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.