Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Bohemia, Bohemia's, a fallacy in your head. This is Calcutta. Bohemia is dead.

This should be a short post, because I should focus my time and energy on doing something productive like drinking beer and finishing my application for a playwriting group.

Usually weird stuff happens when it's a full moon. Well really everyone, especially customers at the restaurant I work at act all crazy like they've just been released back into society. The full moon happened last week. I heard rumblings that a meteor shower happened last night, so I'll chalk what I saw and heard up to that. Hale-Bopp all over again.

A friend that I work with told me a bizarre story about a homeless lady pulling various items out of a newspaper stand. You know, the free newspaper bins lined up all over the place. I'm not even going to go into detail on it because it's not my story and a blog is nowhere near the ideal platform of which to present it. At one point she pulled out a plate of food and an unopened bottle of wine. Yeah. I swear it must have been some sort of performance art thing.

I got out of work around 10, which is early compared to the past month or so when I'm lucky to be out by 11:30 on a Wednesday. The ride downtown was uneventful. There was a large number of MTA employees waiting on the platform, waiting to clean (I think) staring at everyone, that was somewhat unsettling. Once I got to Union Square it got all old school New York. I had to pretty much step over a guy, laying on the platform, I think still alive. He couldn't have been older than 35, he had a cane laying ten inches away from him. His face was red and looked blistered. Two female MTA employees stood over him, indifference washed over their faces. I'm assuming they were waiting for paramedics to come...although I had to wonder how the paramedics would know to come since neither appeared to have a walkie-talkie or other wireless communication device on them. I've seen plenty of homeless people passed out on the sidewalk, but it's obvious that they're just that-passed out. This dude wasn't moving, but his eyes were open. I had a train to catch. Then, as I'm going up the stares there's a man in front of me. I just realized I typed "stares" instead of "stairs" which is what I did. Stare. One of this man's legs was wrapped around a cane-like device, but it was long enough to use as a crutch. I couldn't comprehend why he wouldn't amputate a leg that appeared to have no bones and just hung there...that it needed to be wrapped around a cane. The guy could move though, which makes me assume he's been dealing with that for awhile. The only reason I felt it necessary to write about it was that I witnessed to things I never had before, and I can only feel bad for the two men.

This air in the city felt different to me tonight. No rhyme or reason for it. And to witness two seemingly insignificant things as I did, I don't know. There has to be meaning in it all, right? Or is the lack of meaning the point? Two other strange things that happened tonight, insignificant to everyone but myself...a found out someone's e-mail address appears to no longer exist. Would love to hear from you. And when all hope was lost, you actually did find me, now what to do next... Vague, meaningless, confusing, yes. That's what August 12th, 2009, was to me.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

It's the same sorry story just the cast changes nightly

It appears that recently, the universe has been bending me over and making me take it from behind. Still no Courier New font. Sadists. On top of this, it, the universe, has also found old tricks to use in new ways to disrupt my life. Nothing huge, just mild mental/emotional abuse.

Today I saw a ghost. Not sheet over head, apparition of a former living human being sort of ghost. No, this one was much more frightening. If I wasn't already so pale, there would have been an obvious change in color when my face went white. Today I got a text from Him, the Aidan of my life. We haven't spoken in two years with the exception of the twice a year, obligatory "Happy Birthday" text or e-mail. His text, verbatim-"a cute old school version of you was my waitress today and it made me want to say hello and let you know im thinking about you. hope all is well with you"


After the initial shock, I told my gay I was with about it. I said, "old-school version of me? I already am old-school." Anyway. I couldn't believe it. You couldn't have waited two weeks until my birthday? I've seen tons of guys that look like you, and I don't text you. What do you think of me? Am I the girl you knew two years ago? Or do you have an idea of who I am now, through MySpace? And I really wish you didn't think of me, don't think of me. Maybe I've become jaded enough that I've decided that you don't deserve to think about me. You have her.

I dreamt two nights ago that he called me to tell me he had broken up with her. And I got angry because that wasn't a good reason to call me.

I was nice in my response, told him I'd love to catch up. Protocol. I can't decide within myself whether or not that's true. I think it is, but why? Hearing from him, and realizing that, and almost being annoyed at this, felt good. I guess. I think I could see him, and be...emotionless isn't the right knowing that talking to him will only be talking to him.

This all comes in the midst of Mr. Big and I not being able to talk. Nothing about us...for reasons known to me he's hard to get into contact with. And this is a kind of situation I could have used instant access. Ugh.

The thing is, after the idea of "catching-up" entered my head, I loved the idea of telling Aidan, Well I'm not seeing anyone per se, but there is someone in my life, he just lives in a different state. You might remember him..." Aidan and Mr. Big have met. once. Aidan's best friend is Mr. Big's former best/really good friend. Oh yeah, nothing involving me. Just chance employment at the same place. I love stuff like that though, even if it's weird and not good. Seriously, what are the odds??? So yeah, I'm head of heels about someone else, someone who's been through my past, is in the present and I see a future with. That feels damn good. Aidan has no reason to care, but I hope he does. And I hope he's the happiest he could ever be with her. I'm not sober right now and I have to leave to meet a gay at a bar. That's the only way I could think to conclude this. I'll take it.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Nothing Glitters When You Litter*

*BAM! I'm trade marking that right here, right now. It just came to me, as genius usually does. Ah yes, sobriety.

Since I no longer go out on Saturdays, I find myself writing in this blog before I go to bed. At least something "productive" comes out of me being anti-social. Saturday nights are unbearable both in Manhattan and Brooklyn. I'd rather go out Sunday or Monday, when no one else is around. And I do. And then I drink too much and regret it. Perhaps anti-socialism (sketch idea!) and writing is a good thing. So here I am, once again, forced to type in a font other than Courier because the universe is against me. It's the little things, right? I write for this women's blog website about living in the city. Today I realized I haven't submitted anything in a month. Woops. The last time I contributed I did submit two different entries to be posted on different days. After mentioning twice that only one had been posted, I gave up. The women of New York did not get to read about my experience throwing up all over the city. Oh well. I was going to write an open letter to Katy Perry, and everyone in the world, about how I don't look like her and to stop telling me I do-but decided that might be a little, well, much. I'll save that for another day. This past week though something inspired me. Finally.

(This will be the rough draft of what I eventually submit.)

It was last Thursday night. I had gotten off of work around 12:30, and it took almost a half hour just to make it downtown from 42nd to 14th St. Luckily, I only had to wait thirteen minutes on the L platform at Union Square for the Brooklyn bound train. If anyone else lives off the L in Brooklyn, late nights can be rough. Thirteen minutes is nothing. Anyway. A bunch of MTA workers got off the 8th Ave. bound train to wait for the Brooklyn train to come so they could hop down and clean the tracks. As they stood around waiting, dirty, with tons of lanterns and other equipment, I realized I should never, ever, complain about my job. My day doesn't begin at 10 p.m., and end at 6 in the morning. I never risk my life by walking around dark subway tunnels. I genuinely feel bad for these people. I don't know what MTA employees get paid, not enough obviously (there was that strike a few years ago), but it has to be lucrative enough for anyone, meaning the thousands of people employed, to do it. Rents need to be paid, families fed. Understandable reasons, but still.
I was really affected while standing close to the edge, waiting to see the headlight of the oncoming train, and MTA worker two feet away from me was staring down at the tracks, watching a rat run around. The tracks were covered in garbage, and that guy has to clean it up. Sad face. That fact doesn't occur to those who pollute. A week or two ago I witnessed three twentysomething girls toss the remnants of their Happy Meals onto the tracks, with a garbage can only a few feet away, and then look around to see if anyone saw (I doube out of guilt). I saw. And I quietly judged them and hoped something horrible would happen to them. Karma ladies. Why make someone else's life more difficult because you're lazy? That's one thing I constantly find myself saying-"Life is hard enough, why make it more difficult for a stranger?" I think that's really why I wanted to write about this. I can't grasp why people do the majority of things they do, like litter. What gives you the right? What makes you think it's even acceptable to do that? The MTA doesn't work to clean up your mess, it's there to get you where you need to go. Some people would probably argue, "I pay $87 for a monthly pass, I should do what I want." I pay that amount every month too, and I always manage to find a garbage can. Is it really that hard to hold onto a piece of trash for an extra second until you can find a garbage can? In the words of Jack Donaghy, "What happened to you as a child to make you like this?"
I'm by no means a tree hugging enviromentalist. This actually has nothing to do with the enviroment or Mother Earth...although not littering does help the world and everything. It's all about life and helping each other and human kind out. That comes out rather hippy-dippy too. Oh well. I'm not asking anyone to recycle or give up their subway seats to children, just don't throw stuff away on the platform or the subway tracks. Okay? If you worked for the MTA, how would you feel?