Welcome 2011! Another year is upon us and I am reminded of how necessary it is to slough off the weight of the previous year and move on. Despite all the hardships I endured in 2010, I feel elated and so fortunate to have so much love in my life. It always feels like such an amazing privilege to have the people you care about all in one place, it's difficult not to get overly sentimental. It's bewildering to me sometimes...I actually have friends in my life that I care about and without an ounce of trepidation I wish every imaginable happiness might befall them. New York has been very good to me in that way, all my life prior I only had friends that by some measurement would suck on one level or another. As groups of friends converge and acquaint you begin to see the common thread that runs through all of them. The loom of a good heart weaves the same honorable, heartfelt characteristics. This gives me a vast sense of fulfillment. As the saying goes, you are only as good as the company you keep...and my company has turned out to be pretty darn awesome.

I am teeming with excitement for our next adventure with each other. For 5 days in February we will all meet again in Park City Utah for our annual ski house trip. I cannot express my anticipation to be amongst all the friends that have moved away from New York and in such a scenic, picturesque setting. 2011 is already off to an amazing start and promises to bring with it a new chapter of fortuitous and formulated changes.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments...

I don't presume in any way to be knowledgeable on something as subjective as love. In many ways I am stunted in this department and far less informed than a woman my age should be. Much like someone who is the product of some pubescent arranged marriage, most of my dating years were spent in the same relationship. The only difference is that I entered the arrangement willingly and even after time robbed it of any semblance of love and romance, I diligently stayed. I can sit here and bitch about how difficult dating is in New York but I would rather forgo that, as it would only serve to illustrate another cliche...that of the bitter and cynical New York woman. The truth is finding someone is difficult everywhere, people just approach it differently in other parts of the country. In New York the independent converge and being single past the age of 30 is fully accepted as a valid lifestyle choice, like bisexuality or being vegan.

I think both being single and being in a relationship both offer their own set of obstacles. It is just as challenging to deal with the pitfalls and compromise of a steady relationship or marriage. We all try to avoid the mistakes of our past but if not for the incomparable joys that can be shared, then we would all just follow suit with the George Clooney school of bachelorhood. It's as simple as that, there are some of us that live for the potential of things while others would just rather not bother. But there is a point in a relationship, much like when your train stops and there is a sick passenger, the doors are open and you can decide to jump ship or you can stay put and weather out the uncertainty. I made the decision to stay and cross that threshold with someone and when the subway doors opened I found a really great man waiting. We are celebrating our 2 year anniversary this weekend. I can only say that moving in with him has been the scariest most thrilling decision, fraught with worry and exalted happiness since deciding to move to New York. So I am dedicating this blog to him and since he received a blank unsigned anniversary card, just thought I would say.... You have made feeling vulnerable and powerful simultaneously great. To me you are never the skydive, just the parachute. I promise to always have the patience to wait on the train and be there for you when the doors open.

With Love, S

The Bravery

As long predicted my blog has taken the backseat to various other tumultuous changes in my life and it has been difficult to muster up the bravery to openly address anything. The hardest thing about blogging is the honesty part, for as long as the written word has existed the simple act of being honest has abstained the most genius of writers from sharing and allowed the most garishly extroverted to publish. How else is plausible for Hilary Duff and Paris Hilton to become bestselling authors? Anyways, in an effort to refrain from Doogie Howser-ing all my problems I hit an emotional road block. Therefor I would like to restart my blog by being honest. During the time in which I inexcusably neglected this humble diary, I have changed professions, taken the next huge step in my relationship, had various epiphany's in which I hated New York then loved New York then came to terms with only thing that's constant...change.

I have decided that I am officially waving the white flag at one of my long standing ventures, which is pursuing any sort of corporate career in the city. I would regard this decision as a product of failure if it weren't for the fact that I am certain to be much happier from it. I no longer want to subject myself to the proclivities of the "Type A" CEO and their eccentric needs but to devote my profession to something far more rewarding. I decided during an emotional brainstorming that I wanted to go back to my roots and pursue teaching. My childhood from 1st to 5th grade was an extremely pivotal time in my life in which I had to endure all forms of racial and socio-economic stereotypes. I was once made to believe through several events that because English was not my first language, I could never be educated the same way as my peers. I want to dedicate my time to furthering the education of a child that is starting from the same background, who may potentially suffer a different fate as a result. I've decided that if my efforts are to be thankless then I would rather they be expended in this manner than fetching for a middle aged man who has decided at some point in life that he is too important to make his own coffee. I think being able to forgive yourself and moving on is a huge part of growing up and I wish that lately this has been easier for me to cope with. Maybe it has just taken me a bit longer to grow up than others but I am forgiving myself for all my failures. I think the pursuit of happiness can be a wholly evil and selfish venture if you allow it to be. I am trading in all my chips for a meager existance and even though it may take time, I have never been happier with this newfound direction and where it might lead me in the end.

Symptomatic of a City Slicker

Well it seems like it's that time of year again. Although the weather has been surprisingly cool so far, summer in New York has arrived. There are several rules that over time one learns to adhere by, for example, don't eat at a hot bar after 2 PM, invest in a great pair of flats, and ALWAYS try to leave the city as much as possible during the summer.

Everyone has until 2PM on Friday, the official start of corporate summer hours, then the city inhabitants become Moses and the Israelites by getting the fuck out of dodge. It became evident to me pretty quickly that all the downsides of being in the City are just compounded during the summer. When the sweltering temperature starts rising, the congestion, the garbage and the noise is enough to make you want to hitch hike along the FDR just to get out of this god forsaken place. If financially possible one should always have travel plans or gather friends to head out to the Hamptons or the Shore or if you are slutty enough, start banging someone who has access to the Hamptons or the Shore...ew gross the Shore, forget I suggested that. With all the amazing things I can boast about life and the advantages of living in the city, summer is not at the top of the list. Once I get out for a weekend, I always start questioning what compels me to come back. This time of year is when we all have to honestly pay our dues. The reality is, New York has marketed itself with everything it is able to provide just as much as what it can't. That's how crowding assholes to elbow on roof top and paying $15 a cocktail all of the sudden becomes a privilege. During this time of the year, we must come face to face with our extreme lack of perspective, and it's typically pretty ugly when that happens. For instance, how is it that access to a tiny rooftop for fresh air is mark of high status when the rest of the country has acres in it's backyard?

I was recently granted the rare opportunity to leave the city to enjoy a weekend away in the countryside of Bucks County Pennsylvania. I was with a great group of friends and it was such a gift to experience the beauty and splendor of nature as if it were the first time. All those months and years in the city has numbed that spark and seeing an incandescent shower of fireflies in complete silence illuminated that familiarity. There are those life long New Yorkers who love it so much that they NEVER leave, I couldn't be one of them any more than I can see myself as an Alabama native. I want it all, my life in the city and the option to admit that it sucks, why not? Isn't that what makes me truly fit to be a metropolitan gal?

When I returned from the weekend. My senses were assailed with the riotous noise of traffic and the Puerto Rican Day parade...AAaarrghh Viva Boriqua but honestly it sucked balls, give me the country for a few more days. The city's voice during these moments are honest and brash, it doesn't pretend to be anything else. The questions that beckon it's inhabitants of why we stay here are perennial but honestly the answer is the one thing that binds us all.

Primitive Studies of a Day Off

Sincerest apologies for the brief hiatus. I have been fairly preoccupied with several hurdles including taking an entire week off from work, UGH it was sooo difficult. Regardless I thought my 3 loyal followers would understand as there was really not much to report. Starting a new job has been a simultaneously relaxing and taxing feat so far. My week off from work has been spent taking an anthropological look at the various species that make up Manhattan's non corporate world. I always wondered how certain parts of the city can be so teeming and populated during the 9 to 5 hours. Besides the very obvious free lancer and service industry employee which you can't typically distinguish from a homeless person, who are the rest of these people?? Yes, perhaps my years spent being a tool of corporate oppression made me a little jealous of their chosen lifestyle. The days of vacation whizzed by and was frenzied with the accumulated pastime that these tiny observations became. I dissected the trust fund kids, from the ladies who lunch, from the self made entrepreneur. I felt like the great anthropologist Napolean Chagnon, venturing into the Amazon to establish himself among the Yanamamo tribe... but with a lot more bull shitting.

My impression was that all of these people must have an entirely different perspective on the city. A vast part of why I love to live here originates from my struggle to be able to stay here and survive. I never take anything for granted from the umpteenth greasy Shake Shack burger to reading the AM in the morning. What if I were to remove that element and unplug myself from the matrix as this strange breed of New Yorker has chosen to do. Extract myself from the nameless rabble of thousands that pump through the veins of the subway tunnels every morning, bringing the city to life. Would I appreciate living here the same or would become desensitized? If my day to day decisions were not motivated by money, would the city become a blur of ennui and loneliness?

While tanning along the East River I was subtle in my observation of a middle aged woman who was very blatantly staring at me as I pretended to read . She startled me with how ill equipped she was for our mutually chosen activity. She had no towel, water or tanning lotion and her skin resembled a rumpled old suede bean bag. She seemed highly territorial of her chosen spot and she exhibited this threatened nature by barking random bits of conversation at a woman across the lawn. Damn, I was Sigourney Weaver chilling with the Gorillas in the mist and all was humorous until this old silver back began to wear thin on my nerves. I backed off and left quietly as not distress the natives. Without a dispensable income, I discovered that I wasn't really missing out on a whole lot. Although there are countless things to do on a limited budget including museums and parks, I found my days were betters spent plotting my next move and handling all the impending changes that my life is going through...again.

perks of the PEN15 club

I know everyone says this but the traumas of childhood really made me the type of woman I am today. If I was not tortured on a daily basis at such an impressionable age, I could have totally turned out to be one messed up bitch. I suppose there are limits or a mental threshold that's different for everyone, a not so fine line that separates those of us who will grow and find peace with our experiences from those that will probably end up maladjusted, picking off people at random with an M-16 on top of a building or even worse co-dependent blah!

I was a late bloomer, one of those dirty little kids for which adolescence would be a questionable experience. I recall often feeling at odds with the girl that I was and the woman that I wanted to be. I played sports and climbed trees but my favorite show was Fashion Television with Jeanne Beker on VH1. I was teased and betrayed a lot by girls growing up and I came to the conclusion that women make horrible friends. After you recover from the shock of how misogynistic that last statement was, take a moment to absorb the logic. The textbook chick is heightened emotionally, competitive, protective, idealistic, fiercely loyal and steadfast in her conviction. All characteristics the may serve you well in a relationship but not so much in a friendship.

My perspective on how most people conduct their friendships in life is with the mantra of "take it or leave it". As long as you serve MY needs, we can be friends...sad but true. Unless you gave someone your kidney, friendships are NOT unconditional. So I feel like MY needs have been best served lately by seeking out male friends. The textbook dude is generally non-committal, easily forgiving, and lax. Let's not forget that to them almost anything you wear is couture and the raucous laughter that ensues from a lifestyle of low brow humor and heavy drinking is unparalleled. Downsides? Being single and hanging out with a bunch of dudes. Your not getting many numbers when your weekends are spent rolling deep with the snake ranch.

I'm not saying that there are not exceptions to this, I have a few choice women that I am very privileged to know but as far as meeting any new ones...I can take it or leave it.

Don't Mess with Text-Ass

So here's the thing, I'm a klutz. A HUGE klutz. I am that horribly uncoordinated girl to which a football or a frisbee anywhere within the vicinity will always make contact with my face. My tendencies to publicly humiliate myself has not decreased whatsoever over time but evolved. Of course, all the aspects in which I have bumbled my way through existence would also include my dating life. To make a long story short, my time in the New York City "dating pool" has been until now relatively disastrous and mortifying. Over 4 years later and I'm not sure you can refer to it as a dating pool, it's more like a "shark tank", there is only casual sex or intense monogamy in New York. Although I have grown out of being rejected via a note taped to my locker, this high tech digital age has allowed for much more immediate means by which to "handle your scandal". Maybe it's just my slightly delusional yet heavily narcissistic nature but I have happily convinced myself that my clumsiness as well as various other faults are a defense mechanism to ward off horrible men.

Case in point.... 6 months after a heinous break up with what can only be referred to as the Hindenburg disaster of all relationships (topic to be reserved for a completely different blog). I found myself feeling as if my only shot at a normal, stable, functional life would be to dip my toe in the shark tank but only seek men that had absolutely no similarities in characteristics as my previous foray...(translation, rebound) and the "perfect storm" of disappointment. Feeling already that I don't give the "average Joe" a fair chance, I allowed myself to be set up on a date with a compulsive "texter"...(translation, man who is self conscious about how stupid he sounds when he talks, so he texts ALL the time). At first Tex as I will refer to him was great, awesome sense of humor, interesting occupation and prone to excessive compliments. I thought he was REALLY different and exciting, which meant that I needed to overlook the fact that he was too short, not so eloquent in his manners and worst of all a compulsive texter. EVERYTHING was a text from meeting plans to sweet nothings.

Ladies, no matter how vulnerable you feel and how fantastic he seems don't compromise for a man who's chosen form of communication was pioneered by a 13 year old girl. True to form for me our differences came to light in the most mortifying of circumstances. I was invited to dinner with his "married couple" his #1 guy friend and his wife both flew in from Texas to have dinner and to meet yours truly. I guess I was a little nervous and played the saboteur by polishing off a bottle of wine at dinner, needless to say by the time we were having our nightcap, I was trashed. Later that evening, after everyone went to bed for the night I must have decided to get a little frisky first, then drunkingly argumentative with Tex. I recall very few details but much to my chagrin, the next morning I managed to recount with extreme clarity the most horrifying points of that evening. I put on a robe and went to the bathroom to collect myself after getting into a short verbal tiff with Tex, at that moment I was determined to march in guns blazing and tell him that I was done with his evasive little texting games. It was pitch dark, I stumbled down the hall, marched into the bedroom, removed the robe and immediately expressed my discontent...to which the response was complete silence, "DON'T YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY"!!! I screamed. There was a soft male voice..."uhhhh, I think you are in the wrong bedroom". My hands felt around lightly and my eyes focused enough in the soft darkness to see that there was the silhouette of a man.. and a woman ..and my naked form sitting on the guest bed. whooops!!

Not much was said to Tex early the next morning. The next day, true to form we decided to never speak again and dissolve the entire mishap that was our short lived acquaintance via text. In this case my tendency toward public displays of clumsiness and humility gave me the realization that I never needed to settle for less than perfection. It's o.k. to date someone with the whole sizzling hot package, no matter how shallow that seems. Although this realization was at the cost of traumatizing a strange couple from Texas with my drunken rant and creepy slow sodomizing caress, I would say it was well worth it. Now I am dating again, although Darwin has suggested I enter the institution with some trepidation. The truth is, a great guy will see your stumbling bumbling ways and care for you all the more and when you find him, yesterdays idiotic embarrassing mishaps become doorways to today's fantastic, ecstatic love affairs.