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.