I Spy

Walking to work at 8:55am I saw these insane sunflowers in the little pedesterian mall in front of the Flatiron building. They provide FREE WiFi.

Z had mentioned them to me last night at Apotheke but DAMN! these massive, plastic flowers are crazy--creating a weird Disney effect.

Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine.

We were born to make manifest the glory that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

~Mariane Williamson

Q

In Hindi Q--the way we pronounce it in English--means Why?

So I find it appropriate that Q who manages a bar in Gramercy and plays pool with the dexterity of a con artist should only begin what is becoming an ongoing questioning of my senses about WHY I waste my time on boys who appear to be men.

Q looks remarkably like Z but a bit older and none the wiser. He has a hooked nose and hollow cheeks with hair that's seen more pomade than a runway show in Milan. He grew up in Singapore, Britian, and the islands so his accent is a true melange of those things. It gives one the impression that he is a lot smarter or at least a great deal more educated than he actually is. I don't doubt his intelligence or worldliness but the accent is deceptive in what it suggests.

I should have known not to waste my time on him after our first meeting on Sunday at the bar where he works where he was playing pool in his spare time. We split a bottle of cheap white wine on his insistence. His Jack Black-looking, married friend came onto me strongly to the point that he followed me out of the bar. The rest of the regulars were perfectly quaint in a modern Cheers-in-NYC-centered-around-pool way.

He went the way of Forbes in the immediacy and redundancy of lewd commentary. Things (as should now be predictable) went from polite to phallic in a matter of hours and while I'm not a prude per se, I still lean to the conservative in my pre-biblical interactions with men.

As he got drunker and more vocal about my attributes and his appreciation of them, I took my leave. He began texting me almost immediately afterwards including epithets like "fucking Indian wine" and "cheap Indian ass". Apparently he was under the impression that a $13 bottle of wine he split with me entitled him to actual ass. I mean, I realize there is a recession going on, but SERIOUSLY?!

So I kept it classy but stopped the textervation as soon as he got nasty.

Surprise of all surprises, once he sobered up the next day he made his apologies and led me to re-evaluate my decision with a simply worded, "Please forgive this drunken idiot! I promise I'll be better behaved if you give me another chance."

Against common sense, I agreed. We met up in Union Square at 10pm on Tuesday. NO drinks. No plans. We sat a few feet away from a few bums who appeared to be either drugged up or desperately in need of psychotropic drugs they weren't getting--at least not in the appropriate doses.

An hour of boredom later, during which time he felt the need to drop a few dozen "we" statements as well as attempt to plan our future couple-dom together, he walked me to the subway and pecked me twice on the mouth. It was very similar to what I imagine a flamingo kissing a turkey would be like. Yes, I've acknowledged that I am a TURKEY.

We had laid plans to meet the next day for an outdoor movie on the Pier. He texted me a few lewd, sexually explicit things over the course of the night which I handled gracefully and rather stereotypically by making mention of not indulging in loveless sex as well as feigning knowledge of tantra as a means of managing desire in the absence of a monogamous partnership.

So no real surprise that he texted me the next evening about an hour before our scheduled meet up claiming illness. My relieved response was perhaps no salve to his long lost prospect of getting in my pants. I haven't heard from him since and it is my sincere wish that it stays that way.

Yes, I know, I can just not respond should he resurface. And I assure you, this is one of the few times I won't have trouble doing just that. Sigh. More frogs kissed, no princes on the horizon.

WCC 78

Alright, I'm not sure what number we're at on WCC events but I knew I didn't want to go with 69 and I don't think we're at the 100 mark as yet so I just picked at random...I picked my ideal temperature in F--if you must know.

Thursday, I spent the day gathering the ingredients required to prepare a St. Germain cocktail--I found the liquer on E. 89 which saved me a trip to Union Square--I picked up a cheap white from Best Cellars and had club soda at home. As a bonus, the nice lady selling the St. Germain found me a gift pack which came with a lovely French carafe with the words St. Germain set in a very Victorian font. This amazingly refreshing liquer made from elderflower picked by bohemian men in the Swiss Alps hints at a light mix of lychee, pears, and citric goodness (minus the acidic undertones).

I hopped the 6 to Union Square with a pitcher of the cocktail and some chocolate with fruit on the side in the hopes of perfectly complementing the night of movie watching WCC-style.

I stood in the square awaiting a harried post work Z who to my surprise strolled over carefree in a pair of khaki, cargo shorts and a black polo with the GIANT ensigna circa CT 2007 except he had a white long sleeved shirt on under it which suddenly pushed us back to that late high school early college trend of boy layering (timestamp 1997). I couldn't help but smile.

Immediately he relieved me of carrying the bag of goods--such a gentleman--and we hopped back on the train to Water Taxi Beach in the South Street seaport. He let me have the seat on the subway and I stared into his widening face...noticing the creeping salt flecks on his black pepper head. Sometimes in these moments, I know my expressive face gives me away--I beam up at him. Despite himself I feel him beam back at me. We're like 12 year olds on our first unsupervised picnic--it's absolutely platonic yet utterly tender.

At the beach we learned that Time Out NY was hosting a singles event and we shared a split second desire to pretend we were on the list...our eyes met, we shrugged, and passed--entering through the non-event opening. For all his talk about modernizing gender roles and dreaming of living like a kept man, there is a chivalrous side to him. It's a side I think I probably see the most. He hastens to do the line standing and the bringing back of food. He let's me sit to save spots and fill the cups covertly under the table. There is a division of labor and whether or not he acknowledges it, I think on some level he is both aware and appreciative that it exists...at least between us.

We people watch. We eat oysters and seasoned french fries. We look out at the magnificient Brooklyn Bridge. We drink white wine. We talk about nothing at all. We talk about our exes. We sit.

Once the singles event is underway, he immediately nudges me and points out the one Indian guy who obviously works in finance and realistically lives in Jersey City or Hoboken. As if I'd needed nudging, I'd spotted him as soon as he stepped into my line of sight. Freshly starched white shirt tucked into grey slacks, gold watch glinting in the sun and standing a shade under 6'. Yeah. I saw him.

A few moments of mockery pass and I poke him, nodding at the Asian (maybe Filipina) girl in hideous shoes standing beside the Indian and his shorter friends. Z laughs. "I literally had the same thought process. She's cute but those are ugly shoes." I chuckle.

We walk across the bridge. On my suggestion we don't take the short cut. We overshoot the exit on the Brooklyn side because there is no feasible way to exit without bringing harm to ourselves and possibly others. He's still carrying the pitcher and I'm still slowing us down with my shorter strides. We follow the crowd to the park for the first in the 10th anniversary season's outdoor movies of this series: Raising Arizona.

We lay a blanket down under a tree. I drink 3/4 of the pitcher but he still has to pee first. What's with boys and their tiny bladders? Invariably, I too must avail myself of the portapotty--UGH--I'd forgotten JUST how vile the whole enterprise was. I swear I'd rather squat in the woods sans poison ivy or even along a deserted road than climb voluntarily into a portable toilet. Shudder.

On the return to the island, he consults his precious iPhone. The same device I insisted on calling ChitChat to his chagrin just months ago at a SAIFF movie screening...he pulls it out to proclaim, "Let's ask ChitChat the way." I slip in. It's subtle. He can fight it but eventually he finds himself using my words, albeit just at me. It happens. I'm careful to smile to myself. It wouldn't be wise to let him see my pride. It's the smallest of victories but it is my victory nonetheless.

We part as the F train lurches to Broadway-Lafayette. He walks the few blocks north and I switch to the 6 train with my requisite pee stop at Bleecker St. Bar. I can't count the number of times I've stopped to pee there. Love those guys.

Another successful WCC. Next up, Harry Potter: The Half Blood Prince at Kips Bay on July 15 at 8:15pm. In 2D since we couldn't bear to wait another week to catch a mutually convenient 3D screening--he's already secured us tickets to ensure entry--I can only imagine what a zoo it will be of veritable Potter fans. Viva WCC!

Apparently...

Pandora has successfully parsed with accuracy my musical leaning solely using my love for NELLY as the barometer.

"Based on what you've told us so far, we're playing this track because it features gangsta rap influence, southern rap roots, danceable beats, angry lyrics and explicit lyrics."

This was the reason they added Chamillionaire's Ridin' to my list....ha!

Vacation Day?

I am taking a moment to air my most fervent of grievances....the double standard!

Now, I am never on time. On the record and off...never EVER am I on time. That said, I would never go off on a tanget on any friend of mine who failed to arrive on/at a timely manner to our preset appointment. Clearly, after the half hour mark I would quit waiting if there wasn't a text or phone call to deter me, but other than that I would grin and bear it. Because despite my many many flaws, I am no hypocrite.

So a few weeks ago, for this very reason I had a MAJOR tiff with Taurean. Who, for the record, is essentially a bully and many an ex-gf/fiancee will attest that he pushes his will onto anyone who will tolerate it. In our ten years of friendship he has not pulled this shit on me up until a few weeks ago. Whence I arrived too early for a meetup and instead of lamenting his tardy nature or in this case my truly premature arrival, I just popped into a local starbucks to grab a quick coffee. Of course, I sent him a series of texts updating him on my whereabouts but since he did not respond I continued on my merry way.

He made his way to the Starbucks, which I had left to walk the two/three blocks to our previously agreed upon meetup, when he called to chastise me. And, reader, when I tell you he yelled at me...I mean he screamed into the phone at me in a manner that befits a new owner training a pup. I don't doubt the intention but I do object very strongly to the affect. I am not one of his girlfriends to tolerate his ridiculous tirades. I promptly hung up and popped myself back on the subway to head uptown. I wasn't going to be treated like a truculent child. It was both rude and utterly obnoxious. Especially given the reality that our entire friendship is founded on him ranting endlessly about the current woman in his life. Be it Summer or Lynn, an unending series of wrong-doings on the part of these females and his undying self-improvement attempts to alleviate their neuroses. Gag. I'm so over it.

Perhaps if it hadn't been such a one-sided friendship I would have a real reason to tolerate his outburst in my general direction. But the truth is, in our 10 years of friendship, I've just played unpaid therapist to his airing of grievances and general venting on the female sector. Over and out. This circus has packed it's big tent and moved to the next town.

So the item that brings this rant into being is that Jo just sent me a message regarding a last-minute shindig down the jersey shore which I cannot attend due to work. Her laissez-faire solution was that I just take a vacation day in order to attend this event....now, coming from almost anyone else, I would have tolerated such a brazen attempt at tell-me-what-to-do-ness but Jo who flips out everytime she has to string together more than 20 sentences for a magazine she claims not to give a rat's ass about is the ultimate hypocrite in suggesting such a measure.

Mind you, I've NEVER...I mean EVER...suggested she so much as NOT flip out at the basic task of DOING her job (a job she has done for 6 years running, btw) when confronted by her weeping, wailing e-mails/phone calls and general break downs. NEVER. And she has the audacity to suggest to me that I take a vacation day so I can hobble down to the Jersey shore to participate in some series of less than spectacular events that involve the Lone Wanderer and his Nana? Seriously?

Other than the blatant hypocrisy of this passing suggestion, I feel the need to bring up the ultimate double standard inherent in such an e-mail. My job is less important than hers. My attitude towards work, while hardly as neurotic and life-consuming as hers, means I approach the task of my livelihood with far less determination and committment than she does. It is truly the latter of which I accuse her. My outrage is more than palpable, it is absolutely bubbling into ire. I cannot believe that someone who elevates her job to the be all and end all of her very existence would DEIGN to suggest that I put my work on the backset to join her on some low-grade caper on the beach. As IF?!

All of tihs sounds more vociferous than is my intention but the truth is I'm just a little saddended that the people I've thus far extended my frienship to without judgement or consequence are such hypoctrical folk who only perceive the world within the narrow dimensions of their personal spheres. Their indecency in not extending me the basic courtesies which I have never begrudged them challenge me to re-evalute the value and general openness with which I approach my dealings with them (these so-called friends).

I'm starting to think that a certain D'Souza wasn't entirely off base when she suggested that friends were merely a distraction that the truly driven didn't waste their time tending to in the quest for significance and glory.

6 Flags

Two of my co-wokers and I hit up Six Flags: Great Adventure on Friday.
Due to the rain, the lines weren't horrendous.

Rolling Thunder, Scream Machine, Bizzaro, and Skull Mountain were conquered. My little Chinese companion wasn't having any roller coaster action so we rode the carousel and a kiddie train ride that zips around a small track so she could join in the fun. As should be everyone's Six Flags custom, we rode the Ferris Wheel at night whilst the Glow in the Dark Parade was in full swing.



Ate some awful, overpriced fries and Onion Rings at Johnny Rockets and indulged in some delightful Dippin' Dots at one of the very many stands selling said fare.

I managed to drive all the way there sans tolls by heading through the Holland Tunnel and taking Rt. 9 all the way passed Freehold. On the way back we took the Turnpike and paid the $3 toll. Didn't shorten the ride very much despite the pungent scent of refineries comingling with wet grass--ah New Jersey!