Welcome to NYC

Jeez-oh-pete’s, this j-o-b is REALLY cutting into my blogging time.

And to think I had been in the target-rich blogging environment of a trip to NYC with Rita and my mom!!! This is the trip that got off to a blazing start when SOMEONE wasn’t at the airport to meet my mom. Apparently, mother must have read the blog because she seemed a little worried that she would become the human equivalent of my iPod. (It’s only JFK on the day before Thanksgiving, mom – fend for yourself). But here is the problem – why does EVERY train I ever take in NYC end up in Queens??

Our lunchtime waiter (aka travel agent) said – “oh it’s EASY…just take the E train to the Airtrain and then when they say ‘JFK next stop’ – get off the train”. a) tourists should ONLY ride NYC trains for the amusement of the locals b) the E train goes two directions c) will they EVER say “JFK next stop”? and d) my mother is screwed.

After spending 55 minutes riding around the subways of NYC (did I mention there is no cell phone service when you are 100 feet underground?) – I estimated I would arrive to pick my mother up approximately 4 hours after her plane landed (and 3 hours after the will was changed). Best to jump off the train and take a taxi the last 15 minutes of the journey.

HOWEVER, upon arriving above ground – let me just say that I don’t think there has been a taxi in this particular part of Queens in.a.very.long.time. And umm….my little Winter Barbie overcoat and Cole Haan loafers looked pretty out of place in Compton Queens. Meanwhile, just as my you-are-utterly-lost-in-NYC reality sets in – my cell phone beeps to tell me…you have THIRTEEN new messages. My mother hasn’t called me thirteen times in my entire adult life…but suddenly I was on speed dial. And can I just ask – who the f*** gets a flight into JFK on the day before Thanksgiving that arrives 35 minutes EARLY????? My mother, that’s who.

So there I am…flapping around the Jamaica Plains train station in a full blown panic attack, when it suddenly came to me…CALL NICOLA.

Needless to say, Mission Control Nicola got mom to the hotel, me back to the city and Rita to a wine store all from the comfort of her Tennessee living room.