Wild Thing

Now that I have graduated from UCLA and live elsewhere, I have started to miss the cute little wild creatures that called that beautiful campus their home. Although this cute little guy calls Central Park his home it makes me remember how much I liked seeing little fuzzy creatures everyday.

Maybe his name is Rupert.
It probably is...

This Photograph is Proof

As many of my friends know, I am currently trying to become good at taking photographs that might also be considered artsy. The picture above is obviously a failed attempt, but an attempt none-the-less and it comes with a short little story that some may find amusing. After one of the first snow falls in the city I decided to bust out my awesome new camera and try to take some cool fandangeled pictures. Central Park seemed a good place for cool snow pictures, but I have to admit I didn't get any that made me extremely proud. Sorry, on to the better part.

A man suddenly ran by me in some very very short shorts (so short a girl shouldn't even wear them) with the longest socks you will ever see. They were like stockings a woman might wear with something short to show off how good her legs look. The thing was that the man was old, did not have attractive legs, and was definitely not a woman. He should not have been wearing those socks - case closed. There was a small group of tourists walking at a quicker pace from behind me and I heard them say "He is going to slash." My first thought was "Oh! No! He is going to try to kill all of us as once." And then I realized that this was impossible unless he had a bomb and there was absolutely no way he was carrying it unless it was really small. And then I thought even if he tries to kill us my boyfriend knows ma-hatz or some street fighting things and he will protect me. But by the time all of these thoughts raced through my head I realized that I was not going to die and the man had already run by. Crisis averted. Or so I thought.

I paused for a minute or so to take a picture of the bench above and then continued down the little path to 59th street. All of a sudden the short shorts runner sock guy was back - and now he was mad. He was approaching at a very fast pace telling me I was despicable, pitiful, and some other harsh words that I no longer remember. He was shaking his head and had the hugest frown I had ever seen. He was galloping towards me and my boyfriend waving a finger with rage. The tourists were now nowhere to be found. "Oh! He was waiting for them to leave before he tried to kill us". All of a sudden he pivoted and started walking angrily the other way and I finally caught the words that justified his madness, "You think it's funny to take my picture while I am taking a piss, you are pitiful! PITIFUL!" I think he also muttered something about being ashamed as he started running again and he kept turning around to make sure I was no longer capturing his soul with my camera.

As you can see, as you reference the picture above, he is not in it. I had no idea he was peeing on that wall on the right side of the bench. After I realized he was not going to kill me I still felt horrible and had the strange desire to run after him and explain that his wee-wee was not the focus of my picture. Poor guy.

Wait, I just realized that he was peeing in public on a wall in Central Park. Gross!

Crash and Burn

I was lucky enough to have a few friends from Los Angeles visit me over the Christmas break that is sadly coming to an end. These friends are generally quite calm and collected - not the typical ruckus causing party animals. On New Years Eve we collectively decided to let the ball in Times Square drop without our company as we visited a calm bar close to the Columbia campus. The plan was to celebrate the new year without being robbed, cold, or too drunk - all of which we successfully accomplished. But that cannot be the end of the story can it? Of course not.

Earlier that day we were walking to Rockefeller Center and stumbled across some traditional rowdy souvenir salesmen selling a new product called a party popper. Do not be fooled, this is not the commonly purchased supermarket popper where you pull the string and little shriveled papers come out the end. These two dollar masterpieces were huge and would smash the traditional party poppers that the rest of you know and love (see picture). I decided to stop and buy one (not something I usually do but I felt compelled for reasons I do not know) and one of my friends joined in the exciting purchase as well.

The subsequent events of the evening are relatively unsubstantial until we arrived at the scene of the crime. We appeared at the purposely unmentioned location at approximately 11:30 pm and ordered our drinks and our pizza with only about 10 minutes to enjoy them before the new year joined us. Being the responsible young ladies that we are we decided to ask about the use of the party poppers and silly string (sorry I neglected to mention that earlier) inside and were told that we should use the party poppers outside for the safety of the rest of the party-goers that evening. As our table was held we bravely walked out of the bar to pop off our poppers right after midnight. I did mine first - after which a bar wench (taking a smoking break) thought that the product was great. She encouraged us to shoot the remaining popper off inside. My trio argued and said that we were told not to by other bar-workers and were perfectly satisfied setting them off outside. Then in a very convincing tone the wench said, "I am the one who has to clean it up, not him, GO shoot it off INSIDE".

We felt like we had no choice in the matter and reluctantly went inside to do as we were told. It was only milliseconds from when my friend bravely shot her popper into the air when I heard the painful crash of the lamp right between the people sitting at the bar and the table on the other side. No one was harmed in the smashing of this sconce-chandelier type of ceiling hanging light fixture, but my friends and myself quickly proceeded to feel embarrassed and ashamed. All bar action and conversations stopped as people looked at us, probably checked us out cause we all looked super hott, and then started whispering. I am sure the whispers had less to do with the broken light and more to do with the fact that we were gorgeous. We then bravely agreed to stay at the bar for a few more hours end try to enjoy the new year.

How did the night end you might be wondering? We were not at all intoxicated, we were $50 poorer, the bar wench left without speaking to us or cleaning up the mess, and the drunk manager refused to accept our sincerest of apologizes. We collectively decided that the night was not at all a failure and agreed that we should not let one foul instance with a party popper discourage us from celebrating with them in the future. Next time however we will not be in a bar, around lights, around glass, around people who may be harmed, around alcohol, and especially around anyone who resembles a bar wench.