The Privilege to Pee...

The ability to control one's bladder is a very undervalued talent in my opinion. When you spend the week in New York City, you realize how important it is to be the boss of your own bowel movements of any kind. Now, here at the MIA we definitely are uber aware of every intestinal rise and fall...but just wait until you are in the middle of Times Square after drinking a liter of water on the subway and you know, deep in your heart (or lower abdomen, if you will) that there is to be no rest for the weary. 

There are NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS IN NEW YORK CITY. It's a fact. Granted a non-researched, unverified Lindsay Levine fact, but a fact nonetheless. I believe with all my heart that it is true. And quite frankly...would you use a Public Restroom in NYC if given the option? 

Don't think so. Having jumped out of a plane I still don't feel like taking my life in my own hands and using a totally public restroom in Manhattan. Who would clean it? Who would guarantee there was not a royal rat family living in the porcelain throne?? Oh, the whole idea is terrifying. 

So now to my big idea...I believe there is a goldmine awaiting the non-working actors of NYC and it is to help provide tourists with the inside "scoop" on available restrooms in the Midtown area. As soon as I started talking about using the restroom with several of my friends waiting for a Wednesday matinee, I was bombarded with comparisons between the restrooms in the Hotel Edison, Paramount, and Lucky Deli. Now, of course the Hotel Edison is not as swank as the Paramount, but the restroom is easier to access....Christian works as a concierge at the Paramount, so that is his preferred eau de toilet, and you have to buy something to use the one in the Lucky Deli...I mean, who cant use a pack of gum or a chocolate covered cherry? The Lucky Deli comes out ahead in my book because you get a private changing area and refreshments : ) However, at the end of the conversation I ended up walking down to the Westin on 43rd for old times sake...

Who knew we had so many options when there are absolutely none for the naked eye to see? Hotels are the untapped resource for all kinds of things...After working in them for about a year and a half I realized it was possible to have a warm/or, in the summer, cool place to set my stuff, hang out on a couch, and use the wireless Internet while killing an hour between appointments and such. The key to abusing hotel lobbies is to appear confident and act like you belong...its very similar idea to crashing a wedding I would imagine...

Here are some suggestions on how to successfully loiter in a hotel lobby without being escorted out by security:

1- ask the concierge a touristy yet "with it" question...make a friend...pretend like you used to live here and are just re visiting....this will make him respect you and not question your super savvy ways...

2- ride the elevator up...get out on a floor...and then come back down to hang in the lobby again...

3- look at your watch or phone incessantly to let "them" (being the overly power tripped front desk staff) know you are waiting for someone and are not necessarily happy about it...

Best of luck to all you New Yorkers and visitors who need to drop a load in the Big Apple...if you have any suggestions or favorite spots please feel free to respond : ) 

Bonjour! Hello!

So this morning at Coffee Depot (which I can only assume is the Montrealian version of Starbucks) I experienced my new "worst." It is the following: 

When someone is on the phone in front of the sugar/milk/stirrer coffee bar. 

There is already a delicate dance required when you are in a busy coffee shop and everyone is trying to add the right amount of dairy and sugar product to their caffeine...throw in a woman in the middle of a deep conversation and now no one can get to the 2% or the sugar twin. Not to mention the fact that she is OBLIVIOUS...completely oblivious to the fact that four people are waiting for her to figure out when she wants to go to dinner with whomever she is on the phone with before they can proceed with their day. 

That's all. My new worst. 

Now, to counteract the negativity of having a new worst this morning, I would like to say that the bilingual situation happening in Montreal is pretty impressive. And hot. I don't mean "hot" in the new slang/Paris Hilton way...I mean actually hot, like sexy. Like when you are in the gym and the good looking short trainer guy starts speaking to his client in French it is extremely hot. Then he switches instantaneously to English when asking me if I am still using the ball. 

My response: "uh...what?...the ball?....uh...no. go for it."

My response in my head: "Why no, no I am not using the ball. Thanks so much for asking me in English. It's so difficult to be a single girl all alone in a foreign city. If only I had a strong trainer man to show me around and translate for me."

Alas, conversations in my head go so much better than in reality. 

So, here's to you hot trainer man....maybe you will read this blog and realize that you can love the girl in the white bandana who stared at you while singing country music at the gym all morning...maybe....

My own personal "1408"...

We arrived in Montreal around 3:00 in a cloud of fog and one working elevator, but the hotel was nice and we are all just happy to be here. The bus ride basically consisted of listening to Douche and Dingus (aka Geoff and Anthony) attempt to speak the little French they know-which pretty much involves them with a sour look on their face adding the word "le" to everything ("le asshole, le bag of douche, le chapeau,etc), watching them sleep, and enjoying Douche laughing out loud to his episode of South Park. 

Fast forward to me sitting on my bed, booking flights for like June, and getting excited about eating my "skinny cow" dessert bar. We had watched the new and hardly modernized "American Gladiators"- which, by the way, is much improved with the addition of water- and I am feeling excited to eat the low fat treats in my freezer so I dont end up looking like Helgga. (she is GIGANTIC and spells her name with two g's, I have no idea why...oh, Helgga is a Gladiator, in case you had no idea what I was talking about- you should check it out, she's terrifying!)

So, I reach for my popsicle and it is basically a milkshake in a plastic wrapping. Not to be deterred, I begin spooning the caramel substance with the wooden stick until I am forced to lick the wrapping and then investigate the cold to freezing ration happening in the freezer. Ah, there's the rub- the refrigerator wasn't cold. Like, at all.So we call the guy and as he is switching out fridges we realize there are ants in our bathroom. It's going well.  

We are told that we have to switch rooms...always a fun activity when you live on the road, have one day off, and have just finished unpacking basically everything you own. But Carla and I suck it up and head down to our new room. Which is smaller than our previous room, missing a new TV, and a coffee table. Apparently some rooms have tables and others dont. Now, this may seem very boring to you "real" people- people with houses, apartments, and the like. But to those of us on the road the difference between a coffee table and closet is immeasurable. So, we ask to be moved to another room. This new room has a bed up against the kitchen counter. I am not kidding, like- you have to squeeze between the counter and the bed to move forward in the room.  

At this point, Carla and I have belongings in three rooms...I have no shoes on...and our groceries are melting on a luggage cart. So we finally settle in to a room where you cant open the closet doors, but at least there's a flat screen TV and a coffee table. That way I can watch Law and Order with my feet up, while staring at our chair of coats, seeing as we cant hang them in a closet. 

Now we have to let the front desk know we are settled and I realize my sonicare is in a room...some room....somwhere....maybe 1103, perhaps, 1104, 1203, 904, I am not sure....as I go to call the front desk the phone is nowhere to be found. Yup, thats right. It feels as if I am in my own version of the John Cusack movie, "1408"- which I ordered at a hotel at 3 am for some reason...most likely to find out why all of us girls really do love John Cusack and want to have his babies. Unfortunately, this movie did not provide any enlightenment on that, or any other, issue.

Let's hope I dont end up cradling a dead Carla in my arms by the end of the evening while the room fills with snow...sweet dreams....