Sexy Excel

I can personally attest that New York City will make you crazy.  You wonder why there are grown men dressed in overgrown ratty Elmo costumes wandering around Times Square assaulting innocent bystanders with $15 hugs?  You wonder why the man in the handicap seat on your morning commute is always muttering about banana peels and sexy legs?  You ever scratch your head as to why assless chaps and a cowboy hat is a completely acceptable ensemble at most parades and all McDonald’s in the 5 boroughs??  Well I will tell you. 

You too will crack eventually under this city’s constant pressure.  You may not resort to a homeless lifestyle or moonlighting (and daylighting) as Hello Kitty, but little by little you’ll feel its effects.   Here’s a brief list of facts that are slowly leading to my personal demise:

 

1.        Everyone is gay.  Don’t get me wrong…I love all humans- gay straight blue green omnivores or NASCAR fans, but the ladies need some love too.  That well-dressed, perfectly coiffed man you’re desperately trying to make eye contact with on the 7 platform?  He has no interest in your parts, my dear girl. When I first moved to New York I was convinced I had found a utopian wonderland of men and I proceeded to fall in love 8 times a day on average.  Silly, naive me.  Then I noticed that these gorgeous creatures weren’t smiling at me…they were smiling at the dude to my left.  Now I’m sure I’ll never find anyone in this town because all the good men are gay, and all the straight good men I will pass off as gay and miss out on….BECAUSE EVERYONE IS GAY.

2.       Every day you rise out of bed, put on your gross flats, stuff your pretty pumps in your bag and head out to battle.  Getting anywhere in the city is a pain in the ass, but getting to work during rush hour is inhuman.  I use that word purposefully as there are any number of animal metaphors that can be used to describe the stages.  Climbing the stairs to your connecting train like a cow in a cattle chute.  Walking the 5 blocks from Times Square to Herald Square area like a salmon swimming upstream…except instead of fighting a current of water you’re fighting a current of under-caffeinated, late New Yorkers.  I’d take sub-zero water temperatures 7 times out of 10.  You get home at 8 PM wondering, "Where did my energy go???" …well you elbowed 3 finance  guys in the briefcase at a stop light, got gouged in the eye with an oncoming umbrella, was squeezed mercilessly by the closing subway doors (come onnn MTA, would motion sensors kill you?? Because the lack of them is literally killing me), and overall you walked about 3 miles total throughout the day. 

3.       There is always an asshole wearing a backpack standing in front of you on the crowded subway smothering your face.  Coming in at 5’3’, I’ve been besieged by any kind of backpack you can imagine: Patagonia, LL Bean, leather, hipster fabric, Pikachu.  Of course the owner of such a destructive piece of luggage is usually around 6’2” and completely unaware the havoc he’s reeking to my face behind him.  PS- I haven’t worn a backpack since middle school. Unless you’re 12, get a grown up satchel or remove the thing before boarding my G train.

4.       Speaking of backpacks, living in the city means that you are at all times carrying at least half of what you own on you at any given moment while out and about.  I live in Brooklyn.  I work in midtown Manhattan.  These locations might as well be Sri Lanka and Alabama.  There is no quick trip home to grab your gym clothes, and who knows when you might need your toothbrush, 3 types of face wash, rain boots, and a box of Goldfish snack crackers?? They don’t call it the concrete jungle for nothin’, kids.  Come prepared.  Coming prepared means being a human pack mule.   I don’t think I’ve ever walked through my apartment doors at the end of the day with less than 70% of my weight in necessities hanging off my 110 lb. frame.

 

Even just WRITING this entry has exhausted me.  Instead of rounding off the list to a socially acceptable 5 reasons, I’m capping this bitch at 4…because I’m a New Yorker and I really just don’t care.  But ya know something?? I wouldn’t trade this lifestyle for anything.  New York is a concentrated dose of humanity…anything you want to believe about people is on display right outside your stoop.  The good the bad the horrific the questionable smelling – we’ve got it all.  You can keep your well-rested, vanilla life.  I have giant bags under my eyes and the greatest city in the world.

Hypnagogia

I’m drowsy and confused in the early morning light as my brain struggles to piece together where I am and why I’m burning alive and my sheets are turquoise.  I remember it’s my birthday.  I turn to fully take in my human space heater in all his still slumbering mystique.  Sleep separates.  We may be in our most vulnerable state, but sleep creates an impenetrable boundary.  I’m never more aware of my aloneness in this world than when I’m next to a sleeping person; so wholly themselves, but so unreachable to me.  What’s even more isolating is that when those eyes open, the ocean between us won’t close.  As I study his copper hair and large nose and begin to subconsciously memorize the wrinkles in his neck, I realize there’s nothing obviously beautiful about this man.  His physical pieces on their own don’t suggest beauty at all in fact…but I’m taken with him. 

The alarm sounds and I pretend to stir awake in time with him as though I wrote the book on new-lover morning etiquette.   Notice me.  He pulls me to him and I’ve won.  I’m groggy and ready for anything, but his face decidedly presses against my chest and he hugs me like his life depends on breathing me in.  And there we lay until the snooze runs out on his alarm; a far too short eternity during which my feelings suddenly shift.  You know that moment when you fall off a cliff you never saw coming and suddenly you are attached to this half conscious man in your bed.  It was fun, it was light and then suddenly someone inhales and exhales on your sternum and your world is upside down.  It’s such a pity we don’t have more control over these moments- a say in the matter - but the juxtaposition of his selfish sleep and the illusion that he somehow needed me was too much for my easily duped emotions.

None of it matters now, and I’ve moved onto futures of many similar moments with new someones, but these little fleeting events in life that wake you…metaphorically or literally (and in my case both) - they’re so golden.  Even if one giant misinterpretation – it’s so worth it to be reminded that you CAN feel; that things won’t always be just fun and light. That your emotions  (though easily duped) are still a functioning part of you.  You’re human, you’re alive, and you are going to be just fine.

Boob grazes.

Tonight I went clubbing.  And it was awful.  On more than one occasion I had a random Russian man approach to buy me a vodka drink.  I don't actually know if these men were Russian and I'm sure if I had requested tequila they'd have been more than obliging, but in any case I wasn't in the mood to be "accidentally" boob grazed by a stranger as they handed me my skinny marg.  I'm actually never in the mood for a boob graze as it just reminds me how little there is to graze.  I think anyone being honest with themselves would agree that  between "the club" and a dump in North Dakota in February, the club is the bigger wasteland of the two.

Despite the drunk white boys attempting to dance and the $12 cocktails, my evening ended on a positive.  In the cab ride home we crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and I experienced that brief interim between Manhattan and Brooklyn. In this limbo over the East River I had the opportunity to look back on the city that never sleeps and rarely forgives, and had an epiphany.  We all have lofty dreams of what our lives could be...and yet for some reason most of us settle for the easiest route.  We let love or love lost or authority or self-doubt control our destiny.  Looking back on Manhattan tonight I realized how much possibility lies behind those lights.  I was reminded of how much I want to do...for myself.  There will always be negative energy and things will go wrong and you'll feel insignificant and powerless against the surge of the city.  But your journey is still important and you have to fight for it because no one else will...not your love or your love lost or the person telling you what's right or your inner voice telling you what's wrong.

Sometimes it takes being in the in-between somewhere above the East River to really see the big picture.  Sometimes the move to the big city isn't the risk.  The real risk lies in what you do once you're there.

time for the sun to finally set, Twilight.

Here with the comfort and anonymity this computer screen affords, I will admit to you all that in a galaxy not so far away known as high school circa 2007, I read the first installment of Twilight.  Not only was I hooked, but in all my 17 year old wisdom, I was convinced that Edward was my soulmate.  Nevermind that he was cold as stone and wanted to suck my blood.  It only made him more appealing.  The uninspired prose egged me on, and I read all 4 books by the time junior prom rolled around with  David Peeler.  Despite being quite dreamy, David's body temperature lingered at a consistent and boring 98.7 degrees.  Fast-forward to present day, and the woman behind this keyboard will look you in the eye and deny any and all Twilight affiliation.  No Twifiliation to speak of here. However, for the purpose of this review, I will whip out my secret Twilight expertise to deliver you a short list of reasons why you should not waste your time with such a dumb set of films.

1.  Kristen Stewart cannot act.  Kristen shows up on set in dire need of a laxative and manages to mug her way through scene after scene.  Sometimes while watching her I actually feel a little plugged up myself.  It infuriates me that this clumsy, talentless chick was welcomed aboard such a lucrative project.  With my thespian background as reindeer number 4 in the 2nd grade Christmas production, I'm very confident in my ability to make out with Robert Pattinson 1,000 times better than she.

2.  They decided to split Breaking Dawn into 2 movies so that you go to the theater for part 1 in 2011 ready for demon baby action, and you spend the $37 on your ticket and nachos and small diet Pepsi and NOTHING HAPPENS in the film.  It's one big Twilight conspiracy to rip off 13 year old screaming girls in Taylor Lautner t-shirts.  ...and the occasional 23 year old sophisticate with the box of wine and Dixie cups tucked in her handbag.

3.  Things get WEIRD in Breaking Dawn.  Kristen Stewart gets knocked up by her vampire husband.  Yes, kids, you TOO can have an evil spawn growing inside you, but just make sure you marry the fictional monster baby-daddy first.  Hello.  It's only ethical.  I haven't seen the latest movies, but in the book she starts bruising from the inside and her soul starts getting like sucked out of her or something.  The whole time you're like bitch, it's time to abort this mission...but then the thing pops out like a little angel.  The morality metaphors are flyin.

4.  Finally, for being such a highly anticipated film for reasons unknown to myself, the graphics are laughable. It's like they forgot to install the latest update to their CGI, made 4 movies and then were like OOOPS!

My advice?  Read the series in a foreign country, on a Kindle, saved under the pseudonym "Moby Dick" so at least you are exercising your literacy and being discreet about getting all hot and bothered by a werewolf.  You're a self-respecting grown up, for God's sake.

early moments

There’s something to be said about those early moments - the getting to know you moments between two people.  Not just the first kiss…although an important milestone, it’s not nearly as crucial as the first time you walk through a street fair together.  The first time you sit in a park or the first time you dance by the river. It’s about the first time being in his element, the first time being in yours, and the first time being on mutually foreign territory.  All the while navigating earthly events, you’re learning his movements, his tendencies, his flaws.  It’s the matching of this new physical being that’s breathing in front of you to the abstract soul you swear you’ve always known.  Those are the moments that create.

But sometimes it doesn't match up, and you’re left with the heartache of breaking up with the street fair and the park and the dancing.  You reluctantly give up the hope that his movements and tendencies and flaws could be good for you, because although happy, you can’t ignore the discrepancy they’ve revealed.  You move on a little dazed from your whirlwind of early moments, but better because of them.

Speaking of Seamen...

Halloween is a beloved holiday for adult Americans.  It involves the three components on which this fine country was founded: consuming mass quantities of sugar, looking like an idiot, and getting drunk.

I like to think that I'm a fun person.  Once I took an Irish car bomb and another time I even rode Space Mountain 3 times in a row...after a plate of fried vegetables. I don't know what more you people could want from me, but on Halloween I just can't hang.  

The pressure of finding the perfect costume is debilitating to the point where I can't even show my face on all Hallows Eve due to a stomach ache and the extra 10 lbs I've put on from all the Snicker's fun sized bars I've stress eaten.  It's just not in my nature to put on a pair of spiky black ears, hot pants and a tube top and hit the scene as a slutty cat.  I don't think I've ever met a slutty cat to even know how to get into character, and if I wanted a man dressed as Superman to oggle my ass cheeks I'd go to Hollywood Boulevard on a Tuesday morning.

That leaves the witty/funny costume category as my only hope.  You'd think someone as naturally hilarious (pathetic) as myself would have this down.  Unfortunately, my humor gets a little lost in translation on the wardrobe front.  There's a terrible Seaman costume idea in there somewhere.  So as you see, I'm screwed. 

Speaking of Seamen, if we're going to get down to brass tacks, Halloween is only the second best holiday in October. Maybe this is because I'm bitter about my failure to produce a worthy costume year after year, or because I'm lazy, but Columbus Day is the real star of the 10th month.  Christopher Columbus was a damn fool.  However, each year when we celebrate his mediocrity, at least we get a day off school or work.  So go have fun with your women in various states of undress with an assortment of ears glued on their head bands.  You can have your chocolate comas and haunted houses.  Me and old Chris will be kickin back in India...I mean America...and awaiting the start of November.

NowayCupid

I joined OkCupid.  For those of you under a rock, OkCupid is equivalent to online shopping...except instead of shoes, you scout out men, and instead of Paypal, it's free.  It got it's name because whenever you're scrolling through matches you're tempted to say, "Ok, Cupid, REALLY??! There's an 87 percent chance that this bisexual man from Jersey City and I are meant for each other???"  Regardless, I'm in.  I've always been terrified of the idea of online dating.  I want a meet-cute between my soon-to-be leading man and I.  As my dear friend Andrew knows, I'm convinced this will happen in the dairy aisle at the grocery store.  I have self-gathered and highly unreasonable statistical evidence supporting these odds.  I can't help but believe in fate, but has fate evolved with the times, including the Internet in its web?  I'm just not convinced.

I'm overwhelmed, I'm confused, I'm on an old episode of The Dating Game....bachelors number 1 through 5,436: describe the 6 things you can't live without.  The profile questions are laughable, yet how to talk yourself up without sounding too pretentious?  How to say...aren't I charming answering these formulaic questions designed to unlock the real essence of me?  Allow me a couple hours to work on the essence of me, and I'll let all you potential suitors know what that is once I've hashed out a few rough drafts.

For example... On a Friday night I'm at a concert, I'm at a bar, I'm jetsetting to Bali.  On a Friday night I'm actually eating Doritos on my couch with Netflix, but no one wants to date Couch Girl.   Don't you want to be mine based on my 3 carefully chosen and Instagrammed profile pictures of me wearing sunglasses and making duck lips?

 In true form, my profile has turned out sarcastic and self-depricating, with one mention of my elbow-licking ability...and apparently that's what all the single bachelors in the NYC metropolis are looking for.  I'm fascinated by the number of men who have latched on to one specific fact I mentioned in my profile and have gone on to create messages of sonnets, novels, and short stories about said fact worth publication in The New Yorker.  I was expecting creepers throwing out sweepingly general compliments about my eyes or my smile... something more along the lines of "gurl, u sexy."  Instead I've genuinely laughed at these men's attempts to catch my attention...so witty in their hope.  But alas, my dear OkCupid love matches, I just can't bring myself to have coffee with you or grab a drink, and to that one guy who asked me to go camping - I've alerted the appropriate authorities about you.  I'm so sorry, it's been fun and silly and flattering...but my soulmate is waiting for me between the 2% milk and the Yoplait.