Did You Know?

Did you know that cool people like the Adventures of the Mold Girl Facebook Page? It allows them to easily stay abreast of all the latest Mold Girl updates and shenanigans. Just sayin', you want people to think you're cool, right?

No she doesn't.

What a Strange, Strange Day

Yesterday I had a job that was bizarre from start to finish. I was asked to test an apartment in Tudor Village for Volatile Organic Compounds (VOCs). If you can believe this, the people who request VOC testing are even crazier than those I meet for mold testing. Residents demand this sort of test when they are certain that they smell some sort of chemical odor (of course I have yet to perform this test where anyone other than the resident could smell anything). The concerned tenants are convinced said odor is toxic and will kill them. In one case, I met a woman who described in great detail all the reasons she believed her neighbors were purposely trying to poison her. That's a whole other story to be shared at some point. Anyway, I have performed roughly twenty VOC tests during my career and have not once found anything of concern. This particularly investigation involves three separate tales of strange:

Zip up your space suit and buckle on that helmet, things are about to get weird

Tale of Strange Part I

VOC sampling involves large, awkward metal canisters. When I have to haul these puppies around the city, people always stare. The canisters are suspicious looking and give me some terrorist vibes. I hopped on the 1 train at 28th hauling this embarrassing equipment and an old woman grabs my attention. She asks me whether I'm pregnant and if I needed her seat. First of all, unless a woman is clearly about to pop, you do not ask if she is pregnant. No. Just no. Everybody knows (or should know) this question is a serious social faux pas. But more importantly, DO I LOOK PREGNANT?!?!? I do not consider myself as having a prego bod. I kickbox, zumba, and do pilates each at least once a week. Clearly I need to start going more often. Oh man, I just googled pregnant women and am starting to hyperventilate a little bit. They just are SO BIG! It looks really uncomfortable! Why is nature so cruel? Aghh!

The pregnancy question is an especially sore subject for me, because about a year ago I was also asked this two or three times within a span of a few weeks. I swear, I've worn the same pant size since seventh grade. I do not go around with a pained expression on my face and my hands supporting my lower back shouting, "where the hell are my pickles and ice cream?!?". I was doing my best to appear normal and not pregnant. My friend who shall be known as Denile Daboo tells me I have an awkward posture that may make people think I'm pregnant. Ugh, I know I have weak back muscles. I'm working on them, 'kay??

If I WAS pregnant, I promise I would not post photos of myself and my baby daddy like this

Or this

My response to the woman was, "Ummm... No. Or at least I hope not..." She defended her question with something like, "No, I'm serious. I always like to ask, just in case. Because, you know, a MAN would never ask. OR get up for you". Interesting. I consider myself a hardcore feminist but that was way extreme even for my standards! I'm guessing she must be some bra-burning, second wave feminist, although does this woman really ask every female on the subway if she's pregnant? I find that difficult to believe...

Here's an idea, let's castrate all the men! I'm serious. Never again would I be asked if I was pregnant!

Tale of Strange Part II
After this exchange, I move further into the train car. A bunch of people had made eyes with me to silently laugh (or smize à la Tyra Banks) about the absurd situation. One of them leaned in and whispered to me, "You don't look pregnant. She must have noticed your glow". Our conversation continued on from there and was particularly interesting because this person was from Australia. Red Coats are a dime a dozen in this city, but I have rarely ever met an Australian. Pretty much everything I know about Australia can be summed up by Men At Work's "I Come from a Land Down Under":

My one burning question - do Australians really eat vegemite? Okay, my second burning question - what is vegemite??

This person seemed rather interesting and we made plans to reconvene Friday night. WHICH THIS NAMELESS INDIVIDUAL FLAKED OUT ON (yeah, I'm calling you out :p). 

Tale of Strange Part III

Finally, I arrive at the job site. The apartment's resident is Italian. Very Italian. As in a flirty old man with rather limited English skills.

He was what I imagine Chef Boyardee to be like, just minus a couple of teeth

Despite his lack of English skills, this man was quite a talker. At one point he says something that I don't quite understand and I just nod and smile in response. Then he goes to the fridge and I hear him say "arancia" (orange in italian). I got all excited thinking that he was about to serve me that San Pellegrino knock-off of Orangina. He steps away from the fridge with a bottle of Tropicana. 

HEY! I'm eating for two here and my raging hormones require aranciata! STAT!

So even though I did not particularly want a glass of orange juice, I was stuck drinking it. While sipping, or I guess gulping–the man tells me to, "Slow down! Relax! You Americans do everything too fast!"–he then proceeds to discuss Italy's relationship with orange juice. Allegedly,  the world's best oranges are grown in Sicily, although it is rare to find real orange juice in Italy. If you do find it, the juice is very expensive. According to him, the Italian mafia owns all of the country's orange groves. Whenever anybody attempts to produce orange juice, the mafia quickly "teaches" them to find a new line of business. And now you know. #Learning! Should I have been honored by his gift of such a delicacy?

Tale of Strange Epilogue: Appreciate the little things in life while you can. Like orange juice. Because you never know when the mob is gonna ruin it for everybody.

Photo credits: pregnantchicken.com, DC Comics: Strange Adventures, phem.or, Men at Work, Chef Boyardee, San Pelligrino, The Simpsons

Do we need a Meeting with HR?

My company is far from the most politically correct of organizations. This being my first big girl job out of college, my feminist self was shocked at the rather serious amount of sexism that pervades the office arena. Here I was thinking that had all died with the seventies. Unfortunately not. For instance, a colleague repeatedly told me when I first started working here, to stop flirting with all my clients. Umm, excuse me? This is how I talk. This is what friendliness and cordiality look like, asshat. We had to have several sit down conversations about what is and is not okay to say to me. Problem has been (mostly) solved.  

I can show you what it looks like when I'm NOT friendly. And trust me, you won't mistake that for flirting!

This isn't to say that I am the pinnacle of professionalism. I'm probably the most inappropriate and obnoxious person at my office. I tell myself I'm obnoxious in a totally adorable way? The other day a package came for a coworker. I accept all packages and mail, (the UPS, FedEx, and USPS guys are totally my BFFs). Printed on the box was the phrase, "miscellaneous toys". I couldn't let that one pass without making a completely inappropriate announcement to the office. Apparently inside was a figurine of some Mets player. Allegedly. Although I think that actually might be the more embarrassing package of the two options!

"Due to anonymous complaints, we are required by law to host a sensitivity seminar at the office"

A friend/colleague called me out and said I was a total asshole in response to accidentally humiliating the "miscellaneous toys" guy. He also sent me the following picture:

Amirite?

At the office whenever my friends (or, let's be honest, mostly me) say something inappropriate, the typical response is, "do we need to have a meeting with HR?". Well joke's on you, suckers, we don't have an HR department! No sensitivity training for me! :)

 TGIF BITCHEZZZ 

I am told this literally every day

Photo Credits: someecards, Division of Labor, The Office

Subway Sightings: Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes

New Yorkers come across all sorts of people when riding the subway. Most are normal and keep to themselves or give a quick smile. Unfortunately subway passengers are sometimes forced to deal with a bit of commentary that we'd rather not hear. Frequently people take it upon themselves to proselytize the  "word of God". Jesus loves you! You are all sinners! The devil is a homosexual! One man seemed obsessed with the word "butts". WOMEN: YOU NEED TO COVER UP THE BUTTS. MEN: YOU NEED TO STOP STARING AT THE BUTTS. BUTTS BUTTS BUTTS. Ugh. Obviously somebody has some serious hangups regarding the booty region.

I guess that man could not be trusted!

Announcements unrelated to religion or the standard requests for food/money are much less common on the subway. One of the most unusual rants I've been exposed to falls within this miscellaneous category. The speaker was an attractive young woman dressed in stylish clothing. We were on the 4 train, although she could easily pass for your average L train rider. Nothing too weird about her. At least until she started talking. This woman informed us all that she makes body parts. Body parts. If I understood correctly, she makes them of people and for people. It was difficult to determine whether  it was a good thing or a bad thing to be her subject matter/inspiration. Sometimes she referred to the body parts in a spiritual way, "those who are enlightened, don't need to ask what it fucking means to 'make body parts'. Our souls have communicated and they already just know". Sometimes she spoke of them as some sort of voodoo curse, "I make body parts for fucking whoever does me wrong!". I think she liked the word "fuck". 

Is this what she meant? Because I'd love her to make me some body parts lollipops come Halloween.

Or maybe she was thinking more along the lines of this. Do you think she knows Inside Out Boy? I bet he likes body parts too. 

I loved the reactions of my fellow passengers. The girl next to me laughed, "Why did I just spend money going to the movies when I'm getting all this entertainment for free!". I especially liked one guy who got off at my stop, "It's poetry, man. Poetry". I thought that was a beautiful way to think about the situation. I mean it's better than what I was thinking. I was worried she'd whip out a knife and start demonstrating how she makes her body parts!

Photo credits: Spirit Halloween , Nickelodeon: Inside Out Boy, someecards, laughingsquid.com

It's Raining Mold. Among other things...

Question: How does a fabulous mold inspector such as yourself test for mold?

Answer: I use this bad boy right here:

BOOM IN YOUR FACE — A Zefon Bio-Pump Plus complete with Air-O-Cell Cassettes

Although I'm sure you all are highly interested in a blow by blow account of the mold sampling process, I'll keep my description of what I do short. The above sexy little gadget is a vacuum pump. It sucks air into a cassette sample for a period of five minutes, trapping microscopic airborne mold spores on a gel inside the cassette. During every inspection, I sample the indoor areas in question, and follow with a sample taken outdoors as a control (FYI, if you didn't know that airborne microscopic mold spores are flying around at all times, everywhere, now you do). A lab in Powhatan, Virginia (best city name ever) examines the samples under a microscope and counts the amount of spores trapped in each cassette's gel. Okay, we all still here? Explanation over!

Today I was asked to inspect a locksmith located on the Upper East Side. Apparently the business has a history of sewage flooding. Yeah, sewage flooding. And  yeah, I had to get all up in that. Yummy. As part of the inspection, the shop owner was very adamant that I test inside the ceiling access panel where the sewage had specifically leaked. 

Originally this was just a ceiling. They added the white access panel so that they could easily access the sewage damage since it flooded so often.

A GIF to properly express my reaction to this news

To open the access panel, I had to climb up a tall, rickety ladder. After almost falling off the ladder several times during my attempts to pry the stubborn panel off, the hatch interior revealed a layer of pink insulation. This insulation needed to be removed for me to see inside of the cavity. I reached directly above my head (while still on top of the rickety ladder) to pull the insulation down. Next thing I know, I've showered myself in...stuff. Not sure what kind of stuff, although it's probably best that I don't know. Below is a picture of the insulation after I had removed it. The photo does not do it justice. Trust me, it looked way grosser in real life. The dirt pictured below is only about half of what fell on me. I did count 3 dead cockroaches stuck to the pink fibers. *shudder*

Because the interior of the ceiling was so gross and scary and probably swimming in sewage particles, I was afraid to set my beloved air pump down inside the ceiling cavity. I therefore was forced to hold the machine near the ceiling opening. This meant holding it above my head, standing on my tiptoes on a rickety ladder, for five straight minutes. Talk about an arm workout. I will say, it felt like a serious John Cusack moment à la the 1989 classic Say Anything. Except minus any romance. Or complicated family drama. Or boomboxes.

Just like this, except not at all

Photo credits: Say Anything, Sesame Street, Zefon.com

Insane in the Membrane

Pop quiz: what island hosted an infamous insane asylum as well as a penitentiary facility, was formerly known as Welfare Island, and provided inspiration for various creepy films and books? 

That island would be Roosevelt, of course

In the terrible aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, I've been inundated with requests to inspect buildings that were flooded during the sea surges. I was excited to learn I'd be doing one such investigation at Roosevelt Island. I had heard tell of its historical nut hut and was eager to see the place (let's not kid ourselves, I also wanted an excuse to ride the tram!). Little did I know that not only was I going to the island that once was home to the famous loony bin, I was investigating THE loony bin itself! 

Dreams do come true!

Today only a portion of the insane asylum remains after time and a serious fire took their tolls. This portion is a gorgeously restored circular/geometric building, complete with spiral staircases called "the Octagon". Apparently it used to be the reception area of the crazy home. Now it's a combination of residential apartments, office spaces, and a preschool. Not gonna lie, kind of a letdown. Let's hope that they're crraaazzzyyyy apartments and office spaces and that the ghosts of tortured souls roam the preschool halls. 

THE OCTAGON

THE OCTAGON PLAQUE

And one of the approximately 20 photos I took on the ~5 minute tram ride. I guess I was a tad overeager. 

Photo credits: Roosevelt Island Tram, Who Framed Roger Rabbit

'Tis the Season

Yup, it's that time of year again. The act of cramming that last bite of pumpkin pie down America's throat to conclude yet another uncomfortably bloating Thanksgiving meal signifies one thing — it's Christmas time bitches! That means Christmas sweaters, Christmas cookies, Christmas decorations, and especially Christmas music in your face, everywhere, at all times. 

Most utterly painful Christmas song ever? Survey says: Wham's "Last Christmas"

For those of you unfamiliar with NYC winters, you many wonder how New Yorkers obtain Christmas trees given that nobody owns a car and there certainly are no magical sleigh rides to Santa's Christmas tree forest. One must purchase their Christmas tree at a stand found at various street corners throughout the city. Last year I saw so many tree stands on the Upper West Side, that I counted one every two to four blocks. Redic. Anyway, this is the case only if you live in Manhattan. In other boroughs, residents are not so lucky. The tree lots are much fewer and farther between. 

Christmas tree shopping, aka the annual arboreal mass murder frenzy

On the subway today it was quite hilarious to see that one family decided to purchase and haul their Christmas tree from Chelsea all the way to Crown Heights. Did I mention that this very robust and bushy tree was seven feet tall? After witnessing this, let me tell you this is no easy feat! The family was so adorable. Everybody on the train came over to comment. The dad was clearly mortified with all the attention while the mom and daughter were lapping up the compliments. *Note to all the menz out there: follow this guy's example and keep your ladies happy!* 

One woman could not get over this train-traveling tree. She was so blown away that she laughed hysterically for approximately ten straight minutes. Apparently she really, really, REALLY loves Christmas and even had to take a picture as documentation. This woman indicated the shopping bag in her hand and mentioned that she had just purchased decorations for her own tree. As she was leaving the train, she goes over to the family and generously hands over her bag of ornaments. This is why I love New York. Whoever thinks we're all a bunch of jerks obviously doesn't know this town! 

And what happened then? Well in New York they say, that this random act of kindness made our hearts grow three sizes that day!

Despite how mortified I am to admit this (I am a serious anti-belieber, and for that matter not too keen on Mariah Carey either) I will leave you with one of my absolute favorite Christmas songs. Feel free to judge. Happy challah-days everyone :)

Let's count, how many times can Mariah Carey sing over the shoulder in order to flaunt her aging ass in 4 min. 14 sec.?

DTF?

Hey, anybody interested in picking up an STD or two in the South Bronx? Lucky for you, I know a place! Today I was in the charming industrial warehouse district of the Bronx neighborhood Hunt's Point. I've heard stories about this particular area (come sundown it's hooker heaven), and was bit concerned for my personal safety. Fortunately things were not that bad. I did run into a couple of junkies and saw a few more scrubs than usual, but other than that everything was fine. Today's job site was a rather disgusting warehouse that was conveniently located adjacent to the "King of Clubs NYC Upscale Gentlemen's Club". Nothing says upscale like excessive amounts of barbed wire.

This place meets all my needs: I can sell my excess pellet crates (red sign) and lust after some sexi ladiez all at the same  convenient location!

Hurricane Sandy

Hello all! As pretty much everyone is aware, the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy has wreaked havoc in the Tri-State area over the past week. Power stations have exploded. Fires have started. People have been without electricity or heat for days. Homes have been lost. Subways aren't running. The list goes on and on. It has been an absolutely crazy few days. My thoughts and prayers go out to all those who have been affected. I am so, so grateful to have been only mildly inconvenienced during the past week. I have much to say on the aftermath of Sandy, but I'm too exhausted from walking eight, yes eight, miles today from a relative's apartment in Midtown Manhattan where I rode out the storm, to my own place in Brooklyn. It breaks my heart to hear the news stories of the devastation Sandy has caused, although I just saw this article and couldn't stop laughing. I thought it was a needed remedy to all I've been hearing and reading. Enjoy, and I hope everyone is okay!!

Hey! You Look Familiar...

I may be mistaken, but I feel like I find myself in the following situation much more than the average person, and I'm not quite sure what to think of it. 

When meeting new people, I'm told very frequently that I remind them of someone they know. This happens an unusual number of times. Like any good Scorpio, I want to stand out as a unique individual. I hate being lumped together with some generic crowd. Do I look average? Is there nothing special about my personality? Am I the non-celebrity version of the world's most ambiguous cute girl ever, Ashley Greene?

Seriously, every time I see a picture of this girl, I'm like, who is that?!? Once I've exhausted all other options I tell myself, oh yeah, must be Ashley Greene.

Because the nature of my job involves meeting new people on a daily basis, I'm frequently told that I look like such and such celebrity. Not to brag about how gorgeous I am (my looks speak for themselves, thank you very much!) but I've been told I resemble the following list of celebs on more than a few occasions. I personally don't feel I bear a striking resemblance to any of them (or any regular people that I've met either!) but I guess you'll have to imagine the unstoppable combination of the following ladiez for yourself: 

My comeback queen doppelgänger:

Sandra Bullock

My super spy doppelgänger:

Jennifer Garner

My Jewish doppelgänger:

Lea Michelle

My elfish doppelgänger:

Liv Tyler

My completely random doppelgänger:

Jerry Seinfeld's wife, Jessica Seinfeld! Uhhh, what? Okay...

And  before we get to my last but far from least celeb doppelgänger,  I need to share a quick story. One day while running an errand for my boss, a car on 24th Street started causing a racket. The three men inside were shouting and honking the car's horn. At first I thought it was simply typical street harassment and I ignored them. The men continued to yell in a manner that made it appear they were speaking with somebody they knew, so I assumed they spotted a friend on the street. As I walk up 6th Avenue, the car turns and follows me. The men are still yelling. This makes me go back to my original thinking, and I'm miffed at the behavior of these obnoxious men. On my way back to the office I needed to make a pitstop at Duane Reade. As I made my purchase and exited the store, I was none too pleased to find the men waiting for me outside holding a camera. At this point I'm like, YOU NEED TO BACK AWAY NOW!! The men laughed after they saw my face up close. Apparently they had thought I was this actress:

Anne Hathaway

Yup, no biggie, I'm just twinsies with one of the most gorgeous celebrities out there. Actually maybe Anne, or Annie, as her close personal friends like me call her, is shadowing ME to prepare for her next Oscar worthy performance in the upcoming drama, Memoirs of a Mold Girl. Think about that! :D

(PS, this is no joke, two summers ago, some alleged Hollywood people visited my office one day. My CEO claimed they were doing some research for a film that would be staring Mark Ruffalo and Gwenyth Paltrow. I swear, that happened. Not lying. It was a serious WTF moment. But really, what kind of movie could you make about an environmental consulting firm? Confessions of an Asbestos Inspector? How Stella got her Health Back? Eat Pray Lead? Hmm, now I really want to know what happened with that...)

#Struggles

Saw this on a message board outside of a Murray Hill church. Something to always keep in mind when you're feeling down. Happy Sunday! :)

It's a Mold Thing

Oh man, just saw an advertisement for a T-shirt sporting this punny design. I realize it's referring to bacterial cultures, but you can culture mold too, guys! Let's not be culturists. 

I think this shirt needs to be my new work uniform. With "Mold Girl" printed on the back. Hot damn, I'd be a real class act in that. Just so you know, my birthday is coming up... Just sayin' ;)

Photo credits: http://www.snorgtees.com/

Subway Sightings: The Grand Central - Time Square Shuttle

I love the shuttle train between Time Square and Grand Central Station. It's the only train that the MTA allows to be completely decked out with advertising. Normally I don't particularly enjoy the usual advertising assault on my eyes (calling Dr. Zizmor!!), but I gotta hand it to marketers, they always do an awesome job with the S train. Like Katy Perry, I love a good theme! 

Wearing a Simpsons dress while making a guest appearance on the Simpsons? GENIUS

While riding the S train last week, I saw that the shuttle was seriously classed up to look like a Victorian-style home library. Note the fancy wood paneling, the plethora of collector's edition hard cover books, and the squashy armchairs that replace the usual drab subway seats. I have no idea what this was supposed to advertise, but who cares?

The armchairs were not as comfortable as the cushion decals made them appear...

Ever since I was first exposed to Disney's Beauty and the Beast, it has been a life goal of mine to have my own personal library. Preferably one with secret passageways à la Clue (the game AND the movie). 

I don't actually read, I just want people to think I'm smart

Maybe I should move to DC and become Capitol Hill's favorite madame . I bet SHE has a library!

Sadly a mold inspector's salary does not pay quite well enough to afford a library, real or fake. Once I saw a homeless man on the subway spouting off hilarious jokes about the D train being his "home". When deboarding the subway car, he told us all to clean up after ourselves because he was expecting some new guests. Maybe he was onto something... Maybe my dreams of "owning" a "library" are within reach! Look out S train, here comes the Mold Girl equipped with a shopping cart and a blatant disregard for personal space and indoor voices! 

Oh and ps, I love Clue the game, Clue the movie, and heck, I also love Clueless, so much that I once dragged my family to see Cluessical, the Clue musical. It didn't quite live up to my standards for all things Clue...

Yup, this exists. And yup, it's as bad as you'd expect it to be.

Photo credits: Disney, Beauty and the Beast, Katy Perry, The Simpsons, Clue, Clue the Musical

Oh the Irony...

I've been a bit MIA recently because I unexpectedly needed to move out of my apartment in a hurry. The past few weeks I've been running around trying to find a new apartment, and then moving into said new apartment. I ended up finding a place in Crown Heights with some former college classmates. The apartment is far from ideal, although I really like my  roommies and it's still better than the serious health code violation I escaped from. 

Despite this, I was none too happy to discover this on the ceiling of my new closet:

MOLD

I'm praying this is from an old leak and that management simply never replaced the sheetrock... I'm not really into bringing my work home with me.

Abbrevs R Totes Kool

Saw this ad in the Union Square neighborhood. It's kind of hilarious how the real estate biz keeps reinventing various neighborhoods to make them sound "cool!", "sexy!", "up-and-coming!!" with the  combo nicknames. We've got Dumbo (Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass), BoCoCa (the intersection of Boerum Hill, Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens), and, for any Columbia students out there, NoCo (took me so long to figure this one out.  I'm sorry but there aren't two O's in North Campus!). The other day, one of my Wall Street Bro friends (he hates that description, but it's kinda true so he'll have to deal) invited me to a party in FiDi. I'm like, uhhh what is this FiDi you speak of?? FINANCIAL DISTRICT, DUH! Oh, okay. 

SO embarrassing! How did I not know that??

Anyway, the real estate firm behind the ad pictured above thought that they'd shorten Midtown Manhattan into MiMA. Everybody knows that midtown sucks. Like really, really sucks. I guess the marketers thought "MiMA" would attract more apartment seekers than "unbearably crowded hellhole full of tourists and jerks in business suits". Whatever, same difference.

Apparently the neighborhood rechristenings have gotten so out of control that the gov'ment wants to fine real estate agencies for inventing names sans approval. Lawlz. Gotta love bureaucracy. <3 

Photo credits: http://operationawesome6.blogspot.com/