lonely lovely city

lonely lovely city

Friday, March 23, 2012

3 glasses, a designer cup and counting

Over the past, I don't know, let's say two weeks, I have broken three wine glasses and a designer cup. Just a few minutes ago as I reached for something, my lovely, tall wine glass fell to the floor in a mili second. It seemed secure on the counter, but it didn't stand a chance as it was headed for my floor. A hundred pieces went all over, into my shoes and probably under the refrigerator and beside the garbage can. I wonder if my nerves are shot for stress or if I am searching for a distraction? Or, perhaps unconsciously, I want to buy new things for my apartment? What is wrong here?

Transformations are taking shape. The loss of my father for one and how I am dealing with grief. The soon to be end of my undergraduate existence. The search for a writing career and other jobs in between. Moreover, the acceptance of age, seeing as I just celebrated yet another birthday in the thirty something bracket. It now makes sense. My nerves are on edge and I am lashing out on my belongings. If I could write a note to all four of them, I would extend my deepest apologies. Sounds corny right that I am apologizing to objects that can't talk?

The wine glasses were a gift from my employer for Christmas that I received over a year ago. While I no longer work for them, I kept it because they were fancy, crystal stemmed glasses that made my wine look luscious.

The danish cup I purchased at a modern houseware shop. It was the tiniest cup, probably something a toddler would drink juice out of. It was multi-colored, striped and beautiful. It stood above the sink in the bathroom and was used for rinsing out after I brushed my teeth. I bought it for thirty bucks. Its life span: two years. The other two glasses were broken while cleaning them under the sink with my slippery hands, covered with bubbles of grapefruit dishwashing detergent. Oh, and I forgot about the elegant, white, squared bowl that I used for cereal and ice cream. That went straight for the floor too the other day as I tried to dry it with a towel.

I am realizing not to get too attached towards materials, even as much as I love certain things. Humans are different story, but the things that make up my home or anyone's home for that matter are just stuff. As I picked up the shattered pieces with a dustpan and broom, I wasn't pissed this time. I don't know. I guess I don't care. There are just more important things to get upset over than broken glass. Perhaps a visit to Crate and Barel is in the works. Great. More money spent on something that will probably brake again. I should disregard the latter and opt for a vacation instead.

Sunday, March 11, 2012


Last week, I read an article about Jennifer Aniston. In her own words she equated living in NYC to being in a fishbowl. Evidently, the enormity of one's own celebrity is a bit much on the island of Manhattan. For someone with fame, fortune, beauty, and the hot Justin Theroux as a boyfriend, I guess she still isn't happy. I am not judging her. I am still a fan of her work. I actually see the validity of her statement. In the interview she expresses how small and contained Manhattan is and how you are interfaced with the same situations with the same influx of people, hovering at you, watching and prodding to see what your next move is.

I often ask myself why have I stayed so long and what is it that keeps me here considering the struggle has been long winded and uncertain. I get bored easily and tire of my routine. The route I take to classes or the restaurants I choose to eat are secondary. Even the other places I frequent, it all seems more of the same thing. I am not sure whether to take this as a part of life everyone goes through or just a part of my life I need to change before I become more jaded, even if that is possible.

When I think of a fishbowl, I think of entrapment. A parameter that doesn't offer much options. When I look at a fishbowl, I tend to think that while the fish are indeed crammed into this small world, they are content and happy, probably because they don't know any better. That is what I think of here. New York is like that fishbowl. Where we are all in the same bowl, swimming towards something and then re-routing our focus and going in another direction but in a contained amount of space

Manhattan is indeed that fishbowl in that we are convinced that if we have left the bowl, we would die, incapable of breathing because we don't know what else is on the other side. Perhaps it is good or even scary.

Aniston's comment made me think about how small our worlds are here in the city. As mammoth as it might seem to some, I often feel like I can't breathe, imagining a different existence where I can roam and still be in the immersed in the urbane, but somehow have additional room to calm down and be normal. I get where she is coming from.

But, how does someone who knows the layout of the land with having already lived here before not understand that is what NY is all about. The fishbowl idea is something I can't let go of. I love it here, but even I, often feel the weight of pressure and the assimilation of our yearning to integrate with one another to the point of exhaustion. How do we overcome this notion and still remain here, unhinged by the stress and demands of city living? To be continued.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Onward and upward....

Yesterday, I left my beautiful, heavy Diesel watch at the gym by mistake. I was near my flat when I adjusted my left cuff and realized something was missing. I called the front desk, recalling the exact time I purchased it with happiness and pride three years ago in the sticky summer. Why did I have to use locker number 165? Five minutes later, the lovely receptionist returned to the line and said it was not found. I knew. Someone saw and took it. In this town, no one can turn down an expensive watch.

Five minutes later, I stumbled into the corner market for a banana and a gallon of milk. I accidently walked into a young lady and said I was sorry even though she ran into me. She was disheveled with stains all over and hair that had not been combed in days, almost like an untamed, gigantic bee hive. When I made the purchase, her boyfriend waited at the door. He approached me and stood closer and looked like he was going to pound my forehead. Just think Rebel Without a Cause during the driveway scene where James Dean is surrounded by towering baboons. Not pretty. This man smelled like urine and waited for an immediate response, ready for a brawl.

"Are you f*****g with my girl?" he asked. His nose hairs popped out, all one hundred of them along with his nose ring. I thought about one of those random NY moments when someone takes out a weapon and attacks the other for the silliest reason. They get maimed or killed. I've never been in this situation. I like my teeth and face just the way they are. I apologized like an idiot, feeling like I was back in high school, surrounded by jocks and bullies who thought they were all that and two bags of chips.

Then today, as I headed home from the library, two men, a couple, walked right into me. Clearly, there was more than adequate space for all of us. Yet, they made it a point walking into my left side, almost pushing my body onto first avenue and eleventh with their tiny shoulders. They laughed like children and walked with their heads in the air as if they were on a fashion runway. I yelled back and they still kept going. Bitches.

NYC is a grand place. I say it all the time. I am proud to live and be here, for now. But, it also has a way of kicking you in the ass and biting very hard if you don't pay attention. I am in no position to complain. I have a stylish roof over my head, close friends I adore, a few dollars in the bank, and a future. I was still visibly upset walking away. When I returned home, I surfed the internet and found an article about Jon Hamm and his new film. I don't know what it is about him, but anytime I see a picture, all of my problems fade. He is one of the most handsome men on this planet. Wherever you are Mr.Hamm, thank you for making my night.