My mom and I were in NYC again, and this time we were joined by my former friend Katie from Maryland. My mom and I were sharing one room, and Katie was sleeping in the living room area of the hotel room. We were staying at the Salisbury on W. 57th (a nice little place, right by the subway, and a stone’s throw from Columbus Circle, CPS, and Times Square).
One morning, I woke up on the floor beside my bed to my mom laughing her ass off, and Katie running in to see what all the commotion was about.
“You STILL fall out of bed?!” my mom gasped between guffaws.
“Apparently,” I said from the floor, and then climbed back up on the bed.
That trip was before I quit smoking, and was meant as a celebration of my 30th birthday.
The day before my birthday, Katie and Tony and I went to Amy S’s apartment for the first time. She lives in the W Village, and the three of us were puttering around down there that morning. We stopped in at Starbucks, where Amy called Tony’s cell and told us to just come on over since were were in the neighborhood. Katie and Tony had to use the bathroom, so I went outside to wait for them.
Some girls from the Jamba Juice next door (it’s a quaint little W Village juice store, unique in all the world, you know) were giving away free smoothie samples, so I took one.
When Katie and Tony came out, and we started walking toward Amy’s apartment, I asked them if they thought there was yogurt in the smoothies. My stomach was churning.
Katie and Tony proceeded to explain to me that yes, there was yogurt in ALL smoothies not made by my mother, who knew that I was allergic to the live culture in yogurt.
My stomach rebelling fast, and my throat starting to feel a little tight, we made our way to the doorman and told him where we were going, waited for the okay, then got in the elevator.
When we stepped off the elevator into a darkish hall, we heard a can of change shaking-Amy’s signal that her apartment was in that direction. We got to the door, hugs all around, then sat down for a chat. She was in the midst of cranking out another draft of her book, and rather stressed. There were book props all over the place, and her rabbit Dusty was nowhere to be seen. She sat at the table, Katie and I on the couch, and Tony sat in the rocking chair, which Amy informed him, was only allowed provided he not sit still in it.
About a half-hour later, Tony looked over at me and asked if I was okay. No, not really. My throat was swelling and it was getting harder to breathe.
Amy asked what happened, and we had to tell her. She thought it was hilarious, and provided me with a much-needed antihistamine.
Everything turned out juuuust fine, thank you! And I learned an important lesson: do not accept beverages from strangers on the streets of New York. And if you do accept them, don’t drink them. And if you do, have some medical attention at the ready. Even if it’s a chain like Jamba Juice.
Seriously. That advice could save your life some day.
Pee on me.
