September 21st, 2006
|04:03 pm - wasted land|
I've been thinking about home a lot. By home I mean Gainesville.I feel much older now than I did when I left nearly two years ago. New York City puts a few wrinkles on your face. I no longer feel young and carefree. I feel like I'm someone who has to get up and go to work in the morning. I can see it in my face, in pictures, the seriousness creeping up on me. No more drunken care free bikes rides, dancing at "the club", there is no club here, there are thousands, and all of them are filled with people just like home, but not home. Sometimes I go out, and think I see someone I know. When I get close enough to tell, I realize they're just another face, in another big city, avoiding skeletons in the closet in any-small-town USA.
I haven't been home in almost a year. Who's to say there is anything left there for me? My friends have all graduted, like I have, and moved on to better places. The Netherlands, Chicago, Miami, where ever. The only glimpse of Gainesville I get is a surprise meet up on the L train, and usually it's someone I wish I could have avoided. D-R-A-M-A!
My ex-boyfriend recently moved up here. (Note: I moved here to get as far away from him as possible, only until recently did he even know where I had gone.) I cannot say that I am scared, or that I will ever run across him. This city is suprising in that sense. You can get on a train, anywhere, in the five boros, and still manage to see someone you didn't want to see. It's sort of intimidating in that sense. Misrepresentations are often the case, based on the fact that everyone who comes here changes, for better or for worse.
I have to buy my ticket for Amsterdam. I'm supposed to be visiting Richard in the early weeks of December, sometime before my birthday. I'm hesitant only because I know Radick (my current boyfriend, and possibly my soulmate, if they exist) cannot afford to go, and I know he'll be worried sick about me. Off in another city, in another country, in another continent, with my friends he has never met. Off doing drugs, exploring the red light district. I would probably never allow him to step foot out of the country without me, I'm such a selfish prick sometimes.
On that note, I've realized something that will never change, regardless of what city,state, or country I am in. The fact that certain people, are fucking assholes. Radick's best friend is in a ridiculously terrible radio pop rock band. I cannot bare to listen to them and somehow I always end up getting suckered into attending their shows. Sometimes I'm in the audience, and I just want to pound down as many drinks as possible, because the fact that I'm actually standing there pretending to listen, makes me embarassed for myself. I'm better than this! The point of this all is that, tehse guys think they are rockstars. For whatever reason. Really, they are balding, quasi-talented products of Berkley College of Music, who think Radiohead is the most experiemental band on the planet. Whenever I attempt to have a serious conversation about music with them, they don't know what I'm talking about, and they just solidify the fact that they know nothing. Nothing about music, politics, books, pyschology, etc etc.
Where this all makes me angry is when they judge me, or Radick. I see their faces, always judging. There they always are, at the same shitty bar, with teir fat faux-sorositute girlfriends wearing too much eye shadow and too little fabric. Then there is me, and him, we're peaceful, tolerant, and willing to accept that we're not all the same. Willing to share what we know, and have positive conversations. There we are, being ridiculed and judged for not looking like them, for not laughing at their jokes, for not caring about what shitty blockbuster movie came out, or what's going on with the old gang from high school. All of this, plus four or more gin and tonics usually leaves me numb, or so frustrated that I scream at Radick. I feel bad for him, that these are the people who he grew up with. Closed-minded, losers. They aren't losers based on my judgements, they are losers based on their own. They are losing out on people who have a lot to share, who want to share, who want to change the world, expose the world, live the world!
Fuck them, and everyone* like them.
[everyone- the group of cheesy preppy popular kids who eventually will go bald and get fat.]
September 13th, 2006
|11:53 am - wines ...alot|
Yesterday I was exhuasted. I hurried home, skipping my usual routine of heading down to Wall Street to meet up with Ron. I got home, changed into some relaxing clothes and planned to eat, and sleep the rest of the evening. I started to, but got side tracked with IMs, emails, and music.
I laid down for about an hour, and woke up with hunger pains. Out to the kitchen I went, where I was greated by my roommate Julie. She offered me half of an incredibly large bottle of cheap wine. Now, generally I turn down cheap wine, because I'm a snob and I don't really like blush or white wines anyway. Today was different, I have no weed, and therefore I was alright with the idea. I drank, and drank and talked and talked. We talked about our family relationships, our friends, our sexualities, cultures, society, jobs. We bonded pretty well. Then my other roommate Steve came home from the Yankees game, completely wasted, witha large bag of Twizzlers, mmm, just for us. We ate, and drank, and smoked (yay Steve!) and talked a bunch.
Around 11pm, we were all completely hammered, sad, but true. We each retired to our corners of the apartment and went to sleep. I woke up briefly to puke (I never ended up eating anything other than a half a pack of candy) and get some water. Ron slipped in sometime in between sleeping and puking. It was nice to see him laying next to me when I woke up.
Basically, I really like my living situation, my roommmates, my neighborhood, my room, my life. Sometimes I complain, and I hate it, but it's days like that, and hang overs like these that make life worth it.
Now, all I want is some Mr. Softee Vanilla Ice Cream, I have to load up just once more, before winter comes and there are no Mr. Softee Trucks anywhere, anymore.
Current Mood: exhausted
September 9th, 2006
|05:23 am - cockage|
( My Interests Collage!Collapse )
Current Mood: sick
September 5th, 2006
|12:53 pm - looking but not finding|
This weekend was a turntable of emotions. Not really, but close enough. I just like dramatic language.
I started my weekend early, on a Thursday. It was a friend's birthday and we went to our favorite bar to celebrate. Unfortunately I celebrated a little too hard and turned into an emotional freak. Five gin and tonics, and several hits of the special stuff on an empty stomach will do that too me.
I was manipulated into joining the female ranks. First, chocolate cake shots, then friendly boyfriend banter (it is nice to hang out in a crowd where everyone is either a boyfriend or a girlfriend of someone else.) Regardless, it ended up being an innocent joke, a manipulative girlfirend, and a portly Canadian girl who ruined my evening.
The last thing I want to see when I'm drunk is a chubby girl in a small outfit with ratty hair extensions. Especially if she' straight edge, an dpreaching about the evils of alcohol at a bar, full of drunk people, in Alphabet City. Why not talk about how terrible crack is in a shady alley somewhere in Washington Heights? The only thing that can make said situation worse? If this particular girl also has a gigantic ego, that allows her to think she's got some sort of chance with someone else's boyfriend. I mean, atleast if she was drunk, I'd understand being a little overly flirtatious, but when you are standing at a bar, not drinking, talking about how you're staying in a hotel in Times Square so you can to go MTV's VMA awards, you're asking for a good old fashion New York style girly beatdown! Oh yeah, and a broken hand.
So, I was a little, actually, very pissed about that and ended up taking it out on Ron in the car. He forbid me from coming out in public with him again. After about three more hours of fighting about it, we made up and put it behind us.
Friday afternoon I had a eye doctor appointment for new glasses and contacts. While I was getting my exam, the boyfriend of the girl who insighted my anger called to gossip. Eveidently, my "comrade" for the evening was in fact two-faced. While she stated how pissed off she was about the portly flirt with me, she told her boyfriend I was over-reacting and completely insecure.
(Note: I wouldn't have even noticed the girl if she wouldn't have made it a point to acknowledge that her boyfriend, invited this girl to her birthday party, and that she was not to be trusted.)
Regardless, we realized what a two-faced little scumbag the girlfriend was, and how I was brought into her petty attempts at manipulating her boyfriend and forgot about it. I guess.
I threw out my back on Saturday, spent most of the day complaining about that. Sunday was relaxing and quiet. Yesterday, a BBQ.
I wasted al my energy on a complaint, how terrible.
Current Mood: apathetic
August 29th, 2006
|01:03 pm - meloncholia|
It's been a few days, but I had a memorable experience last night and I feel like I should share.
I'm what you would call emotionally inept. I'm not a crier, and I never will be. Movies, periods, weddings, funerals, not a dry eye but mine. I can shut down in a way where you'll think I'm the coldest human being alive. Psychologically it has something to do with childhood trauma, I saw something, that hurt me, so badly that I subconsciously do not allow myself to be hurt by building the Great Wall of China in my head. My boyfriend, hates this. He's emotional, and beautiful and can cry at the drop of a dime. I don't think ant less of him, or devalue him as a male. He's just different, and special, and obviously, not hurt.
Last night we got into a discussion about my lack of (proper) emotions. By this I mean, sometimes when I should smile, I don't, or when I should frown, I smile. I know, it makes me sound autistic, but I'm not, I'm just emotionally awkward. He pointed out that my only true emotion, the only ones that ruin deeper than my skin, are for animals. I cannot watch animals be hurt, held, or anything that I perceive as painful for them. I shut down or scream, those are the closest thing to a reaction you can get out of me. In fact, he has never seen me cry, not once in the time he's known me. Mind you, we live together and spend and ungodly amount of time together so he should have seen me cry atleast once, over something.
Anyway, last night, he managed to make me cry. Not by his own acts, but by forcing me to talk, alot. About how I feel, or why I feel, and who I feel those things about. Moments that make me sad, so I don't think about them. Before I knew it, I felt wet in my eyes, and then , I was sobbing, and I couldn't hold it back. When you don't cry, you sob , uncontrollably when you finally let it out. Although I had just cried and opened up and told him things I never tell anyone about myself, my upbringing, and my family I felt amazing. Not just because I was sharing with him, but because I was alive and not a stone and someone that I love so much, made that possible for me, even if it was just once.
Sometimes, I wish I could recreate that feeling all the time. I know I can't though, it's not for me to do, and I don't think it's healthy to dwell on the past for the sake of a good cry.
My point has been, officially lost in my work day.
Current Mood: numb
August 26th, 2006
|04:48 am - angelic tendancies|
This is a first of many mid-friday night entries.
I am no stranger to livejournal, or the plight of it's users.
Friday nights have become something of a training session for my patience. It's a marketable trait, and i am keenly developing it. Sitting in an office in the middle of the New York City financial district. Blocks away from the gaping hole of cemetary known as Ground Zero. Kabbalah blasting in the back, in Russian, and I cannot understand a word. (note to self: learn Russian, Fast. Oh yeah, learn how to properly use colons and semi-colons too.) The idea of it sounds interesting enough, and Ron is devoted and practices multiple times a week. That or he in himelf, is an entirely different subject, paragraph and entry.
I'm starting to feel nostalgia for my old "el-jay". My first post was similar to this one, only I was dating a different nice Jewish boy. He is long gone, and I actually recently got in contact with him and his new girlfriend. Lovely people, I promise.
I moved to New York about a year and a half ago, to run away from what scared me back home. Oh home? That would be Gainesville, Florida. Almost one thousand miles exactly away from my current residence in Astoria Queens. A lovely little Greek neighborhood that is slowly being gentrified and taken over by young urban professionals, artists, musicians, and various other artsy types. It's a nice place, the rent is cheap, and nobody can beat the falafel. you know what I'm sayin? Where do I fall into the demographic of my neighborhood? I am Assistant Property Manager on the Upper Eastside by day, and a self-proclaimed artist/musician by night. I know, Yuppie by day, Anti-Yuppie by night, amazing! I play the part well, if I do say so myself.
Next, my crazy relationships. I'm basically a loner. I have a few flaky friends here in NYC, but I think I like it that way, I like being able to disappear into the mass of faces and fall into the generalizations of others by the momentary glimpses they get of me on the street. My true friends are in Florida. We were the three musketeers if you will. Rarely does one find one wallflower similar to herself, but to find a whole bouquet of them. I love them, miss them, and reference them frequently. I apologize.
I feel like this could have been a lot more interesting, but I don't really count on my first impressions as being sustainable evidence for or again me. You will never be able to gauge me as a person, by my writing.
I believe I'm done here, for now.
Current Location: "the office"
Current Mood: bored
Current Music: peaches - stuff me up