Hugs in Ohio, kisses in New York

I grew up in the Midwest, where if you were greeting or saying goodbye to a friend, you wouldn't think twice about reaching out and giving them a hug.

Here in New York, I've noticed that some of my friends are taken aback when I stretch my arms toward them for a friendly squeeze. It's not that they're uncomfortable giving hugs or anything; I can tell it's just unexpected.

Here in New York, it's customary to give a friend - girl or guy - a quick peck on the cheek more so when you say goodbye than when you say hello.

I was first taken aback by this custom back in Ohio when a friend of mine who grew up in New York gave me a kiss on the cheek as he said goodbye. At the time, I thought it was just something he did, but now that I've spent two and a half years in New York, I know it's not just him - it's a New Yorker thing.

Although it seems much more personal than a hug, I actually prefer it. Maybe it's because it's novel, but I think it's simply because a kiss is so much more intimate and it makes me feel closer to my friends. Regardless of the reason, this is for all my Midwestern friends:

MWAH from New York!

Only one with the ring

One of the toughest aspects about living in New York is being away from my family. Luckily, I was able to move here with my family - my husband, who is also my rock.

While I have a significant other here... hardly any of my friends do. Sure, there's that small minority of my friends who've been with their significant other for more than a year, but the overwhelming majority are either casually dating someone (the person of which changes every few weeks) or one hundred percent single.

I don't have a single New York friend who is married.

While it may not seem like that big of a deal, it is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Back in January, it actually hit me hard at a bar and still crops up every now and again.

My friends are up for anything any time.

I'm up for many things, as long as it's before midnight and generally not on a weekend.

My friends like going to bars to drink, dance, and meet people they might potentially want to date. (Oh, who am I kidding. They go to bars to meet people they might potentially like to either go home with or take home that night.)

I go to bars to drink, dance, and meet people who are nice and fun to talk to while we're at the bar.

My friends like to drink. A LOT. And they pride themselves on being the ones to close down the bar, regardless of the day of the week. (Bars close at 4 a.m. here, and closing down the bar was a regular occurrence especially for those on my flag football team. We played on Sundays.)

I wasn't much of a drinker when we moved here, but when in Rome with no worries about having to drive...

While I'm very much in love with my husband, hanging around my friends sometimes makes me miss my single days when I didn't have to worry about constantly texting my whereabouts, checking the time to make sure I'm not out too late, or leading anyone on. I mean it's fun to (briefly) relive the crazy college days - flip cup included.

But I am married and enjoy spending time with my husband on the weekends, which is (also) when my friends go out, so it's hard sometimes to have to say no to something fun and then know that I'm missing something with them. It's a juggling act that I'm trying very hard to master, but feel like I'm always coming up short.

Hopefully it'll be easier in 10 years when half of my New York friends have settled down and we can hang out earlier and I won't have to know I'm missing something by leaving before midnight. Although knowing most of them, 10 years may not be enough time, and I may have to wait a bit longer.

Come and see me!

One definite bonus to moving to an incredibly exciting city is hosting visitors who want to come strictly to see me (ok, fine, me AND the city).

In the past four months, I've hosted three visitors: my mom for a week (May 1-9, which was nice she was here for my birthday!), my cousin Gillian three days later from May 12-16, and her sister and my cousin Lexie just left yesterday after a five-day visit.

And I've had too much fun to write so just know we had a blast!

Why I love the guys on my basketball team

"Let's go out for drinks, since we're near McSorley's," Rob said to me and the other three guys on our Zogsports basketball team after our game on Wednesday.

Two declined, but one guy along with myself said we were in.

"I'm totally down, but I don't have any cash," I said, knowing from the week before that McSorley's doesn't accept credit cards.

"What a surprise. Erika can't pay for drinks," Rob replied.

"You know I don't do it on purpose," I retorted. "I just haven't been able to make it to the bank."

"Yeah, right," Rob replied.

"Well if you wait for a minute, I can run to the ATM," I said.

"That would be nice," Rob called after me, as I hustled down the block to take out some cash.

After two rounds of drinks, I asked for the check, ceremoniously pulled out my wallet while shooting Rob a look, and reached for my cash.

"Don't worry about it. We got it this week," Rob said, nudging the other guy, who both put in enough money to cover all our drinks.

"What?!?! No!!" I said, throwing two $20s into the pile, which were promptly returned to me.

"Well then why the hell did you make me go to the bank?" I ask Rob, shooting him a second dirty look.

"So you could at least pretend that you were going to actually pay for something," he replied.

"Whatever, Rob."

* * * * * * * * *

"No, I don't really want to go to the club tonight," I said to my two, quite drunk basketball teammates around 10:30 p.m. on Friday. "We've been out since happy hour, and I came right from work so I didn't even attempt to look nice."

"Clearly," Rob replied, eyeing my jeans and plain gray T-shirt.

Rolling my eyes and brushing him off, I went on: "Besides, I have to be home by 12:30."

"Wait, what?" Rob asked. "You have a curfew?"

"No, I don't have a curfew," I retorted. "I just told Brent that I'd be home by 12:30 and I don't want him to worry about me."

"Really? Or do you have to go home early because you're a loser?" Rob asked.

"Yes, Rob. I have to go home early because I'm a loser," I repeated sarcastically.

"Clearly," Rob said again.

"You know I seriously hate you sometimes, right?" I ask him.

"No you don't," he said, grinning at me.

"No, I don't," I sighed.

"I only tease you because I know you can take it," he said.

"Yeah, I know," I replied, nodding my head. "You certainly keep it interesting."

"I've been better" is quite the understatement. Playing with fire is much more like it.

"You should go out and look in the hall," Brent said right after walking through the door, startling me out of my doze on the couch.

"What? What time is it?" I asked sleepily, eyeing the glowing numbers on the VCR. "4:37? Does that say 4:37?"

"Yeah," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Boys night must have been some night," I said, stretching and yawning, and flicking off the glowing TV I fell asleep in front of. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, but, I don't know what to do. You should seriously go look in the hall," Brent replied.

"Why? What are you talking about?" I said, slipping on my flip-flops and peering out into the hall. Not seeing anything, I started to walk down the hall and around the corner toward the elevator... and stopped.

Lying on her side horizontal to an apartment door was a woman. Completely. Passed. Out. Her short, black skirt was flung up over her tight, black shirt and the entire contents of her purse were splayed all around her.

"Oh man," I muttered, going over to the woman to make sure she was breathing.

"Wake up," I said, rubbing the woman's arm repeatedly from her shoulder to her elbow. "Can you hear me? Can you wake up for me?"

"Huh?" she said, her eyelids fluttering.

"Can you hear me?" I ask. "Can you get up for me?"

"Do I have to?" she mumbles.

"Well, you're lying in a hallway," I say matter-of-factly. "You should get up. Do you live here?"

"Yeah," she replies, trying to sit up.

"Let me help you," I say, gathering up her lipstick, credit card, and driver's license that spilled all over the hallway when she apparently fell and passed out. After peering at her driver's license, I notice that the address doesn't match our apartment building.

"You do live here?" I ask. "What apartment number?"

"[###]," she says, which was the door we were standing outside. It's then that I notice the keys dangling from the lock.

"OK, let me help you get inside," I said.

"Thank you," she whispers.

But after messing with the lock for a bit, I can't get it open. Thinking that maybe she has the wrong apartment number, I look at her trying to balance in her black high heels and keep her eyes open and suggest we go downstairs to talk to the doorman.

"OK," she says, and I lead us to the elevator.

"Do you know her?" I discreetly ask the doorman, Charley, when we make it downstairs.

"Yeah, she's in [###]," he says.

"Can you help us get her in her apartment?" I ask. After grabbing an extra set of keys, he asks her how she's doing, and she responds: "I've been better." That's an understatement.

After we get the door open, usher her inside, and tell her to lock the door, she looks back and again whispers "thank you" before gingerly closing the door.

"Thanks for your help, Charley," I said. "I'm just glad to know she's safe."

"Yeah, me too," he said. "When I saw her stumble in awhile ago, I asked her if she wanted me to help her get into her apartment, like I always do, and she said no, so what was I supposed to do? I can't force help on her."

"You mean she does this a lot?" I ask.

"Well, it is Friday night and people like to go out on the weekends," he replied vaguely.

"I hope she wasn't lying in the hallway for a long time," I said.

"It was at least an hour and a half," he replied. "Before she stumbled into the building, I saw her coming toward the door by herself when she was stopped by a really shady guy who was trying to get her into his car. I had to run outside, grab her, and say, 'she's with me. Get outta here.'"

"Wow," I said, thinking. "That's just scary. But it's comforting to know that you guys are watching out for us. Thanks, Charley."

"Anytime, Erika," he said. "You don't even have to ask."

Shirt, check. Shoes, check. Pants...

“What’s with the weird look on your face?” I ask our chef who was giving out this really strange vibe.

“Nuuuthinnnn,” he drew out quietly.

“No, seriously. What’s the deal?” I ask.

“It’s just... I’m at work. And I have no pants on. It’s just weird.”

“Yeah, but it’s also funny!” I said laughing.

The poor guy showed up at the office dripping from head to toe because he gave his umbrella to his girlfriend, and I was not about to make him sit in front of the air conditioner (his desk actually blocks the air conditioner, which is constantly blowing out cold air right at him) in wet clothes.

Since it was just the two of us in the office for the next hour, I told him that was enough time to dry his clothes in the dryer located on the same floor as our office, and no one had to know about it.

So, he put on the shirt that he stowed in his bag, but since he didn't have another pair of pants, I set to work trying to find the smallest towel I could find for him to wrap around his waist while waiting for his clothes to dry. (Did I mention that our chef is incredibly hot?)

"Did you put everything in the dryer?" I ask him when he comes back from the laundry room wearing his dry shirt, a red beach towel, and flip flops.

"Well, my boxers were kinda damp, but I don't care," he said. "Those are staying on!"

"Good plan," I said. "So... is it just me or is it a bit drafty in here?"

"Really? Are you really going to go there?" he said, trying hard to conceal a smile before turning to walk away from my laughter to his desk in the other room.

To my credit, I wait around five minutes before continuing the teasing.

"Hey - did you forget your bagpipes at home?" I yell to him in the other room. "Are you trying to pay homage to your Scottish ancestry, even though you're Filipino?"

"I'm not even... it's not...," he starts, before I stop laughing long enough to hear his defeated sigh. "Whatever."

So true to my word, his clothes were dry well before anyone else got to the office. But what fun would it be if no one else knew about it? So I made sure to fill everyone in at lunch, mostly because our chef is quite easygoing and was laughing right along with the rest of us. Completely inappropriate, yes, but also pretty dang funny.

"Nakey! Nakey!" She's not even 5 years old, and she's already a pathological liar.

“What? You let Aunt E sleep in?” my mother-in-law incredulously asked my 4-year-old niece, Katelyn, as I trudged downstairs at 9:15 a.m. after our sleepover. In toddler time, by 9:15 a.m. I should have had at least three tea parties, watched two episodes of Spongebob Squarepants, baked a batch of Pink Princess Cupcakes, and went to a ball after being dolled up in a ridiculously glittery gown. “I thought you went upstairs to wake her up,” she asked.

“I did, but Aunt E was NAKED,” Katelyn announced.

“What?!” I replied, staring down at my niece who was smiling widely. “What are you talking about? No I wasn’t!!”

“Yes you were!” she replied, giggling hysterically. “You and Uncle Brent were NAKED!”

“Oh so now Uncle Brent was supposedly naked too?” I ask her like I’m supposed to have a rational conversation with a 4-year-old. “We were NOT naked. We both were wearing the pajamas we had on for our pajama party last night.”

“Nakey! Nakey!” starts up my almost 3-year-old niece, Mackenzie. “You were NAKEY!”

OK, while I admit that I don’t necessarily always go to bed wearing both a top and bottoms, I most certainly will make sure to be fully dressed before falling asleep when I know that I’ll most likely be woken up at a ridiculous hour by two toddlers absolutely NEEDING to play beauty salon and go to the park and ride in the golf cart and color and make animals with Play-Doh ALL RIGHT NOW.

But luckily I have an awesome mother-in-law so it’s not like I was embarrassed or anything – I just had no idea where my nieces get these things from or why they felt the need to REPEAT the lie all day, including when their parents came to pick them up after dinnertime. Don’t kids usually forget about stuff or move on by then? Apparently, not these little monsters.

But who are you gonna believe – me or these two adorable angels? Even though, to set the record straight, I WAS wearing shorts and a tank top, I’m not sure I can compete with their charm.