Emotional Tendenko

When I was home for Christmas my brother told me about a Japanese philosophy for surviving tsunamis. 'Tendenko' encourages people to save themselves first in the occasion of a natural disaster or tsunami. Due to their strong ties to family and feelings of obligation to others, many Japanese turned back to find relatives which cost precious time during the tsunami and led to greater casualties. However, one seaside village that rigorously instructed its citizens and schoolchildren on the practice of tendenko - which in this case literally meant to drop everything and run like hell for the hills at the first sign of a tsunami - had very high survival rates.
I'm not a big fan of New Year's resolutions. But one thing is for sure - I've been burned enough by men this year (and work situations). This needs to come to an end ASAP. So, for 2012 I'm putting into practice my own version of 'emotional tendenko' - self preservation in relationships. The moment I see red flags with someone: selfishness, game playing, unreliability, alcoholism, lying, cheating, ambivalence about relationships, mental instability, etc - I'm heading for the hills. This goes for friends too, some just seem to expect endless free therapy sessions but are never very compassionate when the tables are turned.
I'm tired of falling for emotional wrecks and thinking I can save them; I can't. After one of my ex boyfriends convinced me to invite him to my parents' farm for the holiday and then preceded to just never show up - without calling or contacting me in any way to say he wasn't coming, I'm through extending myself emotionally to drowning people. OK you're depressed and miserable and you hate your life, etc,etc - I get it (because I've been there) but you know what - that's no excuse for treating others like shit and making them feel bad. Self preservation is finally kicking in and I'm heading for high ground, unencumbered. Anyone who'd care to join me is welcome but they're gonna have to make it there on their own.

I still love you Anton

I can not tell you enough
How much I wanted to love
How long I've waited to love and be loved
And be with you

Booty Call

So a couple of months ago I went on a date or two with a sexy, educated, funny and nice-enough guy. One thing let to another, if you know what I mean... and we hooked up. I must say he was quite well-endowed. Anyway, I didn't hear from him after that. I wasn't devastated, nor was I surprised. What did surprise me (and wake me up)several days ago, was my cell vibrating at 3:30am with a call from him.
Now I don't like to be awakened EVER, but especially not by a booty call from a guy I haven't seen or heard from in months. Though I didn't answer the phone, I lay awake in bed for several hours afterward contemplating my life and generally feeling like crap. So the next morning I decided to get in touch with him.

I started out innocently enough.
Me: Little tipsy last night, eh?

The Guy ('T'): Yeah. Fondly
T: Thought did "count" though.

Me: 'Thought' counted?! A random drunk phone call at 3:30am?! Come on, we both can do better than that!

T: I sure can. It's not out of disrespect. But in return, if you find I can fill any carnal impulse, you are free to share that anytime.

Me: I have no problem with 'carnal' impulses however, I prefer to fulfill them after a drink and a 'civilized' conversation at a reasonable hour.

Me: Next time a 'carnal' urge strikes you at 3:30 in the morning - though certainly less economical, and more morally questionable - I suggest you hire a prostitute.

T: I'm sorry for the bother last night but is that last statement some kind of joke?

Me: I'm not serious but just trying to make a point about how that made me feel.

T: I'm sorry, but my options in NY aren't just you...and prostitutes. That was absurd. Point taken though.

Me: Well clearly! I assume you went down 'the list' last night. Glad you got the point.

Heh, heh...maybe he'll think twice before he drunk dials a girl at 3am. Or not. But at least I know I won't be getting woken up by him again.

Smooth Operator

Oh.My.God.
So, I have this crush on a guy in one of my classes. He's exactly my type - which is to say that he's Latino and too young for me.

Last night was our final class for the semester, so I rounded up a small group of people to go out - me and 3 guys. Heh heh... We ended up at this kind of sketchy bar in Harlem. K, one of my classmates starts buying us shots of Tequila, meanwhile M (the guy I like) and I are chatting in a semi-normal manner. I say 'semi-normal' because we are both kinda weird. I think that's why I like him - well, that and I think he's hot! He's telling me about his White ex-girlfriend who was a 'nymphomaniac' and I'm showing him pictures of a painting I did on my cell phone and then there's a little accidental slip up...he was like "Uh, did I just see a nipple?!" Ooops, guess I should delete that old photo! We are also talking about cultural heritage, our parents, growing up without a lot of money, stuff like that.

Then the shots kick in - I take off M's cap and run my hands through his hair, then I run my hands over K's buzz cut too for good measure, just so it doesn't seem like I'm too into M. Next, insist on making both men feel my hair (the 3rd guy was smart and cut out after one drink to go home to his gf). "See isn't it soft?!" I exclaim. (I'm sure the women in the bar must have wanted to kill me). Then some other guy comes over. He's cute in kind of a ghetto way with tattoos all over his neck and a predatory look in his eye. He approaches me and says, "Hey which one of these guys is your boyfriend?" I tell him that they are my classmates. To which he replies, "Good, cuz I like you" and introduces himself as 'Butter'. When I ask why he calls himself Butter he says its because he's 'smooth and sweet'. Good lord!

Another shot later and in the company of 'Butter', we are headed out to another bar. M and I are sharing a cigarette and walking together talking. After I take the first drag and pass it back to him I say, "I have herpes". M eyes me anxiously, "Are you serious?!" I reassure him that I am joking. He seems slightly skeptical. He tells me "Sometimes people say they are joking but they are really serious". I try to explain that when I'm drunk sometimes I just say crazy things to see how people will react. Kinda fucked up but I'm a freak, what can I say?

The next place is a tiny Mexican restaurant/bar with a DJ. K orders an enormous pitcher of margaritas. Butter disappears, he is running around chatting with everyone, mostly young, thuggish looking guys. One guy in particular he seems to know well. The guy pulls up his shirt and shows us a big bandage over his ribs and tells us he got stabbed this week. Later Butter returns to our table and whips out a plastic pint of some sort of alcohol and dumps a bunch of it into my glass and then the rest in the pitcher of margaritas. I stare in incredulously. When I ask him what it is he says its vodka. Well, its COCONUT flavored vodka - cheap and sickly sweet. I tell him there's no way I'm drinking it. 'Only Girl in the World' comes on by Rhianna and he grabs me and drags me to the dance floor. The dance floor being a tiny corner of the dark room by the bar, with no one else but us on it. We put on a good show, with Butter laying it on thick, but not too thick, so I'm not feeling totally molested by him. The 4 or 5 guys sitting at the bar are gaping at us. Then we go back to the table.

I am pretty drunk by then and ask M if I can give him a hug. He says yes and I give him a big hug, then I jump over to the other side of the table and throw myself on K, who is sitting there innocently trying to finish his burrito. I am hugging him too, telling him how he's so nice and sweet, blah blah. He is really a good natured guy, so I wasn't being insincere but he looked a little shocked by all the affection. I went back to sit next to M and I started rubbing his leg under the table. Butter has disappeared and reappeared again. This time he was leaning across the table looking at me intently and sharing his life story - he just got out of jail, he was in for 10 years, he shot/stabbed/something (I'm not clear on this detail) someone who stole his mom's purse but... he's really a nice guy. When he sees my disapproval, he assures me it was only to protect his family, that he's the kind of guy who protects everyone he's close to etc, etc, and I would be safe with him. I am horrified, drunk and don't give a fuck. So I say, "Well, I would protect my family too. But I wouldn't go around and kill someone who stole my mom's bag."

Finally, the bill comes and no one has enough cash. K grabs it and puts it all on his card. M and I try to leave the tip in cash but Butter intercedes claiming he already left them 'something'. Suspicious, I asked exactly what he left. He states, "I gave them 2 bags of coke for their tip." OMG! Is this guy for real? M and I hand the cash directly to the waitress. Before heading out the door, I throw my coat and backpack on the ground in a dramatic gesture and grab K for one last wild, drunken dance before we leave the bar.

M and I quickly exit the scene before Butter can catch up to us (and presumably kill us - just kidding!) and walk to the train together in the rain. I don't remember quite what I was saying to him but I'm pretty sure that it was something kinda weird and out there. The good thing is I don't think he cares, since he's pretty eccentric himself. I give him another hug goodbye and tell him we should hang out again. Exhausted by the night's festivities, I fall asleep on the train home.

Existential Blehhhhh

Most people are protected from the horrors of existential angst by the daily routines and relationships that govern their lives. But when one is free of the grounding and purpose-providing entanglements of work, family and intimacy, their life appears arbitrary and unfathomable. The true nature of the world appears in all its random and callousness, so vast and insatiable as to rattle your teeth in the morning. And when you look in the mirror at the face that you know as your own, it appears strange and disjointed, an inscrutible sadness flickering behind eyes that observe themself blankly and without understanding.

Until the 20th century ennui was an ailment reserved for the priviledged classes whose education and idleness gave them ample time to ponder the pointlessness of existence. Now thanks to technology it is the providence of even the lower middle class.

Getting up, listening to Elliot Smith's Needle in the Hay, contemplating death, fantasizing about having sex with my classmate, selecting the right outfit and then going to church.
What does it all mean anyway????!!!

Too Many

from Circe/Mud Poems

by Margaret Atwood

It was not my fault, these animals
who once were lovers

it was not my fault, the snouts
and hooves, the tongues
thickening and rough, the mouths grown over
with teeth and fur

I did not add the shaggy
rugs, the tusked masks,
they happened

I did not say anything, I sat
and watched, they happened
because I did not say anything.

It was not my fault, these animals
who could no longer touch me
through the rinds of their hardening skins,
these animals dying
of thirst because they could not speak

these drying skeletons
that have crashed and litter the ground
under the cliffs, these
wrecked words.

I made no choice
I decided nothing

One day you simply appeared in your stupid boat,
your killer's hands, your disjointed body, jagged as a
shipwreck,
skinny-ribbed, blue-eyed, scorched, thirsty, the usual,
pretending to be -what? a survivor?

Those who say they want nothing
want everything.
It was not this greed
that offended me, it was the lies.

Nevertheless I gave you
the food you demanded for the journey
you said you planned; but you planned no journey
and we both knew it.

You've forgotten that,
you made the right decision.
The trees bend in the wind, you eat, you rest,
you think of nothing,
your mind, you say,

is like your hands, vacant:

vacant is not innocent.

**************

There must be more for you to do
than permit yourself to be shoved
by the wind from coast
to coast to coast, boot on the boat prow
to hold the wooden body
under, soul in control

Ask at my temples
where the moon snakes, tongues of the dark
speak like bones unlocking, leaves falling
of a future you won't believe in

Ask who keeps the wind
Ask what is sacred

Don't you get tired of killing
those whose deaths have been predicted
and are therefore dead already?

Don't you get tired of wanting
to live forever?

Don't you get tried of saying Onward?"

Players' Club

If only I could get him out of my head. And what an ugly mess this has all become. I suppose it was inevitable considering neither one of us is exactly mild mannered, conventional or even sane, for that matter… When I told him I loved him I didn’t expect to be accused of being manipulative. And how I shriveled inside when he said definitively “I’m not going to fall in love with you before I leave.” I know it was crazy to let myself feel this way when he’s going back to Serbia for good. Maybe I was indulging my own emotions, letting them run free because I knew he was leaving anyway and it could never go anywhere. Was I being selfish and irresponsible? But after months of these games, I’m exhausted – him telling me he loved me countless times - was it for real? I saw him lose himself with me; I saw those naked looks in his eyes, felt his tenderness and his desire.
I was furious, how dare he toy with me, swatting away my feelings as if they meant nothing! The truth is few men catch at my heart, few men captivate me, excite me. Its been years since a man has evoked these feelings in me. Then I saw that book The Game, some hideous players' handbook lying on his bed. Was he playing some cruel trick on me? Manipulating me for his own ego gratification? He lay in bed, staring at me with those intense eyes, the blue-grey eyes I cannot get out of my head. I wordlessly picked the book up, meeting his gaze with mine - raw, angry, hurt - and tore the cover to pieces. Then I took my things and left. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. But I have to reclaim my heart.

This is how I feel

My Maudlin Career
by Camera Obscura

You kissed me on the forehead
Now this kiss is giving me a concussion
We were love at first sight
Now this crush
It's crushing

I chased your steps the city through
I'm lost easily
I took to the desert but my heart just whines
and deceives me

Now we're in love again
And you're wherevers
I'm not a child I know
We're not going steady

You're pain's gigantic but it's not as big as your ego
Promise not to abandon you, please let me go

Now I've been wearing your feelings
Like they were worth protecting
They say I'm too kind and sentimental
Like you could catch affection

Oh in your eyes there's a sadness
Enough to kill the both of us
Are those eyes overrated?
They make me want to give up on love

I'll brace myself for the holiness
Say hello to feelings that I detest

This maudlin career has come to an end
I don't want to be sad again
This maudlin career has come to an end
I don't want to be sad again

This maudlin career has come to an end
I don't want to be sad again
This maudlin career has come to an end
I don't want to be sad again

Getting Lost

Living in NYC is a constant reminder of your own smallness, insubstantialness and powerlessness in relation to the great crushing forces of capitalism and the ever flowing vast surges of humanity. On a bad day I despise the inconvenience, the inconsequentialness of my own tiny existence here. But on a good day I am empowered by the richness of the city's cultural fabric. Sometimes, when I am lucky, it feels as if an invisible benevolent hand is gently guiding me through the immense colorful chaos - preventing me from wallowing in my own ignorance and ethnocentricity - reminding me just how big and varied the world is.

HORRORoscope

My horoscope for today:

There are some things in life that, no matter how hard you polish them, will never shine. You are considering the fact that a particular situation is likely to never change or improve, no matter how much effort or possibly money you invest in it. Don't see this as a reason to be regretful or despondent. It's this realization that will free you from an unhappy or undesirable scenario.

WOW. This could apply to SO MANY issues in my life that are at a complete and utter impasse. Dating, job situation, school, certain relationships I have. I appreciate the brutal honesty, guess I gotta figure out some new strategies, FOR REAL!

You Blew It...Again

This thought just occurred to me while riding the train home today...

That an individual could have had so many chances at love and somehow manage to blow them all is disgusting, sad and unfathomable!

Dum de Dumb Dumb

I finally have a new home! I'm away from the ceaseless background roar of the BQE! Horray! Away from the fake awkward conversations with my antisocial roommate. Away from my tiny cramped room. Away from my rickety metal IKEA loft bed. Away from the stroller pushing yuppie yoga moms of my former 'hood. Away from the morning smells of burnt coffee, the muted earth-tone decor, the 'Squeeze me, stomp me, make me Wine' plaque at my old house. Yay!
Of course now I am living with an eccentric playwright and some other guy who I barely met before moving in. I traded in the pristine, snobby, White affluence of Carroll Gardens for 'Do or Die' Bedstuy. And on my second night here my roommate and I managed to drink a bottle of wine and an ENTIRE bottle of vodka! When we finished the wine he said he was going to run out to the store to get some beer, then he asked if I wanted vodka. I was like 'Uhhhh...well that's not necessary. But well, I guess I won't say no.' I have a little problem turning down vodka, lord help me! He kept making me drinks in a pint glass and continually refilling it. We rambled on for 4 hours about organic farming, dating, sex, activism, politics, San Francisco, blah blah blah and before you knew it we were both wasted and the bottle was empty. I can't tell if its a promising start to things or not...

Immaturity

I was dating an interesting, smart and sexy music producer casually for the past month and a half. Besides the obvious flaw of being emotionally unavailable (that's how I like all my men, I guess)due to a recent separation from his wife of 13 years, he was a bit different from my 'normal' type. First of all he had money and a good job, secondly he was white and to top it off he was older than me - in his 40s. My dating preferences as of the last couple years tend to run towards young, brown, marginally employed and foreign!
Even though I had little expectation of anything serious happening with this guy, I felt that he was mature, financially stable and educated - a step in the right direction, at least. We had lots of interesting conversations, made out in his art studio, he showed me a video of his son's band, I met his dog and his favorite bartender, he told me stories about his grandparents during W.W.II and how they stayed in touch even though they were in separate concentration camps, we discussed religion, politics and music. He was a cool guy and I was enjoying getting to know him. Well, turns out he's pretty much similar to the rest. Three days after having sex with him for the first time on the (4th or 5th date)I received this text message:

"Violeta, we talked a lot about doing the right thing and being a good person. I want to do that, and be up front that I'm not ready to keep dating. I think you're so sweet but my situation isn't going to make for anything very secure. I'm here now if you want to talk on the phone, or we could get together for coffee or a beer again. I hope you understand. Hugs, J."

Just when you thought you were dating a 46 year old man and things might be different - he dumps you by text message after sleeping with you! Ahhhhhh...is there no justice in this world??!!! Technology has absolved us of all propriety.

Is it Me or is it Society?!

I'm reading an essay by C. Wright Mills called 'The Sociological Imagination' for class. I've long suspected that beyond my own personal struggles to find love and companianship, that there is something wrong on a larger level - some insideous social breakdown between men and women - well, not even - between HUMANS in this country that prevents us from relating to one another in an open, sincere and loving way. My single friends report the same things time and time again - its hard to meet anyone interested in a relationship. Women complain the men are guarded, jaded, unable to comitt. Men complain the women are jugdgemental, overly emotional, demanding. (Forgive the apparent stereotypes here, but these are the common complaints that I hear from each gender.)Its helping me to view my own personal problems of lonliness and lack of a partner as a part of a greater issue. According to Mills, 'Troubles occur within the character of the individual and within the range of his or her immediate relations with others...A trouble is a private matter: values cherished by an individual are felt by her to be threatened. Issues have to do with matters that transcend these local environments of the individual and the range of her inner life...An issue is a public matter: some value cherished by the public is felt to be threatened.' Superficially, my failure to connect appears to be a private problem, my own personal hell. However, when we look at the swelling tides of isolation and lonliness around us, that more Americans are single than ever before, 27% of American households now consist of single individuals living alone - the highest number ever - we see that this is not just a personal trouble, this is a national epidemic!

As Mills goes on to say, '...consider unemployment. When, in a city of 100,000, only one is unemployed, that is his personal trouble, and for its relief we properly look to the character of the individual, his skill and opportunities. But when in a nation of 50 million employees, 15 million people are unemployed, that is an issue, and we may not hope to find its solution within the range of opportunities open to any one individual. The very structure of opportunities has collapsed. Both the correct statement of this problem and the range of possible solutions require us to consider the economic and political instituions of the society, and not merely the personal situation and character of a scatter of individuals.'

Panic on the streets of London

What seething rage lies in the hearts of these hopeless young people?
When even their small dreams are denied and life seems pointless...
In the darkness of my own smoldering anger, I can hardly blame them.

Social and economic inequality
"Britain is less equal, in wages, wealth, and life chances, than at any time since" the last major financial upheaval, the great crash of 1929, says Mary Riddell in Britain's Telegraph. It's almost poetic that when the riots broke out, the same ruling class that failed this angry "lost generation" was vacationing abroad, "parked on sun-loungers, as London burned." Indeed, the cause of this week's unrest mirrors that of the riots of 1981 and 1990, says Steve Hynd at Newshoggers: "Brutal cuts, forced austerity," and the shakedown of "the common people to finance corporate giveaways."

A British blogger wrote of the factors behind the riots: “Cuts to everything, including welfare and education, have created an atmosphere where the poor and alienated feel that the basic means to the ends of success are no longer available. Moreover, at the same time that austerity is expected of the poor, who are simply meant to swallow their lack of opportunity, it is, of course, business as usual for the rich who continue to consume and the mass media which persists in selling everybody a consumer fantasy. “

This Hideous Life Part 2,000,000,000

WARNING: THIS IS A RANT

I've been trying so hard to be positive, but the last 2 days I would like nothing more than to punch someone in the face. Hard. Actually, I can think of a couple candidates...

As if months of sexual harassment, physical threats, 2 weeks of UNPAID 'training' shifts, getting fired for no good reason, a nearly austistic roommate who can barely carry on a basic conversation, dating a guy who lied about his name and tried to trick me into not using a condom, a date with a guy who grabbed my breasts and squeezed them in a restaurant, another who reached over and pinched my ass while we were walking down the street, having a guy tell me he loves me only to have him tell me several days later that he can't have a 'serious relationship', going to a graduate school that barely offers any classes in my department, wandering the streets at night because I don't feel comfortable going home, isn't bad enough...I've started a new job in real estate...and I haven't earned a penny in 3 weeks!

This is so frustrating. I'm tired of being poor and alone. I'm sick of people being disingenious at best and outright liars at worst. I don't understand why its so difficult for people to be honest,to do what they say they are going to do and to take other people's feelings into account. I don't understand why common courtesy and human decency are so difficult to find. I know I'm not perfect but I'm honest, loyal and (usually!) kind. To me these should be baseline human qualities, not exceptions. What the hell is wrong with people these days?!

I Can't Give It Up

Baby how could you trick me like this? After I gave up all my pride and completely subjugated myself to you? After I let myself go...and even then I longed to go so much deeper with you. But you got scared, you lost control, as you said, and you caught yourself. Well, me, I wanted to take it even further, abandon all inhibition and shame, delve into the deepest, darkest part of ourselves. But you pulled away and then I did too. You felt too much, said too much and then you wanted your independence. I would never desire to possess you completely and I would never want to be entirely yours. Please forgive us. Our desire. Our greed. Our confusion...
I don't want to lose you completely. I know most everything is ruined. And I blame you, maybe myself a little bit too. If it wasn't for our romantic delusions, maybe things would have been different. I doubt it though.
Anyway, I miss talking to you about life, everything. I compare all the other guys to you. And they always disappoint me.

Family

My brother and his wife were just here visiting me in the city. (As it turns out I’m probably gonna stay after all – I am still a little in love with this place.) It was so good to be with family. The warmth and comfort of someone who knows you so well – all your annoying quirks, who tolerates your never ending complaint sessions about the same old things, who you can talk to for hours on end about the state of the world (or just the state of your life) and who loves you in spite of it all. Such a relief, because there’s not exactly a ton of unconditional love floating around in my life.

I feel the sweet tang of sadness when they go. I am snapped from the cushion of companionship and returned to my strange and elusive solitary ways. After hugging goodbye outside the subway stop on 14th St they disappeared into a hole in the ground. I was alone again on a warm night in Manhattan. The breeze picked up softly, bleeding the darkness and lights together as I drifted off into the miasma of the city. In love with loneliness and being lost.

Where I Came From

Twilight closes in and I step outside. The dry air is silent, hovering on the verge of darkness. Trees have grown up along the old path, obscuring the view of the meadow below. Once a tiny sapling in my memory, a large oak now huddles in a verdant clump surrounded by young pines. The growth of these trees surprises me but then I am reminded time has been passing. And not a little bit of time. It will be 20 years this summer since I left, all my belongings thrown carelessly into big black garbage bags. I drove away down that long dusty hill in my Toyota Tercel, with pictures of Robert Smith taped to the back window, blasting some staticy ‘modern rock’ radio station. I was headed to the big city for college and a better life – to forget my small town shoddiness. To leave the chaotic, eccentric poverty of my parents’ weird lifestyle, to make new and interesting friends, to take drugs and stay up all night, to not be fat, to not be a virgin.

Here I am no longer a child, not even young anymore. And still the silence and isolation of this place holds me in its thrall. I can see now that it is beautiful in its remote uncultivated way. My Dad struggles incessantly, fencing gardens, pulling weeds, cutting grass, sawing down trees, repairing old buildings and yet everything rebels and returns to nature – paths overgrown, thistles and weeds thrive, trees rot and fall under the weight of winter snow, the buildings slip into disrepair – the wood going grey and brittle, birds eat the fruit from the trees, gophers pilfer the gardens and rattlesnakes lurk in the grass.

How can this relate to my life in New York City? These worlds seem at odds, split entirely from one another. And yet I am part of them both, even though I have wanted to disappear. I am from here. This solitary wilderness still flowers within me, inescapable as nature.

Finally Over It

I think I might be getting the hell outta Dodge - NYC, actually. After being fired from yet another pathetic peon job by a disgusting power mongering misogynist, I think the proverbial straw may have broken my back. I just can't take this anymore. I can't take this tiny room in which I sleep, in a place that is not my home, where nothing is mine, the incessant thrum of the Brooklyn Queens Expressway roaring outside my window day and night, the quintessence of temporal space signifying nothing. Everyone is on their way somewhere but here itself is nowhere in particular, not a real destination. My life is nowhere, not a real destination, not a point on a map. I give up trying to find meaning. City College of New York is a bureaucratic mess hamstrung by budget cuts, not even able to offer its graduate students enough classes so that they may graduate, the escalators broken for 4 months, collecting garbage. Everything seems run down and full of junk. The men are jerks. I just don't have the energy to go on.

I want to go way, if only I knew where...

Dreams

A Dream Deferred

Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

ESL

By now it should be apparent that I am slightly obsessed with foreign men. This results in some rather interesting text exchanges.

Friday Feb 25th:
12:21am Habibi: Hello my love!!!
Me: Hi
H: You will stay my love forever
Me: What's up?
H:Where are you come to see now
H: Habibati are you in the bed?
Me: No out on the LES with my friend.
H: I'm home I can't sleep
Me: My friend just ran out out and left me alone at this pizzeria
H: I wait for you take cap I pay for it

My friend L and I had gone out earlier in the evening to watch a Japanese folk singer from Astoria play at Pianos. After the show,the guys from the band came over and gave us free drink tickets because they said we seemed like the only people who were really into it. Then we met these crazy guys who grabbed us and started dancing with us. They bought us more drinks. Needless to say we ended up wasted at a pizza place in the LES. That's where my friend got into a fight with the guy at the counter who swore she ordered 2 slices and she swore she only ordered one. She stormed out in a rage and left me there drunk and confused with my pizza. That's when Habibi started contacting me. Meanwhile this other guy sat down next to me and we preceded to have a 45 minute long conversation about race relations and black men dating white women (he was black). Habibi was calling and texting me the whole time. In the end he drove into town and swooped me up in his minivan. Then the other guy started texting me, "You are cool. We should hang out sometime. XO". Habibi took me to his place fed me chocolate, climbed in the shower with me, washed my hair for me and put me to bed. I was wearing a vintage dress he had given me from his store and my stockings had a hole in them. The next day he pulled out a new pair of tights and gave them to me. He can be really cool sometimes.

Tonight as I write this its snowing/raining outside. I texted Habibi earlier to see if he wanted to hang out.
I just got this message from him:
'I'm staying home very bloomy wether' (I think he means 'gloomy'...)
Oh, all of this makes me laugh. Not in a mean way, its just funny to me.

The good times never end - or do they?!

I've spent my whole life surrounded
and I've spent my whole life alone
I wonder why I never wonder why
The easiest things are so hard
I just want, I just want love
I just want, I just want love
I just want, I just want love
I just want something
Something for nothing
Something, something for nothing

I'm a beggar and I'm a chooser
I'm accused, I'm an accuser
But nothing's unconditional

I hold the whole world accused
I've only got myself to blame
I wonder why, I never wonder why
The easiest things are so hard

-Unconditional, The Bravery

Sometimes I feel the urge to warn my younger friends about the perils of perpetual singlehood. That they might fall into the vacuous hole of endless city nights - drunken revelry, dead end jobs, meaningless sex, trippin' around 3rd world countries - until one day they wake up a decade or more later wondering what the hell happened. But its fun. Hell yeah, its fun! Too much fun. That's the problem. I have made a career out of avoiding responsibility, conjuring up casual romances and 'exploring my opportunities'. While I don't believe in regret - I think its a wasted emotion, if I knew then what I knew now (forgive me for this horrible cliche), I might have have slowed down a little, taken things a little more seriously.

But I keep my mouth shut. Everyone staggers through life and eventually finds their own way. Such are the perils of the modern age. We are free but its so easy to get lost.

Fate

I watched the Adjustment Bureau tonight. Its all about fate versus free will. Without totally giving away the end, the movie basically suggests that if you fight hard enough for something that you truly desire you can break out of the web of preordained fate. Put another way, 'Fortune favors the brave'.

As I walked home through the soft spring night, I started thinking about why I came to New York. I came here to change my destiny, to shake up fate. I felt like my life was stale, monotonous, whirling in a slow motion circle of vacuous wasted time and loneliness. So I came here. Now I am walking down these dark Brooklyn streets, the moon shining on the brownstones and though I have come so far, I still feel the same tug of inertia. It still feels like I am going to be alone forever. That's the worst of it. I have tried so hard, god knows, I have tried. I've fought to change, to grow, to take chances, to try different things. I have given so many guys chances each time thinking maybe I could find love with this person. And yet every time it eludes me. People say stop trying and it will find you. I've given up too. Nothing changes. I've never felt so powerless about anything in my life. Nothing I do, or feel or think or pray for can possibly seem to shake the pattern of my solitary life.

Pick Up Lines

I was out at a bar last night with a bunch of girl friends. A lone guy lingering near the end of the bar approached me.

Him: "You're really pretty."
Me: "Thanks."
Him: "Would you like to hook up?"
Me: Incredulous, "WHAT?!!! NOOOOOOO!"
Him: "Why not?"
Me: "You don't even know me! You have barely even spoken to me!"
Him: "Well, Adam didn't have to speak to Eve."

At this point I just started roaring with laughter and turned away. I told all my friends and everyone was dying. The guy quickly exited the bar.

Really?! Is this what's its come to these days?! You don't even know my name and you are gonna approach me and ask me if I'd like to hook up with you? And the Adam and Eve thing is just ridiculous. I can't believe it!

'Feminism' and its Discontents

I must admit that the average middle class white guy from this country holds little appeal for me. The accomplished 30 something white mothers I observe in my neighborhood rushing around with their jogging strollers and yoga mats, clad in expensive athletic wear, valiantly struggling to get back to their 'pre-baby' weight - all while holding down a lucrative, full time professional job, attempting to maintain a loving and passionate friendship with their husband, be the best mother they can be, in addition to setting aside time for weekends away and cocktails with 'the girls', do not inspire me. They seem overworked, stressed and exhausted, with too many people to please.

My otherwise liberal friends gasp in horror when I tell them I am dating a Muslim guy. But to me it makes sense. I feel oppressed by the tyrannical beauty and success standards impressed upon me by my supposedly open-minded, educated middle class white peers. In fact, it is in such company that I feel like the biggest, fattest failure. I know the Muslim world is not known for its enlightened attitude toward women (and that's an understatement in certain countries!). However, I feel compelled in the spirit of open-mindedness , cultural curiosity and (waning) optimism to check it out. Realistically any man attached to a religious dogma of any sort (whether it be Buddhism, Islam, Judaism, Christianity, etc) will probably not be for me. But just because a man is white and educated doesn't mean he's not a sexist pig and just because a man is a Muslim doesn't make him a de facto misogynist.

Today's modern woman is expected to be everything to everyone - loving mother, sexy spouse, affectionate companion, capable career woman, faithful daughter, supportive friend, all while looking amazing doing it. By god, you'd better not get fat! I'm sorry but there are some serious issues here. If this is enlightenment, then count me out. While I have zero desire to return to the restrictiveness of the 1950's, there has to be a more compassionate way. The unlovely truth is that we still live in a capitalist, patriarchal society - throwing ourselves into a Darwinian rat race of social ascendence and punishing ourselves over our bodies is not liberation - its enslavement.

Crazy for being so Crazy

So I sort have been hanging out with a guy I met that runs the falafel cart at my school. I had been eying him for a while, he is quite handsome and sweet. Last summer he commented on a T shirt that I was wearing - a Roxy Music T shirt that depicted a girl in her under ware holding her hands over her breasts. I chatted with him for a couple minutes. He was told me he lived in Queens. I told him I did too. He came here recently from Egypt. Anyway, I was instantly attracted to him but I knew the whole thing was a bad idea. I've been down this path before - falling for a guy from another country who works insane hours, is just learning the language and the culture, etc, etc. It was a lot of fun, believe me, but it ultimately ended in heartbreak with my last boyfriend from Brazil. So I purposefully ignored him for the next 3 months, even though I passed by him once or twice a week when I was at school.

Then, in some dumb temptation of fate, this Valentine's Day I decided to stop by and say 'Hi'. 'M' greeted me with such friendliness it was as if no time had passed, he remembered my name and everything I had told him in our prior conversation 3 or 4 months before. He said he saw me walk by all the time and asked why I didn't come talk to him anymore. I told him I was shy. Which is part of the truth.

He asked me what I was doing that night and if I'd like to hang out. We went and got coffee later. He doesn't drink at all. (Awkward!) But he is really sexy. And speaking of sexy, I think he's got some weird hang ups about sex. Apparently Egyptian women are virgins until they get married. And they still practice female circumcision there! Horrifying. He genuinely seems like a sweet guy, not a horrible misogonystic, woman-oppressor (as many Muslim men are believed to be by western women) but he definitely seems conflicted about sex.

The other day, after several dates, he came over to my house. I offered him tea and put on a movie. After kissing me passionately and dragging me to my bedroom to rip off my shirt, he abruptly asked me if I wanted to finish my tea. We went back to the living room to finish our tea. He started kissing me again. Then he paused and started looking off into space. I asked him what was wrong, he suddenly said he had to go and meet with his lawyer over some fines he had. His ambivalence didn't surprise me. I told him no problem, he should go. Once again he started kissing me and trying to pull my pants off. He then suggested we arm wrestle - he using only two fingers to compensate for being stronger than me. If I won he would stay. By this point, I was over it, I had accepted that he was going to go. We arm wrested, he with his two fingers against my hand and he won. He then suggested a rematch - only one finger against my whole hand. He seemed to be vacillating as to whether he should stay or go. I already suspected that if we hooked up he would freak out and leave. So I sent him on his way.

The next morning he called. I didn't answer. But today, under some crazy compulsion, I had to stop by again to say hi. He greeted me with friendliness and openness. His cousin was there and he introduced us.

Why do we play these games? Why are men and women so bewildered by one another? I know the whole thing is a horrible idea and yet I keep making the same mistakes over and over and over again. There is something about the exotic thrill of foreign lands and foreign men. Their 'strange' customs and ways excite me, challenge me. Something about the smell and touch of their skin is enticing. I know this is futile. That my romanticism is overly optimistic at best and objectifying and ignorant at its worst. And yet I must follow my foolish impulses.

Carnival of Sadness

I happen to LOVE depressing movies. The best thing is to go see them alone. There are 3 reasons for this: one - so I can smuggle in food like burritos and sit in a dark corner in the very last row masticating my food in peace (and not eating the dreaded movie popcorn with fake butter - I hate that shit, it doesn't even tempt me!), two - so I can cry with abandon - mascara running down my face, a misty and tragic look in my eyes, and three - so I can devolve into a dream-like reality after watching the movie and walk around for the next hour feeling like everything is surreal, reflecting on the movie. I never have to deal with anyone turning to me preemptively, just after the credits start rolling, interrogating - 'So, what do you think'? Movies put me in a stupor, entrance me, I forget all about myself and my petty, re-occuring issues. Its nothing short of liberation.

Tonight I saw 'Biutiful' an extremely dark and depressing film set in Barcelona by the director of Amores Perros (one of my favorite films). It was sad as hell. In fact I had to go get a drink afterwards. Alone. At a bar close to my house. I sat there drinking a cheap beer and a shot - $5 for both, the beer was actually good, its made in Upstate NY- a bleak and lonely place, if ever there was one. But the truth is feeling bad makes me feel good sometimes. The bartender was playing Mazzy Star and old Motown. I was feeling lucky to live in such a free world that I can sit alone at a bar pontificating by myself - as a single woman, and no one bats an eye. I was also simultaneously cursing my independence - wishing I was with someone who loved me. Someone who I could talk about the cruelty of fate with, discuss how the immigrants in the movie struggled, discuss the unfairness of the world, the struggle to find meaning in anything.

The protagonist in the movie was dying of cancer. I wonder what would matter to me if I were dying. What is left that means anything?!

Wow. This is getting depressing. I didn't mean it that way. Life is just complicated. For all of us.

Lucky

I'm gonna be honest, I don't care for the bands that perform where I work. Mostly its washed up old artists whose heyday has long passed or one-hit-wonders who disappeared into obscurity 10-15 years ago. So the other night when Teddy Thompson played a set of achingly honest songs about heartbreak that nearly brought me to tears, I was surprised. He was good. Really good. Sad but funny. A hard balance to strike, one that I sometimes try to pull off myself. I can always appreciate a depressed person with a wicked sense of humor!

At the end of the night my coworker and I were sent to clean out the green room (the artist's dressing room/lounge). Teddy was slumped on the cheap vinyl sofa by himself smoking a cigarette. Looking like the quintessential tortured rock star.

As I cleared two half full carafes of wine off the table, I joked, "Great, now I have something to drink." My coworker shot back, "There's probably spit in them." Teddy looked up and deadpanned in his British accent, "Yeah, I spit in them." "Then I will definitely drink them!" I said. We all laughed.
I hesitated and said awkwardly, "I normally don't talk to the artists here but I just wanted to say that your set was really wonderful. Just lovely. I think the best I've seen and I've been working here a year"
He looked at me sincerely, "Thanks that means a lot."
I should have left it at that but then I tried for a couple more laughs. Just to show that I was funny too. The thing about being funny is that you gotta know when to stop with a joke. Oh well...

Anyway, I went home and listened to a bunch of his songs. They were sad and sweet and addictive.

Times like these I feel genuinely lucky to be working where I do. Lucky to be in New York City. Lucky to be me. Life is full of surprises - some of them are even pleasant.

Just Another Night

Its 2am on a Monday. JR reared his head like a graceless spectacle from the past to collect his last paycheck tonight. Apparently things aren't going so well at his new executive chef job (I could have predicted this). But still, I say to him sincerely, "That's too bad I really wanted it to work out for you." "Thanks", he says, "I can see you did." But then I can't resist adding, "What, did you think I wanted you to crash and burn?!!" I laugh wryly. The truth, as ever, is ellusive. I both wanted him to succeed AND to fail. Why does everything in life have to be so complex?

As I observe him, his short dark hair, freshly shorn, tall and slightly awkward, I feel nothing. No hint of my previous desire. He seems young, dorky and lost. He asks for advice about how to handle an interview tomorrow. I'm tired and irritable. Earlier in the evening I had tripped at work and fallen. Everyone rushed over to me while I lay on the floor feeling the hot sting of tears. "I'm OK", I reassured them, getting up shakily. But the truth is I'm not OK. I feel delicate and crazy. A bad combination. Like I might suddenly shatter.

L and I go to a divey Irish bar for a 'nitecap'. The bar is practically empty. The bartender does several shots of Jameson with us. A strange thing about this city; I get free drinks where ever I go. Not that I'm complaining. The bartender is from Queens. I tell him I love native New Yorkers, that they are some of the most weirdly compassionate people I've ever met. He laughs and agrees. I'm suddenly anxious to go. L stays on to drink more whiskey with him.

Its snowing outside. Big feathery flakes. I turn my face up and let them fall on my cheeks and eyelids. Everything is soft and beautiful.

Then I'm waiting for the train at W 4th Street eating a pack of nuts. I secretly want to run into JR waiting for his train. I want to go back to those days when waiting for the train wasn't lonely and sad. The days when we were drunk and laughing, making out, heedless of everyone else's glances. He'd have his arms around me and I didn't care if it took an hour for the next train to come. I was just happy in those moments.

But I'm alone now and not young. The train comes and I'm as lost as ever, going home to somewhere that will never be home. I can't wait to lie in my bed and listen to love songs. I just want to cry and cry and cry until I feel pure and empty.

My heart, my mind - they've always been treacherous.

Same Old Story

I went out with my coworkers again tonight. I cannot seem to avoid it lately. I just can't bear to go home at night, I don't know how to be there. It was JR's last night, well perhaps tomorrow really will be but I was desperate to avoid him so I got my shift covered in order to miss the inevitable awkward goodbye. The fact is that everything has degenerated into utter crap between us. His ostentatious flirting in front of me makes me jealous and insecure. I'm pissed and disgusted with him and even more pissed and disgusted with myself that I was dumb enough to fall for someone so young. Those times of laughter, those fleeting moments of comfort, all those warm feelings have soured into to guilty glances and uncomfortable pauses. I am sad and I can't hide it.

I watched him working in the kitchen tonight, watched his back as he bent over the stove, watched his big, gentle hands as he assembled food on the plates. I still remember how nice it was to kiss him but now I can't even look him in the eye anymore. When I saw him leaning against the counter in his chef's coat at the end of his shift, it occurred to me that this will probably be the last time I ever see him. I am not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed.

Anyway, the bar was crowded and hot. We were jammed into a table in the middle of it all. Everyone clammering in conversation. Talking about men and women. The talk drifted to how hard it is to find love in New York. How there are just so many options. So many people to choose from.

We talked of fighting. I said I will fight for anyone I love, family or friend. I am not a pacifist. If it comes down to it, I'll fight. Then my coworker told me how she once broke someone's arm when she was nine. Her sharp cheekbones flashed in the dim light and I saw that she is like me, she would fight in defense if she had to. I like passionate people.

Suddenly I realize that there is nothing that I want more than to be home alone. I'm tired of being a fighter and a lover. Its exhausting and this loneliness is wearing me thin. Won't my luck ever change?