Curiosity Killed the Cate

Not yet, of course, but I’m sure someday it will…

eye opening experience March 29, 2007

Filed under: Embarrassing moments,Manhattan Life — catherineeliza @ 11:52 am

I went to the opthamologist yesterday for the first time in many years (I’ve been just getting by with an optomotrist). I remember getting my eyes dilated before, but somehow I didn’t remember how long it takes to recover. I wore my glasses to the appointment for convenience, so I didn’t have sunglasses with me. I walked out of the office onto the shady sidewalk. It was a bit painful, but doable, and I didn’t really want to stay at the office, so off I went. Then I walked into the sunlight. Boy howdy, that hurt. I was instantly crying, and I couldn’t see – I was a mess! Still, I wasn’t about to go back, so I kept walking. I walked with my eyes closed, and my hand shading them. Every 10 seconds or so, I would open one of my eyes a crack to make sure I wasn’t going to run into anybody or walk off the sidewalk. I must have been a sight. I ducked into the nearest Duane Reade to buy some sunglasses. I was hoping they’d have a pair of really huge ones, but no such luck. That’s also where I got a look at my eyes, and was totally freaked out. There was the smallest ridge of green around a giant black pupil. I looked like an alien vampire!
I put my contacts on because I didn’t think I could make it home without being able to see, and I had to wear the sunglasses, and once I was underground, I felt much better (hmmm, maybe I was an alien vampire mole person). Here is a picture of my eye six hours after it’d been dilated. The pupil is slightly smaller than it had been. Sheesh!

 

How to get frostbite when it’s 65 degrees October 13, 2006

Filed under: Embarrassing moments,Manhattan Life — catherineeliza @ 11:16 am

1. Have a week’s worth of frozen food delivered to work because you’re never home to receive packages.

2. Load it all into a huge tote bag, including the two packets of dry ice to keep the food cold is it sits through an hour and a half of dance class and a 45 minute commute.

3. Put bag on lap on subway, and read, paying attention to nothing but your book.

4. Get up and notice that your bag is actually stuck to your leg.

5. Rip bag off leg, walk home, and wonder why your thigh hurts.

6. Undress to find huge red welt on thigh which, over 12 hours later, has not gone away and is just as painful.

Morale of the story: Dry ice really is very cold, and should not be dealt with lightly.

 

A series of unfortunate events April 4, 2006

Filed under: Embarrassing moments,Manhattan Life — catherineeliza @ 6:03 pm

It all started on Saturday night. I had volunteered to make French Toast Casserole for a social gathering on Sunday. I decided to double the recipe because you never know how many people will be there, and it’s a really good recipe, so a double batch will be twice as good, right? I got to work Saturday, and although I have a rather large casserole dish, I could see it wasn’t large enough to hold a double recipe. Did this make me reconsider? No, I just jammed everything in and left it in the fridge to marinate. Sunday morning I made the topping (made primarily of butter and brown sugar), spread it on the overflowing mass of French toast, and put it in the oven. Maybe you already know what happened, but I’ll tell you any way. As the butter and sugar topping melted, it dripped down to the floor of the oven and burned. This produced a steady stream of smoke. My first reaction to the smoke detector going off was to turn off the oven. Then I put tin foil in the bottom of the oven to catch the dripping butter. The smoke detector stopped beeping, and deciding I’d fixed things, I went back to watching General Conference. When the timer rang (I’d allowed 30 minutes of cooling time before I needed to transport the hot casserole dish), I went in to the kitchen only to find that the oven was off, just as I had left it, and the casserole was not baked. At this point, I didn’t know what to do. I was committed to be somewhere with food in half an hour, and had nothing. If I baked the dish, it would be too hot to carry when it was time to leave. If I didn’t I would have to go with nothing. I turned the oven on, and decided to figure out what to do later (later being in 1/2 an hour. Hey, I’ll procrastinate for any amount of time). So, ten minutes later the smoke detector started beeping again. For a while I just left the butter to burn and madly tried to fan the smoke out of the window. That didn’t last too long before I was frantically yelling for Erin to take the battery out of the smoke detector amidst my choking on the really, quite impressive amounts of smoke. I gave up. I turned the oven off and fled from the kitchen. Erin advised leaving the half-baked casserole behind, and just going to the brunch empty handed. Did she really think I was capable of such a thing? Yes, it was the wise thing to do, but I almost never choose the wise thing. I wrapped tin foil over the top of the casserole dish, got two potholders, and set out on the 13 block walk to our destination. I put the dish down approximately once a block and complained about carrying it nonstop (going so far as to predict the imminent “end of the world” if I dropped it), but we were making slow and steady progress. Then I noticed that the as I walked and shifted the dish around, I was slowly spreading butter and sugar all over myself. Very upsetting, but I still wasn’t deterred. No, we carried on until all of a sudden, I could no longer move forward. I was very confused, and just about to say something to Erin about this strange feeling that I couldn’t go on, and it wasn’t, for once, because of what I was carrying, when this guy walking behind us yelled out “Didn’t you notice you dropped your yarn?” Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I’d tucked my knitting into my already full bag, and of course, the ball of yarn had fallen out, and I had now trailed yarn for almost an entire city block. I put my casserole dish down on the ground, and yelled encouragement as our new friend and I watched Erin run back down the block (all the while carrying the trifle dish that we were returning) and try to one-handedly (is that a word?) untangle the yarn from the mailbox it was caught on, and return to my side while bundling it up (all of which the guy found very amusing).
Thus it was that I arrived at my friend’s doorstep covered in butter and brown sugar with a trifle dish full of yarn and a half-baked casserole. Who wants to invite me over to their house next?
PS Erin gets the credit for the posting title.

 

déjà vu March 30, 2006

Filed under: Embarrassing moments,Manhattan Life — catherineeliza @ 11:36 pm

My friends, I know you will not be surprised to hear that I got lost tonight. I get lost far too frequently for it to be a story worth telling, usually. But listen to this:
Tonight I was going to a theatre downtown that I’d not been to before. Not only that, but I needed to go from the upper East side to the lower West side; so I was going to travel from not-every-day territory, to completely unknown territory. I looked up the location on a map, and compared it with my public transportation maps, and figured out how I was going to get there. I was pretty pleased with myself, and left work with no map, but a plan.
Friends, I deviated from the plan, and there’s only one thing that can result from that. Say it with me, “I got lost.” My plan involved two different buses and it got off to a great start. But I got tired of waiting at the second bus stop, and I saw a subway station nearby with a trainline that I thought I remembered stopping very close to the theatre. So, I got on the train, and instead of looking at the map they conveniently display on the wall to double check that I knew where I was getting off, I took out my book thinking to myself, “I know where I’m going. This’ll be easy.” So I got off the train, and started walking to the theatre. Right about the time that the streets stopped being where and what I expected them to be and I started to worry that I had no idea where I was, I looked up to a very familiar sight. I was standing right in front of the Chocolate Bar. The exact same place I had been 24 hours earlier (but by an entirely different route). On one hand, a familiar sight is always a relief when one is lost. On the other, it wasn’t where I was supposed to be. Okay, here’s where I tell you the creepiest part of the story. Last night, on my way to the Chocolate Bar, I got lost. Again, not a big surprise, but I had been delighted to turn up to the right location without any idea how I got there. And now, tonight, I got lost, and quickly turned up at the Chocolate Bar. Coincidence? Or is the Chocolate Bar my own personal Brigadoon? You decide...
Back to tonight’s adventure, I called Erin, as I tend to do when I get lost, but since she wasn’t with me at the Chocolate Bar last night, my repeatedly saying that I was there did not help her to guide me to where I needed to go. This is where I did something so crazy, you might think I’m making it up, but I’m not. I decided to go into the Chocolate Bar and ask for help. Yes, ask a stranger for help. I thought that if the girls that had been working the previous night were there, I would talk to them, because they had been very nice yesterday. I walked up to the window and looked in, but there was some guy (buying chocolate of all things) obscuring my view. So I edged up to the doorway, and was trying to simultaneously hide behind the door post (in case I didn’t recognize anyone in there, then I could sneak away without their knowing I had been about to enter) while craning my neck to look around the customer and see who was behind the counter. That is when one of the girls from last night came walking down the street, and not only caught me in my peculiar position, but was immediately accosted by me. I can’t actually remember what the first words out of my mouth were, but I think it went something like this.

CATHERINE: [panicked and frenzied] “Oh good. It’s you. I was here last night, and now I’m back, but I don’t want to be here, I’m meant to be somewhere else.”

Much to her credit, she responded very calmly with, “I thought you looked familiar. Where are you trying to go?” At that point I forgot completely where I had been going, and had to look through my bag for the address. As soon as I laid eyes on said address, I saw that I was two Avenues over from where I needed to be, because 8 and 6 are actually two different numbers, except for in my head, where, it seems they are the same. At this point, I’m sure I was bright red as I shamedly told this nice girl that I knew where I’d gone wrong and I would leave now. In an effort to save face, I left her with this brilliant remark, “You have a very nice shop; I seem to be very drawn to it. Thank you for your help, I’ll probably be seeing you tomorrow night.” I know, I know. I am such a weirdo.
But the point of my far to long tale is this: It’s kind of scary, and kind of cool that I found this store twice when by all rights, I shouldn’t have found it either time. And also, I like to think that maybe the Chocolate Bar girl has a blog too, and maybe she’s writing on it right now about the crazy girl who keeps coming in.
Laura tells me that I’m to write a review of every play that I see, and that’s what I was going to write about tonight, but now that’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Unless I somehow find my way back to the Chocolate Bar going from the library to the church across the street tomorrow night, in which case, that’ll definitely be the topic of discussion.