Is this the biggest size you have?

While the title of this post may imply a trip to Bloomingdale's, in which I, in all sincerity, ask the saleswoman, "Where are the clothes made for people who are familiar with carbs and who don't shy away from butter?" However, this post is about another kind of shopping in New York - grocery shopping.

I love to cook. Okay, I love to eat, so I have learned to love to cook. As you may already know, the first step to cooking is usually creating a list and going to the grocery store. You might think this would be a pretty universal errand across the country. After all, how different can grocery shopping be from one place to another - it is just going to a store, picking up food, and checking out. Right? Wrong.

From the moment my first trip to the grocery began in New York, I knew it would be different. I was used to driving to the grocery, grabbing my reusable bags from the trunk, retrieving a cart, and wandering the expanse of Publix with a grocery list as long as a short essay that contained everything I would need to cook all week long. In New York, you have to be savvier.

First of all, I do not have a car, so I have to be prepared to carry what I buy home. I find myself eying a twelve pack of Diet Coke, and then thinking, "No way will I carry that! I guess I am drinking tap water again this week." I am also more likely to go to the store multiple times in one week, so that I spread out what I have to carry. It only took one walk home during which I thought both arms would be ripped out of the sockets and an unfeminine bead of sweat developed on my brow despite the frigid temperature to convince me that multiple trips to the store are best.

Secondly, New York grocery stores are constructed so that you buy less at a time. When I first walked into the store I looked around for a cart like a birdwatcher might look for an ivory-billed woodpecker. In other words, I looked and I looked but was pretty convinced carts had gone extinct, at least up North. I grabbed a basket instead, which may be to force customers to only buy what they can carry. I have eventually found a cart in a grocery store, although it's not a full sized cart like I would expect.

It fits in my palm. My palm!!

Lastly, on top of the smallness of the store itself and the carts, even the food in New York City's grocery stores is smaller! I came across sizes of food staples that I had no idea existed! Did you know they still sell Coke in six packs up here? And they sell Aunt Jemima's syrup in a size that can only be described as travel-sized. Not to mention mayonnaise the size of a can of baby food, which would not get my family through one meal of BLTs in the summer. The true kicker though, was when I scanned the store for Velveeta. The delicious and truly American pasteurized cheese product was not displayed proudly like at the grocery in Memphis, but rather placed unlovingly in a corner of the dairy section. Did the Manhattan grocer even realize that this cheddar-y gift does not need to be refrigerated? I sought to rescue the Velveeta from the dairy case, and was flabbergasted by the teeny-tiny specimen I held in my hand. I was accustomed to Velveeta that was three times the size of this one! I shook my head at the tragedy of tiny Velveeta but left the store and happily dumped the whole thing into my chicken casserole. Boy, was it delicious!


As I get used to grocery shopping in New York City, I am also embracing a different kind of Manhattan grocery shopping, known as delivery. For what this city lacks in American-sized groceries, it makes up for in the fact that nearly every restaurant on the island delivers anything and at anytime, and that is something I can get on board with!

The Suitcase Saga Continued

If you read my first couple of posts, you may be asking yourself if the Case of the Missing Suitcase was ever resolved. It’s not as easy as a yes or no answer, so let me tell you all about it.

I trusted Delta when they said that my suitcase was certainly among the piles at LaGuardia Airport and that once the piles dwindled to something more reasonable that they would easily be able to find it and return it. Perhaps I was a bit naïve. Daily, I called the help number on the brochure I had been given, and daily I was given vague answers. One day, I was told they found my suitcase! My heart jumped with excitement! I found out moments later that the agent had not found my bag, but that after a week or so, Delta starts repeating bag tracking numbers. She said if Delta was reusing the bag tracking number, it was probably time to give up hope of ever seeing my bag again. She directed me to the page of Delta’s website where I could file a claim.

NYC winters are even colder if you lose all your belongings.

Weeks had already passed since I had packed my suitcase when I tried to remember each individual item that was lost. Imagine trying to catalogue dozens of items from memory weeks after packing a suitcase. The Delta claim document also required the exact cost of the item, where it was purchased, and when. Let me assure you, that is super hard. I had items of clothing that were bought when I was in high school, and I have no idea how much they cost because my mom definitely bank rolled any and all high school shopping trips. I went about the process methodically and without much emotion, after all clothes and make up and shoes and so on can all be replaced.

After listing the work clothes that were gone, the casual clothes that were gone, and the workout clothes that were gone, I got to the subject of pajamas. And I lost it. I could not hold the tears back once I realized that my beloved Cow Pants were gone and gone for good. (Yes, Cow Pants is capitalized, because to me, those pants earned the status of a proper noun). These are the world’s most amazing pants. If Earth was about to explode and I could bring one item with me on a spaceship destined for safety, I would grab the Cow Pants without hesitation. They are priceless and irreplaceable. Literally. The company no longer makes adult pajamas and no amount of crash dieting will get me back into toddler sizes. So sitting on my bed in my New York City apartment, I mourned my Cow Pants. I fondly remembered the good times we’d had and the warmth they’d brought me. I thought of the full and happy life the Pants had lived. I didn’t even put them on my Delta claim, since trying to give them a dollar value would only cheapen them. I submitted the form and received a pop-up informing me that the form was successfully submitted and Delta would review it in the next few months to decide my reimbursement.

Understatement of the year

A few weeks later, I stood on a subway platform waiting for the L Train when my cell phone rang. It was an international number that I did not recognize. I almost hit “ignore” but for some reason answered the call instead. A cheery voice said, “Good morning! This is Jennifer from Delta Montreal. Is this Miss Howe?” I answered affirmatively, and she went on, “Did you recently lose a piece of baggage while traveling to New York, LaGuardia.” I answered yes again, and my hands started to shake. I did not want to let myself feel hope only to be disappointed again. Jennifer went on, “We have located your bag here in Montreal and are happy to send it to New York once you confirm an address for delivery.” Still unsure, I asked, “Montreal, Canada?” Yes, she confirmed. I have never been to Canada but apparently my bag wanted to see America’s hat! I was so delighted that my belongings were coming back! I quickly gave the woman my work address (no doorman at home means no daytime deliveries).

Twenty-seven hours later (And 6 weeks and 27 hours after my first flight), my black Vera Bradley suitcase arrived for her Carnegie Hall debut. All day I was smiling from ear to ear and giggling at every turn. The bag felt lighter when I rolled it to my cubicle, but perhaps I had just gotten stronger, I told myself. That evening at home, I inspected the bag and its contents. It had felt lighter because about half its contents had vanished. All of the items that were once neatly folded in categories were now balled up with no rhyme or reason. Someone in Memphis, or Cincinnati, or Indianapolis, or New York, or Montreal had rummaged through my bag and taken anything that seemed to have value. What idiots they were though! They left my Cow Pants safe and sound!

Reunited and it feels soooo good!!!

Today on the Subway 2

Are you dying to know what else I've seen on the subway since moving to New York? Then this post is for you!

Today on the subway, I could hear a young boy laughing but I couldn't see him on the crowded morning train. Then I spotted him. He was probably only two or three years old and was as towheaded as it gets. He was against the back of the train car, sitting on his father's briefcase. It was a perfectly sized seat for the tot. And the boost made him just tall enough for his dad's hand to rest on top of his head as he stood there. The boy laughed again when his dad messed up his hair, but then the dad sweetly patted the hairs back into place. I'm sure as to not drop the boy off at daycare looking like a ragamuffin! It was such a sweet scene. Most suit-clad adults on the subway are too busy playing Candy Crush on their iPhones or reading the newspaper to interact with anyone on the train. I could tell by watching them for just a few stops that this father and son enjoyed their commute together more than anyone else on the train.

Roommate Wanted: No Freaks or Serial Killers

One of my big fears in moving to New York City was finding a roommate. I knew I wanted to avoid living alone if at all possible, but all my college friends moved to the city immediately after graduation and had secured roommates six months earlier.

Hypothetical Movie Poster

I was terrified to do the whole Craiglist thing to find a roommate. Just thinking about it made me picture my life turned into a Lifetime Movie posthumously. It would probably be called, Dead Before Her Time: Emily Howe's Story or maybe Dead in the Big Apple: The Emily Howe Story. The TV commercial would probably go something like this - *Happy Music* Voice Over: "Emily was a happy, bright young woman who trusted easily and made new friends effortlessly" *Dramatic Music* Voice Over continues: "Until one day she trusted the wrong roommate" Followed by the image of a blood stained New York apartment. Then the title flashes across the screen and everyone rushes to add it to their DVRs.


So Craiglist wasn't really an option in my book. I needed to find a friend, or a friend-of-a-friend that could be vouched for, or I would have to live alone. As luck would have it, my friend Gracie's boyfriend's friend from growing up was on the hunt for a roommate. Sure, she did not exactly qualify as a friend, but I was promised she was not a murderer, thief, or drug addict (Clearly, my standards are ridiculously high for a roommate).

Lindsey was in the market for a third roommate to join her and her college roommate, Ellie. After Gracie connected us, Lindsey and I got drinks on a Thursday after work. Later we both described it as the perfect first date. We just knew it was a good fit! That weekend I met Ellie, and we looked all over creation (AKA about half of Manhattan) for an apartment. I came to New York with the understanding that you get less bang for your buck in the city, but I did not truly understand the reality of that until we had seen a handful of apartments.

Honestly, I started to panic. "My bed will not even fit in here," I said. Lindsey and Ellie brushed off my comment saying that "Rooms always seem smaller when there isn't any furniture in them." I wanted to respond, "No, seriously, you guys do not understand. I have Atlanta-sized furniture that I must fit into a New York-sized apartment." But I did not want to mess with my delicate friendship with these two girls. So instead I responded, "Let's keep looking." Sunday afternoon we inched our budget a bit higher to see one last place.

All moved in! Sort of...
Look! Exposed brick!

We got to the street, approached the apartment, opened the door to 1A, and I breathed a sigh of relief. This could maybe work. I think my furniture could fit. Mostly at least. Oooh exposed brick! A renovated bathroom! A tiny, but upgraded kitchen! With a wine fridge! I took a video and sent it to Blake, my born-and-raised New Yorker friend who would certainly know what to say {She is also another friend that let me sleep in her living room for a while. What a dear!}. Like a flash of lightening she texted back, "OMG! Take it! Take it now!" So with the blessing of a real New Yorker (and a few phone calls made to our parents) we made our way to the leasing office.

Applying to rent an apartment in the city is much more serious and involved than anywhere else. The long and short of the requirements turned out to be salaries over $60K a year (or in my case a guarantor), $15,000 upfront, a background check, and a bunch of signatures. Somewhere along the way I may have signed my soul over to the New York real estate gods. Who knows for sure.

A little more than a week later we moved in. Although I am not sure you could call what I did "moving in." I took a cab from Blake's place with her air-mattress in one hand, my little suitcase in the other, and a Medium Brown Bag from Bloomingdale's slung across my shoulder. It was a pathetic little set up in the beginning, but it was mine so it was all okay.

Today on the Subway 1

Today on the subway
Since moving to New York City I have been amazed with the number of people. More than the sheer number of people, I have been amazed by how many different kinds of people there are. It is fascinating to watch! If you like to people watch, then we could probably be great friends. I have discovered that the subway is the BEST place to people watch! Why do people read books, play Candy Crush, or sleep when there is such great entertainment right in front of them?! Since we can't all ride the subway together and people watch as a team, I have decided to do a series in this blog about what I see on the subway. What I see ranges from sweet to interesting, funny to bizarre, and I hope you will be as charmed and entertained by my subway rides as I am. And now for the first "Today in the Subway:"

Today in the subway a woman sat down on the N train next to me. She was wearing a puffy black coat with a hood. She was an older woman and appeared Caucasian. She pulled something out of her bag and then her glasses out of her front pocket. I glanced over to see what she was reading, because, yes, I am that nosy. It was a menu! I laminated, bi-fold, picture-filled menu! She just quietly read her menu for at least three stops. I tried to see the name of the restaurant but could not lean that far without being totally obvious. I did see some Hebrew letters on the front, and the menu seemed like a kosher deli-type establishment. I have seen people read books, magazines, newspapers, even a "Vietnamese in a Flash" manual, but never before have I seen a passenger read a menu on the train!

Hit the Ground Running

Post written 2/13/14
Where to begin... I guess where I left off. When I arrived in New York late on Tuesday, January 7th, I wanted to get my bags, get in my black car, and crash at Gracie's apartment as quickly as possible {Gracie = friend from college & sweet angel that let me crash on her couch} . I thought that with all I had been through in the previous 48 hours, that I deserved an easy baggage claim and drive into the city. But, no, the fun was still only beginning.

If I thought the baggage claim in Indianapolis was a mess, then there were not words strong enough to describe the mess at LaGuardia. I was not directed to a carousel to pick  and up my bags, but rather told to "start looking" as an agent gestured to rows of hundreds of bags, which filled the entire room. If you know me at all, you know disorganization (especially by a business) is something I loathe. Needless to say, Delta was doing nothing to get on my good side. After hours of searching, waiting twice in the customer service line, and growing increasingly hungry and grumpy, I was forced to leave LaGuardia with only one of my two checked bags.

The baggage agent helped me file a lost bag claim, and I told her I had just moved to the city. She asked how long I had lived here and I shrugged, "A couple hours, I guess." She apologized for the poor welcome to New York City and assured me that my other bag was likely just hidden in the chaos.

With a heavy heart I headed to Gracie's. I started to think, What am I doing? I lost the bigger of my bags and was now in a new city with no clothes, no make up, and no home of my own. What if I had made a terrible mistake? What if I wasn't cut out for city life? What if this horrible first few days was just the start of my misery? I pushed those thoughts right out of my head. There was no room for doubt or hesitations.

Gracie and I at our favorite college bar

I got to Gracie's apartment, and moments later so did the Chinese food she'd ordered for me {like I said, a sweet angel}. We slept together in the living room of her small apartment: me on the air mattress and her on the couch. I did not know at the time how many more nights it would be before I slept in a real bed. That night I was too tired to be anxious for work, so I actually slept.

As you can imagine, my first day of work was a blur. Gracie lent me eyeliner and mascara. I had enough clothes in my small checked bag to construct a decent outfit. I took the train with Gracie, and she told me where to get off and how to get to work. I got off the train at 9am, thirty minutes before I had to be at work. Despite having been given directions, I got turned around and walked blocks, looong blocks, out of my way before realizing my error. So I ended up arriving at work at 9:25am. Still early, but cutting it close.

I spent the morning with HR, mostly filling out paperwork. I had to put down Gracie's address because I, of course, did not yet have a place of my own. (Months later, she still occasionally gets a piece of my mail). Then I went up to the 8th floor. I saw my boss and met the temp who had been filling my position since October. Her name was Stephanie. She was an aspiring actress/comedian who was attemping to pay the bills. A classic New York story - so classic I couldn't make it up! Even more classic New York, she had moved up North from a small town in the South... in Kentucky...outside of Paducah... in the small town of Mayfield. My jaw dropped. She was from the same town as my dad. We were instantly bonded! If the travel/luggage issues were a sign that I should not have moved to New York, then certainly this was a sign indicating the exact opposite!

The first time I ever logged on to my new email account, I had dozens of unread emails already waiting for me. Little did I know that that would be the fewest unread messages in my inbox ever. I met so many people that first day and learned so much, it was impossible to absorb it all but I did my best. At the end of the day a Ring Pop candy sat on my desk with a Post-It Note reading, "Welcome to Carnegie Hall! Xoxo Caroline." The bubbly, South Carolinian at the desk across from me had not forgotten me, even if I initially could not tell you her name. I already felt a bit like I belonged.

The days continued like clockwork, each hour marked by a new task or assignment. In those early days I realized how little I know about not only development, but about working in general. Is so-and-so a trustee? How do I Fedex something? What is our donor database? How do I transfer a call? I'd like to think I learned quickly, but I might be a biased judge of that. Regardless, I was happy my New York adventure had begun!