VD

Wow. Happy Valentine's Day to me! I really hate this day, needless to say. But it doesn't exactly make matters better when I go to check facebook and my married friend post a link to an article about books to read 'for bitter singles on Valentine's Day' with the comment "Thinking of you on your favorite day!" blah blah... Now is it just me or is that a bit mocking and insensitive?! While I have no problem grousing about my lovelorn status to my friends (and anonymous strangers - on here), I don't particularly want my facebook friends, family and acquaintances knowing what a sad, lonely, sourpuss I am! With over half the population officially filing their taxes as 'single', it might be time for some sensitivity training for couples and smug married people. As any single person will inevitably tell you - often the WORST love advice and most unsympathetic comments come from people in relationships. They are not only out of touch with what its like to be searching for a partner but they looooove to act like its your fault that you haven't met anyone decent. Come on guys!

Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here

Its an awful feeling to know that the thing that you desire the most is something that you have utterly failed at. Time and time and time again. Unabashed, utter failure. And it was not for lack of effort either. In fact, a sustained and unbearable amount of energy has been dedicated to the pursuit of this objective which has eluded me completely. Not only eluded me, but blatantly mocked me and disrespected me at every chance.
So I give up. I give up on my hopes and dreams of love and romance. Sure, I still have the strong urge to punch cuddling couples in the face. I still feel the keen knife of envy as a breathless stab to my stomach when I witness two people in love. But I have to let go of my aspirations for being one of them. I have to let the dream die. Because its too painful to keep trying and failing.
It hasn't all been bleak. There have been many fun and carefree moments. On a drunken night earlier this month I found myself underneath the Brooklyn Queens Expressway overlooking the fetid Gowanus Canal. I was pointing out an enormous mound of scrap metal over which cranes with giant claws labor day and night gathering fistfuls of junk and hurling them into a container barge waiting on the brown water. I don't know what it is about this grim wasteland of twisted metal that fascinates me but I have spent hours watching the cranes pick at the never-diminishing wreckage. The guy I was with was a 'famous composer' (as my friend had said after introducing us) and music promoter who was finishing up his PhD at Princeton. Somewhere in the middle of my rhapsodizing about the big junk heap he grabbed me and started kissing me. It was snowing. And for a moment everything seemed perfect.
Needless to say things went downhill not much later. Our mutual friend called me asking where we'd gone. We ended up at a bar, all quite intoxicated. We were there about an hour. I went to use the bathroom and upon returning I noticed he and my friend were gone. Disappeared into thin air. Or rather into the cold night without me.
So nothing can get my hopes up these days - not swimming in the East River during the middle of a hurricane with my demented Serbian crush, not making out by the Mediterranean with a sexy Italian painter, nor drinking champagne with a slick guy from Dubai, not even kissing a cute young Princeton Professor by a scrap metal yard.
Its all for naught. I am alone and that's it. Might as well accept that this situation may not change.
***it should be noted that as I'm writing this I'm lying in bed listening to Bruce Springsteen (to block the sound of my roommate snoring from the room next door) and eating prunes. I have one missed call...from my mom! ha ha... Yep, gonna be alone forever!

The Downside of 'Always Looking on the Bright Side'

I found this old post on my abandoned myspace account, written several years ago. But I still feel the exact same way today!

Tonight while eating at my favorite hole-in-the-wall pizza restaurant I was privy to the sort of dime store psychology conversation that always makes me cringe. One guy was saying to his friend 'You shouldn't worry. You are just wasting your time. I try to always look at things in a positive way.' This is the kind of conversation that for years has made my skin crawl, it brings back memories of countless earnest conversations (on my part) that often ended with statements such as 'you are so negative', 'you need to change your attitude' or my all time favorite from my very own mom 'just be grateful you aren't … insert here latest natural disaster, catastrophe, war etc… starving in Africa, fighting in Iraq, drowning in floodwaters' etc… This type of stock answer to another person's vulnerability signals nothing less than a dismissal of the other person's emotions. What one wants here is often EMPATHY not a lecture on the joys of positive thinking! By the way, according to Merriam-Webster's Medical Dictionary empathy is defined as the action of understanding, being aware of, being sensitive to, and vicariously experiencing the feelings, thoughts, and experience of another. To me the key parts of this are understanding, and being sensitive to.
I had a conversation with my Dad this weekend about empathy where he stated that he is 'practicing empathy'. I was aghast – does one really need to practice empathy? I kind of thought it came naturally. I guess I should have known better. It appears that a lot of people are extremely uncomfortable with the expression of raw human emotion in others. To me that is a shame, as our ability to communicate our emotions and thoughts (whether pleasant or unpleasant), is what makes us unique as human beings.
So, what's so bad about being negative sometimes anyway? According to several psychological studies depressed individuals actually have a tendency to assess their self and their environment more realistically than non depressed people. Also, depression itself can be viewed as a catalyst for change; often times people experience depression because there are things in their life that are not working. Depression is a sign that old patterns need to be overcome and new ones formed in their place.
I find our culture's obsession with positivity very annoying. What it seems to boil down to is people don't really want to take the time to understand another person's struggle and/or they don't know what to say or do when confronted with intense emotions. Instead we want to placate others and ourselves with such superficial statements as 'it'll get better', 'try to think positively', 'you get back what you put out' etc etc which basically invalidates the other person's emotions. To me fake-ass positivity is a far worse crime than negativity because it is so condescending, trivial and easy to dish out. Laura Bush's infamously insensitive remark to displaced Hurricane Katrina victims that things had 'worked out well' for them is a perfect example of this kind of crap.
Lest I appear to be a horrible curmudgeon, I must confess that I DO want to be happy, perhaps even more desperately than others. But I believe that happiness is something you work for, something you struggle with, something that is rare and precious and private and different for each person. I don't want to be a dilettante at happiness - skimming along the surface of things without any true understanding of their nature. I don't want my appetite to be spoiled by something fluffy, sweet and ultimately unfulfilling; I want the real thing in all its complexity and richness.
Besides, some people are just so much more charming when they are down. I could barely listen to The Cure after 'Friday I'm in Love' came out. The sappy silliness of that song just made me cringe. It could never, ever compare to the somber splendor of 'Pictures of You'. I certainly hope no one ever told Robert Smith to just 'snap out of it'! If tortured artists weren't so tortured we'd spend the rest of our lives listening to 'Don't Worry be Happy' rather than 'Paint it Black'. I mean come on, is that really any way to live? !

http://home.avvanta.com/~charlatn/depression/worst.things.html

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.