Drunkard on a train

I ADORE living in NYC, but there are some moments it can SUCK SUCK SUCK...riding trains home after midnight, drunk, is definitely at the top of the list. Unfortunately I can never afford cabs. It has been a while since I experienced something like this here, though I am no stranger to it.

Right, so I went to an awesome party last night and evidently drank a bit too much wine. While I was there, I knew I was having fun, but at no point did I think I'd had too much. It wasn't until my incredibly retarded journey home that I realized I might not be right, and I definitely shouldn't have been attempting the trip home alone, by subway, at this very late hour. I wobbled my way to the subway station, and automatically went down to wait a very long time for the train. I put some song on my ipod, I don't think I chose an entire playlist, as I was going to pick something else once I got on the train. I remember the train pulling in, and me getting on. The next thing I know, I wake up and we are stopping at the Whitehall Street station. Being that I live in Queens, this is definitely not where I should be. As the train was pulling in, I realized nothing was playing in my lil' ear buds, and took them out to put them away. As I hobbled out of the train to go on the other side of the tracks to head the RIGHT direction, I tried desperately to remember what one song I had listened to before passing the fuck out on the train. I still can't remember. So I am standing on the uptown side finally, waiting. I understand the dreaded agony of the late-night wait. I mustered up as much patience as I could find, and refused to put my ipod back on. I knew it could help the agony of the wait, but I wasn't too in the mood to listen to anything, since I was angry at myself for not noticing which direction I was heading before...and I didn't think I was in any condition to be leisurely enjoying my ipod on a subway. I don't know how long I waited there. A homeless man was taking up one of the benches, and the only other people in the station, who had gotten off the train I did, were sitting on the other one. I could have sat with them, but for some reason I just didn't want to. So I remain in between the two benches, propped against a pole. After a while had passed, something made me feel like pacing, and I paced near some signs that had service changes on them. My drunken head eventually processed some very important information. There are no uptown trains from that station over the weekends at that time. I reread this numerous times until I understood it properly. What the fuck? Why can we walk down there to wait for the trains, if none will ever arrive? Where's the fucking tape stopping us from walking down there? Where are the signs or announcements? I realize I only paid $2 to go the wrong direction home tonight, but I just don't understand why they are alright with customers waiting stupidly on the platform at 2am-ish with no idea that they will never get home that way. Seriously. So I climb the stairs and ask the station attendants. I ask how to get home. They tell me to go upstairs and get the 1 shuttle to 42nd street, or the 4 or 6. They don't tell me how. I find myself near the Staten Island Ferry...in the windy fucking cold, and there is nothing to point me in the right direction. The only thing I can see is that the 1 train is in the station the Staten Island Ferry comes to. So I head over there. The doorway to get to the 1 train is gated. I begin to cry. I ask the man working there, who says to go outside to get the shuttle. "Where???" I ask. He mumbles some streets as I walk out weeping. I just wanna go home. I walk to the streets he mentions. There is absolutely NO indication that I am where I ought to be. I have to walk back down into the original station I came out of. Still weeping, I return to the lady asking "WHERE do I go?!?!?!" One of them does come out of the booth to walk me up the stairs and point me in the direction of the 4/6 train several blocks up the street. He is still talking about some shuttle, which I still can't fucking find. I weep all the way up the street, knowing that I need to pay another 2 fucking dollars once I get there, and knowing after that long-ass wait, I will have to get off at 59th to wait AGAIN for MY train. I just wanna go home!!!! I need not mention once again my state of weeping as I waited FOREVER at that station. Then a 1 train comes, where the 4/6 should be...and I get on, never fully knowing if it is running on the 1 line, or the 4/6 line...I just remain confused and hoping to GET HOME. I remained painfully conscious on this train, thankfully, until I arrived to 59th street. I angrily made the transfer there to the platform to my n/w train. I sat down and waited. It was FREEZING in there. I shivered like a junkie in withdrawal. I kid you not. I was in hell. I just wanted to go home!!!! I wept a bit here as well, as I did throughout various other moments of the trip. I was pissed off at myself for being stupid, at the MTA for not providing info and charging me more money to get home with all their changes, and mainly I was weeping for the week I had. I just worked a few days at a new job for people who don't know what they are doing, with several hard-working people, without any idea when or if we will get any money at a restaurant that shouldn't be open yet. I hate being taken advantage of when I give people the benefit of doubt. I do feel like that wait was at least 30 minutes if not more. Finally, an N. I am comforted, knowing I am finally heading where I need to be. ..
The next thing I remember, I awake sitting in a freezing train in a station. At first I thought we had just made a stop and the doors would shut and we'd be on our way again...I could see where I am, and know how many stops were left. But we just sit there. The cold wind floods into the car, and my junkie shakes return. I peak further out of the train and see that I am now sitting at the end of the line in Astoria, at Ditmars. Only one stop past where I live, but still. I slept through my motherfuckin' stop!!!! What the HELL is wrong with me? I had NO idea I was this inebriated, but yes, I was. Now, when you are at the last station of the subway line, the trains hang out there for a while. I don't know what they are doing with them, but they take a long while to move again, especially at this hour. So here I am, waiting once more...in the fucking cold...getting angrier at myself that I got that intoxicated before riding the subways home. Yay me. I stay freezing and pissed off conscious...finally we start to move again....finally my stop...I run home, it's that cold out. I don't run, but I ran last night. Finally I am home.

Slap o' the holidays

It is the first day of 2006 and I woke up around 3:30pm. I am 28 years old, and I still thoroughly enjoy having days where I can do just that. So, the big holidays are done, and so is another year. Where the hell did it go? I know I'm not alone in the shock of how quickly time seems to pass from year to year. I may be one of the few people that just couldn't accept it this year though. I don't know exactly why. Was 2005 so great that I just don't want it to end? That can't be right. All I know is that, as Thanksgiving quickly approached, I couldn't comprehend how it could possibly be time. I knew it was coming whether I was ready or not. I knew that as soon as I woke up from that turkey coma, it would suddenly be time for a Christmas tree and presents and figgy pudding. (Okay, strike the figgy pudding. I have never encountered figgy pudding, and I don't know that I ever will.) I knew that, even as the final notes of every Christmas carol were still blaring in the stores, suddenly New Year's eve would be here and I would be required to welcome the festivities with open arms in celebration. I knew all of this, but somehow I just couldn't enjoy it all. From the moment the quickness of these holidays slapped me in the face, my head lay drooped to the side where it landed after the blow. My eyes glazed over and drool may have slipped from my lips. Inside, my mind lay marinating in denial, exactly where it wanted so deperately to be for some reason. "It isn't TIME for this, an entire year can't possibly have passed!" "I guess I ought to get a Christmas tree, but not YET!" Even as my mind refused to believe time was passing, the parts of my soul that always enjoy the holidays attempted feebly to enjoy itself. My inner child would scream out at moments, singing along to Christmas carols as I visited stores, but was abruptly silenced when the reality of having absolutely no money to buy anything for anyone set in. Somehow the days shot past and we never got a tree for the apartment. I never even got out my christmas cds for their annual enjoyment. Things just weren't right. ..>

My body ached from days working in the bitter cold streets of NYC via random miscellaneous jobs all month. I dragged my aching muscles home to Pittsburgh for the holidays, aboard a luxurious greyhound bus. As my stubborn mind continued to resist the holiday spirit, I started wishing I had enjoyed it all more. I even started to look forward to next year at holiday time. I started to think that, even if I didn't feel like it was time yet, I was going to revel in it next year. I would buy a tree as soon as I possibly could. I would hang the Christmas lights that are still in my closet from last year. Whether I had money or not, I would at least send out some Christmas cards. I might even throw a holiday party! I started to get a little giddy thinking how much I would enjoy next Christmas no matter how fast it hit me. Then I realized it was December 22nd. Christmas day had yet to happen! I dunno, it was a very strange moment. It was too late to do all the fun things leading up to the big day, but it wasn't too late to enjoy this one. It was the opposite side of that initial slap o' the holidays, slapping my face back in the other direction to even me out, to shake the contents of my garbled mind back into the moment.

So I suppose I should have some sort of resolution going into this brand new year. I'm not big on resolutions that happen only once a year. I am generally in favor of attempting to make any necessary changes or adjustments all year round, as necessary. Regardless of that, I feel it absolutely vital to make one this year. I can't possibly allow time to get ahead of me this way anymore. I mean, I know it is going to. Somehow it is the nature of time. The longer we're alive, the more memories we have, the more things we hope to accomplish and the less time it feels we have to accomplish them. Every year I'm alive time gets faster than I feel like I can handle. If time went at a speed I was comfortable with, I have a feeling it might never pass at all. We need these holidays, whichever ones you celebrate, to keep us moving, while at the same time allowing us to pause and enjoy some silliness in between. They force us to spend the quality time we need with everyone we love, and help us feel more love for some of the people we'd rather not have so much quality time with. It becomes the best time to let go of whatever the hell we're holding onto from the last year and breathe in the new one, always being reminded to enjoy each present moment because a new one will be here whether we're ready or not!

Re: I Remember Christmas

I remember Christmas growing up. I remember the excitement as the end of school drew near. I remember baking cookies, holiday parties in elementary school classrooms and buying silly little erasers at "Santa Shop" for all my cousin's presents. I remember walking home from the busstop, smelling the chimneys in my neighborhood, each step getting closer to my Christmas vacation. When I arrived, the fake fireplace was plugged in, and though I knew it wasn't real, it felt toastier somehow! I remember going to bed the night before Christmas, overtaken with the giddiness of the surprises I would wake to find. I might even strain my ears to try to catch sounds of the big guy sneaking around with our presents down there. My brother and I would creep out of our beds at some ungodly hour. We would sneak past my mother's room and down the stairs, being careful to avoid the top one that squeaked. I know we wanted to see the treasures that Santa had brought us while we slept, but I also remember not wanting to see them all right away. I couldn't wait to look through the darkness, still on the staircase, squinting my eyes to make out the shapes of the piles of goodies sitting at the foot of the fireplace. Which pile was mine? Which was my brothers? I would be filled with shear excitement, my heart leaping at the possibilties that lay in the shadows. I would sneak down for a glimpse, and then return upstairs to ponder what awaited me. Mom would hear our restlessness and make us wait as she got up and went down before us to see the looks on our faces. I recall certain Christmas mornings as if they all happened the same year, though I know that is not right. I remember my first cabbage patch doll, the pink stirrup pants I wanted so desperately, and a girl Snoopy doll that Santa had set up inside the door to the fridge on my little kitchen/stove playset. After the mystery of what toys had made up the shadows in that early morning light, I would then become anxious to go to my Grandma's and see all my cousins and aunts and uncles. I would select my favorite present and off we would go. Once there, we would eat, laugh, and play. My cousins and I would put on little pagents to show to the parents (would you guess I was always the shy one?). We didn't all get to see eachother all the time, so this was a special day. It was one of the rare times we were all together, sharing our excitement and love. ..>

I remember how things changed as we got older, as well they should. The pagents had long since come to an end. Since graduating from college and since losing my Grandma, so much has changed on Christmas for me. My relationships with my cousins, while important, have been overshadowed by an amazing and unique circle of friends. I still do my best to see my mother and brother over the holidays, but I rarely get to see all my cousins and their parents. One thing that I always try to do is give a quick call to my closest friends, perhaps hear their voice for a second and wish them well.

I remember this Christmas. Before noon, I received about 6 text messages that said "Merry Christmas". I won't explain how many of them were from that same amazing group of friends. Let me just say that it scares me a little. I definitely don't always send out Christmas cards, and have been known to mass email a greeting or two, but I am nervous for these new methods of reaching out and touching someone.

I enjoy the internet and use it probably too much sometimes. I have gotten to know some people better because of the internet, and know some people nearly well without ever having met them. I can express myself via email/IM/or blog in ways I might not have been able to come right out and say face to to face or on the phone. I'm sure I don't need to tell you the wonders of the internet. What scares me is that some people use it as a substitution for genuine contact.

I have never been a huge fan of text messaging, first because I don't have unlimited texts, and have to pay per message sent/received after a small amount. I use it from time to time, and it definitely can be handy, but when minutes are free and both parties could hear eachother's voices, I just don't understand texting. Obviously I am one of the few that feel that way.
..>

The problem is that so much can be misunderstood on instant messages, texts, or emails. Without hearing the proper inflection, without knowing the sense of humor of the person I am talking to, and them not knowing mine can sometimes cause problems. Confusion tends to arise on a regular basis even when you know eachother REALLY well. Does this mean we shouldn't use this technology? Not at all! I just don't think we should rely on them to have real conversations about important things that should be discussed in a way that both parties can fully appreciate what the other has to say. It shouldn't all be one way...and then the other...and then back again. We tend to feel good that we can get our points across without being interrupted using these methods. Sure, that can be beneficial, but it can't be the end all be all. I have heard of people ending relationships, working, and otherwise, over email. This has actually happened to me, though it isn't how I would have liked for things to happen. I have listened to friends explain their main source of communication with a new potential significant other being through texts. I have been concerned about the future of our connections if things continue along these lines. Regardless of the text messages I received that were, no doubt, a function of selecting all contacts in their phonebooks and clicking "send", I called everyone as I had originally intended. I had to leave a few voicemails, but that doesn't bother me.

I don't have the same things to look forward to on Christmas as I did when I was younger. So much has changed. I continue to look forward to having a moment to speak to my closest friends and wish them well, even if it is to their voicemail. While there can be no substitute for face to face relationships, I hope we can all communicate in as personal ways as possible with eachother rather than all of the new methods that make it so easy to "make the effort" in just a few clicks on a keypad, especially on important holidays!

Steamroom Rebels...

There aren't many things in life I enjoy in quite the same way I cherish my time in the steamroom at the gym. It's warm, dare I say "hot"? It's moist, dare I say "wet"? The dampened heat blankets my entire body like no bathtub I have ever found. It seeps in through my nostrils, gently coating my throat in loving moisture and makes its way into my lungs. I breathe shallow at first, getting used to the new sensation. Once my breaths are deeper I smile and relax into the darkness and think...or not. The only way I can explain the sensation is to say that it feels like an amazing hot bath for your insides as well as out. The sign warns to limit your time in the steamroom, but I rarely do. I'm just a rebel like that.
The steamroom in my gym is not coed, so the women tend to take some liberties I personally wish they'd rethink. To begin with, most women are entirely freer with their bodies than I ever will be. I am not so closed-minded that I think everyone should be as painfully modest as myself. I realize I am on the entire other end of that spectrum. I walk in with a towel around me, and I keep it there until I am in the shower, and then back on again until I am done changing in the little private changing room. Alright, so let's just leave my strange inhibitions out of this. Basically I am fine with the nude female form freely roaming about around me, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly baffled by their level of comfort. What I am not fine with, and what baffles me even more, are the ladies who freely flop their nakedness on the benches everyone sits on. It takes only moments being inside the room for every inch of your body to become as moist as the drops of water falling from the ceiling. Wouldn't you want to sit ON something? Yet there I sit in my towel, surrounded by women of every shape and size, lying all around me. Sometimes they splay themselves. Luckily it's often too steamy to really be affected by this. So there I sit, doing my best to stop contemplating why I am so damned shy, when someone walks in with loofa mitts on and she is now rubbing them all over her entire body. I can just picture her little skin flakes floating to the floor and sticking to the dampness. People come in there with lotions, and pumice, doing things they have NO business doing in a public steamroom! Before anyone out there is thinking this is, in any way, erotic, bare in mind this ain't no playboy mansion steamroom. There are rules that instruct women not to do any personal grooming in the steamroom. Evidently, like my staying in much longer than the limited time recommended, these women are rebels too. Tonight it was just one woman and myself. This woman lay splayed out, boobs sagging under her arms, and she hoists her foot up to her knee and starts sloughing. She sloughs and sloughs. I sit there, trying to think...or not think...and all I can think is how her fowl foot grime is just gonna be hanging out after she goes. I imagine it falling on her droopy boobs and wonder why she would even want to do that in here. All I can hear is the sloughing. Not only that, she is grunting and sighing. Don't get me wrong, I feel her...it feels damn good in there, worthy of a sigh or a groan if no one was there, but I can control myself. So she grunts, sighs, and sloughs. She continues this on the other foot, and then begins anew on the original foot. She may start to bleed all over the steamroom, for all the public sloughing she feels it necessary to do. I guess she'd feel fine with that too. Where do they draw the line? Let's cut our toenails together, and shave our legs...enema anyone? There are just some things that should be left at home. It isn't like you can't loofa away the top layer of your skin in the privacy of your own shower. Then you can rub and rub and rub to your hearts content, and I don't have to watch it. It is because of the rebellion of this "no personal grooming" rule that my own rebellion of lingering too long in the moistened air gets cut short. I try to remain as long as I can, but in the busier moments at the gym, I would just rather not have to deal with the other rebels.

No Day But Today...and Yesterday?

I went to see the new "Rent" movie not once, but two times since it came out 2 days ago. Should I be embarrassed? The first time, my friends and I went to the Ziegfeld Theatre (the BEST to see movie musicals!). The lines were crazy, the theatre was PACKED, and everyone there wanted to be there with their entire being! I have never seen a movie where people applauded from the opening credits, but this is how we started the night.

This show is very important to me, and to a lot of people I know. I cried for nearly every song from the beginning to the end. The entire show isn't ALL sad, but I couldn't help it! I was so happy it was made. I was so proud of it and all the people involved. It made me happy to think about all the people who never knew a thing about the show who will one day fall in love with it because of this movie. I was crying for the tragedy of such a brilliant creation existing on it's own without it's incredible creator being alive on the earth with it. I cried for the beautiful irony of his lyrics about 'writing one song...before he goes...a song about love...from the soul of a young man...'. I cried because he left this legacy of songs behind, not just one. Tears welled up in my eyes the way they always seem to since I moved here and witness people in front of my singing their hearts out on stage (usually live) on the stages of NYC. I cry because it shakes me. I cry because I know how it feels to do it, and I long to be a part of something half as good. I cry when I am afraid I won't get to. I feel chills up my spine because the show isn't only about love and dreams, he created a piece of art that speaks to people about issues we still want to ignore.

The songs of this show bring me back to my dorm room in college for musical theatre. If you weren't listening to the album in your room, and no one on your floor was, you would undoubtedly hear it coming through the pipes in the bathroom from another floor. We were far from alphabet city and not yet starving artists. We were starving college students who were starving to start living for our art. ..>

Tonight several of the same friends and I decided to go again, after eating a lot of food...with a few people who had yet to see it. We made our way to a less glamorous theatre. The theatre was nearly empty (probably due to the horridly cold temps!), and applause after every song just wasn't the tone of the evening. Of course I enjoyed seeing it again, but I was mortified when I heard the my friends on the other end of the row had to endure some ignorant people who never should have been watching the movie in the first place. Evidently these guys gaybashed through the entire movie, saying things starting with "fuckin' faggots..." and getting disgruntled every time a song started. What were these people doing in there?!?!?! Clearly they had just snuck in and should never have stayed. When they realized they were annoying my friends, I guess they decided they ought to stick around and ruin the entire night. I found out about this all upon leaving the theatre. I don't think I need to explain to you how bad this upset me. I just can't understand people intentionally setting out to ruin other people's happiness. I can't fathom how that could be an enjoyable time. It also slaps you in the face. We weren't sitting in a theatre in Oklahoma watching some Jackie Chan Movie, we were in NEW YORK CITY watching about movie MUSICAL about gay people, straight people, people with HIV. Of course NYC is one of the best places to be in our country if you happen to be gay or love those who are...but I think sometimes we forget just how far we haven't come in the scheme of things. We still are living in our very own city with people like that. I guess we need reminded of that, though I still don't quite know what to do about it.

As starving college students these songs inspired us to pursue what is real and genuine...in our careers and our friends and lovers. They showed us how important it is to live and love without regret. I am 8 years older. The NYC we live in is far different than the one these characters lived in 20 years ago. I am still inspired by these words and melodies. The most valuable message Jonathan Larson gave us, in my opinion, is to live in the present moment. As soon as we are thinking about this moment, it is already gone. Did we actually LIVE it? ..>

From the already powerful message that was harshly cemented with his untimely death:

"There is no future, there is no past, I live this moment as my last. There's only us. There's only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road. No other way. No day but today."

I am hispanic....

I have been doing several retarted things lately...most of which I am entirely too embarrassed to list. The only one I can bring myself to mention, for sheer comic value, is that I accidently checked off that I am hispanic while filling out paperwork for a job I applied for this week. I was being sort of rushed, and I totally thought I was checking off the box for caucasian...but no. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!

The Twilight Zone....

I think when you turn 25, you are tossed into a new reality. This belief has been validated several times since then. Today was one such time.

I am in a room full of strangers, gathered to work for a small hourly rate promoting a brand on the streets of New York. I am surrounded by squeaky girls commenting on which clubs in NYC are good for picking up guys while contradicting eachother's agreements that you can't pick up good guys in NYC clubs.

They speak over each other and nod excitedly, all of their opinions magically coinciding to provide immediate bonds, for the moment. The topics range from "all the hot guys that were coming off the subway this morning!" to "guys, do any of you have fake IDs??".

They discuss circumsized/uncircumsized penises and their recent trips "studying abroad" in foreign countries. At some points I feel like I'm sitting in a bizarre episode of "Sex and the City" in which the stars' much younger and less experienced understudies have taken over. I am silent.

As I hear a few connect over the shared experience of just turning 19, another comments that 22 is such a 'cute age'. Just as one poo-poo's 25, another makes a pathetic attempt to redeem it by boasting that you will then be able to rent a car. They responded to that just as boisterously as I did on my 25th birthday. The original poo-poo'er defines 25 as an age that means "marriage" to her (she has just turned 19). I observe quietly along with the sweet brazilian girl whose english makes her a weak contender for their astute commentary.

I am trapped in some strange reality where everyone around me is at a COMPLETELY different point in their lives than I. Their realities are as real to them as mine is to me, yet they all seem like strange little giggling aliens! I find myself envious of their trips to Europe that I keep saying I'll take. That is all I am jealous of. I feel like I'm sitting in glass box at the end of the table witnessing an experiment to see what happens when you toss several '22 and unders' in a room with one 28 year old just to see what happens. All I could do was sit there, restrained within the reality I understood in my box, and appreciate everything on the outside as my excruciating amusement.

We continued the rest of our day and I made friends with the brazilian girl, partially because she too had felt a little left out of the ambiguously intimate lunch we had all just shared, and partially because Kate Winslet took one of her flyers!! Although I am now aware that I should have respected my initial reservations about taking this low-payed promotion, I accepted my having agreed to do it. I did this because, like these bizarre giggling aliens, I need the money.

It will only be a few short and quick years before at least half of these girls are in my position, far from marriage after 25 or having had their first baby already. I hope by then I will have experienced my travels abroad and we will ALL be very far from needing a job like this. Until then, I will still be baffled that one of them, born and raised on Long Island, now living in the city mentioned that she voted for Bush last year. She said she had faith in him. She thought John Kerry was evil. This is why I never voted in an election until last year, because when I was young and dumb like that, I knew I had no business being in a voting booth. In the world we are living in right now, though, I can't imagine still being THAT dumb.