Wisdom

I've been trying to talk myself out of feeling like shit all morning. Alternating between listening to depressing music and reading inspirational literature. Wondering why I keep making the same mistakes time and time again...

Anyway, I found this quote starred in one of my books -

"To attempt to love someone who cannot benefit from your love with spiritual growth is to waste your energy, to cast your seed upon arid ground."

This explains a lot...

I was searching my email for information on my New York voter registration status when I stumbled upon this old missive entitled 'Let us sell and eat cake!' Apparently, many years ago I was very halfheartedly considering holding a little bake sale to benefit the Kerry campaign (I got the idea from Moveon.org). I wish I could say that I'm a more mature,responsible,upstanding citizen these days but it seems doubtful...

Me:

this actually sounds like fun and its for a good
cause. i bet if we had it in front of our house tons
of people would buy stuff walking down 18th st. on a
sat. is anyone game for helping out with this? i
don't think i want to do it alone! come on, it will
be fun. i don't mind doing the majority of the
cooking, mostly so when no one is looking i can add
a little rat poison! plus we can always drink 40's on
the stoop and talk shit to gay men and thier dogs...

My friend:

Hey!
Were you still planning on doing this? I am worried
that I don't have enough time to bake and
promote...are there any other dates that we can do
it so that I can make flyers, bake stuff, gather
belongings to sell, etc.? Because also want to go
look at some apartments on Saturday, if we
definitely are NOT doing it...CALL ME!

Me:
sorry. i went on a date mon night with this guy and
he stayed for 2 days! i am totally out of it because
i have been in bed almost the whole time. but at
least i got laid! anyway, no one else wants to help
with the sale and now my brother is telling me all
this bad stuff about kerry and how he has like 5 homes
so i am thinking that WE need the money more than
him!!! would you still want to do a yard sale with me
and make some extra cash? we could sell some cookies
or something too that i can make and keep the profits
for ourselves! oh, shit i just remembered that i
signed up to work a shift yesterday which is on sat.
would you want to do it on sun? you can let me know
later if you want... i am so out of it. i'll call you
in a minute.

Coming Home

The river cuts a grey unending swath to one side and bare tree branches finger the sky. The whole scene is the dull monochromatic tone of winter in a northern state. I keep thinking of the song “Life in Northern Town”, although I guess that was about Britain. As the bus reels on past drab old Victorian houses by the side of the road, weathered paint peeling from their sagging sides, I feel the old prick of anxiety that being in the country often brings. That feeling of trees closing in, nothing but dark silent forests, an empty impartial sky and no one around. Nothing to do. The feeling of isolation, loneliness. Me dancing around in my room at 13 listening to Bruce Springsteen singing,
“Message keeps getting clearer, radio's on and I'm moving round the place
I check myself out in the mirror I wanna change my clothes my hair my face
Man I ain't getting nowhere just sitting in a dump like this
There's something happening somewhere baby I just know that there is…”
desperate to escape the shoddiness of white rural poverty.

My thoughts tumble away from the road and the pressing trees, the small lackluster towns, rotting barns and unused silos, to the life I am returning to in New York City. A half-life in some ways. No one expecting me home at a particular time. No one to return to, hearing the reassuring murmur of “I missed you.”

I am thinking of J, as I have been all weekend. Weighing the shame of it all, I am so stupid and surely masochistic or incredibly dumb at the very least, to have feelings for someone so young. But I am imagining his soft warm kisses, never hurried or impatient, always taking their time. And I am thinking of my coworker telling me, “He likes you, I can tell by the way he looks at you.” Then I think of him saying to me jokingly “You’re crazy.” We laugh about me being locked away. “Don’t worry, I’ll come for conjugal visits.” he says. “They do have those in mental institutions right?” Later, I remember him coming up behind me and pulling me back from the raised yellow edge of the subway platform saying, “Don’t stand too close to the edge. My Dad always told me that.” I fold into his arms obediently and then we sit side by side on the dirty stairs until the train comes.

I just want someone to take care of me, to brush away those childhood feelings of deficiency and weirdness that still haunt me in quiet moments. I am far from a child now, I know.
Inevitably, I will go on taking care of myself, as I always have.

The Dream Academy Life in A Northern Town rare 1st version

Far Far Away

Walking the unfamiliar streets of Brooklyn today, I feel like I could cry with happiness. Everything seems delicate and lovely. Old Italian men shuffling into church for evening mass, laughing children run in the streets with balloons, tiny dogs quivering on their leashes, the furtive glances of handsome men. The autumn air is impossibly soft, even the incessant thrum of cars is somehow comforting. To be free from everything I have known, to be so far away from home – across the continent – fills me with a radiating secret joy. Sometimes I just can’t help but smile at strangers on the street.

The Banker and The Torta

It was a Monday night in the West Village in NYC. I was out with some coworkers at the infamous Stonewall Inn. The place is all painted a shiny lacquer black inside with red neon lights. One of my sleazier coworkers was buying me vodka sodas and moving in closer and closer. After he confessed, “You know I’ve always been attracted to you” and grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch, I knew I had to go.

I lurched drunkenly through the historic hole and out onto the street. There I found a lovely and inviting sight – a Taco Truck! I was standing on the sidewalk savoring the deliciousness of my chicken torta when a dapper young black man walked over and started talking to me. He invited me out for coffee or drinks at a nearby out door café. I declined. And yet somehow (here’s where my memory is a bit hazy) I end up in a cab with him speeding up to midtown Manhattan. All the while he’s flattering me and carrying on in a proper British accent (he was raised in London, although his parents are African). He told me he was a banker. To which I started babbling drunkenly about Wall Street’s role in the subprime mortgage crash, the failing economy, etc, etc… Meanwhile he’s going on about how he just bought a condo with an amazing view, its so nice, blah blah blah... Next thing I know we are in his teeny, immaculately modern and sterile condo with gleaming windows looking out on the downtown lights. The banker is gesturing to a painting on the wall and asking if I like it. Then I start crying and telling him how I was about to go home and now he has taken me further away from Brooklyn and I can’t afford a cab. I tell him that I think he should pay for my cab ride home. He tells me he has no cash.
“What?! You have no cash?!! But you’re a banker!!!” I shout, incredulous.
When he realizes I am totally pissed we go back down to the street and to the nearest ATM where he gets out cash to give to me for the ride home. He is hugging me and trying to kiss me, saying “When can I see you again?” Asking for my number. I was like, “I am drunk and you are trying to hit on me. Can’t you see that I just want to go home?! You shouldn’t hit on drunk girls anyway.”
I catch the nearest cab and head home. All I want is to be alone with the rest of my chicken torta.

Julia Roberts will NOT be staring in the movie version...

In my new book EAT FUCK DIE, Notes on an Ongoing Existential Crisis, I will be tackling complex and controversial subjects such as:

- Why trying to be thin is a big FAT waste of your time
- How to get off your Crackberry and actually relate to other human beings
- Tips for seducing young semi-innocent men
- How to avoid commitment at all costs even though you think you want it
- Why 'fucking' is preferable to 'making love'

Sometimes

Habibi can be sweet. Last night he called me to wish me a belated happy birthday and to see how I was. He told me I was 'a good person with a good heart.' I met him at a video store in my 'hood and he gave me a ride home. Its Ramadan so he's been fasting all day, not drinking any water and staying up late at night. He looked slightly crazy (as usual) and a little skinny but still sexy. On the ride home he suddenly reached over and pinched my lips. I asked him why he was doing that he told me "I wanted to kiss you but I can't". I guess kissing women who aren't your wife is NOT OK during holy month.
Anyway, when I told him that my brother was in the hospital in France he was like, "Oh my god. Is it a tumor?!" I assured him it was not a tumor. Then he told me if there was anything he could do to let him know, he has family and friends in France. He said he could tell by looking at me that something was not right. He gave me a big hug and rubbed my back. A small moment of comfort and affection. Sometimes I feel like a lost dog, hoping someone nice will take me home and pet me. Sad. But can you blame me?!

C'est La Vie

I've never met a man or a job that I couldn't quit...
WITHOUT regret!

News Flash

I'm totally over my roommate. In fact he's annoying me. Tonight he had the nerve to knock on my door at 11:30 pm to ask me if I had an extra wine glass in my room. Don't bug me at that hour over some trifling detail. We aren't sophisticated people here - this place is a dump. Pour that damn cheap 'wine product' you drink into one of my 99cent store water glasses, give it to your girl and call it a day!
The other night he was running off to his room with a pint of ice cream and two spoons. He was like, "I have to go feed my baby." Now, I'm not into him anymore but you'd think he'd have the decency to be a little bit low key about that stuff with me after what happened with us in the recent past. He just seems to be a tad bit too gleeful about it all. This kind of thing makes me want to bring my new latin lover over to have loud sex with on the living room couch. Ahem... not that'd I'd actually ever stoop to that level of immaturity...
Anyway, I get over men prettttty damn quickly. Its a coping mechanism I've had to learn over the years. As I once told my roommate right after his girlfriend moved here from Serbia, "I'm not interested in people who aren't interested in me."
And truth be told, I'm going through men here in New York at an unprecedented rate. I haven't met this many guys since I was in my early 20s. So, I'm not gonna get hung up on any one of them. I'm waiting for that one who is really special and feels the same about me. Until that day, easy come, easy go mi amigos!

Unbelievable!

Hakim called me tonight. He asked me if I was still single. I told him I was. He was like "Oh well you must not want a boyfriend." As if it were that easy...

When I politely inquired as to how things were going with him and his ex wife he said, "Ohhhh good. Well, she is weak like all women but its OK..." I was like, "Oh excuse me, what did you say - women are weak?!" Hakim: "Oh yeah women are weak in the brain, you too habibati." When I asked him WHY women were weak he said, "Well god made them that way." Hmmmmmm. Interesting. So then I asked him, "So how did God make men?" To which he replied, "God made men assholes."
Ha ha ha!!!! He really is too much! I was dying.
I prompted him, "Oh really, so its God's fault men are are assholes?" Then he said, "Well God made some men assholes and women turned some men into assholes."
Huh. So women are not only WEAK but also partially to blame for why MEN ARE ASSHOLES! Got it.

Then he asked me, "How is your shape?"
"My shape?" WTF?! "Well", I reminded him, "you once told me that I should go to the gym instead of spending so much time hanging out with my roommate." (He was insecure about me living with two guys.)
He was like, "Oh well your shape has always been very good. I must have been drunk or stoned if I said that."
WOW.

I'm not even pissed. I'm fascinated. I just can't believe the things that come out of this guy's mouth.
Hilarious!

At the edge of the world

So we had a BBQ on our rooftop. My roommate's clearly in love. I made mojitos and got moody and sad. I want to be happy for others when they are happy. Especially when they are cool people and I know they struggle in life. But I'm too scared that I will be left behind...alone forever. And eternally misunderstood...or neglected. Ugh. Please don't let it be so!

Anyway, here are some pictures:

I don't want to give up and go back home

Fireflies and thunderstorms
The damp hot air like a caress
Thick and soft, smelling of salt
It makes my hair curly, makes me crazy

I can imagine I'm in another country
Don't know anyone here
and frankly don't care

Kids play in the park
A symphony of languages
tangling their tongues
The heat presses down

Ice cream trucks and filthy streets
Midsummer rain doesn't even bother me
No one ever shuts up
and the city doesn't sleep

Stoned in the subway at Times Square
Someone plays the keyboard
And everyone is swaying, wanting to dance
An unexpected magic moment

I'm smiling at my reflection in the train window
Lost as all hell
And lonely as fuck

Still, somehow managing to have a good time
Once in a while

Here Comes the Come Down

So I’m sitting here feeling what? Vindication that I was right, that I accurately predicted the situation, that my worst fears lurking just around the corner will soon be confirmed. I’m the perfect architect of my own misery. Happy in my own familiar hell.

I set Hakim up for failure. I snooped, spied and judged. I reacted to his ambivalence with anger. My ego would not allow me to trust or be patient. I wanted to be right, I didn’t want to be made a fool of. I couldn’t relax and enjoy things. I wanted to be in control. I created a self fulfilling prophecy. And I walked away from it all the way I knew I would even from the start.

With M. Well, that was just unexpected. What cruel magic could allow me (us) to feel that way under the circumstance of her impending arrival? Or was it just simply as I said - we were both lonely, nothing more, nothing less. We filled our time with each other, indulged in dramatic conversations and feelings, submitted ourselves to sensation, threw caution to the wind and immersed ourselves in the moment. ‘Play with fire and you get burned’ keeps running through my head. How come I feel like I’m the only one to ever get burned though? Or is that another illusion of my own egocentricity? Thinking I’m always alone.

I heard someone playing guitar in the apartment above me. Hearing him sing, a sliver of hope stabbed me.
Maybe loneliness is universal.

Falling Down

AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS
by Portia Nelson

I

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

II

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place
but, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in ... it's a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

IV

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V

I walk down another street.

All is full of love

When I feel really bad this song reassures me. So beautiful.

Quoteable

H is actually pretty hilarious. Here are some choice quotes from him:

The first thing he said to me today when he saw me in a white sundress was, "I can see your underware. Do you want everyone on the street to see your underware?"

Then I told him I had been spending a lot of time hanging out with my roommate he said, "He just wants your ass. Everyone wants your ass." I was like "Ummmmm...thanks but really its not that great."

When I told him that all my friends agreed his behavior lately was suspicious he said, "That's because your friends don't want you to be happy." I was like, "Really? Why?" Him - "Because you look better than them." WTF?! He's never even seen or met any of my friends.

About my new neighborhood, "You live in the projects habibti(sweetheart in Arabic), I'm sorry but its the projects."

Re my roommates: "When I go in your house and I see their shoes lying around and it smells like sneakers... Do you want to live in a prison?" Also, "Your Dad would not be happy knowing you are living in New York City with two men." And, "If I were to have a woman come live with me like a roommate, I'm sure I would be nice to her, sit on the couch talking to her, cook dinner for her. And I'm sure at some point I'm gonna sleep with her." I guess this is to illustrate the point that he thinks that its basically inevitable that men and women who live together as roommates are going to sleep together. I pointed out that I've lived with plenty of men over the years who somehow, I quite miraculously restrained myself from F@#Cking.

On several occasions he asked me, "Is there something wrong with your mind?"
Well, yeah duh...if I was remotely sane, I would NOT be hanging out with you Freakjob.

Should have known better...

As I predicted, I AM making a big mess of things after all. Hakim has pretty much been MIA all week, canceling plans, saying he's gonna call and then disappearing or calling at 1am. I hadn't seen him in over a week until today when I finally lost patience and went by his vintage clothing store to give him a piece of my mind. I also happened to mention that I had feelings for someone else. Immature, I know but I am so frustrated, nothing seems to evoke a response out of him. He actually got a little rattled. He's a complete nut; I am basically on the verge of breaking up with him and he's asking me if I'd like to go to Algeria with him for a little vacation. PSYCHO! Anyway, I just DO NOT TRUST this guy. He's shady as hell and I'm over it.

Meanwhile, I've been spending hours lying around on the couch with my roommate having crazy conversations about Love (his favorite topic), people, art, meditation, Psychology, etc. He gets all passionate when he's talking, sometimes he grabs my hand and holds it or hugs me. I was starting to feel like maybe he was into me but I didn't want to misread the situation. Well, the other night pretty much answered that question. By the end of it he had his arms around me and was stroking my hair and my face. It felt really nice but I had to end things there. First of all, he's my roommate and we are just getting to know each other, and really - most importantly - he has this Serbian girl who he's been talking to online for 7 months coming here NEXT WEEK. He's never met her in person but if they've been talking everyday for months its safe to say that they will probably hit it off in person. Sigh... Not that I want to begrudge him happiness. He's a total weirdo too (clearly I love freaks!)but he's also a romantic, an idealist and a sweetie. So, I'm steeling myself for her arrival next week, his subsequent lack of interest in me and worse yet, late night giggling sessions as his Serbian princess slips in and out of his room between lovemaking sessions. UGH. The only positive thing I can say is thank god my room is completely on the other side of the apartment from his, which will hopefully minimize some of the impending trauma.

Good lord, my luck in love is HIDEOUS! It just feels like a cruel cosmic joke is being played on me. I must be the world's biggest idiot when it comes to men.

The Spring Is Getting To Me

It's a city of strangers,
Some come to work, some to play.
A city of strangers,
Some come to stare, some to stay.
And every day
Some go away
Or they find each other in the crowded streets and the guarded parks,
By the rusty fountains and the dusty trees with the battered barks,
And they walk together past upholstered walls with the crude remarks.
And they meet at parties through the friends of friends who they never
know.
- from musical 'Company'

Awwwwwww....sometimes I just love this place!

Humid tropical heat, a million strangers on the street.
So many signs in broken English, 'Pritti Woman Salon'.
Smell of sweat and cologne on strangers.
An old man and woman next to me on a coffee date eating pie and talking with thick New York accents. The man telling her how he digs for diamonds in his back yard.
Wearing my sunglasses on the subway. WHO do I think I am?!
Men looking at me like I'm sexy, saying 'Hi', opening doors.
Eating nuts at 2am on the train platform, slightly drunk.
Always running late for work.
And what in God's name would possess me to roll out of bed at noon and start chatting away to my new roommate about my lesbian love affair. Then reassuring him that I like men better. Laughing gleefully, til he gently takes me by the shoulders and pushes me out the door saying "Don't be late for work". Putting out that sexual energy way too early in the day.
He's so cute. I just want to close my eyes and think of him.
Then I see Hakim standing in the Arabic store holding a giant engraved sword with his crazy black curls, looking like a pirate and his funny smile, eyes crinkling up.
Happiness is a surprise gift. I don't want to mess this up.

SLANDER!!!

In an attempt to start my own business as a Personal Chef, I started my own food related blog to share recipes and promote my own business. I was shocked and admittedly slightly amused when I found this comment posted on my blog:

"Allow me to inform you poor foodies about the REAL MM (my name). I knew M quite well during her early San Francisco days. For her to protray herself as a holistic person who cares about the well being of others is postively RIDICULOUS.

While I knew her, she drank like an alcoholic, abused drugs, lied and stole from those around her. Evry day, she ate top ramen noodles and washed it down with cheap Royal Gate vodka. The lovely "Foothills of the Sierra Nevadas" she likes to wax poetically about was this crazy Catholic commune her parents ran on church property. Her dad didnt like to pay taxes to the government so he kept his wife and 3 kids in poverty running this whacko commune.

I wouldnt eat a meal this conwoman made if it were my last on earth. M is a liar, never finishes anything she starts and will rob a client blind!"

I'm sorry but this is hilarious! I've never been called a liar or a conwoman in my life!!! Admittedly some of the facts are correct - the crazy commune, the Top Ramen and Royal Gate Vodka is embarrassing but true. Gimme a break though, I was a poor 20 year old college student! I suspect this comment was written by a particular disgruntled ex roommate who had a sex with a 14 year old boy in my room when I was out of town and then stayed with me rent free for over a month. She had the gall to be pissed off when I finally kicked her out. And yeah, I sold some of her stuff in a sidewalk sale to make up for $90 she owed me. Ahhhh... blast from the past! I'm shocked that someone would have such vitriol toward me 15 years later. Weird.

To Trust or Not to Trust?!

That is the question...

So I met a guy. Totally my type - tall, dark, foreign and slightly strange. Here's how it happened:
It was a blissful spring day and I'd just gone to check out a room that was for rent. Since the streets were sunny and full of spring flowers I decided to walk around a little and explore my new neighborhood. I was on the phone chatting with my brother standing in front of a vintage clothing store for 20 or 30 minutes, watching people, enjoying the day, when a man in a minivan pulled over and rolled down the window. He was waving at me. I thought maybe he needed directions or something so I went over. He was like, 'Hi. Do you live in the neighborhood? I think I've seen you around here before.' He then introduced himself and asked if he could take me out for coffee. Being the lunatic I am, I agreed and gave him my card. Before leaving he asked 'Would you like a cookie?' and offered me some chocolate madelines he had sitting on the car seat. Now I am a bit of a maniac and obviously not too prudent to be chatting up strangers in cars but I DO draw the line at taking cookies from strangers! I politely declined. Anyway, it turns out he is the owner of the vintage store I was standing in front of. Somehow, this made his approach slightly less creepy to me.

Later that night he texted me to say Hi. He took me out a couple days later for lunch at a Japanese restaurant on a little island between Manhattan and Queens. Meanwhile I'd done a little...ahem...internet research on him and his store. It turns out he owns it with another women. I asked him a little more and found out that they used to be together and that they have an 8 year old son. He said they've been broken up for several years. Then he got quiet and said, 'You think I have too much baggage.' I told him no, it was fine I just wanted to make sure he was in fact single because the last guy that asked me out apparently lived with his girlfriend. So, at this point I'm a little suspicious of NY guys.

All this happened a couple weeks ago. He calls and texts me pretty much everyday to say hi. We spent the last 2 weekends together. His apartment is amazing, filled with cool old vintage stuff, tastefully decorated and with an adorable and affectionate Persian cat who kisses me on the mouth and climbs on me purring. The first time I spent the night H got up in the morning and made me coffee and breakfast and brought it to me on the couch. He cooks and cleans and worries about me when I cough. He's sweet and attentive and affectionate. He has kind eyes and a cute smile. He's a bit of a weirdo. And not to be horribly superficial but he's got great style (he dresses better than any guy I've ever dated and has 3 closets full of clothes, mostly vintage hipster stuff) and is totally sexy.

I highly doubt that he is going to be the love of my life and at this point that's really what I want. But the truth of the matter is I can't stand being alone anymore. I need a break. I haven't really dated anyone remotely seriously in over 2 1/2 years! This is the longest I have ever been single since I started dating. And its been painful. Lonely. Frustrating. Isolating. Depressing. Infuriating! I just want someone to come home to when I've had a crappy day who will ask me how I'm doing and who will have dinner with me and hug and kiss me. Not to mention sex. Going for months without sex is NOT a good thing. It starts to make me insane. I become obsessed with what I'm not having and then I end up making bad decisions. Ahhhh the vicious cyle. Anyway, I'm gonna give this guy a chance. I'm not feeling particularly optimistic, its true. But I think its worth it to take a chance. I think he's a little lonely too. He'd never admit to it but I can tell.
If being lonely and wanting companionship is a crime - then lock me up for life!

Easter and Egyptians

My love/hate affair continues with New York City.

One minute it’s a splendid new world brimming with opportunity, wiped clean of the shame of the past, gleaming, exotic, enticing. The next it’s a relentless, soul shriveling, uber-capitalist hell hole populated by twisted Machiavellian characters one upping each other in a nausea-inducing parade of shallow vanity.

One minute I’m a respectable, semi-sane, semi-scrupulous person trying to make connections with other decent human beings. Oh, but the next, I’m a deranged, self destructive maniac whose emptiness can only be sated through impulsive action and immediate gratification.

Monday night and I’m drunk in a hookah bar making out with an Egyptian boy next to the urinal in the men’s restroom. Wednesday and I’m in a bookstore reading a book called ‘Marry Him!....blah blah blah…’ vowing to finally get my act together, start dating nice guys and have a family. Sunday and I’m having Easter dinner on Staten Island at friends of the family’s house, we’re holding hands and praying chastely.

I'm all over the place.

I guess the reality of it all is somewhere between these extremes. The balance between austerity and indulgence. Maybe I create these dichotomies because I like the drama of it all.

Are you there cheap red wine?!

It's me Violeta.

Gato Negro (from Chile, $5.49 a bottle) is my savior tonight. I’m lonely yeah - but I’m used to it. So http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifits no big deal anymore. Can you blame me for drinking wine and listening to Joan Beaz and crying?! All these things I feel lie inside, trapped. I have no outlet. I used to hurt myself but I don’t do that anymore. I wish I had some creative outlet, sometimes I feel I will burst, the way everything surges and changes inside. No way to release this inner turbulence. Did I come to New York to do the same old thing as before and feel like my life is meaningless? Or did I come here to change – to lose myself and find myself again?

I think I’m one of the most lost people I know. Lots of people are sort of lost but the difference between me and them is that I KNOW I’m lost. I’ve been living with this awareness for years but I can’t seem to figure out what to do about it. Trust me, its VERY uncomfortable.

My mom had secret dreams of her own. I know she did. She loves to sing. When she was young she even played a little guitar. She loved Joan Baez. Maybe she wished she could be like her. They even looked alike. That same purity and righteousness. I’ve seen my mom’s face when she sings - even if its just in church, she becomes radiant. I wonder if she ever wishes she had done things differently.

And look at me. No career. No husband. No family. No responsibilities. And yet I still can’t find what I truly want to do. I can’t be free.

Afternoon Delight

Today on a mellow sun dappled spring afternoon I discovered the loveliest neighborhood in Queens. Forrest Hill Gardens looks like the kind of enchanted place where a princess would grow up. Row upon row of magestic Tudor style houses look out onto the street through cut glass paned windows. A crystal chandelier gleaming with rainbows catches my eye from someone’s living room. The neighborhood reminds me of Cambridge, England. Its so beautiful and quaint and different from everything I’ve ever known in California that it catches me by surprise and almost makes me want to cry. Here is my fantasy of the East Coast – tall, regal brick buildings, brownstones, old graceful houses surrounded by oaks and maples, their bare branches scratching at the exposed blue sky. Everything looks classy and old.

Who lives here? I imagine cultured, worldly women and men reclining in tastefully decorated, book-lined living rooms. It’s the kind of place that an Anthropology Professor from Columbia might live, or a Literature Professor at NYU. The neighborhood breathes success and old worldly cool, reminiscent of my naïve West Coast fantasies about the blue blooded, Ivy League chic of The East.

I wonder do the people in these beautiful houses ever feel trapped? Ever feel that their life has grown stale, empty? Do they possibly ever feel as lonely and insignificant as me? I’m like a little country mouse, scuttling along in a place where I could never belong.

But the birds are chirping and the first few flowers of spring are struggling to show their delicate heads despite the harsh, battering of the winter. Maybe there is a place where I will feel welcome somewhere in the world.

In a matter of minutes I am back on the teeming streets of New York, a million strangers’ careworn faces greeting me.

Heavy Baggage

I arrived in New York, like many before me, with just two cheap suitcases and a heart full of hope and expectation. I thought I was traveling light.

Well, it turns out I brought a lot more baggage with me than I’d intended. Namely myself. If you are a crazy, confused, lunatic in Oakland, CA are you going to be a crazy, confused lunatic in New York, NY?!!! Not surprisingly, the answer is YES.

Dammit!!!

My mom always told me that that AA people had a term for when someone up and moved when the going got tough – they called it ‘pulling a geographic’. Though the logic of this frustrated me - especially all those times I longed to run away from everything - intellectually it made sense. However, I’d never tested it out myself. I’d stayed mired in the same place, dealing with relatively the same issues for over a decade. I didn’t have the courage to run too far from anything.

Now that I’m here over 3,000 miles away from ‘home’ (whatever, wherever that is anymore - that word seems sort of meaningless to me right now) I’m confronted with the less than thrilling reality that I’m still ME. I’m not some fearless, exotic new creature, suddenly popular, focused and ambitious. Nor is there a slough of lovely and charming men prostrating themselves in my path.

Still its good. I’m forced to take a long, honest look at myself, my thoughts and behavior patterns. Some things I’m seeing aren’t so pretty. Old ways of being that may once have served me well, or at the very least protected me, are no longer of use. It may be high time to change more than just my address...

Smoke and Mirrors

Grit without Glory

I don't know the stations' names
I'll spend my life on this train
Magnetic Fields

Late at night I watch the rats play hide n’seek in the subway tracks. Monday and Sunday nights are the worst, the trains don’t run much and nobody’s around. At 2 or 3am, I’m coming home from work, alone. The stations are deserted, dank, desolate holes in the ground. It feels like I’m the last person on earth. A helpless curtain of fatigue settles over me. I’m hungry, tired, maybe even slightly drunk. I stare at the water marks on the ancient tiled tunnels. I eat some greasy chips bought from a weathered vendor accustomed to this subterranean habitat. How many more nights will pass like this?

Then I pull the hood out of my coat and curl into it. Maybe I can sleep a little while I wait.

When I finally get on the train everyone around me is drooping like dirty, wilted flowers. Seeking reprieve in blessed sleep.

The Electronic Hearth

Seems like everyone's been suckled on the heavy teat of mass-media culture. There's no escaping it.

One Night in NY

Is New York is the most beautiful city in the world? It is not far from it. No urban night is like the night there... Squares after squares of flame, set up and cut into the aether. Here is our poetry, for we have pulled down the stars to our will.
-Ezra Pound

Its not all agony and loneliness here. Sometimes I actually have fun!

Last night was a good night. I started out meeting a guy for happy hour at a bar in the East Village. As soon I walked in two drunk Irish guys started chatting with me. One was like ‘You look like an old-fashioned model from the 50’s, you’re so pretty.’ That made me smile.

I was meeting C at the bar for the first time. We’d been chatting online for a couple weeks but hadn’t met in person. We were cloistered in a dark corner talking. In our corner we met a crazy Taiwanese girl who grew up in the South, with a weird mixed Taiwanese/Southern accent, who worked in fashion. She was drunk and hilarious and was practically sitting on my lap, telling me all about breaking up with her ex boyfriend, how bored she was in NY, asking what should she do with her life?! Then a bunch of Thai guys who grew up in NYC met her and started smoking pot in front of the bar. They were the friendliest guys ever. Everyone agreed that people are nicer in NY than San Francisco. One of the guys said, ‘In New York you can go out to a bar and meet anybody. Anyone will talk to you.’ It was true; the Irish guys kept coming by and high fiving the guy I was on a date with because he had a vintage Liverpool soccer jersey on (he lived in England for a year). One guy was trying to buy it off his back. C was opening up to me about old girlfriends, living in Spain, traveling, growing up in NYC, his Brazilian mom. He seemed like a sweet guy and he was a good kisser. Later he walked me back to the subway. I fell down laughing into a snow bank. People were out everywhere in the snow, it was Friday night and everyone seemed to be smiling, guarding a secret inner joy. C said, ‘This is the best first date ever!’.

Even though I left C, I wasn’t ready to go home yet. The other night I’d met a very handsome chef, Lou, at a non profit fundraising event I was working at. He’s from the Bronx with a sexy New York accent and a hilarious sense of humor. I was immediately into him. I was dying for him to call. He had called me earlier in the night saying he wanted to hang out when he got off work if I was still out.

At 11:30 Lou called again saying he was off work and he could come meet me. I was eating pizza by myself in Union Square after leaving C. I gave him a huge hug when he showed up. I don’t know what it was about this guy but I was really into him! We ended up in some dive bar full of drunk NYU students dancing to 80’s music. I kept sucking down vodka sodas. Not such a good idea but I was so excited to be out and hanging out with this guy. There was just one BIG problem though. Turns out he has a girlfriend. I asked him point blank after he told me he had a big two bedroom uptown. A sane person would have probably gone home at that point. Unfortunately, I’m not sane.

Lou said he liked me immediately when he met me and since I told him I was new in town he thought we could hang out as friends. I was like ‘Yeah, that’s a nice idea but I kind of LIKE you.’ Then he said, ‘I’m not gonna lie, I think you are very beautiful.’ Great. In theory it would be nice to have him as a friend but I don’t quite understand how that will work if we are both attracted to each other. Shit! I started telling him how I was a good woman and how I deserved to meet a nice single guy who was really into me, blah, blah blah, I was really drunk at that point. I should have just shut up and gone home. He told me he fought in the Serbian war (he was born in Albania) and I asked him, ‘So did you kill anybody?’ He was like, ‘Violeta you aren’t supposed to ask questions like that. What do you think?’ Somehow that made him even hotter. God, he was really, really sexy.

Anyway, he ended up driving me home. We got lost in Queens in a snarl of dead end roads full of snow and abandoned factories. I was smoking with the window down, babbling about the history of exploitation of workers in New York City and demanding that he treat his kitchen staff nicely. What a mess. But the Queensborough Bridge was all lit up in a brilliant blue haze and Manhattan was gleaming across the river and the cold air felt good on my face. I was finally feeling like I had arrived here in New York City. Even if my life was just one big giant, confusing, lonely morass - at least I was somewhere different.

I gave L a hug, his body felt really good; big, strong and comforting. I miss being in man’s arms so bad. But he’s not mine so I sent him home.

Sadness and The City

I went into one of my two crappy jobs today. Apparently there was a miscommunication between the manager and my coworker. She thought he was asking for the day off and asked me to come in to cover his shift. When I got there, he was there. So I spent nearly an hour getting to work only to be told they didn't need me. And I needed the money. So I wasn't in the greatest mood when I got sent home. Truth be told, I wanted to drink.
L came downtown to meet me and we went out for drinks. Later we met her friend at some hideous gay bar full of old men who glared at us. We were the only two women there. The only saving grace was the cheap drinks. Flash forward two hours and I'm being awakened awkwardly by some employee in a frozen yogurt shop. Apparently, my drunken mind thought it would be a good idea to get frozen yogurt. Problem was I pretty much feel asleep at the table with my yogurt! When he woke me up it was all melted and there were white smears of dried yogurt all over my black down coat. How humiliating! I've never passed out in a public place. I got up and left in daze. Later on the train some bitchy girl yelled at me on the train for being in her space. Hmmmmm. This is a crowded subway in New York, how am I supposed to NOT be in her space?! WTF??!?! I was so tired and sad and out of it and angry at that point that I'm surprised I was able to catch both my trains and make the trek home.

Maybe my brother is right. Its just more of the same. This urbanity is killing me. The annonimity, the hustle and bustle, the crappy jobs, the loneliness, the crunch of it all, is exhausting. I'm over it. Nothing exciting or miraculous or even fun is happening here. I'm so sad inside. So weary to the core of feeling lost and not connecting. This hideous nightmare of loneliness never seems to end. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. It makes me sick. I feel heartbroken that this is my life.
Maybe I need to get out of the city. Go to the country. Do some physical work. Breath fresh air. Read. Write. Feel like human being again.

Dreams and Memories

Listening to this tonight and remembering long, long, ago being in love with my first boyfriend. He played bass. We used to stay up all night talking and listening to music. Completely in our own world and just getting each other. I miss that.
It feels like I'll never have that kind of connection again.

Strange Times

The President played the saxophone
sounded so alone
it was on the news
And from Ursa Minor
in what looked like an
all-night diner
came lonely luminous creatures
whose only human feature
was singing the blues
- Magnetic Fields

I went to meet Baboon Heart Boy at the Neptune Diner the other night at nearly 1 am. Everything seemed slightly surreal. He asked me why I hadn’t written another blog posting about him. “Well you haven’t given me much to go on.” was what I told him. Which was true enough, I hadn’t seen him since the Cracker Jack incident and that had already been documented for posterity. Really all that had transpired between us since then was a lot of late night text messages from him asking me what I was doing, a few vague replies from me about me being out or being busy. Then there was one bizarre phone conversation in which he abruptly asked me if I was in love with him, to which I laughed and said, “NO. I hardly even know you.” That was about it.

So anyway, we’re sitting at this Queens dinner in the early hours of the morning. I’ve been feeling kinda bummed lately – far away from home, jobless and purposeless in a strange city. I thought seeing him and going to the weird diner might cheer me up. I never learn…

I sit down next to him in a booth. He launches into a volley of probing questions about my sex and dating life; when I don’t provide him with immediate answers he starts guessing. I turn the questions back on him. He refuses to answer. The whole time he is observing me scrupulously, taking in every detail, at one point he brings out a little notebook and starts scribbling in it. I assumed he was drawing since he’s an artist but later I realize that he was writing something. God only knows what it might have been. He then starts with his amateur analysis of my character telling me I’m crazy, that everything I think about others is my own projection, wondering why I would want to share things with the world on my blog, etc. He asks my opinion then declares that I’m contradicting myself.

Once I realize a ‘normal’ conversation is not possible with this guy I lose interest in talking and decide instead to observe the inhabitants and environment of the diner: middle aged guy with a belly at the counter hunched over his eggs, bored looking Latino servers in polyester vests standing around surreptitiously watching us, a couple sharing a milkshake, rows of carefully placed miniature boxes of breakfast cereal (how I loved those things as a kid!), porthole inspired mirrors (to go with the whole Neptune theme) and endless dusty brown wood paneling stretching from wall to wall.

Later he walks with me toward my house. I stop him several houses away and thank him for walking me home. I leave him alone on the corner, slightly surprised.

Really, you gotta give a little if you expect to get a little.

Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

The last guy that I hung out with was a good looking, talented and successful artist. He ate Crackerjacks in his bed and told me he had a baboon heart.

I told him I was from another planet. Might as well be.

Negativity

Alright, I can admit that I’m hardly Little Miss Sunshine. Little Miss Typhoon would be more apt if one had to use the weather to describe my temperament. Still, I have to draw the limit somewhere. So, when I awoke New Years Eve and the first thing my friend said was, “Its 2010 and we’re both MISERABLE.” I had to stop her. NO. Just, NO. I didn’t leave behind everything I know to move 3000 miles across the country to be miserable. HELL NO!!!

I'm a Fighter AND a Lover. I'm not resigning myself to misery.
Things are gonna get better DAMMIT!