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.

There are some benefits of working in a male-dominated environment. One of them is that random “1 on 1s” get mysteriously scheduled on your calendar that for some reason include your entire team, and then you realize that this “1 on 1” is actually being held at the nearby pub, where everyone is drinking beer and watching the first game of the World Cup. No pale ales for me, though. I was enjoying the fruit beers on the menu.

Although I wasn’t a soccer fan prior to getting tickets for the World Cup and booking our Brazil trip, I’ve been reading about the World Cup, how the groups are formed and how the matches work, and I actually understand it now and can appreciate it. I like that the crowd seems to have a lot of energy (as opposed to those stupid baseball games. I will never understand the “excitement” of baseball. A bunch of men just standing around a big field waiting to attempt to catch a ball if it ever comes?!), and people actually wear the colors of the team they are rooting for – thousands and thousands of them in a big stadium. The world loves soccer; the U.S. loves baseball. The world is more than just the U.S.

The Upper East Side is not a trendy area of Manhattan by any means. It’s a nice, safe, family-friendly area that is known for the old rich, Jews, new parents with their new babies, and nannies pushing around strollers during midday. So it was a really nice surprise when about two years ago, JBird opened up on East 75th Street serving really creative cocktails that you would normally find at places like Little Branch or Please Don’t Tell further downtown. The food is pretty good, too. Since its opening, we’ve taken many people here – my best friend, Chris’s brother, parents, his cousins and their significant others (tonight), and other friends.

Even though it’s not “trendy,” I love this neighborhood. I love that I always feel safe walking its streets no matter what time of day or night it is. I love that there is a decent supermarket within walking distance, that Central Park is minutes away, and that I can walk down the street and see seasonal flowers lining the sidewalks. I love that there’s a bus stop right outside our door with a bus that will take us cross town to the Upper West Side. I love that H&H Bagels is right around the block (and that everyone there is always really friendly with me, unlike the Upper West Side location…), that  Rite Aid is, as well, and that there are a few reliable dining spots that Chris and I enjoy here. Everyone wants to move downtown, but I am quite happy right here.

Tonight, Chris and I went with his cousin and her boyfriend visiting from Melbourne to the Comedy Cellar for dinner and comedy. Since moving to New York, I’ve probably been to the comedy cellar about five times. There are usually 4-5 comedians plus the host that do their stand-up act each show, yet during all of those times there, I never once recall seeing a female comedian. They are always men.

I’m not a funny person (not intentionally, anyway), so I could never see as a comic, but I personally think that women are held to a higher standard when they are comedians than men are. Men can just sit there and make a stupid face and people will laugh; if women did the exact same thing, it might get a few chuckles, if even that. Men are allowed to be crass and act stupid, but when women do the exact same things, they aren’t perceived or taken the same way. That’s the case at work, in social circles, and in public. It’s another frustrating reality.

Tonight, we went to see the show When January Feels like Summer, a show that involves the mingling of two races that we don’t often see together – blacks and Indians. A black man and an Indian woman fall for each other in a not-so-common way in the story. In real life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Indian dating a black person. That is especially odd given that I live in New York City. I see Indians with Indians (obviously), Indians with whites, East Asian (women) with white (men), blacks with whites, but never this combination. And the other thing about this is that in all of the shows I have seen in New York, you never see these two races together. Broadway would probably not welcome it (I’ve never seen an Asian on Broadway… Unless it were a story like Mulan), off-Broadway would not, and even the smaller, more independent theater companies throughout New York don’t often show these two races together.

So for the first time in my life, I got stuck in an elevator today. I was on my way back from my dentist appointment, which already ran over because my wait time was much longer than I anticipated, and as I got on the elevator in my office building to the 23rd floor where my company is, the elevator suddenly stops and makes some loud buzzing sound as the elevator read “21.” I hit the Open Door button. Nothing happens. Then I hit the number 23 again. Still nothing happens. Then I hit the Alarm button, and no one seems to respond. Hmmmm. I called our office manager and told her I was stuck. Then I texted my boss and told him I was trapped. I proceeded to text Chris and a friend, and they kept me entertained while my boss constantly went between checking up on me via text and yelling at the maintenance guys to get me out.  The doorman gets on the intercom to check to see where I think the elevator is (and to see that I’m not hyperventilating because I suppose that’s what other people have done in the past). It took about 40 minutes for me to get off at the 20th floor, and then I immediately got out and boarded another elevator (seemed logical at the time) to get to the 23rd floor.

It’s a good thing I am not claustrophobic or a massive worrywart, otherwise, that 40 minutes could have been really, really miserable.

On our way back from Lake Placid/Vermont today, we decided to conclude our trip with a drive to Elmhurst, my old neighborhood, to enjoy a last dinner together at Tangra Masala, one of my favorite places to eat and get takeout from when I lived in Queens, as it was a short walk from my former apartment. They are well known for their delicious and fiery-hot Chinese Indian cuisine, which pre-Tangra, I had never had before. I salivate thinking about their food when I remember it and get sad knowing it’s no longer a five-minute walk from my place now.

Since we were nearby, we drove by my old apartment so that Chris’s parents could see it. I noticed that our former third-floor balcony had lots of plants, tables, chairs, and other clutter-type things. Just from seeing it, I assumed and knew that the landlord and his wife probably extended their own second floor living space to also occupy the third. There’s no way that they could have tolerated anyone else living above them considering how quiet and easy going Crista and I were. I’m so happy that is so far in the past.

I love cooking, but I also love, love dining out. I love divey hole-in-the-walls where the only seats available are on dinky stools in food stalls (with slightly questionable sanitation), I love everyday affordable ethnic and “new American” casual restaurants, and I love the experience of five-star, multi-course tasting menus at coats-required restaurants. What I do not love, though is terrible service. In a city as competitive as New York, restaurants with rude service deserve only to go out of business. I rather just get delivery than deal with nasty service.

Tonight, we encountered the rudest service of my life in the company of Chris’s parents when the server at Olio e Piu had the nerve to wrestle the check holder out of Chris’s hands when Chris had already insisted he was *not* ready to give him the check. “Yes, you are ready to leave now,” the server responded to Chris. As you can imagine, this resulted in a lot of other diners staring at this pathetic act of idiocy. And Chris doesn’t take crap from anyone, so he let the server have it. The server was the rudest, most condescending person I’ve ever encountered on a restaurant wait staff. We went there just for drinks and were never told we had to order dinner in order to be seated in the outside dining area, and then we got scolded at by the host, which led to attitude and abrupt behavior by our server, who already had an icy tone when he first said hello to us. Restaurants that offer “hospitality” like this deserve to go out of business; there’s no place for that in New York – or anywhere, for that matter.

So in preparation for our World Cup Brazil trip next month, I’m going to a travel clinic to get vaccinated tomorrow. Unfortunately, the health insurance through my company does not cover travel vaccines, and before I could really complain about it, I found out that pretty much no modern health insurance in the United States covers them. They’re not considered necessities… since no one really needs to travel outside of the country, right?

So leave it to money-grubbing Americans to open up travel clinics all over this city and charge $70-80 just for a “travel consultation” – to discuss where you are going, diseases you should be aware of and how you can get them, etc. That fee doesn’t cover any vaccines. When you want a vaccine for something like yellow fever, in New York, it costs somewhere between $145-160. If you want the Hepatitis A vaccine, it will cost $95 per shot (there are two), and that doesn’t even cover the “administration” fees for having someone give you the shot… because you can’t really give yourself the shot. Well, it’s a good thing that my travel visa fee ($160 USD) got waived with proof of World Cup tickets because all that saved money is just going toward my vaccinations, and then some.

I’m convinced that this is the subtle way our lovely country wants to indirectly discourage us from traveling and realizing that there is a world outside of the United States that actually matters.

I made two loaves of double chocolate banana bread tonight. It’s the first time I’ve made banana bread with chocolate, and two types – cocoa powder and dark chocolate chunks. I realize I haven’t baked anything for my office since I have started working there last August. I used to bake all the time and share when I was at my last company… Until I started getting jaded and realized it was a bad place for me to be.

I’ve become a lot more hesitant to share food, especially things I have made, with my colleagues in general. Part of the reason for this is that I really just don’t think that the average person appreciates anything that is homemade or handmade. Most people just take it for granted; most people won’t even say thank you. Homemade food is a rarity in New York; pretty much no one you know will ever invite you over for a home-cooked meal here. It takes a lot of time and energy, and although homemade food is generally cheaper than food in restaurants, in New York, groceries aren’t that cheap, so your homemade meal may not be as cheap as you thought.

I’ll bring some in tomorrow and see what people’s reactions are. I’m sure I have an idea of what it will be – some people will be really excited; others will be the same jerks they always are. People will be who they are.