydreaming of cranberry sauce. The real stuff. Not that gelatinous, cylindrical mass with the can indentations.
I try to convert the unenlightened. This year, I’ve started with my friend Nate. He likes canned fruit. Really likes it.
But hey, admitting it is the first step to recovery.
I regale my co-worker friend Clark with my more interesting dating stories. And believe me, they’ve been interesting. Alas, I can’t blog most of them.
So I just tell friends offline, including Clark. It’s nice to get a guy’s – especially a normal guy’s – opinion.
I recently went on one of the most bizarre dates of my life. It was at a lively restaurant where my date and I had some trouble hearing each other.
Him: You keep licking your lips.
Me: Really?
Him: Yeah.
My current job is the best one I’ve had since college. I may dread the commute or getting out a warm bed, but I never dread having to go to work.
It helps that I have some wonderful co-workers. Also, I read and write and talk to people all day. I feel confident doing these things, yet they still make me grow.
But even now, sometimes I get in this mindset where I start thinking the days are really long and tiring.
Sometimes Jing makes me feel old, very old with the cobwebs on top. It makes me want to have clueless kids of my own someday when I’m even older.
Jing: The only song I like from the old ages is called “Don’t Stop Believin’.” Have you heard it?
Me: Yes. At every bar, restaurant, and sports arena ever.
My sister works at a nursing home, where she’s paid to feed, diaper, and bathe adults who are often confused and alone. Uplifting stuff, this is not. It’s like The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I guess all nursing homes are.
Megan: I helped a priest on the toilet today. It kinda made me feel funny.
My friend Elizabeth and I taught at a Harlem charter school together. Though we’ve since moved on to other careers, we still reminisce.
Me: Remember N.? I wonder what she’s like now.
Elizabeth: Probably the same. The kids were so mean to her.
Me: Remember how much I talked to her about how to handle them? She never listened.
Jing, now 13, has been clashing with her mom for a while about the typical things. There’s also the cultural gap to excavate. I listen to her complaints, sympathetic yet fascinated by the situation.
Me: Your mom just wants you to work hard and be the best you can be.
Jing: She’s always talking about her past! And I think she lies about the grades she made in school.
Even at 2:15, there’s a long line at Subway. I order my six-inch turkey, bacon, and cheese on roasted garlic bread before I can see the human conveyor belt that stacks, smears, and slides everything.
I get to the veggie area, and there’s no sandwich. People before and behind me are getting their sandwiches serviced, and I’m standing in line looking at the pickles.
Me: Hi. Where’s my sandwich?
Guy #2: You did not order?
