For such an educated, ambitious, and high income city New York is, sometimes, people here think and say the stupidest things possible.

Today, all I could hear or see were people commenting on how the first person in New York to get Ebola should be treated and cured — then arrested and thrown in prison for thousands of years for “attempted murder” — as in, potentially spreading the Ebola virus to other people in New York. This New Yorker who has Ebola — he came back from Africa, risked his life as doctor to treat Ebola patients there, and then suddenly gets demonized for coming back and trying to lead his own life. According to the reports I have read, he followed the exact protocol that the CDC outlined for those who come in contact with Ebola patients. If anything, people should try being rational and blame the CDC and their protocol for failing us. Another thing people should read is how Ebola is actually contracted, as it seems that a lot of people think that you can just get Ebola by breathing the same air as an Ebola patient.

Since leaving home for college in 2004, I haven’t been much of a sandwich person. I’ll occasionally have one, but I generally don’t get too excited about them. There is one big exception to this, though: banh mi! Vietnamese sandwiches have been a part of me since as long as I can remember. During all of our trips to Southern California growing up, we always had multiple banh mi stops, and in Vietnam, the best banh mis of my life were had from random food carts along the street in Quy Nhon and Saigon. In Vietnam, I realized how light and ethereal yet crispy banh mi bread could be, and I found out the best combination of sliced meats, pate, and pickled vegetables to complement that bread. By random luck, I found a great place that almost matched this quality in Dorchester, a suburb outside of Boston, but the second time I went back, the bread quality just wasn’t the same.

I’ve been lucky and through thorough research of food blogs and sites, I’ve found the best banh mi at Ba Xuyen in Brooklyn. The most ironic thing about this is that generally speaking, New York is actually lacking in a wide variety of good Vietnamese food. It’s quite a trek from where we live, but I’ve even gotten Chris wanting to travel all the way out to Sunset Park in Brooklyn for this sandwich. It could arguably be the best sandwich on earth to both of us.

Okay, I’ve bought the very last “deal” I will ever buy. Tonight, Chris and I went to JBird, a very date appropriate cocktail lounge just a few blocks from our apartment on the Upper East Side. We’ve been here a number of times since they opened in 2012, with each other, with friends, and with visitors from out of town. They are mostly known for their cocktails, which we love and are the main reason we keep going back. This was the first time we ever used a Groupon, which was for two cocktails and five small plates. As soon as we let our server know that we had a Groupon, she immediately told us that there actually was a different menu for the Groupon and proceeded to give us that menu. The dishes were far smaller, and the cocktail list was more limited. At the end, even though we came with a “deal,” I felt completely underwhelmed and annoyed by the entire experience. I’d never been given a “different” menu for using a Groupon or felt cheated food-wise before.

If you are going to be a business that offers a Groupon, you shouldn’t make your diners feel like they are either getting second-class service or a second-class (or limited) menu, or plates that are a fraction of the size they normally are. It cheapens the entire experience and does not encourage diners to come back. Because as a business, don’t you want repeat customers to sustain your business? Everything gets old in New York, and your business will, too, if you treat your customers like this.

I’ve been browsing blogs that discuss un-cluttering and simplifying one’s life. In the last several years, I’ve moved away from getting excited about getting Christmas and birthday presents and really would prefer experience gifts, if any, and greeting cards, especially if they were to be handmade. One of the blogs I was looking at said that every time you buy yourself something new, like an article of clothing or a book, try to donate or give away something you own in the same category that you know you will not use much.

We’ve done a few purges in this apartment since I have moved in. For the most part, I think I have been pretty good about getting rid of clothes that I don’t wear much anymore, especially since I tend to get bored of my wardrobe very quickly. I think I need to do another purge, especially since some items, I admittedly do not wear at all, but I keep them for sentimental reasons, which is a good and a bad thing.

I still have the comforter, comforter cover, and pillow that Ed got me that  used at my old Elmhurst apartment, and although the comforter is meant for a double bed and we have a queen bed, I have no desire to give it away. In fact, I want to keep it forever. I took out the pillow from the storage area today to see how fluffy and firm it was, and it’s just as I remember it the last time I used it over two years ago. I don’t want to get rid of anything my brother has given me even if it does take up extra space in my living quarters. It’s like all I have left of him that is tangible now that he is gone. Maybe it seems impractical or desperate, but I don’t care. It represents him, his love for me, and his great generosity.

Tonight, I attended the birthday party of one of Chris’s friends at the Dream hotel in downtown. It was one of those very New York-type spots, where everyone is dressed up and extremely glam, standing and chit-chatting while holding their $16 cocktails, all around a uniform four-feet-deep pool, into which no one will be jumping in.

I’m sitting and making conversation with some of his friend’s friends, listening to the story of how one of them is in a relationship with one of her colleagues, who has teenage children and is in the process of getting a very slow and painful divorce. The kids hate her and blame her for their parents’ breakup, and the man… doesn’t seem to have much of a spine at all.

Then he walks in, and within five minutes, the topic somehow gets to breast implants. We are discussing what men notice about a woman when she passes by. Well, I said, when I pass by, I’m sure my boobs are not at the top of the list! This guy responds, “Let me ask you something that she does not approve of (gestures to the woman who has been accused to break up his marriage): would you get a boob job?” I immediately answer no. “Oh god, you’re one of those women,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Why not?” Because I’m not quick-witted enough, I simply glare at him and respond, “Because I don’t believe in having anything fake on my body.” Then I slowly get up and get ready to leave.

I felt sorry for the woman after we had that interchange. That’s when I realized how unconfident she was to be with such a shallow, moronic man who was encouraging her to be fake and plastic.

A former colleague of mine, who I haven’t had a real conversation with in over two years, actually got together with me for dinner tonight. It’s so funny how Facebook and Instagram are the ways that we somehow “follow” people’s lives now without ever having any real human interaction with them.

We’ve both been aware of each other’s lives: since we last worked at the same company, she has changed jobs, quit her last job, and started her own stationery company; she’s gotten a cute Havanese dog, become engaged, married, and settled in her Upper West Side life. She’s even become a pescatarian. Since then, I ended a serious relationship, helped plan and attend two of my (same) best friend’s weddings, entered into a new relationship, moved in with the guy, got engaged, traveled to over 12 different states and 5 different countries. I also switched jobs, and have suffered a major loss in my life.

It’s like we know each other, but in many ways of course, we do not because we haven’t had that personal connection in so long. But what is comforting to know is that despite the fact that many people think (and I am included in this occasionally) that the world has become more impersonal with the use of technology, smart phones, Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter as a way of very loosely staying in touch, these means are also a way for us to connect more easily. If it weren’t for Facebook or Instagram, I wouldn’t have known she quit her job to start a business that I actually am really excited for, and I probably wouldn’t have reached out to her to catch up. The night ended on a hopeful note; we’re going to try to see each other more often, and we’ll hopefully be seeing each other when we’re both in San Francisco next week.

I occasionally have gotten sad at times when I think about how I’ve been in this city for over six years, but have never established a friend group I can rely on, or even more than just a handful of friends that I really trust and see regularly. But I think tonight’s meeting made me a little more hopeful that maybe rekindling old connections can be a possibility, and that I can actually meet normal, happy people who aren’t too dysfunctional here. Maybe I’m not the insane-person magnet I thought I was.

It’s been over six years since I’ve moved to New York, yet sometimes, I still have these rare moments when I get shocked after seeing a bill at a restaurant, particularly given how much (or how little) I have ordered. Tonight, I went with a good friend of mine to a Mexican-fusion restaurant in the East Village, mostly ordered off the Happy Hour menu, which is supposed to be cheaper, yet somehow, my share of the bill after tax and tip still ends up being almost $60. How is that even possible considering I only had one happy hour drink and five out of the six items we ordered was off the Happy Hour/half priced menu?

This reminded me of a tapas restaurant I used to frequent in another part of the East Village that has a wildly popular special on Tuesdays, when all of its tapas dishes are half-priced. That may seem like a great deal to you, and did seem like a good deal to me the two or three times I went… except all of the times I went, I remember that the price per head probably still came out to $30-60 depending on how many cocktails we ordered. Even the “cheap” nights in New York City seem to be stupidly expensive.

A few of us at the office are participating in a contest to see who can bring lunch from home every single day — until someone breaks the rule. The whole point of this is to encourage everyone to see how much money they can save just by not buying lunch every day, and potentially to be healthier because we’d likely be making our own lunches (or our respective live-in partners would).

One of my colleagues today said that a lot of the time, he just doesn’t have time during the weekend to buy groceries. “I had stuff to do this weekend,” he said. “I have places to be. I actually have a life! Sometimes, you just don’t have enough time to buy groceries for the entire week. That takes a lot of planning.”

Honestly, that statement made me more sad than it did make me annoyed because then, I thought of a woman I met about a week ago who says that she is so busy that all she does is make the same enchiladas every week for her children, and the rest of the week, she chooses from among four to five takeout spots that the kids like that are walking distance from her apartment downtown. We live in New York; it’s the land of takeout, delivery, and eating out. Sadly, that doesn’t make for a healthy lifestyle for a growing child.. or even people our age. If we can’t pick up good habits for cooking and healthy eating before we have children and are constantly making excuses about being “too busy,” what makes us really think that we can do it once the kids come and we really do have less time?

A friend and I had dinner tonight, and over Vietnamese vermicelli noodles, we discussed how his office has already experienced three rounds of layoffs this year, in addition to colleagues quitting left and right. Some are leaving to pursue roles at competitor companies, others are changing industries entirely, and two or three have even quit without any other job lined up. They were that fed up with the politics and attrition rate that they couldn’t be sane staying there. It’s gotten to the point where this summer, on average, he’s probably only come into the office one or two days a week at most and just “works from home” the rest of the week.

A lot of us spend a lot of our lives making decisions (or lack of decisions) based on fear. As a twenty-something adult, we may be worried about leaving our jobs without anything lined up because of the fear of no health insurance, the fear of future employers asking us to explain the “gap” on the resume and their judgment, the fear of not being able to pay bills or save (pretty fair, though, obviously), the fear of what our parents or friends or peers will say to our voluntary unemployment — the fear. I’m not exempt from this. That’s why it’s always so rare to hear about people actually quitting their jobs with absolutely no plan or no job lined up. It’s such a gutsy, out of the ordinary thing to do or hear about. Granted, I’m not advocating that people quit their jobs and just sit around all day and do nothing, but I think that we all deserve a break from being miserable and controlled by terrible, toxic work environments.

We’re considering moving out of our apartment at the end of July when our lease ends. Our apartment is great in that it’s in a nice area, has electricity/gas at a fixed price, lots of closet space, and is in a well-maintained building, but it would be really nice to just have more space, an actual separate kitchen, and a little more natural light.

So while calling, texting, and e-mailing listings on Craigslist and Rent Hop this week, we went to view an apartment, and I quickly remembered why I hate real estate agents and the entire apartment search process in this city.

The listing originally claimed to have in-building laundry and an elevator. After visiting the building, we realized this was all a lie. The listing also said that the apartment had no fee, but the broker told us within two minutes of walking in that the fee is “just” 12.5% of annual rent. And on our walk up from our place, the broker changed the address from 92nd and 3rd to 92nd and 2nd, and finally to 93rd… but closer to 1st avenue than 2nd. Chris was angry, told them that they lied to us and said the apartment was crap, and we walked out.