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?

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.