the one

I go to her for words of lovedom. She comes to me for rationale. Our calls are habitual, a natural part of our day, built into our bi-coastal schedules. Her: as she leaves the office, me: right after four episodes of Everybody Loves Raymond. We ping each other all day at work. We hurry back from lunch if we've had to interrupt one of our dreams. And by dreams I mean, "It felt so real, he was there with his ex and I accidentally took a bow and arrow and shot her right in between her eyes. BAM. I never knew I possesed a skill in archery. Then, I woke up." She has gotten me to actually laugh loudly at my screen and caused me to lay my head down on my keyboard. I know I've done the same for her from her indecipherable replies. Hints towards a secret like,interest, fetish are welcomed with the discovery that the other enjoys the same sick qualities in men, humor, movies. La Onda para la vida. I could tell you that 'Sweetest Thing' is on her favorite movies list. She won't say it. She could tell you what 'running errands' is code for. I won't say it. We chronicle the events of reality shows but can't quite recall all the moments in any of our trips. A tale-tell sign of good times. I know which celebrities she got secret cheap thrills from and she still gets repulsed by my intense attraction towards David Letterman. Her speed of celebrity recognition is the same swiftness it took me to call the airlines to extend the visit on the day of departure. She lives in Los Angeles and plays in Hollywood and Sunset. I live in New York and play in the Meatpacking and Lower East Side. We want to trade it all in for aprons. The dream, cupcakes. Cozy cafe with sayings on the tables like: "Broken-hearted? Shoe-shopped out? Have another cupcake, it's on us. There are tissues at the counter as well."

We understand each other but we are not each other. She's long and lean, I'm short and petite. She says guys like smaller packages. I say it's the ones with small packages that can't handle a womanly woman like her. In high-school, I called her monster. I gleaned the nickname from my brother and his friends, her shadow over-towered theirs, hence the name. I have pictures of this. They now ask me if the monster is single. She is an equal opportunity drinker: beer, vodka, wine, even shows a little love to Patron. I consume other things in other ways. I reach into her medicine cabinet and shake around an Rx stickered bottle, she yells, "it's Claritin Winona!." I disappointingly put it back. We both EAT.

Applebees for special occassions. Jerk sauced fingers, beer mugs raised, "To bruins and bears." Clink, clink. Then, we ponder, what's the difference? She got into the southern UC, I got into the Northern. We both don't know how we did that. Both filled with useless pop culture. We can make six degrees of Kevin Bacon into four. Perogis and samoas from the corner bodega on our first trip to New York. Our other friends had reservations at Nobu. We surfed for porn in the hotel and ate on the bed. She falls asleep, fingers tucked gently under her waistline, upper lip hovering over the lower, then drool. Two words, Al Bundy. I have pictures. We think Aunt Jackie was one of the best television characters to have been created. She watches CSI while I watch Nip/Tuck. We both watch Laguna Beach. We reference Sex and the City to cut conversations shorter, "how's the new guy?" "He's got 'Big' issues. And you? How was last night?" "He was dick-a-licious."

We bonded over a long drive, boys, and Gia. The long drive lead to talking about boys then, breaking up with those boys then, renting an Angelina Jolie flick so that we could feel empowered. We both wanted a knife afterwards. Neither can peel a piece a fruit in one coil. I got my braces off, a car and we started to hang out. She still had bands criss-crossing her front teeth, I have pictures, and her used Thunderbird didn't come for a couple more years. That car was Reality Bites, Winona and Janene singing 'Tempted.' And tempted we were, at an early age. We met at the time when we were scouting fake ID's, taking SAT classes and losing our virginities. I lied about mine. She knew. She lied about hers. I knew. Whores.

We knew that we were a little more to each other than other friends. We'd sit at a restaurant and I'd be able to order for her if she was in the bathroom before she even glanced the menu. At house parties, I trusted only her to make my drinks. One part vodka, eight parts tonic, five limes. She's speed dial 3, 1-voicemail, 2-mom. I'm the one she would have check in on her mom or sister. She's the one who knows all the men and boys (mostly the latter) that I have toyed, tossed and teared over. I'm the one who gets to meet her new 'one.' She's in that elusive one-on-one.

I wondered if they met too early in the timeframe of our friendship. I wondered if this would take away from future perogies, lime-infused drinks, dream-sharing, cake batter mixing, Nick at Nite marathons of Roseanne, porn giggles, roadtrips in the Thunderbird. But I've met her 'one' and I like this one. It looks like he might be around for when I pick her up for Applebees' early bird special. I'm going to have to show him the pictures. A lot of Apples lay ahead.

La Onda para la vida.

dry hands

I'm getting older.

I like foods less sweet. I'm taking an interest in world news. I can't seem to sleep in past 10am on the weekends (during college, I never saw 'am' on my clock. 2pm was usual). My hands get dry quickly. I have a tub of lotion on my desk and I am pumping that thing by the hour. Then, I rub it in the way school librarians did. The list of what I won't eat shrank, in fact, I don't think there's anything on it. I now eat peas, eggplant and will never order California Rolls over Sashimi. Still no raisins, should have been left as a grape. I use eye cream. The volume bar on my laptop never exceeds beyond the halfway point. I listen to Billie Holiday, Annie Lennox, Carly Simon and Nina Simone this time of year. Classic movies aren't an assignment anymore, it's leisure. Political satires are understood...somewhat. I tune into Daily News with John Stewart even when an All Access VH1 special is on (fine, they're always on). Chest hair on men, now nice, not nasty. I don't throw out the LL Bean catalog anymore. I have not renewed my subscription to Cosmo and Glamour in years. I now receive Paper, Nylon and New York Magazine. When kids run by, I bite my lip from telling them to slow down. I wonder about things like how much a place in NYC will be in about 5-7 years. How my parents will retire when the corporation of drycleaning doesn't exactly provide a 401K. I think about 401K's and when I will actually start it. Realizing that even if I wanted to try out for the Real World, I can't, I'm past the age cut off (24). Radio stations play B.I.G., Tupac and Snoop Dawg as part of their 'back in the day mix' and I'm baffled. I'm showing less in clubs. I'm going less to clubs. I floss. I use oil on my body. Oil was the enemy for so long, oil-free products isn't a must anymore. Now, I crawl into bed, with my eye mask as a hair band, tuned into John, and rub Vitamin E into my cuticles.

This is either the healthiest or saddest list.

love/hate

1. Love candles. Hate incense.
2. Love trees. Hate bonsai trees.
3. Love flowers. Hate sunflowers.
4. Love shopping. Hate online shopping.
5. Love text-messaging. Hate phone-talking.
6. Loved all my trips to New York before moving out here. Hate tourists.
7. Love ball point pens. Hate roller ball pens.
8. Love gold. Hate silver.
9. Love jewelry. Hate Tiffany's.
10. Love grandpa sweaters, cigars and wooden chess boards. Hate sweater shrugs, menthols, and online chess.
11. Love summer nights. Hate summer weekends in New York City.
12. Love Valentine's Day at a singles bar. Hate Valentine's Day.
13. Love Wollman's Rink, Rockerfeller Tree, and Barney's Holiday Window Displays. Hate the Bloomingdale's Santa Clause. He's very aggressive.
14. Love nicknames. Hate pet names.
15. Love whispers. Hate baby voices.
16. Love the beach. Hate beach towels. The colors anyway.
17. Love Emack & Bolio's. Hate Coldstone.
18. Love Tasti-D-Lite. Hate soy ice cream.
19. Love soy milk. Hate whole milk.
20. Love Ansel Adams. Hate Ann Geddes.
21. Love surrealism. Hate impressionism.
22. Love Frida Kahlo. Hate self-portraits.
23. Love dresses and skirts. Hate ruffles and bows.
24. Love skiing. Hate ski lifts.
25. Love old name-calling: moron, idiot, shmuck, putz. Hate old endearments: dear, honey, darling.
26. Love Cheddar, brie, and goat cheese. Hate American, gorgonzola, and blue cheese.
27. Love grapes. Hate raisins.
28. Love uniforms, thick athlete socks, and ball park hot dogs. Hate spectating sports.
29. Love manicures. Hate french manicures.
30. Love smile-less winks. Hate the phrase "just kidding."
31. Love unruly, wavey hair. Hate straight hair.
32. Love shopping rewards coupons. Hate Val-U-Pak.
32. Love college in the U.S. Hated studying abroad in Korea.
33. Love Central Park reservoir. Hate treadmills.
34. Love joints. Hate bongs.
35. Love shiatsu and yoga. Hate meditation and incense...

Yep, I really don't like incense.

NY "heart" Me

E.B White once said, "It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck. No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky."

New York is a place to try your luck, to test yourself, to be pushed and pulled when you just want a siren-less night's sleep. I've always maintained that the trial of life is how a person reacts during toughest times. By that measure, you are constantly reacting in New York. How one maintains their relationships in their bustling New York schedule, how one parties all night in Chelsea after flying in on a red-eye, how one cooks dinner for 8 in their studio, how one scurries around town to pull together an outfit for an evening out on a tight budget, how one walks 20 blocks in a flooding rain storm in their open toed Choos. How one maintains their love for New York even if it doesn't always feel mutual.

There are three types of New Yorkers that establish this city as changeless and ever-changing.

One, those who were born here. They lay the foundation of the city. They keep the city grounded through bequests of old subway lines, what occupied Govenor's Island, great grandfathers that contributed to the Brooklyn Bridge, and outer-borough accents.

Two, those that commute into the city. They sustain the restlessness of the city. They stir up Grand Central and Penn Station. They move crowds forward in the mornings and back in the evenings. They make iconic NYC landmarks like the Brooklyn Bridge functional and historic railroads like the LIRR stay in transit.

Three, those that came here to try their luck. Aspiring artists to young Donalds to green grocers. Monologue memorized Broadway auditioners, Fashion Week runway ready legs, textile graduated cloth cutters and mannequin drapers, spray paint shakers in Williamsburg, skateboard tricksters to contemporary vintage hipsters in the Village. Fresh econ graduates eager to tote their Tumis on Wall Street, partners from Goldberg, Cohen and Levy LLP hailing cabs off Park Ave, ER doctors shooting hoops, having a smoke in between rounds. Manicurists who speak to each other in a language that sounds as if they're yelling but then look up with a smile to ask, "what color you like?" Deli grocers stocked with vegetables, flowers, and perogis. Men on street corners standing guard New York's seven papers, five weeklies, three monthlies. These are the New Yokers that disseminate the passion and frustration of the city. They are liberated and devastated. They feel as high as the Chrysler, then as low as the F line. They are doormen, they are co-op members, they are bike messengers, they are Tri-athletes, they are broken hearts leaning on other broken hearts, they are singles shoe shopping. They come to seek different things but in the end, as E.B. White says, those who come to New York do not seek comfort and convinience. You would live elsewhere if you sought that.

It's a love/hate thing. The best kind.

cut and color

I want a new look for my site. This is a generic template provided by a generic blog site. Other bloggers have cooler ones, theirs are personalized. I still have difficulty posting photos so I'm a long way from designing one. I actually attempted to learn. People keep telling me it's not hard. This manual is heavy. Puke green isn't so bad right?

I've been blogging for over two years now. I started right before I left California to move to New York. So for a couple years now I've been meaning to paint my walls and update my site. I'm going to do it. I'm going to splash some color in my life before this year is over. I'm in need of a make-over. Time for a change.

Maybe I should just cut my hair like most women.

stroll

Guggenheim. I walked by it and recalled a debate we had of whether it was on the Upper East Side or Upper West Side. We placed a bet then took a walk. He was right. I hated it when he was right.

Whitney. I leaned against a pillar and stared at an exhibit that once displayed a string of luminescent red balls. We were loftily suggesting significances. I don't recall the title nor the meaning of those red balls except that it was the start of 'balls.'

The Bread Bakery. It was about 15 degrees that day. First time seeing each other in daylight. Still hadn't revealed what was under the beenie.

Barnes and Nobles cafe. We read his and hers books on sex tips. We had only kissed at that point. It was so awkward. It was so good.

Brooklyn Bridge. "Are we there yet?" I ask. "No, we're not," he answers. Hmmm. I'd like to go back and sit on a bench at Brooklyn Heights Promenade to view the Manhattan Skyline. Sometimes it's hard to appreciate the beauty of Manhattan while you're in it, you have to step out of it to see it.

Central Park. Bench. He guesses, "It's because I didn't let you in parts of my life, right?" He was right. I hate it when he's right.

live before you sleep

Blogs are supposed to be about your life not analogous to your life. I feel things, I go to write, then I reconsider. I edit, delete, and sometimes end up saving a post as a draft until I'm ready to post with certainty. More often than not, those posts get deleted out of chagrin. Carpedium ideas like 'in the moment' and 'live today as your last' are foreign to me. Rather, I practice 'think before you speak' and 'sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning.' I've had a lot of sleepless nights and wound up saying nothing. They say an unexamined life is not worth living but what if examiniation is all your life is?

Tree Guards

They are all over the city. There are so many tree guards, their omnipresence goes unnoticed. But once you take note of them, you'll observe how they all differ. Sometimes they can vary even within the same block. This is because they are privately owned, they don't belong to the city. Typically, the owners of adjacent property are the ones responsible for making sure that something is constructed so that the trees are protected. Wood. Iron. Cylinder. Square. In some shape or form, a construct needs to uphold the trees from all the passersby.

I know this information from speaking to the forestry group of NYC. I sought this information because someone saw these tree guards as potential art. The wrought-iron could be bent beautifully, the wood could be carved intricately or the shapes could be formed uniquely, he thought. I thought it would have made a special birthday gift to give someone a piece of New York City sidewalk. But I knew that if I gifted that, I would be walking by that tree up and down Elizabeth Street where the tea cafe once was.

Putting my guard down to put another up. Hard to do. Unspeakably hard. There have been many passersby and when you finally meet someone you want to stand still with the guard is up. But what does it protect?

Bad Morning

I woke up this morning feeling like I came off a bad dream, a nightmare. As it turns out, it wasn't a dream.

And as of right now, I can't even foresee when I would wake up from it.

How is it possible to feel so liberated and devastated simultaneously?

This post to be continued...

Sleeping in a Triangle

I'm exhausted. I'm exhausted of always being on around him. Always smiles, nods and great giggles. I actually catch myself winking. Puns, banters, one-liners, all non-stop. I'm scared to stop. I suppose I'm scared to stop because if I do he might learn that I'm not that interesting, that I'm not that interested in much. That I'm perfectly content, no happy, with Netflix, Hunan Munan on speed dial, discount shopping and falling asleep on top of my comforter on a Sunday afternoon. Most my cooking utensils still have their stickers on them. I have contraceptives in my nightstand drawer that are expired. My refrigerator drawers have nothing in them. My toes are always colored because they're stained ochre from always coloring them. I'm quicker to pick up a magazine than a novel.

What if we crawl into bed one night, I put down Little Women and open up an issue of Australian Vogue and he sees me doggy-earing the pages fervently. Will he find it less than monotonous the way I find some of his music. Or undesirable like how his efforts with his friends seem to have surpassed his efforts with me. Or discomforting like how we pass up moments of romance because of the risk of being trite and ordinary.

Or, will he find it endearing? Like the way I find him carrying around a harmonica during winter months in his toggle-coat inner pocket only to be pulled out at a vacant subway station. How just a couple curls peek out from under his beenie. How his hair is starting to silver. How some of his text messages make me actually laugh out loud in my cube. Cooking in boxer breifs, well done. How his hands palm my back fittingly. How he sleeps diagonally on my bed causing me to curl up and sleep in a triangle and I haven't minded.

It would be nice to stretch though. Lay it all out there. Until then, Vogue face down, Little Women face up.

Standing in Line

They pop open their menus immediately upon being seated. The only view across the table is the flipside of their menu. The waiter arrives and they speak into their menus as they order. The waiter tucks their menus under his arm and leaves. That was the climax. Now, they're mentally drumming their nails on the table. Their thoughts are the same too, "where is our food?" It's been four minutes. The plates are placed afore them and now their view is of the top of each other's head. Doggie bags are requested as they get ready to head home to a sex-less Netflix night. The dining dead, my greatest fear.

If I meet someone and we stand in line for the early bird buffet, I want to him to be wiping mashers on my face as I stop his tray by keeping mine still on the rail. Standing in line, we do a lot of it. At one point, it won't feel like we're waiting.

Missed Moments

Consider the regrets of non-doings.

I was waiting for my scone when a guy was fiddling with his glasses. A lens popped out. He catches me look over at him fumbling with the circular plastic piece trying to snap it back in. He puts his single-lensed glasses on then looks over at me. I laugh. He says, "I could be constantly winking." I say, "A quick wink is hard enough to pull off." He laughs. My heated scone is up. I reach for it. His heated scone is up. He opens the door for me, it's a small space so he opens it and leans against the door while I brush alongside him to exit. I say thank you. He winks. Then, he shakes his head and acknowledges that's it's hard to pull off, "You're right, that is hard to do." I nod then follow it with an assertive wink. The cafe is at a street corner. The light turns white. I walk.

Should I have walked or talked? Better to pursue a moment of intrigue or best if we leave it as a fond moment in our day? I'll bet a lot of us have a lot of these.

Today to Tomorrow

Today, I hit my favorites.

No agenda, laundry done, patio cafe lunch and a Venti Iced Americano traveling with me from Central Park South to West Broadway. I lied. I do have one obligation for the day, an appointment for a mani/pedi at Bliss. Another favorite.

Sugar scone from Patisserie on Spring & Lafeyette.

Chai tea from Hampton Chutney on Spring & Lafeyette.

(Not in too many cities could you get two seemingly hand-in-hand delights from two completely different stores but on the same block).

Summer clearance/fall preview sales all over the city.

The invention of "short" sizes for pants.

Cloth shopping bags.

Sunglasses that stay on your head firmly and hold your bangs back.

Art galleries with no one in them.

The great roomy bench in between Ralph Lauren and Anthropolgie.

The restrooms at Crate & Barrel. A friend of mine discovered it, it is the hidden jem of SoHo...no public restrooms avail anywhere and this one is always open and always clean.

Washington Square performers...except for the magician...I don't care for the magician. He juggles ocassionally, but it still doesn't do it for me.

Toe separators, they're super funny looking.

Coming home to an empty house. This is an all time favorite. In fact, it's the favorite part of my day...everyday. I wonder if it will ever end. This idea both excites and frightens me. There's a possibility that one day I will walk through a door and have to speak, "Hi, I'm home." Dropping everything and taking all my clothes off and sitting al fresco in front of my laptop can't be done. Rather it'll be about...

Shopping on both sides of the store, men's and women's. Buying two scones, one to bring for home for the mister. Making a call just to say hello from a bench. Having someone educate me on the oil swirls on a canvas. Skipping the magic show to scurry home to cook dinner together. I should enjoy right now while I can...and eat that second scone while my toes are drying.

Ticket for One for All

Tonight, I took myself to my third in-the-park screening for the summer. There were many couples there but there were also many singles. Men and women laying on their mats for one, single sandwich in one hand and solo Poland Spring in the other. Thumb stroking their iPods, flipping through Spin, waiting for the movie to start.

New York City, everyone alone together.

Bigger and Better NOW

It's no secret that New Yorkers are always looking for a better job, bigger apartment and a better, (ah-hem) bigger boyfriend. In the same likeness, New York men are always looking for a better job, a bigger apartment and more girlfriends. So, the question begs, how will we ever settle? Is it possible to settle? And if so, for how long?

In a time when jobs are looked at as 'work' not careers, sub-leases are ever so popular and terms like 'relationships' and 'girlfriend/boyfriend' are not so popular, my generation is in debt. We are living in today, we can have it now, we can have it all. That's good...right? All those cliches sound lovely: "Live in the moment," "The world is your oyster (I still don't get that one)," and, my ever-favorite toast on a first date "To tonight." I'm thinking: to tonight what a$$hole? It's going to take a little more than a falafel..I don't care if it's the best Kabob house in the Village. So yes, we rack up quite a chit on our credit, if we hit the limit, we can open another, they're just waiting for us in our mailbox. But soon, this must all catch up.

So that's the posed problem. I now have a solution. I figure I'll go along with it until they start to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. Never been a beater, I'm more of a joiner. Time to go shopping for a new apartment with my cute broker...just hope my next job can compensate.

Blog, a Safe Haven

I want to re-learn how to blog.

For a while now, I've tried to practice posting words that I can look back on and not want to immediately hit 'delete post.' I'm now re-learning that attempting to write with permanence is not the way. It's not productive, it's not bold and it's not honest. And since, productivity, boldness and even honesty are acknowledged weaknesses, perhaps the first place to work on it is in the privacy of a public journal.

I can't regain the past moments, feelings, frustrations, smiles, and tears that I so wish I had memo'd but I can start now...again. And not only with more immediacy but with more candidness. The other aspect of blogging I tried to be aware of was anonymity. I'm now realizing that privacy is one thing but I've got a tendency to put that at such high regard, my words become extremely encryptic, preventing me from even recalling who/what I was referring to.

The irony of all this is that I've worked hard to keep my blog discrete, to keep it an unascertained safe haven, and to my favor, it doesn't even appear on Google until the 23rd page. So, why be so scared? No one reads it and if they did then maybe it's a productive start to bold honesty.

Beat you...and me

Some people break their own hearts so that the other person can't beat them to it.

P

I don't need a promise but I do need possibility. I want to know that there is potential.

Pride and protection can often hinder potential or possibilities.

Poop, this is hard.

Wonder Wheel

I went on a Ferris Wheel for the first time this past weekend, correction, Wonder Wheel, at least that's what it's called at Coney Island. When I was younger, I refused to spend my time and money on that slow, unexciting ride when there were countless other more exhilirating, risky, faster rides. Yesterday, the ferris ride felt too quick.

Mind's Eye

We ran into each other on the streets on a rare quiet day in New York City. Some years have passed. Necessary experiences like trips, jobs, maybe even life in other places and life with other people have passed. Both have a busy agenda for the day but will take this chance encounter as a fortuitous opportunity to have a cup of tea. Will rings be worn? Will kids names be exchanged? Or, will tea end with a walk along Central Park? Will new emails have to be exchanged?

My thoughts are not clear but my mind's eye is.

Home Sweet New York

New York city, people are always moving here and moving away. Thus, I don't feel the need to move. They'll come to me and leave me and then probably a few more to follow. What a lazy ass.

Committed

In only a month a routine has been established. I have morning coffee people, three in fact, a gal needs options, the street vendor, "Joe," the sweet lady at Au Bon Pain and the punk kid at Starbucks (saying 'punk kid' ages me, doesn't it?). Then, there's the Metro New York free paper guy at the base of the subway. Upon arriving to work, Ray awaits, the 68 year old flirting security guard and finally, Alexandra, the always-on-the-phone but buoyant greeter receptionist, who finally stopped calling me Cindy.

By the time I get to my desk, I have smiled and greeted almost a handful of people. These are the people I will see most during the week. These are potentially the people I can rely on seeing for a long time. So long as no one quits, finds a new street corner, gets fired, decide to stock the morning paper in a news bin, retire, or start telemarketing, I am in a commited relationship. A good one too. There are no conflicts and I would bet that it stays problem-free, perhaps I could have a chat with Joe and the amount of sugar he puts in a "regular," but aside from that, they will always be there for me. I just wonder if they're seeing other people.

Talking is Overrated

Girls are always telling each other to communicate more to the boys, "tell him how you feel," "express your concern," "be open and honest with him." Ummm...okay, that all sounds fair...but here's my thought, don't. I know they say that guys need directness, that they can't read between the lines. They read the text, they don't analyze it. Are we sure? They seem to get a lot of other subtext.

"I have an early day tomorrow" after a one off translates to
"thank you for services rendered, please watch your step on your way out" and that message is seems to always be well-received as they're getting dressed.

Even when they ask for you phone number and you turn it around with, 'Why don't you give me yours." It's palpable by the look on their face that they get that it was a polite let down.

And certainly when it's positive feedback, they get it. "Would you like to come up for tea?" Yeah, they get that they're getting it.

"Meet my parents," whether or not they want to get it, they get that things are advancing.

So you see, they aren't as dense and oblivious as we believe. Why is it that we can make a mere sggestion to guys on certain matters and they completely comprehend and in other cases, they need it print, even braile? So, it's not that I'm passive or inexpressive, it's that I assume they get it.

Clarity

The moment of clarity hits for me when they go to the bathroom. I lay there waiting for the one I was with to return...then it hits, I have only a few minutes to decide whether or not to scurry around for the bra, pull the hair back, lace up and arrange his clothes neatly where he would be laying if it weren't for his clothes tipping him to get dressed, or to fluff the pillow and lay invitingly. A lot can happen while a guy takes a wizz.

Post-its

The girl in the cubicle next to me has a planned parenthood appointment next week and has hired a dog-walker. I can hear all her calls. Thus far, work has been not much work. I think they forgot about me. I feel like Ron Livingston in Office Space or Kevin Spacey in American Beauty. I have 42 pads of post-its. How many do you have?

They say to enjoy the honeymoon period. Eventually they'll find their way through the labyrinth of an office and conquer the maze of cubes to find me...with a cup between my ear and the carpeted partition listening to my neighbor call her vet.

Apron for Sale

Trading in the tray for a desktop. I start in a week. It's advertising.

Okay, okay, I'm pretty excited. It's been a grueling process. The past two months have been rough. Job-searching= soul-searching. Countless interviews. Same suit over and over. Insomnia. Budgeting. Stress. I feel like I'm allowed to exhale now. I wasn't allowed before, they don't allow it at the restaurant.

Pride and Pride

Realization: the purest form of vanity is pride. It is the most image-concious attribute that can discourage or prevent you from acting desirably. It serves as a protector from risking being disappointed, hurt or rejected. It prevails upon insecurity. It's prevalent in me.

For a long time, I prided myself on my pride. I'm starting to re-evaluate things. Perhaps, it has kept me from true expression, from honesty, from living life. I'm not old, but I'm not young. I need to be me. This means taking risks. Wow, at 26 after-school specials are now being learned.

Brightside

I fear that I'm on the brink of a mini-crisis with this job thing, or the lack thereof. Thus, I will remind myself of things to be happy about.

My friends in New York, all two of them. My coffee grinder, it's been with me since college sophomore year. Another thing I've had since college is my nasty habit of smoking and I'm happy to report that for the first time I've cut down. Expanded musical taste. Good Chicken Cacciatore. Free Jamba Juice coupon. Good hair color, finally found a hair dye I like.

Silver lining everywhere.

Job Search

This sucks. I'm think I'm close to taking the very next job offer just to put an end to this. I cannot revise my resume for the umpteenth time. I cannot go through another interview. I cannot put that same suit on again. I cannot keep straightening my hair.

Trying to find a job is like dating. The first interview is the first date, sans cocktails. Awkward, nerve-racking, behaved, proper, unnatural...yep, a first date. Then, both walk away reflecting on the interview and wondering if they should meet again. Was their chemistry? Will they be a good fit? Will they commit? Will they aspire to take the company to the next level? Will they be searching for other jobs while with the company? Will they be easily enticed by other jobs?

Seemingly, everyone is looking for a better job in New York.

Subway singles

Do married people not ride the subway? Do they take other means of transportation? Do they live 'outside' of New York? I never see them on the metro. Ring-less fingers everywhere.

Hanging shoes

What's with the shoes hanging from electric lines? I see them in parts of Brooklyn. I feel like they symbolize something.

Good guys are good

Maybe I did turn another year. I believe I'm growing past the bad boy thing. What was once exciting and challenging is now looked at with disdain. I'm realizing that all the lesser nice guys (longer way of saying a$$holes) are just boys with too much insecurity and uncertainty of who they are. Men, on the other hand, know who they are, what they want and treat people as they want to be treated. Simple as that. This goes for women too. Confident women aren't scared to be kind and affectionate to those they like. Now, none of this means that these good people have to start sizing the ring finger but isn't it more fun and MORE challenging to risk a little vulnerability and put yourself out there with sincerity? This is my own rebuttal to my Valentine's entry.

Realities

It made me laugh out loud. I was watching the Amazing Race, and one of the Road Block challenges were titled, "who loves shoes?" All the couple teams handed it straight to their wives/girlfriends. The gay lesbian team were not fond of the challenge. And the gay male couple both wanted to do it. Turns out the challenge was shoe shining but it was great comical rhythm- no one missed a beat, everyone knows where they stand on their love for shoes.

Perhaps, the the big rage of reality shows is the visibility of stereotypes. Reality shows are supposed to be reflections of reality, not produced thus, any topic that was once shunned are now acceptable. Stereotypes are excused (and probably desired) because of the medium it's presented through. Marshall McLuhan's 'the medium is the message' comes to mind- this is one of the rare moments where what you learned from school is leaping to reality.

Sweet 16 (...plus 10)

Ten years ago, I had a job, I started driving and I had a boyfriend. Now, I'm working part-time, no car, and a boyfriend that's as existent as my Jag. Happy birthday to me.


go girl, work it out.

Sand is overrated, they're just tiny little rocks

An event bigger than the super-bowl, red sox vs. yankees world series, tour de france, princess diana and prince charles' wedding, jen and ben's breakup, jen and brad's separation, combined, is all over. The 2005 Oscars are done. Sadly, my two fave films of the year, Closer and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, weren't very recognized. They were amongst my fave for the following lines/quotes/zingers/taglines/what have you...(above quote from Eternal Sunshine...)

- If you believe in love at first sight, you never stop looking. (Closer)
-I love her because she doesn't need me. (Closer)
-Don't say it! Don't you fucking say "you're too good for me" I am, but don't say it. (Closer)
-Constantly talking isn't necessarily communicating. (Eternal Sunshine...)
-Are we the couples you see in restaurants? Are we the dining dead? (Eternal Sunshine...)
-McRomance. Want some fries with that? (Eternal Sunshine...)
-...I'm just a fucked up girl who is looking for my own peace of mind. Don't assign me yours. (Eternal Sunshine...)

Near-sided

I lost my glasses. I can't find 'em anywhere. I've looked in every nook and cranny of this apartment, all two of them. Where could they be? No, where the hell are they?

Something about me, I never lose things...ever. I've been known to be a little uptight with my shit. Rather than letting it go or postponing the search, I'm handicapped from doing anything...until I find my glasses. I'm starting to recognize it as a flaw in me. It prevents me from moving forward, I could draw a parallel here of how I can't look ahead to the future and the depth of my vision is limited to the present but I won't because I can't think or eat, moreover watch American Idol until I find my glasses. I thought taking a moment to pound away at the keyboard would help but nope, as I type I'm looking around for another nook.

missing: red thick framed glasses with the two most important initials in the American alphabet on the side hinge, "cc"

In a heartbeat

The swift ability to have a change of heart always amazed me. Most break ups aren't premediated and planned for an appropriate gradual departure. Sure, in hindsight people are always saying: "I knew it was coming," or "I was just waiting for the right time," or "we were having problems." But recall where things were at the week before or perhaps even the night before. The relationship probably persisted as it normally did (take-home dinner, falling asleep to the movie, sex-less sleepover) and then days or hours later, you're broken up.

While I haven't been in a commited situation for...over five years now, I understand the ability to have a change of heart. I was scrolling through my blog and I cannot believe some of the dates. One week I'm gushing about a boy's musical talents then the next week, I'm giddy about some bartender. Honestly, I didn't realize it, honestly. And in a way, that was nice, to be blissfully ignorant. These days, I fear that I may be too aware, too realisitc. My girls and I are always throwing around the phrase, "keep it real," it's starting to spoil things. I know that most things will end because...well...everything in the past has ended but it was nice when that wasn't a reality.

Question

Why is there nothing to write about when things are fine or even great?

The Gates

It took 21 million dollars, 23 miles and 7500 gates to to get me and my friends to meet up outside a restaurant, bar, club or soho.


The Gates at Central Park by Christo and Jean Claude

Happy Valentines Day

My best friend and I cracked the code, the meaning of life, the riddle of the sphinx, the Davinci Code...and the answer is this, if you want to be chased, wined, dined and loved by men, treat them exactly the opposite of what you want, treat them like shit.

So, on this Valentine's Day, we were listing some of the sweeter, grander, unforgettable gestures by the past men in our lives. ALL were done in reaction to some of our colder disdained moments.

- I was seeing this guy who always put me second, or third, or twelfth, and during this time I took off for a month without much notice of when I'd be back. "I miss my family and friends, I'll be back." I came home to flowers and a looooong letter.
- She was seeing this guy who wasn't making much of an effort and she ended up meeting someone else. He learned of this and invited her over for some wine and dine.
-There was this guy I poitely said no to for a date. Every time I said no, the events of the date got bigger, from coffee to dinner and a show, a broadway show no less.
-By the last month of the year long relationship with my boyfriend in college, there were no more dates, just 'hanging out,' the sex had dwindled and romance had died. I met someone else and went on a date. I came home to a mixed CD at my doorstep (don't laugh, the mixed CD was the thing to do back then).

This is immature, unhealthy and simply, unkind. Now, once we receive these sweet somethings, can we go to them? No, because it wasn't extended from the right motives. Besides, isn't this what they mean by 'playing games'? Don't we want to be in a situation where our kinder gestures are returned with similar expressions? And what about treating your neighbors how you would want to be treated? Newsflash, men are not your neighbors.

I really hope this is an entry I will look back on and wish I didn't write.

"Shhh"

The couple entries following this one is from the other week and I hesitated posting it because it sounded like a potential set up for failure. But then I realized that if I concerned myself with this every time I went to write a gleeful entry and didn't, I'd have a blank olive green blog. Not exactly a bestseller.

So, I did even after what was discovered this past weekend. An ending already? Well, to be honest, with my track record it wouldn't be an 'already' situation, at about a couple months, it has surpassed most 'situations.'

Okay, back to 'is it an ending?'...I'm not sure. Here's my problem. I have a philosophy on the discussion of relationships, don't discuss it. I know that there comes a time when it's hard to abstain from the subject but until that far and away time, shun it. If two people are aimed towards something significant, then I believe it will happen it due time. Prematurely talking about it sets up expectations and responsibilites. Conversely, if it's meant to be casual, then let it be. I mean, after all, having a talk like this isn't exactly light and fun.

I know that some may argue me on this and say that communication is important and that it's wiser to know where the other stands from the start. Perhaps. However, there's this. By telling someone that you're not looking for something serious, it spoils getting to know each other naturally, ironically the fun part. For so long, I've heard AND said, "I'm just looking to have a good time, to get to know people, to enjoy myself..." I don't want to say it or hear it anymore. On this subject, just "shhh..."

Punxsutawney Phil wrong???

Good weekend. For starters, we finally got a break. A peek of sun, softer winds, and even some melting snow. I haven't been out and about in the city like this past weekend since fall. New Yorkers truly appreciate a nice day in the middle of winter. The entire city is advantageous of the snow-cleared sidewalks and head to cafes, parks, shopping, with dogs, girlfriends, boyfriends, ladies, homies, solo, et al. With all due respect to Phil's forecast, maybe, just maybe his shadow was off. At least, I hope, really hope.

Had excellent Ukraninan food, saw a great flick, had homeade chocolate, walked the village in cirlces, hugged an elephant on 5th ave, cruised along the East River, made a movie... just to name a few.

Gazed and Confused

It was just one of those great dates where dinner turned into a movie and the movie turned into hot chocolate and the hot chocolate turned into a drive back home along the FDR and the drive back home turned into a gaze at the Manhattan skyline. Even after the long hiatus, things were able to pick up right where they were left. I should really, I mean really, give New York a shot. Why else did I move out here, right?

But, I'm still listening to Peter Cincotti...on repeat.

CNN to MTV

I tried to watch the state of the union address earlier- I switched to Vh1. I tried to read a brief New York Times article on an update in the middle east- I turned to the Style section. I tried and complete a petition to in response to Hot 97's obscene Tsunami song- I started listening to 97.1.

To that end, one of my new years resolutions is to become more politically aware. Not even active, just aware. I feel hollow. *sigh*

Perhaps, I need to shift my focus. I've been thinking about what it is that I spend most my time thinking about. It comes down to this: jobs, money, friends, family, boys, travel, weather, weekend, sales and boys. Even when I finish reading a book, not much time is spent on reflecting on it. I read, I finish, then I think about what to order in for dinner. Then, in the not too distant future, I come back to the aforementioned list. "I wonder what he's up to. I want a job that pays well, well enough for me to travel or go out on the weekends and not always have to wait for sales." See, I can even string them into one thought.

Dreading Weddings (rhymes/puns, can't resist 'em)

I'm looking at three weddings within the next six months. I'm still not certain on my thoughts on marriage and children but I am leaning towards the no wedding thing. In fact, I'm growing a fondness for eloping- it isn't tacky, it's spontaneously romantic (and efficient). It's a good thing that none of my soon-to-be-married friends read my blog...or anyone for that matter *crickets*.

Nope, I do not want it. No thank you with all the planning, flowering, and dress hunting. Yes, somehow it even managed to take the fun out of dress shopping- it goes from shopping to hunting, literally. You aim for a certain color/style then, shoot (purchase) then kill and disect (tailor and alter). I'm steering clear of anything that spoils shopping period. I can't imagine planning something for a year. I can't imagine studying up on flowers to the extent of a botanist. I can't imagine wearing lace unless it's by Betsey Johnson, Heatherette or Commes de Garcons. I can't imagine having to select which friends are close enough to make the bridal party cut. Personally, I think it's your close friends that should be freed of the task. Don't get me wrong, I am honored to be asked to be a part of their special day, I just don't know what I'm good for. For instance, what's the difference between a briday party and a bachelorette party? I asked this question to the soon-to-be-brides and they didn't seem happy to learn that neither of the planning has begun.

Tahoe 2005

A bus, a subway, a shuttle, a plane, and a rental car away I finally arrived in Tahoe for a weekend ski trip. By all the efforts, it might appear as though I'm an avid skier. Well, I'm not. I went a lot growing up and made seasonal trips in college so I do enjoy the annual snow trips however, in truth, the appeal of this trip was to hang out with my new l.a. friend. It was a blast.

The highlight of the trip wasn't the incredible sunny 50 degree weather, perfect powder snow, the amazing accomodations, or even the breathtaking views but it was the biscuits in bed, sushi on the plate as I finished the last piece, and only having to carry my ski poles. I had forgotten how nice it was to not be independent.

Back in NY, on my way out to the market, where I have to juggle the groceries and opening the mail room door with only two hands. Four hands sure would make it easier. *sigh*

Cold but Warm

It is too cold. So cold that you actually feel brain freeze, like you just took a big gulp of slurpee. It's like pins and needles all over your body. It's hard to even crack a smile, your face is too numb. Your hands are too frozen to make a fist, but if you're able to make a fist, it'll stay that way. And your ears? Fuggedaboutit.

What do people in New York do during these months? Especially if you didn't do your homework in the fall and never found a winter-mate. Thus far, my solutions are: Netflix, downloading tunes, ordering from the Szchewan Palace and calling friends back in sunny Cali. *sigh* Luckily this time around, I have my sunny, l.a. buddy here with me. Again, lucky for me but not so lucky for her. Poor gal, we've been had 4 hour days of sun, and 8 hours nights of grim darkness. Let's just say, it's been a lot of Hunan Palace and major q. t. Sure, it wasn't the ideal time to come as far as sightseeing, activities, and more importanly, shopping, however by being snowed in, we got to gab away the way we used to in college during all nighters for finals. Except, this time, there were no books involved. Maybe blizzards aren't always so terrible.

The Yummy 5

1) John Stewart
2) James Spader
3) Clive Owen
4) Jamie Foxx
5) Jason Bateman
honorable mention: Kiefer Sutherland (Jack Bauer, mmm mmm mmm)

Sure enough...

it's all happening. Every song reminds you of him. Every story somehow relates back. His favorite foods are on the menu. His car is everywhere. His smell is at the bars.

Sure enough, everything reminds you of him. Even the furthest stretch. "That'll be $30 miss." "OMG, he's 30!" "Here's you water, miss." "OMG, he drinks water." "Those are some nice jeans, Candy." "OMG, his ______..."

And this is supposed to be the fun part...

I wonder

Usually when I'm sad , it's because someone hurt me. This is new because I feel sad but for the exact opposite reason. He was kind, affectionate and it all felt sincere. I wonder if he questions my sincerity because of our start. I wonder if he doubts what I've expressed. I wonder for how long he'll wonder about me.

I wonder who actually makes these things work, especially if there's a continent between them. It makes me sad to realize the inevitable and recognize this as what it will be, a lovely memory.

Good things

It was good. No, it was great. It was 5 years in 5 days. It was back to high-school and college. It was all those cliches: we get each other, I didn't even have to say, there's something there, instant connection, et al. It was pretty neat...*sigh*

I've missed you...

Oh blog, how I've missed you. I haven't meant to neglect you, I've just been busy... wow, I don't think I've ever uttered that phrase before. It's true, I'm never really that busy and so I thought I'd give it try since, those that are 'always busy' seem to always 'feel good about working out,' be 'advancing in their career,' and are 'keeping their mind off boys/girls.' I came, I saw, I left...it just wasn't for me. The later part of the year was a bit non-stop: to school, to the office and to the restaurant, my quiet time of the day was on the subway. I returned to California, to escape to the dreadful start of winter in New York and for a little r & r. I'ts been nice. Real nice.

At 25, and as a new year begins I've come to know a few things about me. I'm not very involved in....anything. I don't own a gym membership and I'll probably sit this year out too. I don't make more than one plan per night. Sometimes I let who's hosting SNL decide whether or not I'll go out on a Saturday night. I don't fly in on Sunday nights to go back into work on Mondays. 'Running errands' on the weekends usually means looking for some obscure building holding a sample sale. I like watching people do yoga. I watch directors' commentaries. I don't eat lunch at the desk, if I am, I'm surfing through entertainment sites or flipping through W mag.

The past few months were rewarding in a productive way, however, I find satisfaction in being able to write a blog entry. As the new year begins, I'm going to go try and go back to smelling roses, as soon as they bloom in New York.

Numb

First month was saddening. Second month was depressing. Third month was insanity. And now, at the fourth month, I'm numb. Yep, I'm starting to forget how it is. And now I'm wondering if it's changed.

life is fair

It is assumed that a relationship, by nature, is restrictive. As part of a duo, one must ignore temptations and repress certain desires. One must even regularly consult, confirm and coordinate with their other. However, I would like to recognize the repressions of not being in a relationship.

Lately, my friends have been calling frequently with tales of romantic woes. Their love quarrels got me to realize that I don't recall the last time I had drama with a fellow. At the outset, one might consider this to be a good thing. I suppose. Unforunately, that can't be an absolute sentiment. I realize that what I'm about to say proves all theories about what a total girl a girl can be but I can't fight the ideology. I miss the drama. I haven't reached a level of intimacy and closeness with a guy deep enough for me to sincerely express my true thoughts, feelings and so on. It takes a while before two people can pass the, what I term, 'polite period,' or 'courtesy conversation.'

Thus, there are repressions in a single gal's life. Even for those that are dating. Until you are in that elusive, exclusive situation with another, there are certain releases that are restricted until further notice. All is fair in love and no love.

Scrubs to the Garden State

Zach Braff, I see big plans for his future. The Garden State- one of the best ways I've spent a Saturday night in a long while. Yep, even better than last weekend's Chapelle marathon. I'm going to have to start watching Scrubs now.

Fall 2004 Schedule

What if I end up serving one of my students a milkshake? What if I am an intern with them? ...

I've been back in NY for almost 3 weeks and in that time I've discovered a way to make money, hone my public speaking skills, all hopefully without any spills (sometimes I think the rhymes help). Waitricing in a fast paced diner (where the wait staff waits to be discovered by some acting/modeling agent), teaching a course in public relations (talk about 'those who can't do teach') and interning for the PR group with what I believe to be mecca, the Gucci Group.

I've come to accept that the perfect job is unattainable for me right now. Rather, the perfect combination will have to suffice. Am I excited? You bet your ass. Coffee Shop has a cool vibe, Marymount Manhattan College is close to home and Gucci not made in Seoul, Korea all tickle my fancy. Am I scared? You bet your ass I am. Waitricing is hard work, hard work that I haven't done since...*scratch forehead* hmmm...I'm sure there was a time. I'm also scared of entering a classroom where the students are wondering if I should be a part of the class rather than in front of it and most importanly, I'm worried that my coach bag will be frowned upon at Gucci.

*Exhale* I just hope that I don't show up to class with an apron on.

New York> San Francisco> San Diego> Los Angeles> Las Vegas> San Francisco> Los Angeles and finally back to New York
 
At glance, the legs of this tour could pass for a rock star.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Hillary Duff and Ashlee Simpson were jealous…and they should be.

What happened this summer and what didn’t?

Playing poker while drinking mint tea while listening to Erasure while watching the Simpsons is something I didn’t get to do. 
Climbing the corporate ladder is something I did get to do yet, I ended up jobless.
I tried to make a New York friend in San Francisco.
Although, I did get to go sunning…I went tanning too ;)

In sum, I am a 25 year old who had the summer of an 18 year old which means lots of fun in the sun, clubs and bars, seeing hometown friends and making new ones.  It also means that I have the checking account of an 18 year old but some things are just worth it.

I wish I could graciously thank those individuals that provided me with comfort and security by letting me know that they’ll always be there for the rough times and, clearly, the good times.  This is all I can say:

Hwangsta + La Scala + = text message delights (did we really go speed dating???)
Skims: you, me, Marlboros, jamba (someone should tell us that we’re not Winona and Ethan) plus men’s nikes + knitted camis + boxers + Togos= laughing and lagging. 
J.So- thanks for the Japanese delectables but you should know that I go there for a certain Korean delectable *yum* C. Factory wing women unite! (then split ;)
Bobo- Fine, fine, fine…board games aren’t gay.  Only a true friend pulls pork. Thanks for the shopping (bag).
Jeanette: did you notice that I was gone?  I’m not at the loft, not at the beach, I’m not even at the Bruin bookstore.  Hey, thank your mom for the blanket.
Lora, the olsen sisters never looked so good in a box...prolly never shat so much either.
Karen- you got wasted and I piggy’d your ass to hail a cab…I’d bet I’d have to walk less for a yellow car in NY ;)
Lisa- good arm you got there.  Two girls in Marc Jacobs batting around, that’s golden.

So, now I’m back…contrary to popular belief, I truly am.  I know I’m back because I can’t tell if I’m dripping sweat or rain.  It’s hot, it’s humid, it’s Korea.  Damn, there must be something about this place to keep me from all my hussies, I hope I find whatever it is soon, otherwise, “Candy’s home part XXIV” in the not too distant future.

I Heart NY...and SF

They say New Yorkers feel like they're going to fall off the face of this earth if they leave the island...I felt that when I left for California.

I've been basking in the wind-shielded Cali sunshine for almost a month- it'll be over a month when I finally return. Yes, I am returning. I am.

They also say that you can never go back home, I don't get that. I'm not sure if it's the comfortable weather, smoking while driving, lower marlboro and starbucks prices, mom's jji-geh's, brothers dvd collection, old friends to talk about new boys with or simply the feeling of home but it's certainly been good to be back. So good that I forgot I fell off.

However, as much as I have enjoyed the past few weeks, so much in fact that I'm still here, ny is my home and I can't wait to go back...just how humid is humid?

Blind Leading the Blind

I was walking on Prince Street in SoHo behind a blind couple today. They were walking side by side and they walked towards a cafe. The blind man sped up and opened the door, the blind woman walked through then, he kept the door open for me to walk though. When they were led to their table, he pulled out her chair and she sat down then, he sat down. It was a sight to see.

fake it or take it

I never got why girls would fake an orgasm. In doing so, you lead your partner to believe that whatever he is doing is working; you perpetuate the unrewarding performance. But then there's this...if you don't fake it, the brutality persists. By faking it. you put an end to it. I guess it's kind of like giving candy to a kid to shut them up, not the suggested discipline but quick and effective.

Life: family, friends, school, job and, oh yeah, boys.

A hiatus from the blog is a good thing, it means that I'm living my life rather than writing about it...so I hope. As usual, the absence for the past month means that some stuff actually happened.

Let's see...mom came into town, we ate, slept, shopped, yelled, popped into a graduation, oh yeah, graduation happened. "How was it?" you ask? Don't know, I fell asleep...so did mom...it's on tape...a shot of me with my cap in my lap and the sound of momma Jun breathing peaccefully. Some highlights of her trip: she kept swiping the Metro Card and then stood still, waiting for the metal bar to rise- people behind her weren't so kind at those moments. Took her to a couple of shmancy resaurants and her favorite eat in NY was pizza. Instead of lighting a candle at St. Pat's, she blew one out. Finally, in the middle of the night she got up and went downstairs and asked the people outside the bar to please quiet down...and they did. Good things...

What else? Got a gig in a restaurant. Yep, now I really do it all, I serve, I shake, I pour, I carry, I've spilled, I've fallen, I've broken (glasses)...I'm the hostess with the mostess. And to think, my college advisor thought it not be crucial to go back to school. Mom's really proud too,

"So now, you have a masters?"
"Yes."
"And now you work in a restaurant?"
"Yes."
"You're not coming back home, are you?"
"No."
"Yes." *grin*

You know, I hate posts like these where it feels more like a laundry list of past events but then, if I don't memo the highlights (yes, sadly these are the highlights) then, well, all I've written about is boys and 1o years from now I'd like to be able to reflect on other aspects of my life. So, what more non-boy related events or thoughts could I blab about? Hmmm... Great, now I have writers block. I fold.

The question of if I have met anyone in NY is a common one when talking to girlfriends back home and in light of my upcoming visit back home, it's a question that I will inevitably face. It's sad, right? I've been living in The City of the world for almost a year. I've finished school. I'm on the brink on initiating a career. Yet, it is the only guaranteed question. So then, perhaps, girls perpetuate each other's stresses and heartaches about boys. I think I will return and ask my friends who have bf's how they are individually instead of asking how their relationship is?" Then, maybe I'll ask my single girlfriends about their jobs, atkins and new hot spots...so that we can go meet some boys *roll eyes*. I fold.

"grrr..."

I hate the people who:

- feed the pigeons at Washington Square Park, it's so gross
-walk on the left side on a crowded sidewalk
-believe that a stroller allows them free reign over the city
-grab the pole right by the door on the subway during rush hour
-ALWAYS forgets my coke from the Chinese delivery restaurant
-print out a hundred pages at the print center, and I'm after them
-ask me for a light at a crosswalk when it's time to walk
-shout obscenities at the people who shout obscenities at Union Square
-live right above me for laughing so loud every late Thursday night from a night of drinking, especially when I'm sitting here doing this.

Finally, I hate finals week.

Once in a Blue Moon, there is an Eternal Sunshine

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd.
-- Alexander Pope, "Eloisa to Abelard"

Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind just clicked for me. No, this is not a film review- I decided long ago that I would not engage in that practice because 1) it could end up dominating the blog 2) no desires to feign a critic 3) I'm not good at it- I read other reviews and they always sway my opinion.

Saturday late afternoon, cloudy out, and no sample sales so, I went to see a movie. One ticket, one medium popcorn, one small soda and Goobers= $21.50. Bright side-I snatched a good seat in spite of late arrival- that's the perk in solo movie attendance. Dim side- commercials have become part of the trailer sequence.

I was hesitant to see a Charlie Kaufmann piece (Being John Malkovich, Adaptation) for he often leaves me befuddled. The 'think outside the box' always felt like a cop out. It's too passive, agressive. There are no rules or boundaries thus allowing endless open interpretations yet, a lucid vision from the artist persists. No, tell me what you mean and I'll agree or disagree. But Sunshine poignantly translates idylls into reality, and vice versa, by taking you on a ride of life, love and fate. And that's what it is. It is about the ride, not how it ends, who marries, or if they live happily ever after. In his romanticized sci-fi fashion, he illustrates how it's not the results that matter but the journey. A bit clicheic? Perhaps, but what if you knew that a certain love could end would you still go through with it? I mean, have we ever been in a relationship that didn't end? Sunshine approaches this love clutch with the challenging ideology of truly living in the present with no bear in mind of the future yet, knowing that you will want to retain the memories.

"I'm just a fucked up girl who's looking for a piece of her own mind."
-Clementine

Ah-ma, Ah-pa

I actually miss them... a lot.


Christmas 2003

Smile, child

In a city where grimaces are prevalent and normal, someone asked me to smile today. While sitting at the park sipping a chai latte, an elderly black man innocuously approached me, propped his cane on the bench and took a seat. He asked me if I rode the subway. I warily nodded. He told me that I had to shake off the negative energy that roams the underground. T'is true, the subway can be a languid place. Eye contacts are scarce and you can forget about smiles. Now, I'm not exactly your 'turn that frown upside down' kind of gal but sometimes I do wonder if my daily commute would be less oppressive if friendlier simpers prevailed. He mutters, "today's young people don't know how to be happy." I had no rebuttal. My silence was agreement. The tortured soul/the world owes me/I'm going to eat some worms attitude is very in for my generation. As I gathered my things and got up to leave, I turned towards him and flashed the biggest smile I could and told him to have a nice day. He responds, "now go do that around the city." I nod, I pivot, my lips meet, cheeks settle and eyes sit, back to stoic. It's a work in progress...

Vices

Past habits: Chewing gum constantly. Smoking. Vicodin. Splitting split ends. Putting a song on repeat. Swabbing my belly. Looking both ways on a one way street (I said habit thus, not conscious). Running 30-60 minutes late. Eating late at night. Finishing a paper moments before its deadline. Screening calls. Calling my mom back days later. Cooking dinner (microwave counts).

Current habits: Chewing gum only after a smoke (which is still a constant). Putting a CD on repeat. Plucking my hairless lids. Walking on DON'T WALK. Tardy by only 10-15 minutes. Eating after clubs/bars. Proofreading papers the night before. Returning calls. Picking up my mom's call every night. Ordering food in.

I guess it evens out.

On your mark, get set, think.

Some people meditate, some work out, some practice yoga or Kabalah (at least until Madonna finds a new holistic exercise) and then there are those who turn to their Sauconys. I am a part of that latter group. I run. Admittedly, I don't run for health or physical gain- that is evident when I leave the house with with my keys and a pack of smokes.

I reached Central Park and began running. I mean really running. I passed by joggers, pacers and even left some bikers in the dust. Yes, I felt a little silly looking like I was a part of a one-woman Forest Gump marathon with no fellow runners or a finishing ribbon to run towards yet, I found aleviation in pursuing a single-tracked focus. However, I don't know why. I've been running for as long as I can remember not because I'm great at it but because of its boundless liberation. It can be done aimlessly and and requires no honing of a skill so long as it is done solo and that's exactly how I do it. There's no team to answer to or instructor to follow. I find great exoneration in that. I brood over any troubles, stresses or dilemmas. However, I'm beginnning to to question the actual effects of this time honored practice of mine. Perhaps, this limitless terrain is actually limiting. Often when I run, nothing has been effectively resolved. Physically, I return home sweaty and hungry. Mentally, I have completed a wayward loop. Today, during my aimless route that parallels my roundabout thoughts, I decided that the best solution to my problem is to keep running.

Sure, they say not to run from your problems but sometimes I think the best solution to a problem is to not come up with a solution... just keep running and eventually the running will digress into a walk, soon to be followed by a pleasant stroll home.

Club Codes

A couple of observations about clubs/bars I have believed for a while...and apparently, still do...

Ask yourself, is the $7 drink worth a 7 minute conversation? I figure it like this, if a guy offers you a drink, you're obliged to chat with the fella at least until you finish your drink. It may make for better times to treat yourself.

Sometimes I feel like I'm in the "Night at the Roxbury," dancing while earnestly scoping out the scene, scouting for some eye treats. Like the studs from the Roxbury, at that point I'm so preoccupied I just look like a bodily twitch to the music.

When a girl tells a guy that she can't hang out anymore because of her friend, i.e. "I would love to get another round of drinks but I better see what's up with my friend," or "Heading to another bar sounds great but I think my friend wants to head home" it's usually code for I'm politely separating from you. Sure, it's courteous to check in with your partner in a crime but not during game time, we wait for halftime and if we want to play overtime, we don't need to ask for permission.

wow...I need a hobby.

Nikki's Hickies

What to say about Miami? Here are the trigger notes: Ocean's Ave., Collins' clubs, NIKKI BEACH :)>, Delano, Cafe News flash, pizza huddle, fresh Mynt, poisoned Opium...

Sightings: Puff Diddy, Lenny Kravitz (y'all 'member the video with the towel scene? well, the camera does not lie), Paris and beau Nick, J.C. sans Tara, and Korea representing at WMC with Park Jin-Yong.

Shortage of: Patrons, suntain oil, TOWELS, hotel keys ;) shrimp cocktails, mussels.

Abundance of: muscles, ta-ta's, grease, soccer boys, International delectables- Greek, Israel, Canada, Chicos, Itos, Mohitos, Jackson Brothers canNOT sing, Korea stepping up to China, Adam paints still life of Moon, cliches under the stars, sand in the hair (still...dirty), American Eagles preying, long walks over rainbows, pot of gold destinations, Funyun breakfasts, photo shoots a la L & C, Rocket's Invasion, futon heaven, cloud mine, then yours, then hers, mean green dress stress, garage house music+garage band looks= hat goggles, black rover, black rover won't you send the driver on over, ee-eye ee-eye Ito, kisses and misses, great times with a couple of wizards.


Yep, we're dancing in water. Water stage-->dancing sans heels...someone was thinking.

To have felt than not felt at all

The worst possible feeling is feeling nothing. I'm happy to feel sad.

Bienvenido a Miami

Fun in the sun looms upon me. In three short days, I will basking in the sun of Southbeach Miami, sipping margaritas, digging my pedicured feet in the sand. Some girlfriends and I are headed there for the Winter Music Conference. An event that draws the likes of everyone in the music industry: DJ's, musicians, producers, and then of course, the ever-present groupie- that's me. Actually, I prefer the term Band-aid, in memory of Penny Lane. A full weekend of non-stop music, parties, hot tubs, beaches, tanning with others all in the same spirit.

So, then why am I not as excited as I thought I would be? I can't seem to muster up the enthusiasm. Normally, by now I would have re-packed my luggage twice, picked up a beach tote, and found the perfect sunglasses. Rather, I'm preoccupied with what I'll be missing here in NY. Why is it that the one weekend you're out of town, there's something new and different going on in town? I guess St. Patty's Day celebrations are quite festive here, which is a shame because I like the Green. I leave this Saturday, the day after the big B Day so, officially, when I arrive it's just about the sun, sand and sips. I just better get carded.

A Day in the Park

Finally, a peek of spring graced us with its presence today. The slightly balmy air had the enitre city out and about. Tripping on dog leashes, stepping aside for strollers I headed to Washington Square Park to people watch, sip a latte, have a smoke and catch up on phone calls back to Cali.

With so much activity surrounding me, I tucked away the Nokia and became a part of the free-loading audience of street performers. From twin brothas somersaulting mid air, Jerry Garcia look-alikes playing banjos, skaters gliding on the concrete curbs, electoral campaigning, women selling handmade accessories, homeless selling used books and whatever else redeemable dispose, dogs playing, dog owners conversing like proud parents, couples making out, couples fighting, singles reading, talking on phones and scoping other singles, it was a good show. Only in NY could such a show take place all in the confounds of a park simply because it was 54 degrees.

Face-less

I realized that whenever I have liked someone, I can't remember what they look like. I have a vague impression but the face is not clear. Why is that?

Spun Out

I have a thing for D.J.'s. So many nights out I’ve spent looking over the turntables rather than the accessible, available men on the other side of the tracks. Something about them so focused while they’re spinning, something about their oversized headphones, something about their elusiveness from the rest of the bar/club, something about their non-verbal occupation all fuels this mysterious quality. In addition, they’re occupied so you can’t bother them while they’re working, or can you?

Tonight, I found my answer. You can. Out at a bar with some friends, standing near the D.J. booth, he asks if he should play White Stripes or Jane’s Addiction. “Seven Nation Army,” I yelled. Soon, a conversation ignited. And well, idealization turned into realization. I realized that my long-time predilection was better left in my head. I’m bummed. Now, if the night is bust I can’t even have an in-head flirtation. I need to revive my imaginary friend.

Winter is in the air

It’s starting to get warmer and by that I mean red alert blizzard days have simmered but it’s still layering, gloving, scarfing season…and who knows how long it will last.

All winter long I bitched to new friends about the cold like a true New York winter neophyte. It kept me in on some weekends. It made me ruin Via Spigas. It made me enter the Chinese Delivery number on speed dial 3 (after Taco King). It made me spend $12 on coat check at clubs (next winter I’m safety pinning all items together, “Look, miss coat-checker, I know it’s a funny looking jacket”). It made me memorize all the lines to Sex and the City…okay, so I would have done it even in the spring. Now, that spring is looming, it made me appreciate my first New York winter. So, as soon as it ends I can start to be grateful, any day now...

Today is the Sad Day

What will we miss more? The pee-in-your-pants (or in the shower on a politician) humor, the witty banter racketing to and fro, the relatable conversations at the Coffee Shop, the cutting edge fashion (this is an entry deserving of its own), or all its humanity of love, heartbreak, one-offs, or two lives finally shared all delivered through four fabulous women?

Much more needs to be discussed but it's a little hard to type with the keyboard swimming in tears. It's getting hard to breathe...

Until full recovery, I beg that not one more person say to me that it's "the end of an era," I know it is, just don't say it to me. Denial is the place I'd like to be until the season 6 is released in DVD. Okay, my laptop is starting to float...

On a brighter note, I am ecstatic about being able to post images onto my blog! So, I thought what photo would be deserving of being posted as the first of many to come than my 4 best onscreen friends. All was made possible by tech-savvy 'Clavie,' thanks girl.


Final exit from the Coffee Shop.


John?!? Who would have thought? We all know several John's but this one...this one is no John Doe.

Partying on a Playground

Okay, so I lied. No one can be that good of a kisser. I suppose it is what’s in the kiss. A little thing called the zsa zsa zsu, the butterflies, the zing, the chill factor.

The chilling butterflies are still zinging zsa zsa zsu and I don’t even know how or why.

I saw ‘the kiss’ over the weekend at a very special event with no special kiss. With number of friends reduced to a minimum here in NY, I was fortunate enough to have two very special people plan a surprise to ring in the official mark of a new age bracket. Solidly, I am in the mid-twenties. The pros? *scratch forehead* The cons? Meeting others my age steadfast in a career, gradually being invited to weddings, feeling silly shopping at a store called Forever 21 and well, not being 21. Moreover, feeling inane about feeling this way about a boy.

With 'the kiss,' that night was about being single and trying to mingle- sometimes I think the rhymes help. Checking in on him from time to time yet, being elusive it was reminiscent of juvenile games of tag with boys I crushed on in elementary. I am a 25 year old flirting with boys on the playground.

Subway, my way

Is it a practice only in my mother’s homeland to get up and offer your seat to elders? In Korea, a healthy, relatively young individual would be scornfully looked upon for remaining in their seat in the presence of a standing senior.

Having been in NY for half a year now, I am quite familiar with my primary mode of transportation, the subway, a.k.a. the Metro. I am a regular and I would assume many are. Yet, of the many, most are not either not aware of their surroundings or are indifferent to what surrounds them. I often find myself getting up and out of my spot on the bench for an elder, which I am more than fine with, however it shall be noted that there are several healthy men around me that remain seated. New York men…what a surprise.

Small Hearts in the Big Apple

The attitude on dating, sex and relationships is a common one in New York- the first two are acceptable, the latter is not. At least this is the belief of most singles in New York. I am not casting doubt on the favored sentiment of a single, free life. Inarguably, there are benefits that cannot be gained if “with other.” One major sacrifice is sacrifice. One must forego their favorite bad music, watch Sex and the City with abrupt channel changes to ESPN, and get used to the idea that a toilet seat no longer has a cover.

So yes, there are losses when “with other” but are there also gains? Sure, otherwise why would people do it...right? Yet, the once-desired security, stability and settlement are being replaced by the sought of freedom, “friendship” and…well, sometimes the other f. This is what most toasted to on Valentine’s Day. I had my first Valentine’s in NYC and it was an interesting experience, to say the least. Many sneered it as a day of contrived romance and others scoffed at the ones that succumbed to Hallmark’s propaganda. I was a part of this group. It was not necessarily out of bitterness but because red roses aren’t my fave and I can eat fine chocolates any day of the year.

So then, in today’s time, is it simply cool to be anti-relationship? The single movement has taken such a toll that it has surpassed a state of trend and now is a state of mind; this is definitely the case for the city of New York. The non-committal and frivolous behavior was present and accounted for on this red and pink day. Inhibitions lowered as more approached the anonymous, smiles flashed across the parallel lines at men’s and women’s restrooms, and even the elusive offer of a drink was extended. These practices are easier than getting that reservation at Nobu, hunting down shriveled roses at the last minute and buying chocolates at the cost of a round of drinks for all your friends.
In this regard, it is easier to be single. Independence comes naturally, it is co-dependence that is a challenge, a challenge that most are not up for. Good, bad? Progressive, regressive? "Hmmm..."

Can’t have it all

Okay, I realize what I'm about to say makes me a bit of a freak but I must pose the question. What’s the point of having a great kiss if that’s all there is? I know, I know, how dare I think that the physical element be combined with…oh I don’t know emotional, mental stuff.

Okay, the kiss...there was something about it. Something about it was so familiar, comfortable and well, irresistible. It usually takes me a while to learn a new kiss but this...this was effortless. And now here comes the cream pie. Although, it's not what you think. The kiss is still good, real good. Yet, it is what precedes it and follows it that is not equitable. I'm starting to get the whole "with emotion" thing. You can have a great kisser and nothing else or you can have a bad kisser and if everything else is there, you'll actually want to learn a new kiss.

So, I guess the physical stuff loses. The other crap wins. This is even harder.

It’s in his kiss

Can the order proceed as such: kiss then, attraction? I find myself in unfamiliar territory for whenever physical intimacy occurs, it is usually anticipated and/or predicted (willingly or not).

Take the kiss, for example, when that hopeful lean is taken and eyes shut and lips finally meet, there were signs leading up to it. If it was anticipated, the exhilaration engulfs your entire being. If it was not wished for, well, it’s just bad.

But, what if you’re caught off guard? Completely not expecting it. Not because there was no attraction but because there were no indicative signs leading up to it such as, spending the entire night bickering and bantering about nothing and everything. Then, suddenly, a kiss from nowhere and you’re stuck in a moment of puzzlement? Only to piece together that whatever it was, it kind of shook you to your core. Then, the moment clarifies into a moment of where did that come from, and when will it come again?

Same old, same old…some new, some new



So, I decided that I couldn’t brave the cold nor, the separation from family and friends for winter break, so rather than a white Christmas this year, I headed west for a sunny Christmas.

Having gone to college half an hour away from home, it never felt like I went ‘home for the holidays.’ This time around, it did. It was great to get behind the wheel again and to retire the metro card for a few weeks, walk around sans scarf, gloves and face-mask. It was nice to see familiar faces, it was nice to know some faces you don’t have to see anymore and yes, it was even nice to be with family. Some friends are now in relationships, living with boyfriends and two dear friends are *gasp* engaged. Yes, they are my age *roll eyes*. And some are now single *grin*. No, this isn’t an evil smirk, it’s a ‘yay, they’re coming out of the couple cove and going to party with me’ smile.

The scene in San Francisco hasn’t changed much. This is both comforting (to know that home will always be home) and disconcerting at the same time (that some things should evolve…quickly).

Between a ski trip to Tahoe, drinks with my girls, still wanting to party after 2am, pleasant encounters with boys I wish I had met in NY instead of SF, boys I could have been fine with not meeting at all, fights and hugs with my mom, begging to borrow my brother’s car, “I missed you’s” and “come visits” it was a nice holiday season. To that end, I will say, I miss loved ones dearly but I sure am lucky to be where I’m at.

Spoon and Swoon?

This past weekend, a girlfriend came through town with friends from work and over dinner the topic of spooning, cuddling, post-sex came up. Her friends, guys, were earnestly trying to convince us that they occasionally sought a simple cuddle session. That there are times that they would rather lay next to someone and simply hold each other to sleep. Hmmm...*scratch forehead* This concept was hard to buy, that guys would opt for a sex-free trade of affection. But, what really bothers me is the fact that I found this hard to believe. I’m not a misanthropist, I’m a realist…right?

So, then the question is this, if it is agreed that sex is the most intimate physical act two people (or whatever your preferred party count is) then, why is it more nerve-racking to regress? As we get older or, as sex becomes more frequented on a casual basis, does the traditional chronology revert itself? Recall the "bases." Once upon a time, there was a succession people followed that led up to sex: kissing, a little more, a little more than a little more and eventually, if you round out the bases, sex. Has this order reversed?

I often hear tales of holding hands as a defining moment. Several dates take place before fingers interlock, it has replaced sex as the sign of closeness. When did this regressive transition take place? Was it sometime between high-school sweethearts and drunken fraternity keg parties? Was it between the lapse of a serious relationship to casual dates? Was it between a break-up and make-up with others? Moreover, why has this happened?

I suppose it’s because sex is discrete (for most of us) thus, there is no public display whereas, holding hands indicates to the world that they are taken, off the market, unavailable, wed, hooked, hitched, et al, and that’s something many are not ready for. Rather, most are inclined to gather their clothes, exchange the obligatory kiss and, do they dare, the evasive phone number, and let themselves out.

I feel blue. I can’t think about this stuff. I thought it would be a nice break from writing term papers but I think I would rather write on the origins of symbolic expression in the hyper-reality of heteropic virtual media.

The Grand Gesture

Girls expect romance more than guys. This is true. Which, in turn, means that a guy has a duty that girls are freed of. (Mark the date of this entry, I believe I am in rescue for the fellas).

I was talking to a guy the other day and we were discussing creative, romantic gestures, including marriage proposals. Some sweet tales were exchanged. Days later, I realize that all the stories were things that a GUY has done/could do. *Scratch forehead* Why there were no stories of how a woman has proposed is understandable- traditionally, it hasn’t happened much. Okay, so be it. But why?

When a guy performs the grand gesture, it is considered romantic, when a girl does it, it is often looked upon as foolishly audacious. This doesn’t have to apply to only marriage proposals, it can include other grand gestures such as professing one’s love, demonstrating desire, initiating a reconciliation, et al. A woman says “I love you” and sometimes, it is uneasily received. A woman initiates sex and often, she is labeled easy. A woman asks for a guy back and, she may be considered needy.

So, is this worse for the guy, being stuck with plentiful duties in the romance department or, for the girl, restricted from acting upon thoughts/feeling?

Well, if guys were obliged to a little less and girls initiated a little more, then maybe a shift in balance will occur, leading people to be able to act in accordance to their wishes. How nice would it be for a guy to get chocolates on Valentines and for a girl to be able to call a in the middle of the night (with no judgment ;)

Thanksgiving with the Sopranos

This was my first Thanksgiving away from home. Granted, Thanksgiving in my family doesn't depict a traditional one, if we want turkey, we go to Boston Market. My family is not big on holidays, that's been the case all my life thus, it's what I know and it's what I'm fine with. But, this year I was in for a holiday treat, a traditional east coast Thanksgiving with the Sopranos meets the Romanos.

A friend from school, Jaime (this girl is crazy, she's one of those who you thought must have been a cheerleader/president of her sorority, but she's even cooler than that, she was the one roll her eyes at 'em) extends a gracious warm invite.

We approach the home and easily I spot the house. Christmas lights drape every pane and roof tile. We walk up the steps, I smell the enticing aroma, yum. We enter and turkey decor ubiquitous in this Queens suburb home. The greetings begin. The family is Italian, which means kisses on both cheeks for every hello, goodbye and a few extra in passing. Soon, appetizers are served: stuffed mushrooms, stuffed tomatoes, stuffed artichokes, Italians really know how to stuff, including guests. As soon as a plate clears, more food is on its way. Some food, then the Turkey Bowl. Yep, a family football game. Soon to follow, THE MEAL. All the fixings, two to three versions of all the fixings, "Candy, this is vegetarian stuffing, I know you're from California. Now, there are some low-cal foods, which I don't think you should eat, because it's not good and you don't need to be concerned but you're from California, so who knows?" I love it. Thus far, it's like what I see in the movies, except the characters names are Uncle Ray, Uncle Jimmy, Cousin Tony and a few juniors, there's even an Uncle Carmine. And the women, they're cooks, moms of 3-4 children, and they call you "honey" and "sweetie" with total naturalness. They also ask the family to go around and say grace.

My turn comes. I'm red and it's not from the wine, which they didn't stop pouring...I wonder if that was grape juice in the baby bottles. I creatively say, "I'm thankful for being able to spend Thanksgiving with this family." Everyone cheers, toasts and sips. This goes on for every person's grace. More energy is exerted in the after dinner activity, Charades. I don't recall the last time paying games with my family...no, I take that back, we play a lot of phone tag.

And on those messages, we do tell each other what's going on in our lives, occasionally even that we miss each other and my mom is always telling me to wait to cross streets one foot away from the curb. So, when I was thinking about how jovially-spirited the Jordans are (for safety reasons, they don't go by Soprano), and wishing that I had a family that like that to go home to on the Holidays, I realized that I did wish I could go home to my family. We eat whatever delivers on a holiday, go to Starbucks for dessert, fight, yell, laugh, only to re-fuel to fight a little more...see, now that's the traditional Thanksgiving, isn't it? Although, the Jordans were a great substitute.

Separate-Togetherness

I got to thinking (I do give it a whirl sometimes) and thought how it's funny how when you're dating multiple people simultaneously there's not much to talk about with your girlfriends. "How's Jim, Bob, and Smith?" Reply: "It's cool, they're fun, you know, everything's cool." Succinct yet, vague. This is not intentional but, it is the inevitable when there is not one focus. But, if you're actually in that elusive one-on-one situation, there's a plethora of topics to discuss i.e., he's a bastard because (fill in the blank), or he did the sweetest thing, he (fill in the blank). Or, better yet, when there is no one, endless rants persist on the gripe of the lack thereofs.

I suppose this is because when you're multi-dating, no one particular really means anything. If there is just the one, the others would be a mere disruption. Now, the real question is, does that prevent anything from developing into anything serious, or do we practice such a juggle as a measure of caution? I know, I know this is not a new lament from me but it is reiterated because seemingly, this is an issue that prevails from college to marriage, girl to guy, guy to girl and coast to coast.

Words like "serious," "exclusive," and, of course, "commitment" have become words of taboo in the realm of dating. Fine. It's perfectly okay to desire other things in lieu of a relationship. There are notions that suggest that a lot must be sacrificed if not, at least compromised to engage in a steady relationship and that's just too much work. It is a separate-togetherness that is sought. Then, as a result, has independence become an easier trait to acquire than co-dependence?

Wine and Whine

Buzzed. Again. I’ve had trouble sleeping. I’ve had to drink a little to get to sleep. This is nothing new for a former insomniac. Yet, it is new when you have to drunk dial friends back in California.

So, I have been sipping wine and sniffling tears. It’s been three months in NY and already so much has happened. So many hellos and almost as many goodbyes.

I have yet to establish a set group of trusted friends, correction, girl friends. I have been blessed to have had the same circle of the greatest girls for almost a decade now. I have often debated whether or not I was missing out for not belonging to a more balanced, coed group of friends. I now have the answer. No, I never felt a void for lacking platonic male companions. However, I DO feel the emptiness of not having a group of just the girls. Granted, any potential girl I meet will ever measure up to my girls back home; nonetheless, I'm a girl’s girl. I need girl friends.

I miss 7 girls wripping apart a closet to get ready for a night out. I miss drinking, dancing and dining with them. Particularly the latter, I miss the Jack in the Box drive thru’s. *sniffle* I miss them making fun of the guy I was talking to at the club. I miss giving them shit for spending the whole night talking to a gorgeous gay guy. I even miss the drama. Ahh, the drama. Moved 5000 miles to get away from it only to learn that it was that that made us last. How triumphant we have been given the tears and guys we have shed ;) Fortunately, I have also met people to appease the forlornness. People that have distracted the isolation with laughter, conversation, pearls and twirls at Suede, boy bashing at Cafeteria, walking over bridges, salsa and Salsa, great burgers a la Blue 9, and parties in your mouths.

B & B at C.C.’s

Looks like I’m open for business again…wait, probably not a wise statement by someone named Candy. What I mean is that my side business of a bed and breakfast has re-opened at its new location, NY. Sure, there isn’t much breakfast since now, my refrigerator is stocked with menus.

Been here two months and have already had 3 visitors and 5 more to go. People have said, “Wow, Candy you must be really popular.” It’s funny how much your popularity increases when you get a place in NYC. The burning question is, had I moved to Boise, Idaho, would I still need to put out clean towels biweekly? Actually, I take that back, Boise has stuff to offer. What if I had moved to Mobile, Alabama?

Yes, they’re a pain the ass. Constantly, asking me if I know how to get to places. What to do, where to eat, how to get back home…like I know, right? It’s been like the blind leading the blind. Friends frustrated with my map illiteracy, the weather (in their defense, it does quite suck), and the lack of hot boys, so they say.

Well, as far as the past week, I don’t have much of a rebuttal, no sweets for the eyes. But not all was bad in fact, had we found some cuteness, we may have not had the unforgettable NY experience we did. It is the search of boys that is quality time amongst girls, by getting to know what your girlfriend seeks in a guy you gain the comfort of knowing that you will never fight over the same guy. By getting lost, we were able to walk and talk 5 (or 50) extra blocks. And, by being weak Cali-weather spoiled girls, we were obliged to stay in, out from the nasty dewy rain, and whine and dine over the lack of cute boys while flipping through countless menus.

The hotel is vacant now. No occupancy reserved until next month. Unexpectedly, I find myself a feeling alone...and mind you, I have lived alone for some time now and this is unfamiliar territory. I have always maintained that my favorite part of the day is coming home to a quiet empty house. Strange, I kind of miss having my girl waiting for me with Indian, Japanese and Mexican cuisine, “I couldn’t decide, she chuckles.” *cute* Yeah, I’m glad I didn’t move to Alabama.

Goodbye and Hello

I am alive. Contrary to popular belief, I have not vanished to some small island with millions of neurotics and assimilated. No possible way that could have happened ; )

It’s ironic how when you don’t have time to write is when you should because there are actually things to write about. Thus, a synopsis of the past 60 days, incidentally one of the most pivotal two months of my life…

July/August
moved out of the Bay/moved into NYC
sold car/bought Metro card
packed/unpacked
said bye to friends/said hello to new ones

Now, it’s September and school is three weeks deep, summer is fading and like the fall tranquility in Central Park (and I use the word “tranquility” selectively in reference to New York City) I, too, feel like I can walk again rather than run, chew not swallow, and finally breathe rather than gasping for some NYC taxi smog-filled air. Just about settled into my new home and school. So, what am I left to do?

Light a cigarette from my $8 pack, sip on a $4.50 cappucino, endure through the humid heat, hop over urine puddles at the Time Square subway station, hop from bar to bar in Greenwich Village, eat in Washington Square Park, rollerblade in Central Park with an ice cream cone, weave through orange cones in the Bronx to get to the best paella in the city, jump back on the 6 train, a.k.a. Carrie Bradshaw's neighborhood, a.k.a. my new home.

And that’s where I’m at. It’s an aged, pre-war, above the neighborhood bar, laundry mat, and nail salon building built out of a shoebox, or at least it’s the same square footage. Okay, I just stretched my arms out and touched wall to wall. Everything is dual purpose: the bed doubles as the couch, table also a desk, bathtub can be used as a guest bed. In spite of tiny apartment and tiny budget I would like to have guests…only from Cali, of course.

Wow, I actually do miss my family and friends. Never had to miss them before, having been raised and schooled in the same area my entire life. When I told family and friends that I would miss them at my farewell, it fell to be true. So, what am I left to do?

Guess I'll have to see...