April 28, 2009
April 26, 2009
300 Warming
Last night, I went to Z's housewarming party at 300 with my co-worker who has been lusting for his 4-bedroom apartment in the building with the rooftop pool. After he gave her the tour and me a glass of wine, she left.
While I am a social Sally, I had a moment of uncertainity because I don't actually KNOW any of his friends and certainly did not want to monopolize his attention at a party of this nature/scale. But before I could panic, he gently moved me over to former co-workers and left me to tend to them as he mingled. They were charming and cheesy and I felt immediately at ease. He came back to check in but I was well on my way to the comfort zone. Before my time with them could come to a halt, one of his friends whom I'd never met but remains a staple of many events he attends approached me, "You must be Mili," she said. I smiled and seamlessly transitioned into another clique for cocktails and conversation.
It never ceases to amaze me that his friends would be people I would be friends with. No I won't friend poach, but these are people who could easily be characterized at the salt of this Earth. Smart, humble, friendly, attractive but not in an intimidating way, and that specific mix of metropolitan that transitions a transplant to a New Yorker. As we talked and drank wine and dusk dimmed into night-time I knew it was important to take my leave. This was not a party I wanted to be the last ex standing at...especially since a more current ex had arrived to duly fulfill the ratio of exes to potential future exes.
He walked me to the door, charming and hospitable as always. I appreciated the ease of his actions. Some people are naturally warm and while I wouldn't say Zayan exudes warmth he is effortless when he is warm. It's all too often that you feel people force warmth, it's ineffectual--you may not be able to put your finger on it, but you will know that something just isn't right. As I stood in his doorway slipping my flip flops back on, his hip shot stance and slight lean in reminded me again of just how many times and in how many ways we had thus parted.
I felt the weight of nostalgia and I was glad. Glad that we have this still--whatever this might actually be because despite being overwhelmingly platonic one mustn't ignore the romanitc underpinnings in whose veil this all began. Glad that we got here, finally. Glad that despite my best efforts to etch him into yesterday; he remains firmly planted in today.
I'm hopeful that tomorrow we will be just as we are today or at least that there will be a tomorrow from which we can look back warmly at today.
While I am a social Sally, I had a moment of uncertainity because I don't actually KNOW any of his friends and certainly did not want to monopolize his attention at a party of this nature/scale. But before I could panic, he gently moved me over to former co-workers and left me to tend to them as he mingled. They were charming and cheesy and I felt immediately at ease. He came back to check in but I was well on my way to the comfort zone. Before my time with them could come to a halt, one of his friends whom I'd never met but remains a staple of many events he attends approached me, "You must be Mili," she said. I smiled and seamlessly transitioned into another clique for cocktails and conversation.
It never ceases to amaze me that his friends would be people I would be friends with. No I won't friend poach, but these are people who could easily be characterized at the salt of this Earth. Smart, humble, friendly, attractive but not in an intimidating way, and that specific mix of metropolitan that transitions a transplant to a New Yorker. As we talked and drank wine and dusk dimmed into night-time I knew it was important to take my leave. This was not a party I wanted to be the last ex standing at...especially since a more current ex had arrived to duly fulfill the ratio of exes to potential future exes.
He walked me to the door, charming and hospitable as always. I appreciated the ease of his actions. Some people are naturally warm and while I wouldn't say Zayan exudes warmth he is effortless when he is warm. It's all too often that you feel people force warmth, it's ineffectual--you may not be able to put your finger on it, but you will know that something just isn't right. As I stood in his doorway slipping my flip flops back on, his hip shot stance and slight lean in reminded me again of just how many times and in how many ways we had thus parted.
I felt the weight of nostalgia and I was glad. Glad that we have this still--whatever this might actually be because despite being overwhelmingly platonic one mustn't ignore the romanitc underpinnings in whose veil this all began. Glad that we got here, finally. Glad that despite my best efforts to etch him into yesterday; he remains firmly planted in today.
I'm hopeful that tomorrow we will be just as we are today or at least that there will be a tomorrow from which we can look back warmly at today.
April 25, 2009
Talk Cry Talk
The thing that I do that I hate the most is that when a boy calls--a boy with the potential of bo-ing bo-ing--I will drop everything. I absolutely LOATHE this aspect of myself and despite many efforts to curb this natural tendency I fail.
Last night was a classic example of why doing said dropping was BAD.
I was at Chelsea Market in the Wine Vault at a tasting with my band of merry co-workers. DRINKING on the company dime--albeit $20pp--when D'Souza texts me to say he's not going to meet up with me afterwards because he's done with work and he might as well go home instead of waiting around.
I race out of the place and lo and behold he is standing right outside waiting for me. I am that predictable. RACING.
We amble around meatpacking aimlessly till he suggests Continental. Who am I to argue with the alco lube? We hop in a cab and jet across Manhattan. The small talk is neither as painful nor as lame as I recall but then again I have learned to set very, very low expectations.
I'm hyper aware of how firm his body is under his perfectly fitted shirt tucked into Euro styled trousers and how minty his breath smells and how dark his skin is against the fresh-pressed white of his shirt and brightness of his eyes. Yeah, it's been almost 3 months people...don't judge ME.
As we exit the cab, I know he needs to eat. It's this weird primal knowledge. I just know. No eat=Puking on the street. So we pop into Tahini--formely Chickpea--he eats what he calls a snack and I refer to as two meals. We stop so he can withdraw cash at the ATM when I run into Yules and Bry...busted.
You see, I have the good sense to keep my ex-habits covert. Running into friends of friends who know the ex as the ex does not help. Not that anyone cares enough about my social life to talk about it, but now the jig is up. But I write it off as entirely worth it as the prospect of ex-sex looms large.
We meander into Continental. Share 10 shots of Jack for $20 in 30 minutes. He keeps looking at his watch. I start to get annoyed. Apparently he has to catch the 9:30pm train to LI. He insists on walking me to the 6 train.
I whine. I stamp my feet. I'm generally annoyed. He relents. We go to Sin Sin.
He orderes me a Jack neat to which I request a splash of diet. He switches to Corona. I assume I'm getting liquored up for a reason. Under the dim lights in the sparsely populated red room we start making out. I mean, where else was this story going?
But then the TWIST. He pulls back and looks me straight in the face, "I need someone to talk to right now. Did you think we were just going to meet up and have sex? Am I just good for that?"
Of course, the statement wrenches my heart. You know I'm a sucker for talk. So we talk. We sit. He talks. We are friends?
After his second beer, he asks me not to get mad because he has to go. He has to catch the 10:30pm train and he has to get back. Something about boys night. Something about not being able to park his car at the station overnight because it will get towed. Something about wanting me but the timing of now being off. Something about tomorrow--today, now--or Sunday or anytime before I head to Berkeley.
But I've stopped listening. It's not happening. I only know that it's not happening. That we are sitting in a bar with low lights, drinking, and making out but we're not going home together.
This time he knows better. He doesn't wait for me to finish or try to walk me anywhere. He closes out his tab and briskly walks out of the bar without a backward glance. Much like a GI Joe programmed to march at a certain speed in a certain direction at a certain time. Mission complete.
I sit another minute. Take a swig of my drink. Leave half of it on the bar undrunk, sigh, and walk out of Sin Sin. No chance of sinning despite my best effort.
As I walk toward Third Avenue, I feel the familiar flutter of rejection and unmet expectation; equal parts loneliness and disappointment co-mingling into a cocktail of self-pity. I start to cry. It's quiet at first: slowed breathing with tears rolling down my cheeks but over time it expands like a balloon of melancholy throbbing and rattling, noisy and unpretty.
I drunk dial V. I drunk dial Z. I cry. I tell them I already regret calling them and I'm sorry about this message but I need them to tell me I'm good at more than listening. I need to believe that talking to me while great is not the single most valuable element of me that keeps them coming back.
Why does everyone want to talk to me so they can figure it out because when I listen it makes more sense? I don't say much. I don't know much. I'm a captive audience. I DO genuinely want it to be alright. I listen--I guess that's the point.
I cry harder. I walk faster. I get sadder. It's the alcohol...mostly. It's the same bad decision. Knowing better doesn't yeild better results. This is the lesson I learn and relearn yet never apply. Theories I get right away, in practice I fail everyday.
I'm crossing action-oriented off my resume, along with problem solver and good decision-making skills.
Last night was a classic example of why doing said dropping was BAD.
I was at Chelsea Market in the Wine Vault at a tasting with my band of merry co-workers. DRINKING on the company dime--albeit $20pp--when D'Souza texts me to say he's not going to meet up with me afterwards because he's done with work and he might as well go home instead of waiting around.
I race out of the place and lo and behold he is standing right outside waiting for me. I am that predictable. RACING.
We amble around meatpacking aimlessly till he suggests Continental. Who am I to argue with the alco lube? We hop in a cab and jet across Manhattan. The small talk is neither as painful nor as lame as I recall but then again I have learned to set very, very low expectations.
I'm hyper aware of how firm his body is under his perfectly fitted shirt tucked into Euro styled trousers and how minty his breath smells and how dark his skin is against the fresh-pressed white of his shirt and brightness of his eyes. Yeah, it's been almost 3 months people...don't judge ME.
As we exit the cab, I know he needs to eat. It's this weird primal knowledge. I just know. No eat=Puking on the street. So we pop into Tahini--formely Chickpea--he eats what he calls a snack and I refer to as two meals. We stop so he can withdraw cash at the ATM when I run into Yules and Bry...busted.
You see, I have the good sense to keep my ex-habits covert. Running into friends of friends who know the ex as the ex does not help. Not that anyone cares enough about my social life to talk about it, but now the jig is up. But I write it off as entirely worth it as the prospect of ex-sex looms large.
We meander into Continental. Share 10 shots of Jack for $20 in 30 minutes. He keeps looking at his watch. I start to get annoyed. Apparently he has to catch the 9:30pm train to LI. He insists on walking me to the 6 train.
I whine. I stamp my feet. I'm generally annoyed. He relents. We go to Sin Sin.
He orderes me a Jack neat to which I request a splash of diet. He switches to Corona. I assume I'm getting liquored up for a reason. Under the dim lights in the sparsely populated red room we start making out. I mean, where else was this story going?
But then the TWIST. He pulls back and looks me straight in the face, "I need someone to talk to right now. Did you think we were just going to meet up and have sex? Am I just good for that?"
Of course, the statement wrenches my heart. You know I'm a sucker for talk. So we talk. We sit. He talks. We are friends?
After his second beer, he asks me not to get mad because he has to go. He has to catch the 10:30pm train and he has to get back. Something about boys night. Something about not being able to park his car at the station overnight because it will get towed. Something about wanting me but the timing of now being off. Something about tomorrow--today, now--or Sunday or anytime before I head to Berkeley.
But I've stopped listening. It's not happening. I only know that it's not happening. That we are sitting in a bar with low lights, drinking, and making out but we're not going home together.
This time he knows better. He doesn't wait for me to finish or try to walk me anywhere. He closes out his tab and briskly walks out of the bar without a backward glance. Much like a GI Joe programmed to march at a certain speed in a certain direction at a certain time. Mission complete.
I sit another minute. Take a swig of my drink. Leave half of it on the bar undrunk, sigh, and walk out of Sin Sin. No chance of sinning despite my best effort.
As I walk toward Third Avenue, I feel the familiar flutter of rejection and unmet expectation; equal parts loneliness and disappointment co-mingling into a cocktail of self-pity. I start to cry. It's quiet at first: slowed breathing with tears rolling down my cheeks but over time it expands like a balloon of melancholy throbbing and rattling, noisy and unpretty.
I drunk dial V. I drunk dial Z. I cry. I tell them I already regret calling them and I'm sorry about this message but I need them to tell me I'm good at more than listening. I need to believe that talking to me while great is not the single most valuable element of me that keeps them coming back.
Why does everyone want to talk to me so they can figure it out because when I listen it makes more sense? I don't say much. I don't know much. I'm a captive audience. I DO genuinely want it to be alright. I listen--I guess that's the point.
I cry harder. I walk faster. I get sadder. It's the alcohol...mostly. It's the same bad decision. Knowing better doesn't yeild better results. This is the lesson I learn and relearn yet never apply. Theories I get right away, in practice I fail everyday.
I'm crossing action-oriented off my resume, along with problem solver and good decision-making skills.
April 24, 2009
Sprung
So gentle readers, it's been some time since I got any. Unlike the average single girl who freely prowls the streets for fresh man meat, I go the other extreme. Celibacy till proven monogamous...
With Spring upon us, it is becoming exceedingly difficult to hold onto morality, though I know my personal CDC will not let me experience new and potentially diseased people so it's that time again to break open the vault. With two out of four exes getting married and one my perpetual platonic savior, that just leaves Lucifer himself as my carnal gratifier. Lord help me.
Forgive me Father for I'm off to sin.
With Spring upon us, it is becoming exceedingly difficult to hold onto morality, though I know my personal CDC will not let me experience new and potentially diseased people so it's that time again to break open the vault. With two out of four exes getting married and one my perpetual platonic savior, that just leaves Lucifer himself as my carnal gratifier. Lord help me.
Forgive me Father for I'm off to sin.
April 23, 2009
Denver Dilemma
So, the unthinkable has occurred.
Alright, that's a wee bit dramatic, but I just learned that The Wright Institute in Berkeley is still accepting MA students for their Couseling program. How I learned of this is not relevant. What is relevant is that I promptly mailed out my application and expect my letters of recommendation to go out tomorrow from the CEO at work (yay test prep), Tracey (my bff and teacher of God's favorite children), and the Director of the CMPS where I'm taking my Into to Modern Psychoanalysis class.
Since I'll be in San Francisco next weekend, I've e-mailed them to see if I can speed up the process and interview out there next Friday if I qualify so I can save on airfare the second time around. Fingers crossed.
So, Denver despite the snow (perhaps due to it) is quickly dropping from my ideal as a very far second to my darling San Francisco. Ah, San Fran-cisco. Real San Franciscans never call it San Fran, you see.
Oh dear. Oh me. Oh my. Do I dare to dream?
Alright, that's a wee bit dramatic, but I just learned that The Wright Institute in Berkeley is still accepting MA students for their Couseling program. How I learned of this is not relevant. What is relevant is that I promptly mailed out my application and expect my letters of recommendation to go out tomorrow from the CEO at work (yay test prep), Tracey (my bff and teacher of God's favorite children), and the Director of the CMPS where I'm taking my Into to Modern Psychoanalysis class.
Since I'll be in San Francisco next weekend, I've e-mailed them to see if I can speed up the process and interview out there next Friday if I qualify so I can save on airfare the second time around. Fingers crossed.
So, Denver despite the snow (perhaps due to it) is quickly dropping from my ideal as a very far second to my darling San Francisco. Ah, San Fran-cisco. Real San Franciscans never call it San Fran, you see.
Oh dear. Oh me. Oh my. Do I dare to dream?
April 22, 2009
The Emperor's New Clothes
Last night, Z and I went to The Film Forum for a screening of Valentino: The Last Emperor. His idea, not mine.
The theater was packed so we sat separately, right aisle seats one row apart. It was that or sitting in the very first row craning our necks back to reduce the effect of being waaaaay too close.
While I appreciated the icnonic fashion in the documentary, it was largely wasted on me. I respected the work and vision invested in each dress, but I still wouldn't pay that kind of money for AN outfit. I reiterate that after seeing all that goes into creating these individual pieces I understand why they do cost what they do, but the entire enterprise is a bit too steeped in frivolty and vanity for me to indulge myself. But who knows if I had a ga-gillion dollars, who knows.
What wasn't wasted on me was the strength and depth of the relationship between Valentino and Giancarlo, V's business manager. They've been together 45 years as friends, lovers, business partners. Two attractive, successful Italian men in fashion beating the odds. There were moments of tension even in the two years of constant camera following it took to make this film but underneath it all there was love, trust, and mutual respect.
As if I needed to be any more in favor of gay marriage, but this movie made me want to run out and marry happy gay couples everywhere.
Z and I grabbed a drink at XR Bar which was so empty that it was much like being in our private living room with a fully stocked bar and requisite bartender on hand. It was so chill--the perfect place to sit on a rainy New York spring-impending day.
For once he beat me to asking what I thought of the movie and this very break from our norm left me tongue-tied. I was still processing the depth and breadth of two people spending 45 years together with only a sum of roughly 2 months in that time apart from one another. I haven't even spent that much time with MYSELF yet. It's still blowing my mind a bit...
The theater was packed so we sat separately, right aisle seats one row apart. It was that or sitting in the very first row craning our necks back to reduce the effect of being waaaaay too close.
While I appreciated the icnonic fashion in the documentary, it was largely wasted on me. I respected the work and vision invested in each dress, but I still wouldn't pay that kind of money for AN outfit. I reiterate that after seeing all that goes into creating these individual pieces I understand why they do cost what they do, but the entire enterprise is a bit too steeped in frivolty and vanity for me to indulge myself. But who knows if I had a ga-gillion dollars, who knows.
What wasn't wasted on me was the strength and depth of the relationship between Valentino and Giancarlo, V's business manager. They've been together 45 years as friends, lovers, business partners. Two attractive, successful Italian men in fashion beating the odds. There were moments of tension even in the two years of constant camera following it took to make this film but underneath it all there was love, trust, and mutual respect.
As if I needed to be any more in favor of gay marriage, but this movie made me want to run out and marry happy gay couples everywhere.
Z and I grabbed a drink at XR Bar which was so empty that it was much like being in our private living room with a fully stocked bar and requisite bartender on hand. It was so chill--the perfect place to sit on a rainy New York spring-impending day.
For once he beat me to asking what I thought of the movie and this very break from our norm left me tongue-tied. I was still processing the depth and breadth of two people spending 45 years together with only a sum of roughly 2 months in that time apart from one another. I haven't even spent that much time with MYSELF yet. It's still blowing my mind a bit...
April 20, 2009
36-hour Crush
I had a crush that lasted 36 hours. I'm usually not so fickle.
Yesterday, a boy who came to my half-birthday party whom I work with, become the object of my first crush of 2009. NO spring fling was had.
Thanks to my Facebook stalking powers, I unearthed a common friend who was Tommy's ex gf who is now married and lives in Florida. She informed me that he was as genuinely sweet, smart, and good as he seemed. She also insisted he was straight and single.
Shortly after he sublte probe she reported that he had recently begun seeing someone. Now, I'm convinced this was a very gentle manner of handling disinterest...not entirely certain if it was his idea or hers to couch it in these terms but even if it is not the case it really doesn't matter.
My crush crushed me in record time.
Wow, the shelf life of a crush has been dramatically reduced since the last time I did this crushing thing. WAIL.
Yesterday, a boy who came to my half-birthday party whom I work with, become the object of my first crush of 2009. NO spring fling was had.
Thanks to my Facebook stalking powers, I unearthed a common friend who was Tommy's ex gf who is now married and lives in Florida. She informed me that he was as genuinely sweet, smart, and good as he seemed. She also insisted he was straight and single.
Shortly after he sublte probe she reported that he had recently begun seeing someone. Now, I'm convinced this was a very gentle manner of handling disinterest...not entirely certain if it was his idea or hers to couch it in these terms but even if it is not the case it really doesn't matter.
My crush crushed me in record time.
Wow, the shelf life of a crush has been dramatically reduced since the last time I did this crushing thing. WAIL.
April 19, 2009
How I Spent My Half Birthday!
9:30am Woke up earlier than planned sans blaring alarm.
10:55am Began walking Luckey across town to 1047 Amsterdam Avenue.
11:41am Arrived at The Cathedral of St. John the Divine with Luckey. Stuffed him into oversized handbag.
12:04pm Jo, Will, Luckey and I went on an architecturally amazing tour of the biggest cathedral in the United States. We went up the north side stairs--the equivalent of 12 flights of stairs: a dark, winding, spiral of stone.
124 feet high and 601 feet long. Pictures to follow.
1:15pm To our sadness the tour ended but not without mad camera snapping by Will and Jo--Luckey and I were happy to be targets!
2:30pm After Jo scored a Hungarian pastry from the Hungarian Pastry Shop across the street, we sat for a while in the garden beside the church and people watched.
2:45pm Will stopped in his apartment to pick up his Talk to Me sign and we headed up to the Columbia campus to sit on portable seats in the hopes that people would talk to us.
3:30pm A rousing game of Who will more people talk to? ended. Jo & I vs. Will & Jason--the girls won of course but the guys had longer, arguably more interesting, conversations. Jo and I hopped the 1 train to Chelsea to check out art.
4:15pm We arrived at the Paula Cooper Gallery on W. 21st Street to view Sophie Calle's exhibit entitled Take Care of Yourself. Her quest for closure from a bad break up led to her asking 107 specific women to interpret/perform the break-up e-mail. I especially liked that the letter was signed X!
4:45pm Failed to hail a cab on 9th Avenue despite our best efforts. Boo!
5:35pm Arrived very late to my own half-birthday party only to be told that the bar I had chosen for BEING dog friendly was in fact NOT. Frazzled dash down the block revealed Hop Devil--a bar previously visited with Indra post dirty laundry reading in late March. Yay!
6:00pm Finally relaxed after sending mass texts to everyone I had invited to ensure they were aware where the had moved so they and their dogs could come through.
11:45pm After many, many Jack & Diets as well as random birthday shots, Luckey and I crawled homeward.
Amazing weather. Great friends. No food all day. Loads of drinking. All of this made the walk from A to Astor feel like a 2 minute endeavor even with a bagful of puppy--
10:55am Began walking Luckey across town to 1047 Amsterdam Avenue.
11:41am Arrived at The Cathedral of St. John the Divine with Luckey. Stuffed him into oversized handbag.
12:04pm Jo, Will, Luckey and I went on an architecturally amazing tour of the biggest cathedral in the United States. We went up the north side stairs--the equivalent of 12 flights of stairs: a dark, winding, spiral of stone.
124 feet high and 601 feet long. Pictures to follow.
1:15pm To our sadness the tour ended but not without mad camera snapping by Will and Jo--Luckey and I were happy to be targets!
2:30pm After Jo scored a Hungarian pastry from the Hungarian Pastry Shop across the street, we sat for a while in the garden beside the church and people watched.
2:45pm Will stopped in his apartment to pick up his Talk to Me sign and we headed up to the Columbia campus to sit on portable seats in the hopes that people would talk to us.
3:30pm A rousing game of Who will more people talk to? ended. Jo & I vs. Will & Jason--the girls won of course but the guys had longer, arguably more interesting, conversations. Jo and I hopped the 1 train to Chelsea to check out art.
4:15pm We arrived at the Paula Cooper Gallery on W. 21st Street to view Sophie Calle's exhibit entitled Take Care of Yourself. Her quest for closure from a bad break up led to her asking 107 specific women to interpret/perform the break-up e-mail. I especially liked that the letter was signed X!
4:45pm Failed to hail a cab on 9th Avenue despite our best efforts. Boo!
5:35pm Arrived very late to my own half-birthday party only to be told that the bar I had chosen for BEING dog friendly was in fact NOT. Frazzled dash down the block revealed Hop Devil--a bar previously visited with Indra post dirty laundry reading in late March. Yay!
6:00pm Finally relaxed after sending mass texts to everyone I had invited to ensure they were aware where the had moved so they and their dogs could come through.
11:45pm After many, many Jack & Diets as well as random birthday shots, Luckey and I crawled homeward.
Amazing weather. Great friends. No food all day. Loads of drinking. All of this made the walk from A to Astor feel like a 2 minute endeavor even with a bagful of puppy--
April 17, 2009
Mean People Suck
Alright, so after the skirt incident earlier this week I figured NYC had given me the finger enough for me to be safe till next week...but NO.
Post arty party free booze hop with Zayan, we snarfed down some food at Don Giovannni's on 10th Avenue and I insisted we go to Shake Shack since he'd never been there and it was only 9pm on a fabulous Friday evening. Of course, we pass a Mister Softee truck and he can't resist so when we get to the obscene line neither of us wants to stand it despite the possibility of more drinking--so we wrap our legs around the narrow wooden bench on the outskirts of Shake Shack territory facing Seward standing guard of the southwestern edge of Madison Square Park.
As we look out, there is a gaggle of men standing around chatting animatedly. He dares me to find out who they are...my curiosity didn't require a dare but never one to back down from a challenge I swagger over and inquire with first one then another and finally a third group within the larger group of guys asking politely what the hub hub was about.
The first mini group insists that I guess...I come up with speed dating? They don't seem offended but they don't give me an answer and pawn me off to group two. Now being a sorority girl I get how rush works, so I quickly grow weary of the buck being passed in an evaulative context and hearing a range of explanations from we're here to rob a bank on Park Ave. to we're scientologists and finally we're an avator meetup who all adore Britney Spears.
As I walk away I can't shake the playground feeling of utter defeat and mass rejection, I start to cry. Violently--I've said this before, I am not beautiful when I cry--it's actually pretty ugly...I wail and my invisible ribs rattle. Poor Z. A fun errand has managed to sour itself passed the point of redemption.
I'm inconsolable. I kept repeating, "They were just so mean to me. I don't understand why they were so mean to me. No one would tell me." Finally, he just wraps his gangly arms around me and I whimper hopelessly into his puffy vest. It's that moment when words fail and only the simple action of holding someone will suffice--I was held and it sufficed. Once I got over the outburst, I relayed the utter dejection of not unearthing why they were thus gathered.
One of them--the lone Indian, who was passably gay--told me I looked like his aunt. HURTFUL. Another one asked of Z was my bf. A third queried if I thought they were all gay if it would be acceptable for one of them to hit on me. A fourth told me to send Z over instead of trying to figure it out myself. It was a classic and very real case of othering. Not that I haven't experienced being an "other" in a primary group but there was something vicious about the covert way this seemed to play out.
Z's guess was that they were gamers. Which I took to mean boys with poor social skills who play video games, but what he meant were d-bags who subscribe to THE GAME--that awful book that teaches men to get women--
I wanted to believe this because it would have comforted me greatly, but if this was true why were the being mean to THE ONE girl that approached the enormity of their group gathered in a public space. Wasn't that the point?
Z pointed out that they might have been "negging" me. Apparently a method of back handed complimenting that breeds insecurity in the party being "complimented" but sustains their interest. I have to tell you it sustained nothing. The very real playground metaphor was NOT lost on me but didn't keep me from crying any less when I got back to my friend on the bench. WAIL.
Post arty party free booze hop with Zayan, we snarfed down some food at Don Giovannni's on 10th Avenue and I insisted we go to Shake Shack since he'd never been there and it was only 9pm on a fabulous Friday evening. Of course, we pass a Mister Softee truck and he can't resist so when we get to the obscene line neither of us wants to stand it despite the possibility of more drinking--so we wrap our legs around the narrow wooden bench on the outskirts of Shake Shack territory facing Seward standing guard of the southwestern edge of Madison Square Park.
As we look out, there is a gaggle of men standing around chatting animatedly. He dares me to find out who they are...my curiosity didn't require a dare but never one to back down from a challenge I swagger over and inquire with first one then another and finally a third group within the larger group of guys asking politely what the hub hub was about.
The first mini group insists that I guess...I come up with speed dating? They don't seem offended but they don't give me an answer and pawn me off to group two. Now being a sorority girl I get how rush works, so I quickly grow weary of the buck being passed in an evaulative context and hearing a range of explanations from we're here to rob a bank on Park Ave. to we're scientologists and finally we're an avator meetup who all adore Britney Spears.
As I walk away I can't shake the playground feeling of utter defeat and mass rejection, I start to cry. Violently--I've said this before, I am not beautiful when I cry--it's actually pretty ugly...I wail and my invisible ribs rattle. Poor Z. A fun errand has managed to sour itself passed the point of redemption.
I'm inconsolable. I kept repeating, "They were just so mean to me. I don't understand why they were so mean to me. No one would tell me." Finally, he just wraps his gangly arms around me and I whimper hopelessly into his puffy vest. It's that moment when words fail and only the simple action of holding someone will suffice--I was held and it sufficed. Once I got over the outburst, I relayed the utter dejection of not unearthing why they were thus gathered.
One of them--the lone Indian, who was passably gay--told me I looked like his aunt. HURTFUL. Another one asked of Z was my bf. A third queried if I thought they were all gay if it would be acceptable for one of them to hit on me. A fourth told me to send Z over instead of trying to figure it out myself. It was a classic and very real case of othering. Not that I haven't experienced being an "other" in a primary group but there was something vicious about the covert way this seemed to play out.
Z's guess was that they were gamers. Which I took to mean boys with poor social skills who play video games, but what he meant were d-bags who subscribe to THE GAME--that awful book that teaches men to get women--
I wanted to believe this because it would have comforted me greatly, but if this was true why were the being mean to THE ONE girl that approached the enormity of their group gathered in a public space. Wasn't that the point?
Z pointed out that they might have been "negging" me. Apparently a method of back handed complimenting that breeds insecurity in the party being "complimented" but sustains their interest. I have to tell you it sustained nothing. The very real playground metaphor was NOT lost on me but didn't keep me from crying any less when I got back to my friend on the bench. WAIL.
Tea & Sympathy
Last night, I was met the tea girls at Tea & Sympathy for a field trip of sorts. So much of tea is about consistency and constancy so this deviation led to unexpected break-throughs.
Kelli was absent due to school stress and future husband b'day celebrations.
Karen lamented her inevitable move to London--despite her newly discovered love for toffee pudding.
Stella forgot her "What do I want out of this relationship?" flowchart, so Jo make her one on scratch paper.
Jo tried to temper her excitement for an upcoming first date, three weeks in the making, by discovering that it was truly beginnings that were magical and less this guy/this time/this way.
Lauren expressed fear at her mother overpowering her bridal desires by altering THE dress to her dissatisfaction. She also insisted that all this triathalon training while great for the shape of one's body wasn't so terrific for one's drive--exhausting laborious nonsense--
They, en mass, objected to my Denver announcement. I suppose it was more an open discussion of the subtext that had been floating around for some time. But I went official on Denver...and once you go official at tea there's no real going back.
Late it was when I arrived home, but I passed out after watching my DVR-ed episode of Bones only to awaken this morning to a text from a colleague which read:
"Best line in this Tivo-ed episode of Grey's, 'I'm going to Denver.' Made me think of you."
So, I guess the countdown begins NOW...
105 days to Denver!
Kelli was absent due to school stress and future husband b'day celebrations.
Karen lamented her inevitable move to London--despite her newly discovered love for toffee pudding.
Stella forgot her "What do I want out of this relationship?" flowchart, so Jo make her one on scratch paper.
Jo tried to temper her excitement for an upcoming first date, three weeks in the making, by discovering that it was truly beginnings that were magical and less this guy/this time/this way.
Lauren expressed fear at her mother overpowering her bridal desires by altering THE dress to her dissatisfaction. She also insisted that all this triathalon training while great for the shape of one's body wasn't so terrific for one's drive--exhausting laborious nonsense--
They, en mass, objected to my Denver announcement. I suppose it was more an open discussion of the subtext that had been floating around for some time. But I went official on Denver...and once you go official at tea there's no real going back.
Late it was when I arrived home, but I passed out after watching my DVR-ed episode of Bones only to awaken this morning to a text from a colleague which read:
"Best line in this Tivo-ed episode of Grey's, 'I'm going to Denver.' Made me think of you."
So, I guess the countdown begins NOW...
105 days to Denver!
April 15, 2009
Wardrobe Malfunction
So, I was racing off the crosstown at 23rd Street in a long flowing skirt I bought in India circa 2003. This was my first time wearing it this season/year.
A sunny day which should have meant I'd worn my shades and forgone the umbrella but the reverse was the reality. Of course, I was late for work, rushing per usual.
A woman steps on my skirt tearing it all the way up to right where my ass ends (or begins depending on how you define that) and then YELLS at ME for being in her way. That's right, she yelled at ME.
I had to tie my leather jacket around my waist circa high school fashion in 1993 and run to the nearest store (TJMaxx) to buy an emergency skirt before getting to work. Predictably at the store, I had to try on things and depressingly the things that looked good were triple-digit-priced and the cheap stuff didn't fit or worse looked like I'd shopped in someone's grandmother's closet--my own Amma only has saris in her wardrobe.
Finally I found one for $14.99, stood in a 12 person line to buy it then a 4 person line to wear it out of the store. Got to work 1.5 hours late. Which is significant since I'm only here 5 hours today.
I was very very grateful for having granny panties on such a day. Unplanned but at least prepared...though the lycra skirt I bought now has the most ridiculous pantylines that make me look totally B&T, so the price I'm paying remains high.
Damn NYC!
A sunny day which should have meant I'd worn my shades and forgone the umbrella but the reverse was the reality. Of course, I was late for work, rushing per usual.
A woman steps on my skirt tearing it all the way up to right where my ass ends (or begins depending on how you define that) and then YELLS at ME for being in her way. That's right, she yelled at ME.
I had to tie my leather jacket around my waist circa high school fashion in 1993 and run to the nearest store (TJMaxx) to buy an emergency skirt before getting to work. Predictably at the store, I had to try on things and depressingly the things that looked good were triple-digit-priced and the cheap stuff didn't fit or worse looked like I'd shopped in someone's grandmother's closet--my own Amma only has saris in her wardrobe.
Finally I found one for $14.99, stood in a 12 person line to buy it then a 4 person line to wear it out of the store. Got to work 1.5 hours late. Which is significant since I'm only here 5 hours today.
I was very very grateful for having granny panties on such a day. Unplanned but at least prepared...though the lycra skirt I bought now has the most ridiculous pantylines that make me look totally B&T, so the price I'm paying remains high.
Damn NYC!
April 13, 2009
Springtime
The sun is shining today.
It's still chilly, but the brightness of day is overwhelming.
It's been a very good day so far.
As I was leaving the apartment, a spot directly outside the steps was available. I raced over to Judy on E. 104 and moved her in time to secure this dream spot. Now she won't have to be moved till I decide I want to go to NJ or some other driving requiring location off the Isle of Joy.
Next, I managed to borrow $30 from a colleague so my credit card bill payment doesn't bounce. Yeah, my budgeting skills are at an all time high. I thought auto pay was my savior when really it's totally killing me by adding a series of dates I have to remember.
Finally, we have our monthly meeting this evening so I will be dining on some FREE Patsy's Pizza. Free good. Food better.
When I get off at 10pm, I'll be grateful it's not raining and skip home to watch Gossip Girl on the DVR.
Tomorrow I head up to Columbia Presbyterian for a fMRI study which will pay me $100 to lie still and NOT be claustrophobic. Teehee.
Then I'll head down to John Jay to participate in a jury research study which will pay me $30 and discuss my bent on the death penalty.
NYC is the supplemental income capital of the universe.
It's still chilly, but the brightness of day is overwhelming.
It's been a very good day so far.
As I was leaving the apartment, a spot directly outside the steps was available. I raced over to Judy on E. 104 and moved her in time to secure this dream spot. Now she won't have to be moved till I decide I want to go to NJ or some other driving requiring location off the Isle of Joy.
Next, I managed to borrow $30 from a colleague so my credit card bill payment doesn't bounce. Yeah, my budgeting skills are at an all time high. I thought auto pay was my savior when really it's totally killing me by adding a series of dates I have to remember.
Finally, we have our monthly meeting this evening so I will be dining on some FREE Patsy's Pizza. Free good. Food better.
When I get off at 10pm, I'll be grateful it's not raining and skip home to watch Gossip Girl on the DVR.
Tomorrow I head up to Columbia Presbyterian for a fMRI study which will pay me $100 to lie still and NOT be claustrophobic. Teehee.
Then I'll head down to John Jay to participate in a jury research study which will pay me $30 and discuss my bent on the death penalty.
NYC is the supplemental income capital of the universe.
Useful for Southwest Fliers
I'm not in the habit of being particularly useful in my blog entries, but today I'm inspired to share some information that might make your life easier if you ever find yourself flying out of Islip's MacArthur Airport on Long Island. The likelihood of this is less than slim now that Southwest is beginning service out of LaGuardia Airport this June.
If you drive you can park for FREE:
Ronkonkoma (the closest LIRR station) to Islip airport. No restrictions and no fees.
If you take the LIRR, you can board at Jamaica in Queens, Flatbush Ave. in Brooklyn or Penn Station in Manhattan to get to Ronkonkoma.
From Ronkonkoma station you have the option of taking a cab to the airport
OR
Colonial Transportation of Long Island offers convenient shuttle service between MacArthur Airport and the Ronkonkoma train station (LIRR). The shuttle van departs the train station daily at 5:30am, then departs the airport on the hour and half-hour from 6:00am until 10:30pm. Curbside pick up at the airport is directly in front of baggage claim. The shuttle will pick up and drop off at the North Platform of the Ronkonkoma train station. The one-way fare is $5.00 per person. Cash and credit cards are accepted. All rates are subject to change without notice.
Cheaper still is the local bus:
The Suffolk County Bus Transit also offers hourly service to and from MacArthur Airport to the train station with the S-57 Bus except Sundays. The fare is $1.50. The bus only runs once an hour, so make sure to schedule appropriately.
If you drive you can park for FREE:
Ronkonkoma (the closest LIRR station) to Islip airport. No restrictions and no fees.
If you take the LIRR, you can board at Jamaica in Queens, Flatbush Ave. in Brooklyn or Penn Station in Manhattan to get to Ronkonkoma.
From Ronkonkoma station you have the option of taking a cab to the airport
OR
Colonial Transportation of Long Island offers convenient shuttle service between MacArthur Airport and the Ronkonkoma train station (LIRR). The shuttle van departs the train station daily at 5:30am, then departs the airport on the hour and half-hour from 6:00am until 10:30pm. Curbside pick up at the airport is directly in front of baggage claim. The shuttle will pick up and drop off at the North Platform of the Ronkonkoma train station. The one-way fare is $5.00 per person. Cash and credit cards are accepted. All rates are subject to change without notice.
Cheaper still is the local bus:
The Suffolk County Bus Transit also offers hourly service to and from MacArthur Airport to the train station with the S-57 Bus except Sundays. The fare is $1.50. The bus only runs once an hour, so make sure to schedule appropriately.
April 6, 2009
1 Bachelorette Down, 2 to go
Saturday night was Lauren's bachelorette party. I spent the day racing.
11:40am Woke up too late and learned my car wouldn't start.
Dubiously approached the man in the Subaru, thankfully he had jumper cables, for a jump. His battery was in the trunk--weird--it's not a sports car. His wife came along with two children and did a better job walking us through the process than he managed on his own. Turns out they live in my building, a fact that she knew and I didn't. I felt guilt mingling with gratitude.
1:15pm Stopped at Party City in Wayne, NJ, to discover the plentitude of bachelorette party paraphenelia. Who knew? Got the "Tying the Knot, Buy me a Shot!" pink plastic shotglass ring, a party game, a banner, nametags that read "Girlfriend of the Bachelorette" and a sash for Lauren.
1:30pm Made it to the Lakehouse with Luckey.
2:00pm Yuki Sushi with Mom & Mr. Mom.
3:00pm Groceries. Gas. Purchased jumper cables of my very own.
5:00pm Headed back to the City.
6:00pm Cursed traffic whilst waiting to get on the GWB.
6:45pm Got home. Put away groceries. Parked car. Changed hurriedly and headed to Mandee, the MOH's, lovely apartment on gratefully E. 86th.
7:30pm Waited for Lauren to arrive. Jo had gone to the Slope to collect her.
8:30pm Played party games like "How well do you know your fiancee" and "DRINK NOW!"--alright so the latter is less a game and more a chant.
10:00pm We headed over to Arlene's Grocery for some live music.
11:00pm I was trashed and went home.
12:00am I returned to Arelene's after some prompting from Z who was in the 'hood and recommended I make the best of a bachelorette situation.
1:00am We headed from Arlene's to SkinNY. Gotta love the LES. Insane number of photos were snapped--mostly by me but some by Jo as well. Girls started to dwindle. Mandee purchased 2-3 bottled of champagne for many rounds of toasting to the health and happiness of the bride-to-be.
3:00am The night of revelry came to a close. Jo and I walked slowly but speculatively towards the 6 at Bleecker whence I hopped my train and she kept heading West.
I have two more of these nights ahead of me in the next three months. Assuming Karen has her big event on this side of the pond...she's headed to London mid-July to start her life with husband there. Eventually they hope to return or at least hop over to France. Ah, change!
11:40am Woke up too late and learned my car wouldn't start.
Dubiously approached the man in the Subaru, thankfully he had jumper cables, for a jump. His battery was in the trunk--weird--it's not a sports car. His wife came along with two children and did a better job walking us through the process than he managed on his own. Turns out they live in my building, a fact that she knew and I didn't. I felt guilt mingling with gratitude.
1:15pm Stopped at Party City in Wayne, NJ, to discover the plentitude of bachelorette party paraphenelia. Who knew? Got the "Tying the Knot, Buy me a Shot!" pink plastic shotglass ring, a party game, a banner, nametags that read "Girlfriend of the Bachelorette" and a sash for Lauren.
1:30pm Made it to the Lakehouse with Luckey.
2:00pm Yuki Sushi with Mom & Mr. Mom.
3:00pm Groceries. Gas. Purchased jumper cables of my very own.
5:00pm Headed back to the City.
6:00pm Cursed traffic whilst waiting to get on the GWB.
6:45pm Got home. Put away groceries. Parked car. Changed hurriedly and headed to Mandee, the MOH's, lovely apartment on gratefully E. 86th.
7:30pm Waited for Lauren to arrive. Jo had gone to the Slope to collect her.
8:30pm Played party games like "How well do you know your fiancee" and "DRINK NOW!"--alright so the latter is less a game and more a chant.
10:00pm We headed over to Arlene's Grocery for some live music.
11:00pm I was trashed and went home.
12:00am I returned to Arelene's after some prompting from Z who was in the 'hood and recommended I make the best of a bachelorette situation.
1:00am We headed from Arlene's to SkinNY. Gotta love the LES. Insane number of photos were snapped--mostly by me but some by Jo as well. Girls started to dwindle. Mandee purchased 2-3 bottled of champagne for many rounds of toasting to the health and happiness of the bride-to-be.
3:00am The night of revelry came to a close. Jo and I walked slowly but speculatively towards the 6 at Bleecker whence I hopped my train and she kept heading West.
I have two more of these nights ahead of me in the next three months. Assuming Karen has her big event on this side of the pond...she's headed to London mid-July to start her life with husband there. Eventually they hope to return or at least hop over to France. Ah, change!
San Francisco
Li Chen, my dear man, is turning the mighty 29 on May 2, 2009.
He e-mailed me this afternoon at 2:17pm
"Hey! So I was talking to Special K Friday night. She has a free tix on Southwest that expires at the end of May. She was going to sell it to her coworker for $50, so I told her I'll buy it from her and you can use it to fly out to San Fran. BUT Southwest doesn't fly into New York. The closest airport is at Islip, which is about halfway down Long Island."
After a few rapid fire e-mails back and forth at 3:45pm, a ticketless confirmation from Southwest Airlines informing me of my departure from Islip at 10am on April 30 and return on May 4 at 5:30pm fluttered into my inbox. Special K made this happen thanks for Li's brilliance and generosity.
There are moments when I contemplate where I went wrong since graduating in 2002, this is NOT one of those moments.
There are moments when I wonder if I invest too heavily in my interpersonal relationships in lieu of focusing on a stable future. This is not oen of those moments either.
Yay Friends. Yay Travel. Yay Birthdays. Yay for getting older, wiser, and still having the freedom to do what you want when you want.
He e-mailed me this afternoon at 2:17pm
"Hey! So I was talking to Special K Friday night. She has a free tix on Southwest that expires at the end of May. She was going to sell it to her coworker for $50, so I told her I'll buy it from her and you can use it to fly out to San Fran. BUT Southwest doesn't fly into New York. The closest airport is at Islip, which is about halfway down Long Island."
After a few rapid fire e-mails back and forth at 3:45pm, a ticketless confirmation from Southwest Airlines informing me of my departure from Islip at 10am on April 30 and return on May 4 at 5:30pm fluttered into my inbox. Special K made this happen thanks for Li's brilliance and generosity.
There are moments when I contemplate where I went wrong since graduating in 2002, this is NOT one of those moments.
There are moments when I wonder if I invest too heavily in my interpersonal relationships in lieu of focusing on a stable future. This is not oen of those moments either.
Yay Friends. Yay Travel. Yay Birthdays. Yay for getting older, wiser, and still having the freedom to do what you want when you want.
April 4, 2009
Penthouse
I just got home from a strip club.
Yes, the kind with naked girls. Well, girls in thongs....g-strings, whatever the popular vernacular. I'm listening to Steve Miller Band's The Joker on my computer as I type this post. I'm kinda in love with this jam. Late in the game, but that applies to my first time at a strip club too.
So, Ram got Tommy, Reba, and I to head over to W. 45th by the West Side Highway into the Penthouse Executive Club. Quality entertainment! We managed to skip the $30 cover for $21 crab cakes and $19 Jack on the Rocks in my case. Ram bought me a lap dance and he bought Reba multiple lap dances. Good times abounded.
I ended up talking to my girl which really kept her from shaking her tits in my face. I was curious where she got her shoes, whether her boobs were fake, and if she had a life outside stripping (she didn't). She's from Philly. Her fake name was Vanna--yeah, I picked the one black girl in the whole joint cuz her fake tits were the biggest available for $20.
Reba's girls, Hayden, originally from Seattle or so she told Tommy, did a much better job but Reba also was more interested in touching her real breasts than inquiring where she got those plastic, 5-inch heels I wanted to try on. While I may be a good therapist someday I'm an absolute disaster at the strip club. Sorry, Ram.
This Friday night took an especially unexpected turn from free beer at Slane thanks to Meet Now Live, $5 cosmos at 99 Below, and pool/darts with some B&T boys at Pinch to Penthouse with Tommy and Ram.
God, I will miss NYC when I eventually get to Denver!
Yes, the kind with naked girls. Well, girls in thongs....g-strings, whatever the popular vernacular. I'm listening to Steve Miller Band's The Joker on my computer as I type this post. I'm kinda in love with this jam. Late in the game, but that applies to my first time at a strip club too.
So, Ram got Tommy, Reba, and I to head over to W. 45th by the West Side Highway into the Penthouse Executive Club. Quality entertainment! We managed to skip the $30 cover for $21 crab cakes and $19 Jack on the Rocks in my case. Ram bought me a lap dance and he bought Reba multiple lap dances. Good times abounded.
I ended up talking to my girl which really kept her from shaking her tits in my face. I was curious where she got her shoes, whether her boobs were fake, and if she had a life outside stripping (she didn't). She's from Philly. Her fake name was Vanna--yeah, I picked the one black girl in the whole joint cuz her fake tits were the biggest available for $20.
Reba's girls, Hayden, originally from Seattle or so she told Tommy, did a much better job but Reba also was more interested in touching her real breasts than inquiring where she got those plastic, 5-inch heels I wanted to try on. While I may be a good therapist someday I'm an absolute disaster at the strip club. Sorry, Ram.
This Friday night took an especially unexpected turn from free beer at Slane thanks to Meet Now Live, $5 cosmos at 99 Below, and pool/darts with some B&T boys at Pinch to Penthouse with Tommy and Ram.
God, I will miss NYC when I eventually get to Denver!
April 3, 2009
300
Early in the evening, I had my Introduction to Modern Psychoanalysis class at the Center for Modern Psychoanalysis. As I disembarked the 6 train at Astor Place as I have over 1000 times in the last 7 years, I felt hope. Seemingly the first time in recent memory, I looked up. I popped into the Starbucks full of NYU students, bought myself a coffee frappuccino and skipped down 8th Street. It was really the weather that brought on this unprecendented random euphoria but it was long overdue.
After class, Z collected me for our weeky culture club--2 members does a club make. A rail of a man, hunched at the shoulders, salt creeping into his peppery hair in fitted Diesel jeans--his lankiness ever more apparent and eternally unapologetic--head bent, eyes focused on a piece of newsprint, awaiting me. A smile crept onto my face thinking of the hundreds of times I had met him thus in varying contexts with varying degrees of apprehension and enthusiasm coloring my consciousness. Time changes even as you stand still.
As we walked and talked, I was impressed as I always am at the ease in which converstaion flows between us. The lack of explanation should mean we run out of things to say, and sometimes we sit in silence, but it's never uncomfortable. I'm notorious for filling silences with sound but for some reason it's unnecessary with him. In the here and now, the effortlessness is what's most palpable and desired. Suddenly I'm overcome with grattitude for everything that's come before that has made what's here now possible, perhaps even made it more meaningful.
I'm animated and he's interested. I wobble in my heels and he laughs--it is funny but it's also comforting because I know he'll catch me before I hit pavement. He's not one for pep talks yet it's him I turn to in the darker hours because he won't coddle me. He won't lie to protect my fragility but he won't push till there's a crack in my humanity--a fine line, foreign to most.
I was raised in praise. One of those homes where the good got manigified and the bad brushed under the rug. So as I grew, I became weary of criticism and weak in handling it constructively. I think most only children come from similar situations and maybe it is that element that unites us in our quest to keep it real.
So the real point of this post is his glorious new abode overlooking the cube at Astor Place. 1800 luxurious square feet of hardwood flooring with ample closet space, 2.5 bathrooms, 4 bedrooms, 2 balconies--one of which is actually off his bedroom--, a laundry room which is larger than most NYU singles, and a quality kitchen with requisite black granite counters. The doorman building apparently has a pool on the roof and a gym somewhere within its winding hallways.
In all of this, the thing that resonates most in his happiness is humility. I would say that in many ways that is Z's most endearing quality. You would expect a certain swagger from a man who has accomplished what he has, but all you get is an unassuming demeanor, a book or newspaper in hand, and the sense that if we lived in a different time he'd have a hanky in his breast pocket.
After class, Z collected me for our weeky culture club--2 members does a club make. A rail of a man, hunched at the shoulders, salt creeping into his peppery hair in fitted Diesel jeans--his lankiness ever more apparent and eternally unapologetic--head bent, eyes focused on a piece of newsprint, awaiting me. A smile crept onto my face thinking of the hundreds of times I had met him thus in varying contexts with varying degrees of apprehension and enthusiasm coloring my consciousness. Time changes even as you stand still.
As we walked and talked, I was impressed as I always am at the ease in which converstaion flows between us. The lack of explanation should mean we run out of things to say, and sometimes we sit in silence, but it's never uncomfortable. I'm notorious for filling silences with sound but for some reason it's unnecessary with him. In the here and now, the effortlessness is what's most palpable and desired. Suddenly I'm overcome with grattitude for everything that's come before that has made what's here now possible, perhaps even made it more meaningful.
I'm animated and he's interested. I wobble in my heels and he laughs--it is funny but it's also comforting because I know he'll catch me before I hit pavement. He's not one for pep talks yet it's him I turn to in the darker hours because he won't coddle me. He won't lie to protect my fragility but he won't push till there's a crack in my humanity--a fine line, foreign to most.
I was raised in praise. One of those homes where the good got manigified and the bad brushed under the rug. So as I grew, I became weary of criticism and weak in handling it constructively. I think most only children come from similar situations and maybe it is that element that unites us in our quest to keep it real.
So the real point of this post is his glorious new abode overlooking the cube at Astor Place. 1800 luxurious square feet of hardwood flooring with ample closet space, 2.5 bathrooms, 4 bedrooms, 2 balconies--one of which is actually off his bedroom--, a laundry room which is larger than most NYU singles, and a quality kitchen with requisite black granite counters. The doorman building apparently has a pool on the roof and a gym somewhere within its winding hallways.
In all of this, the thing that resonates most in his happiness is humility. I would say that in many ways that is Z's most endearing quality. You would expect a certain swagger from a man who has accomplished what he has, but all you get is an unassuming demeanor, a book or newspaper in hand, and the sense that if we lived in a different time he'd have a hanky in his breast pocket.
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