These pictures aren't that great even though they were taken with a "real" camera and not my iPhone (which I think has been doing pretty well; but Ben reminded me that he got me this camera for a reason, so I'm pulling it out of its box...finally). The sun was that too-bright afternoon-y time sun that tends to wash everything out. But you can still tell that this brown is really pretty and lights up with red and gold shimmer in bright light. My nails were super short then and I was having the worst of dry skin problems. But anyway, I pretty much hate Maybelline polishes. Mostly it's their brushes. It's like the bristles are too stiff and always result in drag for me, as you can see. The formula on this one was fine, it was just its mode of delivery that was flawed. But this was two coats. It chipped really quickly on me, too, which is probably why I forgot that I had even worn it.
I also found this picture of me on the camera, in which I appear to be engaging in my favorite wintertime pastime of scarf snugglin'. But you can see how the polish looks on my hands; namely, nice 'n vampy.
You know what can be kind of great about New York, in a way? You make a million tiny connections with people every day. Glances on the subway, being smooshed together walking down 5th Ave., those sorts of mundane things. Yesterday I was waiting for the 6 train at 33rd Street and I knew there would be trouble when one train completely passed the station by. More and more people started piling up, and a woman squished in front of me on the platform. I knew that her end-game was to get on the next train no matter what, so I just sort of let it happen. When the next train stopped and the doors opened people rushed it, but I hung back because I knew there'd be another train. But this woman who had stepped in front of me got on and gently moved everyone aside until there was a spot for me. She made eye contact with me and said, "Come on, love. You'll fit right here." I didn't have to be told twice, so I got on.
During the course of the ride from 33rd to 86th she told me all about her daughter. The woman herself was 51, but she adopted a 5-year-old girl who came out of a bad situation. She told me that she had to get on the train no matter what because she couldn't be late to pick up her daughter from daycare. The little girl gets nervous if she's late, apparently. And then she asked me what I was doing in New York and I told her. She noticed my ring and asked about a partner, so I told her about Ben. I told her about the PhD thing and how I feel sort of torn between academia and...well, normality. She took my hand and said, "love, get married and have babies. You always have time for the PhD. Don't worry so much." I'm not sure whether or not I agree with that advice (hence my dilemma) but it was funny because of course we were sort of squished together like little sardines on the train, and older women all around us had heard what she said to me. They all nodded their heads. When we got to her stop she patted me on the shoulder and said good luck. And then she was gone, out of my life forever.
Things like that are funny. But it did make me think all the way back to Harlem. No one my age would ever give me that advice. In fact I had a conversation the other night with a classmate from UChicago where I said to her something like, "I just want to get married and have babies and have a house and a job and a car. Like a normal person." She said to me, "It's hard to do that when you're so special." Which is, of course, debatable. But these two conflicting viewpoints were offered to me within 24 hours of each other, and it's so interesting to me how differently my own situation is viewed by different people.
ANYWAY. It's almost Friday. And for the first time since moving to New York, I'm glad the weekend is coming. I've been swamped. I can't wait to sleep in!