God Help Me...I Live In New York

So today marks my first day working at the showroom on 41 Madison. It all started out so well...my colleague - and the only other person that works in the showroom - brought me flowers and set up the most awesome coffee machine in the world for my first pot. I set up my office and got straight to work...all was blissful...had lunch with Dan over by Grand Central...then by the time I got back to the office, the downward spiral ensued.

My "Virtual Private Network" decided to crap out on me and I couldn't access my Outlook folders...for an anal retentive, that spells disaster. I made it through the afternoon and decided to leave my laptop at the office so my folders could fix themselves. All remains to be seen in the A.M.

At about 5:30 pm, I head for the F train, feeling all cool with my Ipod and not making eye contact like a true New Yorker. I avoided getting on the V train, which would have been a mistake and got on the F train...or so I thought. Turns out the F train was marauding as the A and C train...only for 25 stops before it got to Brooklyn. It was the point of no return and I was assured that it would become the F train again once we got to Jay Street...which it did...about 45 minutes and 8 additional stops into the ride. I arrived at the Fort Hamilton stop about 1 hour and 5 minutes later.

I was greeted at the door by Ms. Stella, our wonderful bitch of a dog, who had torn through her crate in an effort to escape to the front bedroom window. After a thorough inspection of the whole apartment to make sure nothing was destroyed (or poisonous thing eaten) I took her out to the dog park for a walk to do her thing. By the time we returned a wonderful little note was left on the door by a man named Joe alerting us to the fact he would be back tomorrow to "work in the basement." Not sure what this entails, but it was a problem. I called the broker to tell her this was not possible and she agreed....all was right once again. I put a pot of water on for a sad dinner of spaghetti and bottled Classico 4 Cheese Tomato sauce and a glass (more than 1) of Cavit Pinot Grigio purchased from the mute Asian liquor store man on Church Ave in Kensington (another story for another day). I was just sitting down to my white trash dinner and reached down to pet Ms. Stella, when I felt an odd lump protruding her skin...which would be the dog tick.

Now I hate bugs of all kinds. I can't even be in the same room. On autopilot and knowing that there would be no one around to rescue me from the plight I was in, I went into the bathroom for the tweezers, located the disgusting flesh colored, engorged lump (about the size of a raisin), affixed the tweezers as far up as I could on the thing and yanked. There was a yelp (not sure if it was me or Stella) and then blood...lots of blood...on the floor. Then came the freak out. I had dropped the tick on the floor somewhere. What to do? Clean up the blood and make sure Stella was not bleeding to death or find the tick??? Luckily, I spotted it while trying to corral the bleeding white wonder that was my dog. I trashed the tick into the trash can and applied pressure on Stella's wound. It was all under control in about 10 minutes but the two of us remain traumatized and are about ready to head to bed. The insomnia I once had has been cured by complete exhaustion and paranoia of what tomorrow entails since today flew such a banner.

Needless to say, if Dan ever bitches to you about purchasing me handbags or Tiffany jewelry, note there are many good reasons for why these obligations occur...case in point.