I’m(ight be) an official New Yorker

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March 28, 2013 by annalarissa

So on a cold, snowy and overall nasty day in January I had myself an adventure on the way to the doctors office.


Remember this episode? Well now I kind of understand. Ouch.

So, I finally got health insurance through my company! Which means my diabetic self can go see an endocrinologist to try to get my shit self back on track.

I got myself all the way to 7th Ave uptown, and then realized that for some reason, google maps had me get off there in order to walk all the way to Park Ave.

(If you’ve ever lived in NY, you’d know Avenue blocks SUCK! They’re like twice as long as street blocks.)

That trip looked a little bit like this…

Screen Shot 2013-03-28 at 2.02.25 PM

Just trust me, it’s a loooong walk.

Already half an hour late, I realized I HAD BEEN IN THE RIGHT PLACE THE FIRST TIME. WHAAAT?

Yes my friends, I had somehow convinced myself that the doctor’s office was on Park, when it was actually just around the corner from where I started on 7th. So dumb. So, so dumb.

Angry, cold, wet and on the verge of tears I hailed a cab.

A few confusing, awkward, chatty cabby minutes and $10 later…

Screen Shot 2013-03-28 at 2.02.53 PM

Darned one way streets. Darned Square blocks. Darned brain making things all confused.

I finally arrived safely at my destination. I dripped all over the lobby, elevator and waiting room before I finally sat down and was told to wait for the doctor (who I’m sure was none to happy with me on my first appointment) Such a great first impression!

As I’m digging around in my pockets for my phone I realized IN HORROR that it is gone.

It must have fallen out of my pocket and onto the cab seat, where it now lays, on vibrate.

Cue panic:

Ok Taxi Cabs are known for their death-cat like resemblance to cemeteries for cell phones.

And thus, I called it a few times from the receptionists desk, and alas, no luck.

My poor sweet, somewhat abused and confused phone has become another victim of the Yellow Cab Cellphone Trap of Death (But Mostly Inconvenience).

So now, I have a shiny new phone with a spankin’ new, hot off the press, drool worthy (917) area code (at least it’s drool worthy according to Carrie Bradshaw, it’s true. Look it up.)


The color is called cranberry, mmm and it is just so right.

And although I am sad to have left my old 757 number behind, a number I’ve had since the 7th grade. A number that was passed down to me from my sister, and our mother before that, I am proud to have taken one step further into the role of independent (soon to be married, Squeee!) adult.

’til next time…


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