Not-So-Pretty Nails

Nail salons are about as common as rats in New York City. Alright, alright – I embellish. But they’re pretty ridiculously common. Common and cheap. Best combo ever!

Because they’re so reasonable and so omnipresent, I began to make it part of my weekly routine to get a manicure. Some places are $8, others – cleaner, choicer polish options, an altogether better atmosphere and ambiance, like Spa Belles on 6th Ave – are $13. Still pretty practical.

But since we are in a recession and since I pretty much pay my LIFE away to live in Greenwich Village AND since I work in book publishing which, let’s face it, is not the most lucrative industry – I decided to cut back on my manis. I have enough different polishes to suffice a weekly swap.

I recently had a birthday – which, by the way, aren’t that glamorous after 21…not that 21 is by any means glamorous, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I decided to treat myself to a mani. Of COURSE I’m a pushover for pretty new polishes, so I was over the moon when I saw that Essie had come back from their 2008 fluorescent romp with a spanking new line-o-neons. Yippee!

It was a Saturday afternoon. The clouds had dissipated, leaving in their wake a lustrous cerulean sky. The birthday gods were shining upon me! Kelly, my steadfast mani-buddy, decided on Punchy Pink for her nails. After some debate, I opted for Perky Purple.

One bottom coat, two matte layers of polish, and one glossy topcoat finish later, we chatted amicably whilst the solvents evaporated. Not one, not two, but three cycles under the dryers later, we decided they were good to go.

Thankfully our conscientiousness paid off. There was no smudging of the polish. However. Only a few hours into the night, the Perky Purple was losing its perk. Yes, it's true. My $13 mani was chipping – and with little to no exertion on behalf of my hands. The horror! Ruined my birthday.

OK not really, but I was pretty peeved.

Manicures are supposed to last at least a week without flaking. Especially the more “expensive” ones. Ugh!

Half-chipped nail polish is pretty disgusting. It makes one appear unkempt, disheveled, even dirty. Sure, I’m guilty of not removing my polish when it has passed its prime. But I can still judge the shit out of grody, scraped off, half-lacquered fingernails.

With all the innovations the nail polish remover industry has seen, it’s a no-brainer. So por favor: if your Pretty Nails ain’t so pretty anymore, just use one of those nifty little polish remover pads and take it off.

When Life Gives You Artificial Ingredients, Make Beverages

Now that doesn’t sound as sweet as lemons making lemonade now, does it?

Of course not. Because what we throw down the ole gullet each and every day is not nearly as cut and dry as water, lemons, and sugar.

Oh no.

What we humans sip and slurp and gulp is certifiably gagable!

As I type away (for the first time in a long time, soweeee), I am drinking a Vitamin Water Zero. The flavor? “Squeezed Lemonade”. The ingredients? Unpronounceable. Unintelligible. And undoubtedly indigestible.

Fancy water aside, let’s see. (Unfortunately I was ready for a full-on bash fest...but those folks at Glacéau are smarties - they list the purpose of the indecipherables. I shall do no such thing).

Here we go: rebiana, erythiritol, calcium lactate gluconate, magnesium chloride, potassium phosphate, citric acid, “natural flavors” (such as...?), gum acacia, glycerol ester of rosin, zinc gluconate.

Now I do appreciate Glacéau’s very, very clever attempts at marketing their poisonous product - their super witty copy and very pretty packaging (it’s shiny! - hah, maybe cause that makes the ingredients harder to read).

But why can’t they just bring us all back to their simpler days of crisp, delicious Fruit Water? It was by far the best brand out there. And so much healthier than anything containing “glycerol ester of rosin”.

Please peeps, I’m not all water all the time - far from it, in fact. I love me some DCL (ah hem, sorry, Diet Coke with Lime). I thoroughly enjoy coconut iced coffee from DD. Ginger Ale is a necessity on the weekends (made with “Real Ginger” - oh, OK Canada Dry, whatever you say). And fine, I do make vats of powdery, processed Crystal Light. Omgees, and root beer? I would have a love affair with A&W if I could.

So believe you me, I’m not preaching. I’m sure there are enough toxic, carcinogenic ingredients (and sugar...and saccharin) in my aforementioned faves to kill a newborn New York City rat.

Alas, that doesn’t necessarily mean imma stop drinkin’ em! It just means that I am filled with crippling disgust and remorse right before I take that first sip. Only the first one, though, cause after that I’m just floating away on a root beer float sized bubble.

It’s kind of funny that human bodies can function on nothing but coffee and Mountain Dew and Budweiser alone (case in point: Fred Schopp). How do they not shrivel up, all dehydrated and malnourished? Yikes.

It kills me how Coca Cola is portrayed as a thirst quencher. Oh I’m just dying of thirst - what oh what do I want to drink? Let me just reach for that syrupy little concoction that used to be made with cocaine and will surely give me hiccups and make my stomach bloated.

Oh yes, yes, good plan, very good plan!

Knowing what I know and reading what I read about the ingredients in beverages I consume, I’d like to say I’m good with water from here on out. But I’ll be damned, I know that when someone puts a fountain rootbie with no ice and a big straw in front of me, all my inhibitions will go straight out the window.

Some more drinks I love: birch beer, Hawaiian Punch, blue raspberry ICEEs, coffee from Wawa (and their flavored creamer!), fruit punch Gatorade, margaritas, blueberry beer, Tang, Five Alive, limeade, Cran-Apple, lattes, Capri Suns, did I mention root beer?

Some more drinks I loathe (besides Mountain Dew and Coca Cola if that wasn’t obvi): Dr. Pepper and its stupid 23 flavors, milk (especially milk that is stored in a cabinet and not a refrigerator), Pepsi, Sunny D, prune juice, all non-green varieties of Mountain Dew, Nestea, Red Bull, lemon lime anything, Jolt (remember that?)...

...I could go on (and on and on and onnnnn)...but I WANT YOU to tell me: what beverages do you loathe (or love - but loathing is more fun).

Do (No?) Dankes: Take a Hike!

Aaaah, Memorial Day. The barbeque season has begun. Beers and pools abound. It’s legal to wear white. ‘Tis the season for vacations and beaching and outdoor partying and…hiking? WTF!!

Well really, it’s my own damn fault. With so many things in life, I vomit the word “YES” before weighing the repercussions. Without really thinking about the follow-through. Without realizing the consequences may not be all ponies and rainbows.

Per usual, I planned on heading to CTees for the summer-kickoff. Last Christmas my brother, Timmy, said he’d be hiking-it-up that weekend. Which sounded like a lovely idea when I was sitting fireside nice and toasty. I barfed out, YES, please!

Oh man. It’s been nearly two weeks and my body is still hurting.

Rooftop gyms with elliptical workouts do not a mountain-hiking-body make.

Hiking to the highest point in Connecticut sounded great in theory - alas, it was anything but in practice. A fact which me and three of my fellow NYCers learned fairly quickly.

I’m not sure how I swindled Melissa, Meg, and Kelly “The Fly Trap” Cobb into coming with - but they did Metro-North-it all the way to Sharon, so they somewhat begrudgingly, somewhat enthusiastically agreed to go for a hike. The Northwest Corner of Connecticut is pretty and pastoral, after all!

We set off around 10:15 Saturday morning. It was raining - hard - on the drive over. I think it’s safe to say that I was not the only one cursing myself for agreeing (yes, I mean that they were cursing me too). A 6 mile hike? In the rain? Hell to the no dankes!

Fortunately (or unfortunately - cause that meant there was no backing out) the rain stopped just as we arrived at Bear Mountain in Salisbury. Luckily (or is it unluckily?) we secured the last spot in the lot. Water bottles in hand, we set off.

Who knows what we were thinking. Rather, what I was thinking. I’m no hiker. I’m no avid sportswoman. I don’t like nature! OK, fine, I heart nature - but still.

I don’t know how to pace myself - not with eating, drinking, swimming...and especially not with hiking.

Timmy warned us not to be too overzealous. But in all honesty, it was kind of hard not to be - our New York City aggressive power-walkingistas reared their ugly heads within seconds. And boy, I (for one) was winded ten steps up the trail.

It’s funny how one always thinks themselves capable of so much more. I (in more ways than one) think of myself as being 17 - not 27. I think I can run and dive for the ball and race in the pool and hike up the highest mountain in Connecticut - all without being fazed in the slightest.

But, surprise surprise, I can.not. I’m an old lady, yo! After five long ass minutes, I was over it. O.I. I was wondering where the hell the summit was and if I would be able to make it (there were times when I sincerely doubted my abilities). I whined to myself (fine, not exclusively to myself): Are we theeere yeeet?

My feet clodhopped along, stumbling on sticks and stones, rambling over roots and rivers, dodging piles of poopy land-mines and miserable swarms of horseflies and skeeters.

Boy oh boy were the bugs were out in full force. Poor Kelly’s head was circled like shark-bait by a minimum of two horseflies the entire time. Literally. Even after we all but dunked her head in Off. She pretty much ran up (and down) the mountain to try and escape them - with no luck.

Higher and higher we went. I wanted a car, a golf cart, a horse, anything to carry me and my two lazy legs. But upward I climbed. Whining all the while (a lot).

Like the hands of a clock on a workday, we marched onward but went nowhere. Until, at last, we approached the tree line. We were there, we did it, we were on top of the world!

Oh, but wait...no we weren’t. I wanted to stop.stop.stop - for the view was spectacular and I was spectacularly spent. But Timmy told us we’d know when we were there. So we trudged. Sigh.

Finally, after an hour and a half of upwardness, we were there for reals. My feelings, in this precise order, were: relief (we made it at last!), awe (the view was absolutely gorgeous - albeit a bit hazy), and horror (we had to go down now?)

We climbed the 125 year old monument (my favorite part - too bad you can’t read the inscription on the mason’s tablet!) and looked out upon lakes and hills and valleys. We drank water and ate Timmy’s homemade trailmix. I forced him to take pictures with his cell (thanks again!) And then...and then...we descended.

I’m all for changes of scenery - taking new a new route, a new path, seeing even more nature. Except when said path involves climbing down super steep, super slippery boulders. Shit was scary, yo!

We tripped, stumbled, rolled ankles, fell. We saw a dog carrying its own little pack (adorable), spotted snakes, were spooked by chipmunks acting 1,000 times their size. And though I did very much enjoy nature at its most natural I couldn’t help but - can you guess? - whine, whine, whine: Are we theeere yeeeet?

Down, down, down our tired, aching, leg-shaking bodies went, yearning all the while for piña coladas and poolside sun. But holy shit, that trail did not want to end! Were we lost? Did we take a wrong turn? Why is it TAKING SO F-ING LONG!

Then suddenly, after power-hiking downwards at an alarming pace, we rejoined with our first trail. Hallelujah, amen! Free at last. I felt like a marathoner with the finish line in full view.

And yet...and yet...where the hell was the parking lot?

It came into focus like a desert oasis. And boy was I loopy, drooling over the thought of lunch and frozen drinks and lounging by the pool - so close!

5 and 4 and 3 and 2 and 1 and...drumroll...DONE! 2,316 feet, 6 miles, countless bug swats and aches and pains later - we were finished. And boy did it feel good.

Though I shall not be saying yes to another hike anytime soon, it was a lovely feat to have accomplished. And while this post mostly berates our excursion, it was super fun...when all was said and done. Thanks for leading us city girls on an adventurous expedition, Timmy!