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?

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?!