The weirdest of human emotions that one can experience is love.
Every artist who has ever existed has tackled this elusive and constantly evolving topic that none of us will ever, or should ever, understand.
I awoke today after a vivid dream of the person I have spent a year craving for. I spent the entirety of my day in bed after that, not wanting to face the world after the person in question had permeated my thoughts. I laid in bed and reminisced about the feel of their skin, their hands, their tattoos, their smell. I became so overwhelmed with loneliness and desire that even my friendly roommate's offer to bike ride through Brooklyn was refuted in favor of lying in bed and clinging hopelessly to this image I have created in my mind of this person I am so desperately, irrevocably in love with that I cannot shake him. Every moment of every hour this person stalks my life. Waking and otherwise.
What makes this so incredibly unfair is that I am no longer in love with the person. I am in love with the idea of the person I have built. I have this shattered heart that I am totally unwilling to let anyone even see, much less gain entry to, and for what? An image I have built. In my mind he is no longer mortal. He is this abstract perfection that doesn't even exist. He wasn't even that great of a boyfriend. But I want him so badly. And why? Because I can't have him? Because my pain is exacerbated by loneliness? Why, out of every man I've ever met, do I want this one? Is it for the mere tragedy of it? Do I just covet it because it is so totally and completely denied to me? Or do I just genuinely love this person?
I know that the majority of the time when I think of him all that I hope for is his well-being. I take comfort in thinking that whatever he is doing that he is content. Isn't that how you should feel towards someone you actually love?
I fantasize about seeing him again. But even in my fantasies I incorporate a level of reality. Even in my daydreams he hates me. So at least I'm not fooling myself.
I wrote this book hoping the demons would be expelled, but they weren't. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, right? But I feel like time is mostly just a turkey baster full of lemon juice that slowly allows itself to drip on your open wounds until they become infected and in need of a surgical consult. I guess that's why old adages hold little merit.
It is really unfair to have someone out in the world who could so easily be a source of happiness for you, but ultimately ends up doing nothing but causing this lingering, horribly burning feeling in your chest that destroys every true moment you may experience of joy, because they are not there. It leads to nothing more than making your life a mere mockery of what it could be.
Death seems like an escalator ride to the top floor of the mall in comparison with unrequited love.
Does the tormented animal that lives inside of you ever find peace?
Socrates said that the unexamined life is not worth living. But I disagree. The unloved life is not worth dying for.
Even self-love is often unreciprocated.
Excuse me sir, can you spare a quarter?
I am so...unbelievably...lost...
My plan, for all of my college experience, was to finish my B.A. and then go on to graduate school. I always wanted to teach college. Scratch that. I just always wanted to teach in general. I sat amongst the other political science students, knowing that they wanted to go on to become the future lawyers of America (at least most of them) and felt smug knowing that I wanted something more lofty. And, of course, something that would mean I could die with my soul intact. Which a career in law would never be able to provide.
Then, once upon an (unhappy) time...
A professor sat me down and told me about the stainlessly steel cold world of academia. How grueling it is. How competitive. How intensive. How unforgiving. How unloyal.
I became utterly and completely demoralized. I abandoned my lifelong dream and graduated, with no idea what to do and no options.
Now I sit here, on a wooden bench in the middle of the night scanning various career oriented websites with no idea what sort of skill set I possess, trying hard to ignore the 'hospitality' tab on the JOBS LISTED margin. I know it is the only thing I have any experience in. I am beginning to panic. I only have so much money saved and I'm clueless on where to embark next. I am truly getting scared.
What the fuck?!?!?!
Feel no fear...
So tonight I decided to wander, carelessly, through the barren streets of Nostrand Avenue in Bed-Stuy in the middle of the night owing to being out of cigarettes and a cavernous allergy to normal sleep patterns that most people seem to possess so easily. Nightmares about things which I know nothing of haunt me and keep me awake at night. I find Bed-Stuy most comforting at night, when no one is left in the streets but other walking undead who cannot sleep and cops. I approach the window of the bodega, owing to the fact that it is the vampire hour and they are as afraid of being robbed as I am in this impoverished and direly sick and jobless neighborhood. I glance back at the man waiting on the corner, eyeing me with apparent interest. "What's up, sweetheart?" He asks me. "You lose something?" As I'm handed back my change I reply, "Nothing but my soul." "I heard that," he replies. I'm allowed to pass, safely. Apparently, admitting that you are among the lost and barren of this city means secure passage.
This place can invigorate you. It can also destitute you at the same time. Oh how I long for the less dangerous, and comforting, streets of Ybor. Thank God for Google Street View when my thirst for home grows wild and vicious in my chest. I did, however, run into a few of my more entrepreneurial, to be kind, regulars from the Big O. I was greeted with coldness and disdain. It just goes to show that when you have something to tender for their companionship, like free alcohol, people can be your best friend. But when you are looking for comrades in a new area and you have nothing to offer they are as scarce as the hyenas and leeches that they truly are.
I was fired, unceremoniously, of course, from my second bartending gig up here. I'm so used to the hospitality industry that I am completely unfazed. The manager who hired me was quite fond of me but she went on vacation and the surrogate took an obvious, malicious, dislike of me from the moment that we met. To coin a phrase, it was a matter of time.
The one thing that I can say is that it has fueled the fire to find something more than this. Now I have the incentive. I have grown weary of listening to people complain about their food. I am far too smart, excuse my lack of humility, to play this game anymore. I deeply long for something more meaningful.
Maybe New York will provide me with the answers I have so anxiously been searching for.
I didn't make it to MoMA. I did not want my experience there, which I have craved as a fan of the arts for far too long, to be marred with being fired for absolutely no reason with misery and fear of survival here, which occurred while I was waiting in line for the exhibits.
I have promised myself more in this city. And I intend to keep it.
No sleep til Brooklyn
So today God decided to empty his tear bucket on the five boroughs and bring with it a wave a chilly weather that permeated the city like a wrathful little monster. I'm not yet ready for the cold. I'm a Florida girl. Tank tops and flip flops. I need that for awhile before I deal with snow jackets and double lined boots. A little more time, please....
Hung out with Ms. Melinda this evening. A regular of mine from the Orpheum. Actually, the majority of the friends I have here are from the Orpheum. So at least the place gave me my sugueway into a totally new life. Is that a word? Oh well, hopefully you get the point. I went to an awesome bar in Williamsburg tonight called the Levee with dollar beers. Met a very cute boy with crazy shoes who relentlessly quoted Ghostbusters at me so maybe there is life on this planet that isn't filled with douchebags and liars. However, I am guarding myself life Fort Knox. One can only endure so much disappointment before you eventually throw in the Rocky towel. And by then it may be way too late. I'd rather be safe than be sorry. Came very close to going out on a date with a boy who I ultimately found out dated my roommate and screwed her over. Bullet dodging. It's what I do. Another indication that dating in this city is like kayaking through the white water rapids. You may end up skewered on a fucking rock, if you don't watch the curves in the waterbed.
Right in front of my work yesterday a bicyclist was hit by a taxi. I managed to shout "Sue the fucking bastard" before ducking back into the doorway. Seriously. Drivers here are absolutely insane. They are so intent on getting to their destination that they do not mind pedestrians, bicycles, or anything else on the road. I thought drivers in Florida were bad, but this is a world where cops have way better things to do than issue tickets. So traffic laws go unchecked. As a slowly emerging person who wishes to travel by bicycle around Brooklyn this scares me more than zombies. And I didn't think that was possible considering the zombie revolution is coming. Seriously...avoid city squares. However, being on a bicycle is exhilarating and an incredible way to get to know a terrifyingly confusing landscape. Maybe the danger rush is part of the appeal. Of my few ventures out into the city by bicycle I was almost hit twice. I guess I'll have to accept that this method of travel means your life may end at any given stoplight.
Tomorrow I go to MoMA. Finally. I have been deeply yearning to see the paintings I have forever been in awe of. I will be reporting with rapture and captivation. Stand by my two avid readers. :)
For now it is time for sleep. I still feel the vibe of being the stranger, but this place is starting, day by day, to feel a little less foreign. Maybe it's the best I can hope for.
Dinosaurs galore.
Yesterday my good friend visiting from Tampa Chris G and I made the pilgrimage up into Central Park West on another spectacularly beautiful NYC day to the Museum of Natural History. I have coveted going to a museum since I first got here, but it was mostly in the desire to see the fine art I spent all of my adolescence and adult years admiring. I did not think that I would be that keen on the idea of going to a museum dedicated to science. Until I got there. It was then that the nerd in me was brought out. Chris G pointed out that this particular museum embodies all of the progressive ideas that both of us subscribe to. Evolution, climate change, life on other planets, evidence of dinosaurs, etc.
The exhibits were enthralling. It is sincerely one of the best places to go to see authentic fossils of creatures that existed billions of years ago. They even had the oldest rock ever found on the Earth, which is how scientists managed to date the planet at 4.6 billion years old. The dinosaur skeletons were phenomenal. Tall, intimidating, scary, and grand. And the fossils of turtles that were a few million years old and bigger than me were pretty astounding.
The crowning glory was the Blue Whale hanging from the ceiling in the Hall of Ocean Life. It's a life size depiction of an actual blue whale and it's beyond enormous. You feel infintesimal in comparison with such a great, gentle beast.
We left picture happy and full of overpriced Museum food to go to another open bar thing that they'd found on the internet. Myopenbar.com is probably the most amazing thing to occur since tall boys and M&M's. Free vodka for two straight hours meant another early night of drunkenness, which I don't do so well with. I'm a late night drinker and when I drink too early it means I'm pretty much useless for the rest of the evening. So while I actually did make the venture to Union Pool I was not sober enough to properly evaluate the place except to say that it had decent music and a totally rad patio.
Overall, another great day in New York. Some days I wake up and hate this place because I'm so homesick it's intolerable and some days I wake up and can't believe I'm actually here. I've not yet decided how I feel about the city. Some days she is amiable and tolerant of my bumbling, ignorant bullshit and some days she seems intent on punishing me and filling me with panic attacks that I have no hope of subsisting here. When she does that it is in small, very mean ways. Such as the subway line to get me home being under construction after a double shift and me having no way of knowing what the alternative routes are. But the good days make me really glad I came.
Days in the park
Today was amazing. We ventured out to Greenpoint to go to a free show in the park that is part of the concert series that the city puts on through the balmy summer afternoons. I'm not sure of all the bands playing but the headliner was the Dirty Projectors and they were quite good. It was crowded and beer was overpriced but we managed to enjoy the set. If nothing else the view of Manhattan off the shore was breathtaking.
We then wandered out further to a bar giving away free beer in the form of short bottles of Colt 45. This is the reason for the briefness of this post. I indulged quite a bit in the beer o'clock hour and may have to elaborate further at a later, more sober time. But here's some photos of the shenanigans....
Tomorrow promises to be a day of museums and hopefully sobriety will mean a more eloquent post.
My neighbors are listening to Dirty Diana by Michael Jackson. The craze continues...
The appleseed can be rotten
After an afternoon of much needed rest from this city that is set at a pace that is about sixteen times what I am used to I made a venture into the lower East Side. It is an area of town I am growing familiar with as both of my jobs are there and it is the hightlight night spot scene in Manhattan. Dan took me to the Young Designers Market, which is where up and coming designers go to hock their wares for cheap while they try to pioneer their way into the incredibly cutthroat and viciously elegant world of fashion. It's still overpriced, but New Yorkers pride themselves on being able to buy jewelry and handbags from the unknowns so they can say, "I knew [such and such] when nobody else did." I managed to restrict myself from indulgence owing to not wanting to bankrupt myself in the city that eats through your wallet like a tapeworm through your intenstines.
A jaunt through the grimy and wonderful little world of thrift stores that put even the most savvy and fashion forward in Tampa to shame led to my first favorably priced bar carrying PBR in an old Irish pub whose name escapes me. An absolutely divine and cheaply priced meal at a tiny French Bistro off of Mulberry eased me into my first shift at Paladar by myself. Things went smoothly, owing to the steady hand of an experienced waitress and bartender, but I find myself even more weary of the hospitality world here than I've ever been. Eye rolling and customer hatred aside I wanted to move here to dominate the world, as Kyndal has instructed me very succinctly to do. Not to bring Mojitos and Pacificos to thirsty suburban refugees fleeing New Jersely for the fun of the big city. What to do, what to do....
Dating here intimidates me. And I come from the horribly incestuous cess pool that is Tampa. If men in this city scare a girl from Ybor, that is saying quite a bit. I've been warned that men here are a worse breed than even the most ravenously vicious great whites of the sea. I've seen a bit of it. My first night here some guy subvertly solicited me for sex while I was innocently withdrawing cash from an ATM in Williamsburg and this evening some ridiculously over-cologned asshat was trying to ditch his girlfriend to have drinks with me at a bar on Ludlow. Cruel little world of selfishness and cheating. I see nothing more than my world weary hardened shell developing a bit of a thicker layer.
In this alien and intimidatingly giant planet trapped inside of a little city you can find almost anything, if you walk down the wrong alleyway at the right time.
Just as an aside, this video is a little old but nonetheless absolutely amazing from a band whose creativity is bound by nothing. Enjoy.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wjxef8AfVQg
Today I didn't even have to use my AK...
I gotta say it was a good day.
I began my day in my new life as a (pretend) New Yorker by taking an extra long shower to wash off the fourteen hours days I've been enduring and enjoy my first, very welcome, day off in the last week. My bestest friend in the world moved here a few days ago and I've been ecstatic that I managed to convince him to make the move with me. So after a phone call from Dan the days plans were confirmed. We would begin by walking the Brooklyn Bridge, a desire that I possessed the last time I was in NY that never came to fruition. I promised myself that even though I now live in the giant fruit state I would still allow myself moments of being the total sightseeing tourist I am every time I travel. It was well worth the cluttered subway ride.
An absolutely heart stopping view of the river and the downtown Manhattan skyline was worth the long walk over the bridge that brings together the two buroughs. We embarked on the financial district. I took a moment to look down Wall Street and view the basis point for the meltdown of the American economy. Standing on the corner of Broadway and Wall Street filled me with an odd chill. I could almost smell the regret, shame, and humiliation of the investment firms, banks, and trade companies as I stood on the avenue of horribly broken dreams that ruined an entire conception of the American way of life.
I also discovered there are no good restaurants in this section of town.
Starvation brought Dan and I to Union Square. We are, of course, still tourist/residents of this city so everywhere we go we're using iPhone internet and subway maps so we are not so lost that we end up in a corner stoop, scrounging for scraps out of garbage cans, hoping to find our way home. Union Square is not much better for food options so we eneded up at Chipoltle. Which is fine by me because it reminded me of home. I've been notoriously homesick despite being in this exhilarating and challenging environment.
After searching for quite some time we found a theatre playing the Harry Potter movie in Times Square. Another jaunt through the subway and we were treated to the best-as-of-yet Harry Potter movie. I am an avid, as anyone who knows me will attest, Harry Potter fan. I own all of the books (which I have read at least a dozen times each) and movies. I've been following the series since movie #1. I am a tried and true devotee of the series and possess absolutely no abashment. I have always found this to be a well-written and interesting story and fully enjoy following the mania. I was thrilled that my first movie in NYC would be this one. I was not disappointed. This was easily the most visually stunning, innovative, and creative movie of the series thus far. The director was one I am unfamiliar with, David Yates, but he was able to create the movie in the way that I had envisioned it in my head, with the obvious modifications. It incorporated more humor than in movies past and attempted to challenge the actors in more ways. The cinematography was extraordinary. It doesn't matter if you think this is the most retarded phenomenon to hit the world, this was still an amazing film. Take check all who doubted the Dark Knight. Not comparing the two, merely making a point. I was enthralled and highly recommend any fan to go see it.
We decided to walk through Times Square at dusk and fuck with the tourists. Nowhere in NY is more of a trap for the weary traveler than this area. Crowded, thronging, clashing bodies all try to avoid each other while waiting for the little glowing white walk signal at every street corner. If one is a phobic of crowds this is an area to be avoided at all costs. However, the brazen stream of advertisements on every square possesses its own little element of beauty if you can value the flashy and somewhat degrading quality it exhibits. The stunned wide eyes of the people snapping fervent photos all throughout it of anything and everything they pass is worth it alone, as I can empathize with them being the stranger that I really am.
We don't do posed photos. It just ain't our style.
We ended our evening with drinking in a warehouse in Williamsburg, indulging on cheap cans of beer and good conversation with a crew of people that I absolutely adore being around. It even ended with awesome posed photos on a motorcycle and taco shenanigans on the way home. Overall, fantastic and beautiful day in NY with only slightly rainy weather that couldn't have dampened my mood even in its wildest dreams.
The locals lied to me.
Everyone told me PBR is totally the staple of every trendy hipster bar in NY. But I've been to half a dozen bars now and they've not had it. Even this crappy little dive bar marred with tacky graffitti, bad photos, ripped bar stools, and teeming with scene kids in the lower East Side didn't have it and their cheapest beer was Yuengling (obviously a Tampa brew) for four freaking dollars. The only thing I desire for a bar to carry is Jagermeister and PBR and I can't find it. It's really unfair and makes me feel robbed. I want nothing more than to find one little bar that has affordable alcohol that can become my home away from home, like Reservoir Bar was. A place where I walk in and the bartenders have a beer sitting for me in a stool that I always occupy. I've come pretty close. The only bar I've found so far that may qualify is a little one in Bed-Stuy (of all places) that isn't being mobbed with people sporting baggy pants, eyes roving around to find someone to fight. They even have a patio covered in sand to simulate a beach feel, which makes me happy. Getting to the beach here is not easy. It requires connections, money, and a willingness to endure quite a bit of travel. I've never lived away from the beach in my entire life. It's a weird feeling not to have immediate access to seagulls and the lull of the ocean that can put you to sleep under a tirelessly oppressive and welcome sun.
I've mostly stayed out of Williamsburg owing to the desire not to see an Orpheum bomb that has exploded over an entire city burough. Hipster culture up here is even more ridiculous than in Tampa. The kids in Tampa are what hipsters were here three years ago. Their fashion is actually tame in comparison to the ludicrious bullshit I've seen up here. Remember acid wash jeans and those stupid sunglasses in the Pepsi simulation in Back to the Future part two when he goes into that diner? Yeah, they wear that garbage here. It's redundant. I can somewhat appreciate that it is supposed to be a tribute and amalgamation to seventies and eighties fashion but I find myself mostly thinking that retro is kitcsh and unecessary. Why not make an attempt to forge a new kind of fashion rather than just (badly) borrowing from the generations before? It mostly just shows the minus sign in ingeniuty that can exist in this subculture. I'm told that Union Poll is hipster mecca, like Sink or Swim was, so I may check it out just to give myself fodder for some seriously mean, ass-rapingly vicious comments. I will be more than happy to report once I decide it is worth the trip.
I've found a balance with both of my jobs, but I'm hoping to manifest something a little more substantial. I'm entertaining the idea of shopping around my book to see what happens and maybe submitting an op-ed piece to a small publication or two. We shall see...
By the way, the new Harry Potter opens tomorrow and I'm very psyched. Fuck you if you think I'm a nerd.
I promise I'll eventually post some pictures up here but I keep forgetting my camera and I've yet to experience a truly depraved, drunken, busy night out. But I will. I'm sure of it.
Friendly ghosts?
The shadows of Tampa lurk forever under my puffy, almost bruised eyes in a land where I am unable to get a decent nights sleep. A misplaced sense of comfort means that I feel ever uneasy, shivering in the warm NY summer afternoons, not with cold but with anxiety. Hollow disquiet as I walk through the bustling streets leaves me feeling, at times, like maybe this was the greatest decision I've ever made. I am beginning to find a sense of ravenous desire to feel more and more out of my element. Being overwhelmed is starting to feel less daunting and more like an enthralling, albeit jerky, ride through this endlessly paved, neon world.
I've begun, slowly, to admit to myself that my very deepest desire is to be a writer. My whole life I've been told that I possess an affinity for it. Maybe it's time to chisel the stone and steady my hand to push it into the intimidating and relentlessly rewarding world that I've spent my whole life admiring and taking solace in.
Ventured recently to Greenpoint, which is a nice up and coming neighborhood that, less than fifteen years ago, was close to the equivalent of Bed-stuy, my current place of residence. Bed-stuy will never be my home here. I admire and even enjoy the cultural element that many directors and authors have attenpted to capture (notably Spike Lee in his urban protrayals of this area of Brooklyn) but know that my pale face will always be rejected and unwelcome. Standing in a crowded bodega the other day while purchasing a sandwich the woman standing behind me very pointledly said, "I fucking hate these white people coming into our neighborhood." I looked over my shoulder and saw a look of such derision that I was temporarily stunned. Can I blame such blind hatred on upbringing/environment, or just the fact that there really is deep racial divide that I've been somewhat sheltered from in my bay hometown? Maybe I'll never know. I am definitely getting tired of being called snowflake, that's for right sure.
I adore my new job in the Latino fusion restaurant. I got behind the bar tonight for the first time in almost a year and felt an immediate sense of belonging that surprised even me. I thought going back behind that little sliver of space covered in plastic bar mats would remind me of the painful memory of my abrupt and unwelcome expulsion from the Orpheum, but it didn't. It actually made me realize that if I'd stayed there I never would have left Tampa. The last year of my life was one of the most painful I've ever endured. Intense heartbreak that led to my first novel, couchsurfing for a year that destroyed a friendship, a tireless and frustrating attempt to sell my vehicle resulting in huge monetary loss, and many lonely nights spent longing for a love that is very much refuted has brought me to this city of new beginnings. While I am a decent waitress, I forgot how much I truly enjoy the feel of the cold glass of a liquor bottle and a metal pour spout between my fingers. It may not be what brought me here or what I wish to do but it felt nice to find something that felt comfortable in this continously trepidatious environment. I walked back into my career of the past decade with such an ease even the other bartender was impressed. My personality is able to flourish when I have six feet of wood between me and the customer. It felt like walking back into a family home. Easy, comfortable, familiar. Almost like a friend. Bottle openers, draft beer, iced wells and all. I'd lost all sense of how much I love it.
My neighbors are having loud, passionate sex next to an open window next door due to the beautiful NY weather and a complete lack of central air and I tire of sitting here and jealously coveting the romance and intimacy I have been lacking in my life for the last two years. While I present the hardened face of the skeptic when it comes to dating, telling all who cross my path that I find much comfort in being alone, deep down the sensitive soul that I truly am lurks, waiting to be hurt. I know that my lot in life is to put my heart on my face so that it can continually get ground into a fine dust. I've accepted that. Love is not in the stars for me, so to speak. I am relegated to a life of solitude where I live in too much fear to trust another person. It's a shame. My loyalty is only to be enjoyed by my friends. It is the small things that I miss. A gentle smell that you awaken to that eases you into a busy morning, hand holding and easy smiles through the streets. The feeling that in a city where you are never alone you feel oblivious to all but each other. However, there is nothing one can do except enjoy a beer with kindred souls and push forward through this surreal life while looking for more than yourself. But I do not want the reminder that I am lonely any more this evening so I will leave you with this thought.
"Absence diminishes little passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans a fire." ~Francois Duc de la Rochefoucauld
Niche in a clique culture.
Finding a way in to NY is not exactly an easy feat. It's been a week and I realize that it will slowly come with time. Finding the right subway stop when getting off of work is a small triumph. Meeting easy strangers willing to point you in the right direction. Familiarity with the unknown.
I'm constantly being told that my move up here is one of the ballsiest that [insert random person] has ever seen. No apartment, job, or stability and I just did it. In the last eight days I've been thrown out of a place to stay, taken in by friends, and found two (yes two) jobs.
But I've still not experienced any of NY. I've been to three bars. I'm attempting to reconnect with friends I haven't seen in years, despite that they've been incredibly helpful. I know I need to exercise some patience but that has never been my strong suit. I want NY to feel like home more quickly than I think most people expect it to. However, I've found a clutch with which to desperately cling to alot faster than most people do, apparently.
I'm hoping that the city will open itself to me and show me the aurora of horror and beauty that she has to offer. The city that rarely shuts its eyes to rest will become my sanctuary, leading to the soul that I know is buried deep within the cynicism and fear that lurks so closely to the surface of the mask I carry every day.
I didn't move here to be a waitress and a bartender. I've could've stayed in my safe little haven to do that. I just need to find whatever it is that I came here looking for.
I just wish I knew what it was.
Bed-Stuy Do or Die
A Jamaican woman stands screaming at an MTA employee for a good fifteen minutes, pounding on the glass of the booth, shrieking every obscenity I've ever heard at the top of her voice. I finally cut in and say, "I think he gets the point Ma'am. I just have a quick question and you can go back to your business." I felt like a tool but was trying to get to my first day at my new job on time. I race down two levels to my train and can still hear her shrill voice. I sigh and think sarcastically to myself, "Welcome to New York." This is a phrase that has been uttered to me many times since my move and I am beginning to find it uncreative and annoying.
The subway has been the most interesting part of the city for me so far. I cannot find any peace there because I didn't bring any books and accidentally left my iPod in Florida. I am eagerly awaiting its arrival so as to have a way to drown out the chaos around me. So far in that underground maze I've seen breakdance performers moving deflty through the moving train, spinning and flipping without hitting anyone, mariachi bands, jazz musicians, and an acapella group.
I've not seen much of Manhattan except to show Dan around my first day to the more touristy spots I remember from my last trip here. But even that was a quick jaunt. Manhattan's streets are intimidating in the complex way that they are set up, but the Brooklyn trains are by far more confusing.
It's hot. Florida hot. The city's unpredictable weather is also comparable to home, with intermitten bouts of rain that last for twenty minutes or so. I find myself grateful to have moved in the summer so that I can ease into the winter that I know I am totally unpreprared for. I've not idea what to expect on that front.
There's pigeons absolutely EVERYWHERE. On the street, stoops, cars, trees, parks. Even in the friggin subway stops. It's New York's equivalent of the Florida lizard. They are constantly shitting on everything and you're forever trying not to kick one when you walk.
There are no such things here as fountain soda, free re-fills, or sweet tea. All of the little things that you are used to back home. Nonexistant. There are little nuances you get used to that can spell out making life here a lot more easy. A sparsely populated stop means that train has just come. Even streets run east and odd run west. All the trains suck at night during off hours and you can expect longer lines. It's easier to take a cab from Manhattan than a train after midnight. No one talks to each other on the train. Drivers in the city are thoroughly insane and cabbies are assholes. You get the idea.
My calves are really sore from walking so much, which I'm hoping means I'll lose at least five pounds. It's the most eco-friendly city I've ever been to in my life and vegetarians are welcomed into restaurants with open arms. Every menu I've seen offers almost an entire section dedicated to those who refuse meat.
I took the apartment in Bed-Stuy, with much reluctance, owing to not getting the apartment in Bushwick. I dislike the neighborhood but thoroughly enjoy the roommates and was sick of searching for apartments. It's only until October and then I can find a more comfortable space. I'm hoping that once I settle into my room and unpack that I can begin to explore the art/music/nightlife that Manhattan has to offer, free shows in Central Park, museums, art galleries, and all.
My experience is getting better day by day.
Sanctity
So while the apartment hunt is still an absolute nightmare I managed to find a job today after an exhaustive search through the East Village at a little Italian/French cafe. I'm not sure if it's the place I'll ultimately end up at but it's a start so that I don't completely eat through my savings. I'm coveting an apartment in Bushwick that I'm still waiting to hear about but it is a small comfort to know that I at the very least have some roots settled. It truly is indicative of what a fast paced city NY is that I managed to find a job after one afternoon of searching despite many, many "No we aren't hiring," responses.
Michael Jackson blares from every corner and the neighborhood I'm staying in has garnered quite a few catcalls from some very aggressive corner dwellers. Things, however, appear to be looking up. I am still interested in a few bars that look quite promising so we shall see what happens. My best friend Dan will be here next weekend so at the very least I'll have a recent fellow Florida transplant who can commiserate with me about the difficulty that is moving to the Big Apple.
My friends have been crazy accommodating however and hopefully soon I'll have a little place to call my own.
Keep your fingers crossed that I find the right fit.
Exiled and reviled.
So my situation with my host did not work out. Needless to say that it ended badly but as I am not one to speak ill of others through the internet I will not elaborate further than to say I am now staying with a very hospitable friend. My host was reluctant to leave Williamsburg prior to my ejection from welcome status so I was unable to see very much of Brooklyn. I am now staying in Bed-Stuy which is a pretty urban area that is lined with fast food restaurants and garbage clutters the street. I think this is the part of New York that many people who see NY as disgusting, contaminated, and dangerous would think of. I have a room here if I want it but I'm scared of this neighborhood and the train that runs off of it is slow and unpredictable.
The apartment search is going slower than I had hoped. Some days there are dozens upon dozens of posts and some days nothing. Some people respond some people don't. It's chaotic and considering the very abrupt and sudden loss of my comfortable place to stay in the middle of the night due to insane drunken drama and an unstable person, it's made the process exponentially more difficult. I'm still scared to roam the subways alone and I get lost everytime I leave the house. I was starting to get familiar with the nighborhood I was in and now I'm stuck in a totally new place.
No idea where to go from here. I'm sick of living out of bags and feeling like a foreigner and it's only been four days. Please tell me it gets easier.
Truly alone.
Walking through the city I am constantly seeing faces of people from back home. I spot someone across the road and think it is a friend. I find myself calling their name in my head, knowing that it isn't them. Neon lights pass in a whirwind of color and I'm being guided like a piece of cattle through street after street to bar after bar. I want more than anything to know the next road up ahead or even be familiar with corner stores but I comfort myself with the knowledge that it will come with time.
At this point all I want is a space to call my own. A room I can put my things in and that is just mine. After that I can worry about a job and familiarity.
I appealed to a website called couchsurfing.com for a place to stay while I looked for an apartment. While my host has been gracious enough to accommodate me he has also been somewhat of an ineffective guide. There at times, but mostly not. So I'm left mostly to wander, terrified, on my own.
This city would be scary to even the most seasoned veteran.
So little to do and so much time. Wait...reverse that.
The wide eyed tourist.
I landed upon this city that is supposed to be one of the most terrifying and electrifying cities in the world with a mixture of fear and awe. I thought leaving the JFK airport would instill a sense of energy in me that I'd been hoping to feel for months. I was disappointed. It looked dirty and raped with vandalism. Not the inspired art that comes from the truly urban, raw graffiti spray painting that you see depicted of NYC in movies and TV but the type that comes from poor, inner city anger and rebellion. The ride to my temporary home was chaotic and full of emotion. I felt like an abandoner as was well as the abandoned. Escaping from the smallest of ponds to the largest wasn't what I was anticipating. I looked around as we drove through Queens and then Brooklyn and I saw the overcrowded, brown landscape and thought of nothing but home. Palm trees and sunshine 372 days a year. Then I reminded myself why I was doing this. "It's time to grow up," I said to myself. "I must figure out a way to survive in this unsurvivable land."
A venture into Williamsburg was illuminating. It was here that I discovered the convenience that comes from having money. It was at that moment that I had the epiphanic realization that NY truly is broken into pieces in ways that many cities never are. Relativity to subway = more expensive. Proximity to bars and restaurants = better paying jobs. What am I, as merely a waitress with a college degree and no job prospects, to do?
My second day existed in a holding pattern as my host was tired and slept the majority of the day. I've spent two solid days living in fear of the subway and getting lost in the myriad of gridlock that is Brooklyn. Bodegas, corner bars, and bistros...oh my! But which to go to and what to see? I'm no city girl. Tampa is not truly a city in the sense that New York is. I feel like a child lost in an IKEA who doesn't understand which kitchenette area leads to the bedroom fixtures. Every block is another street name that I do not know leading to a lamplit block I've never seen. True New Yorkers pass by in a blur of trendy haricuts sporting iPods, oblivious to all but their own destinations. I feel like a foreigner in the country that I was born in, wearing the stamp of the tourist.
Afraid of looking like the obvious outsider that I am, I attempt to fruitlessly stride the streets, looking as purposeful as those around me. They traipse by with the pace that comes from practice, looking at me with the knowing eye that I am completely out of my element. Cabs streak past in a bumblebee striken stream and I stop, to stare dumbfounded at the Manhattan skyline. Am I really here? Has all this sacrifice and pain that I've endured to reach this point really come to fruition?
What does tomorrow hold? And am I ready for it?
