Manhattan is dirty dirty dirty. No bulletin there, but WOW--dirty dirty dirty. Some of the subways are extra disgusting, and many parts of them are rusting/disintegrating away. The smells are many and constant--some wonderful, like flower stands and fantastic food, and some awful, like the smell of urine and filthy standing water . It is sensory overload for me, so I can't imagine what it must be like for my dogs. There is so much pollution--whenever we go out, especially when we take the subway, within an hour I feel like I need to shower again. I am super clean since we got to Manhattan--I bathe twice a day to not feel slimed. The city wouldn't be so dirty if people picked up after themselves. Many people don't bother with trash cans--just throw whatever you are done with on the ground. That's a shame--people who are fortunate enough to live in or visit this remarkable and unique place should show it the respect it deserves.

Manhattanites are a little precious. Few people exercise basic etiquette on the street. Manners and kindness are not a priority. I wouldn't say most people are truly mean--just very self-serving and self-absorbed. It's a type of courtesy to pretend no one else exists when you are packed together, a way of maintaining your privacy and that of others, but it is taken too far--it's as if these people have taught themselves not to see anyone else, so they bulldoze their way along. They also don't stop to smell the roses, so to speak--a cute puppy, pretty flowers, a smiling baby--few pause to enjoy their surroundings--it's just rush rush rush to the next thing. There are so many amazing sights and stores, remarkable people and things to do. Storefronts change overnight. But Manhattanites seem to pride themselves on not reacting to anything, or being visibly impressed by anything. They don't smile much either. I wouldn't say people here are unhappy, but you really can't tell--faces are like closed doors, expressionless, and eye contact is avoided.


So, attention New Yorkers--love your city. Reward it for the one-of-a-kind sights, smells and sounds it gives you every day. Put your trash in a can, clean up your pet poo, stop abandoning belongings on street corners. And please, please, please stop spitting in public. The subway tracks are not a spatoon. People who live in conditions like ours should take public health as seriously as religion.

We are in NY. We made it. It was a crazy trip--Patrick and I have some really strange road trip karma or something.

We started out fine Wednesday morning, then hit a torrential rain storm by Columbia, MO, that was the northern tip of a storm system so bad it produced tornadoes in North Carolina and Alabama. The wind shield wipers on high were going so fast and hard they kept hitting the weather stripping on the driver's side of the windshield really hard--something we didn't realize until it came loose and almost flew off the car. We couldn't get it back on--poor Patrick was standing in a downpour trying to snap the plastic back on--didn't work, so we threw it in the back and prayed for the windshield not to leak.

The tarp covering our luggage was shredded by the storm's winds by the time we reached St. Louis, so we replaced it with a larger, stronger one that kept coming loose and flapping for several feet above our car like we were flying our own flag. That must have been fun for everyone driving around us. We stopped in a town outside St. Louis for more bungee cords--no bungee cords in that entire town, and we ended up buying twine. That didn't help--we stopped every half hour, trying to tie the tarp back down in the downpour--Patrick was soaked through, and I was wet, and coupled with Barney and Betty being in the car with us and needing to get out to do business every couple of hours, we were a wet, smelly mess by afternoon.

When we got to Indianapolis, we had dinner at Patrick's brother's house, then hit a Best Western--we didn't want to stay with my brother-in-law because we were such a mess, and the dogs were pretty freaked. This Best Western was suburban, but apparently at night it becomes a hooker crack house--the guests were scary, especially the ones hanging out in the parking lot watching us unpack. We dragged everything on top of the car into the hotel room and discovered that the tarp had not kept out all the rain--about 20% of our clothes, all of it our nicer things of course, were wet. So we laid things out to dry and crawled into bed. Patrick wakes up in the middle of the night to the sensation of water, and thinks one of the dogs wet the bed, but no, it's not a dog, it's the roof--we are on the top floor of the motel, and the roof is leaking. The roof is leaking BAD--a drywall seam is splitting, and the drywall is bulging down--we thought it might drop on us.

So we decide to get the hell out of our motel first thing in the AM, no shower, no nothing--we repack our stuff, with extra new bungee cords this time, and set off--we marathon drive it all the way to Harrisburg, PA, only stopping for gas and to let the dogs do business. At a gas station in Ohio, this elderly lady with one long, scary tooth on the top right side of her mouth--I am not making this up--approaches our car to pet our dogs, and starts speaking in a heavy accent we were not able to place. "Pretty pretty dogs--what names?" We tell her their names. "Pretty pretty dogs--you roll window up now--they get out and run away or maybe DIE!" I am in the driver's seat. Patrick leans over and says "Roll the window up and drive--NOW!" So we get out of Ohio, which is very pretty and clean, by the way, and nobody just hangs out in the left lane on the interstate--love that.

The weather clears and we make good time and we start to relax. Patrick offers to set up a movie for me on his laptop--we are at another gas station. He puts the adapter in the cigarrette lighter and instantly it starts smoking--huge cloud of smoke--almost like dry ice at a Halloween party--fills the entire car. So, we air out the car and throw away the adapter. We drive on the interstate with the back windows open a few inches for the dogs to get fresh air, since the car still smells like exploded battery. Betty actually manages to get her whole head out the window and gets scared and pulls back and gets stuck and starts choking. She gets loose before we can even get to her, and we are freaked out because of what could have happened and because of the tooth lady's words--weird.

The best thing that happened on the road was in Ohio--two huge double rainbows happened post storm that were absolutely beautiful--we have never seen two rainbows side by side, or that big or colorful and bright. They were amazing--just gigantic, and so brilliant. We decided to take it as a good sign, because we were feeling in need of one by then.

We get lost a couple times, drive away from a gas station with our gas cap hanging down the side of the car, stuff like that, but finally make it to the Holland Tunnel. We pass throught the tunnel into Manhattan and promptly get lost--it takes us about 20 minutes to find our hotel. All the cliches about Manhattan traffic are true--it is the most insane thing I have ever experienced on the road. People drive like they have a death wish and pedestrians hurl themselves into the street like they want to die young. We were almost hit twice just getting to our hotel. If we end up living in the city, we are getting rid of our car--there is no reason to drive in Manhattan--your feet and/or the subway get you everywhere faster. The only reason to drive on that island is if you have taken out a huge life insurance policy on yourself because you have decided you just want to end it all.

It was a silly trip, but we made it intact, and the city is amazing. We went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art Saturday, and I saw so many famous pieces of art that after a few hours I felt like my head would explode. Let the tourism begin.

We are now 4 weeks out from our move date. My husband and I are both in a weird place--excited and edgy. Going to the gym helps. Going out for cocktails doesn't--alcohol doesn't really take much edge off the anxiety, it just makes us both lippier, and when you're already jumpy, that can spell stupid fight over nothing that we both feel bad about the next day, which just compounds the anxiety. People tell us that if we weren't a little scared/nervous about moving, then we would really be idiots, and I believe that's true--it makes me feel better anyway.

When my father asked me how I felt about the move, I told him I was excited and nervous, and a little intimidated. He actually scolded me, telling me he doesn't believe in that kind of thinking--he doesn't allow himself to be intimidated by anything or anyone. Such a pompous ass. And a flat out liar too. His entire life is a study in, among other things, self esteem issues. It's such a nice, warm moment between parent and child when parent asks child a question, the child answers honestly, and the parent takes that sincerity and emotionally smacks child across the face with it. One of the last things he said to me is that this move could be really good for me--IF I am able to develop the right attitude, and IF I really give it a chance. He often does this whenever I have good news to share--I think he finds it difficult to be happy for others when they experience good fortune, even when it comes to his own children. He frequently manages to make me feel as if I don't deserve whatever good has happened, and that chances are I will probably fuck it up.

The majority of our family has been supportive and encouraging. I should know by now what to expect from my parents. I am not telling my mother and her husband until right before we leave because I don't want to be driven more insane than I already am. She will pick the whole thing apart, question our every decision, and be at the house every day telling me how to manage everything. I am even telling her we are selling our house, which we are not, to keep her from hounding our renter while we are gone. Like my father, she pecks at her children with constant criticism and judgment--words of love or praise are a special occasion for my father, and when they come from my mother, they are usually drug induced. They both seem perpetually disappointed in their children, as if we just never measure up. The funny thing is, if any of us kids "measured up" to our parents, we'd be alcoholics, prescription drug addicts, and suffer from depression and multiple personality disorders. And we'd beat our kids and emotionally terrorize them. So it's a good thing we're turning out to be such disappointments.

Am getting excited. Have been reviewing live music dates online, and other events, and NYC has something we want to see and do every minute of every day. It's sensory overload--so so much to offer, and all the time, no stopping, no cultural, artistic, or musical droughts, ever. Is that possible? Of course it is, but I have never lived in the midst of such abundance. Can I handle it? Will my head explode?

Am worried about my dogs. NYC will be even more overwhelming for them than for us. Can they handle it? Will their little heads explode? Will I get used to having to pick up their poop? Yet another luxury of living in the Midwest--we have enough room, enough space and land, and fewer people and dogs, that we don't have to scoop poop--yet. We have been told to buy these special little baggies that are sold in pet stores--they let you pick up the poop, then reverse the bag and close it--the people I am descended from would think a special bag for dog poop is hilarious, and even funnier to them would be the people who would pay money for such a thing.

Am feeling sad about leaving my house. I am excited to go to NY--my husband and I both will be better for it--I just love my house. Rough as it is--it's a massive fixer upper--we have put a lot of sweat and tears into it in the last 8 years. The first floor is finally almost complete, and now we are leaving. We are renting to a friend who I love like a brother but who is a dirty, dirty boy. Dirty dirty Iowa farm boy. My white bathroom will be gray when I get back. My floors will be scratched and stained. The house will smell like stinky man and cat piss.

He is taking care of our 4 cats for us while we are gone. He loves animals and will give them plenty of attention, but the cleaning part worries me. Will he wash the blankets in their sleeping baskets at least once a month? Will he change their litter boxes out every week and clean up after their hair balls and "accidents," or will they be allowed to dry like little sculptures on my hardwood floors? Will he brush them when they are shedding? Yikes. I need to just not think about it, because it will make me sick.

I have started preparing an instruction manual for him. I know that's really psycho and obsessive, but I just can't help myself. He doesn't know about it yet. He will roll his eyes at me. I don't care. It will probably be about 50 pages long. But dammit, he is getting a sweet rental deal, so the least he can do is not turn my home into a crack house.

The State of New York has pissed me off already. I have to apply to the state for PERMISSION to take their state cosmetology board examinations, both practical and written, because I happen to only have been a licensed hairstylist for 3, as opposed to 5, years. I have to go through my industry's equivalent of the SATs AGAIN! And do so in New York, which of course will have a vastly different written test and practical exam than the ones I originally took. So I am basically starting all over again, as if I had just graduated from hair school. ARRRRGGGGGHHHHHH.

The State of NY doesn't have what is called reciprocity with the State of Kansas, meaning they don't accept a Kansas cosmetology license as being the equivalent of their own, even though Kansas requires 1500 hours of education to receive a license, while NY requires only 1000. NY cosmetology students go to school for about 6 months--Kansas students are in school for a year, but I have to retake the NY cosmetology tests to prove that I am qualified to slap hair around in Manhattan--please. It's a scam--it's a revenue producer for the state--it has to be, because when I asked what other states NY does have reciprocity with for cosmetology licenses, the answer was Arkansas and Alaska. I AM NOT KIDDING. How convenient is that--how many hairstylists move from Arkansas and Alaska to NY every year? There is a fee for applying for permission to take the NY tests, a fee for a temporary license that allows me to work as a hairstylist while I am studying for the tests, fees and material requirements for the tests themselves, and finally, a fee for the cosmetology license itself if I pass the NY exams. Wonderful.

The written test isn't a big deal, but the practical exam is a nightmare--you are in a tiny room with a zillion other really nervous people for about 3 hours in total silence--you are not allowed to speak or do anything unless the state cosmetology board inspectors tell you you can. You do a basic haircut in silence, you roll a perm in silence, you make pin curls and finger waves in total silence, and all the while inspectors are walking circles around you staring over your shoulder, grading your every move. It's enough pressure to cause a spontaneous attack of Tourettes Syndrome. Can't WAIT.

Screw it--I can handle it--bring it on NY--is that all ya got?

I've been on a packing spree. We are all but completely packed. I've had some moments. I got misty going through my books and choosing which will go with me and which will be stored. I have never been separated from them. Having all of them with me, and easily accessible on some shelf, is something I have always taken for granted.

Making a three bedroom house life fit into a Manhattan studio is tricky. What can we do without? What do I have room to bring that will help me feel like I still have my home, and my previous life, with me? Packing away your life is an emotional roller coaster ride. Moving from a home to an apartment feels like a step backwards. It won't really be my home, just some place I am staying. I remember the day my husband and I moved into our house 8 years ago. For the first time since leaving home for college, I was really home again.

There is something, though, that actually feels good about the whole process. I have learned how little we actually need in order to live. We are streamlining. I have learned, not surprisingly, that we have way too much CRAP. Where did we get all this shit? Why did we buy that stupid thing? What was I thinking dragging home all the fixer-upper furniture/knick knack junk that sits in the basement and the garage, that I actually paid money for? I am about to throw in a dumpster no less than 20 'projects.' The more room you have, the more stuff you buy--you start down that road and you don't stop--a personal indoor suburban sprawl, so to speak.

You can easily live with less than half of whatever you have right now.

This is what I have learned so far about telling people we are moving:

1) There is no way to tell people you are moving to a big city without sounding like an asshole. How do you say you are moving to a place like NY without sounding like you are bragging? You can't. No matter what I say, or how I say it, this is the way it feels when the words come out: 'I am moving to a big and important city, and you ARE NOT.'

2) When you move back home from a large city, people often assume that you did not do so by choice. You left NY, LA, wherever, and crawled back home because you are a LOSER. My husband and I have been barraged with theses types of stories. At the end of them, the people telling them say something like, 'Of course, that won't be the case with the two of you ...' We aren't sure how long we will be in NY, so when we do tell people we are going, we decided to say that it is only for a year or two. I hate to admit it, but my pride dictates that the one-year disclaimer be added to the moving sentence. Maybe I can't say we are moving, or moving back, without feeling like an asshole because I AM an asshole (sigh).

3) It seems EVERYONE has an NY story--a visit, or they lived there 10 years ago, and they have to tell you all about it, and give you lots of useless and/or outdated advice.

4) A lot of Midwesterners are as prejudiced against people from both coasts as many coasters are against Midwesterners. Said coasters think Midwesterners are dim-witted conservative hicks, and said Midwesterners think coasters are loud, lazy, and arrogant.

So, we're not telling anybody else we are moving--we're sending a mass e-mail after we are gone.

The Pros of Moving to New York:

1) Career development
2) Cultural and social stimulation
3) Getting far away from pain-in-the-ass "friends"/family
4) Conquering a big pile of fears and insecurities by being forced to face them
5) A fresh start--we have the chance to be more discerning about who we allow into our lives
6) No more yard work

The Cons of Moving to New York:
1) Leaving my kitty babies behind
2) Leaving my sweet little house and huge back yard behind
3) Leaving my comfort zone behind
4) Leaving fresh air and clean water behind--New York is fucking FILTHY (no offense)
5) Paying triple our monthly mortgage in rent

My husband and I are moving to New York soon. I am equal parts excited and terrified.

We are both Midwesterners--my husband was born and raised in St. Louis, and while I was born in New Jersey, I was raised in Nebraska. I met my husband in Kansas City, where we both have lived for more than a decade. We own a home in a Kansas suburb of the city, and have 4 cats and 2 dogs--right now the plan is the dogs are going to NY and the cats are staying home. We are renting our house to a friend, who will take care of the kitties, which makes me feel a little like Meryl Streep's character in "Sophie's Choice"--not really, that's a tasteless exaggeration, but it is strange to even think about, let alone choose, which of your "children" you will take with you, and which ones you will leave behind.

My husband is being promoted and transferred by his ad agency, and I am along for the ride. I am a hairstylist, primarily a colorist, and I love the idea of experiencing my profession practiced at the level of a Manhattan salon. It would be an amazing learning experience. The question is--can Dorothy swap Kansas for Manhattan? And survive, let alone thrive? We will find out. I started this blog to chronicle this huge life change for my own enjoyment, and to help me cope with it, so if anyone reads this and is bored out of your mind, I apologize, but blogging is free, and therapy isn't.