Love Actually

There's this scene in Love Actually where a guy who's harbored an all-consuming crush on his best-friend's girl finally confesses to her that he loves her. It's Christmas and everything's possible on Christmas. He has no desire to break up their relationship and no wish for anything other than to unburden himself and let her know that he will always love her. So he confesses on these giant poster cards while she stands at the door. She kisses him in thanks, and then goes back inside. And then he leaves. He walks out into the night and he says, "Enough. It is enough." And you get the sense that he is going to move on with his life now and find a nice girl and or maybe go to South America and study plants and learn to forget about this woman. He can do that now, because he has been honest with her and his own heart (she always thought that his studied avoidance of her meant that he hated her). So now he can move forward with his life.

That's kind of how I feel with regards to New York Nick. Nick and I never had a "break up." It was the most lacking in closure of any relationship I've ever had. He just kind of quit speaking to me. And when I tried to ask him about it, he would send an unrelated one line text in reply: "Great to hear from you, E! How's life?" and that's where things ended. It infuriated me, because there was nothing I could do about, because it was not mutual, and because Nick evidently was writing me off as a friend as well. I responded as I usually do, swinging wildly back and forth between caustic comments and heart-rending pleas. It was a method guaranteed for failure.

But now all that is changed. Now I've seen Nick again, now I've had a nice long chat with him with no trace of awkwardness. And it turns out it wasn't even necessary to allude to the fact that we had an uncomfortable period. I feel I can walk away and say, "Enough. It is enough." I can go forward with my life and let Nick go. Of course, I would rather not. But it is enough to end on good terms.

Disclaimer

My brother told me once to only write about the people I don't care about. If I meet someone and he's a tool, then by all means, share his idiocy with the masses. But if I hope to maintain peoples' friendships and confidences, then I must refrain from writing about them, even with name changes. I've tried to stick to that. I've tried recently to only write about people recently that I don't really care about offending. The problem is, I care about offending everyone. I don't like to be out of favor with anyone. So then I find myself only writing banal trivialities or -- when I dare to write something of substance -- worrying that I'll offend someone. It's a catch-22.

The Doorman -- Intro to New York

The Doorman - Intro to New York

At last! After an hour wandering the streets of Manhattan and bumping into people on the subway in my confusion, I had arrived at 555 8th Avenue. I heaved a great sigh of relief and started to cross the threshold.

“WOAH!” yelled a commanding voice from out of nowhere.

I halted, alarmed.

There, in front of me, was a pair of sunglasses. Attached to them was a man I assumed to be the doorman. I would later discover that he was either one of the original guards of Auschwitz, or possibly the spawn of Satan, but for the moment he was disguised as a sort of doorman/security guard, and his sunglasses were the first things I noticed... They were the reflective kind that freak me out because instead of looking at a person properly in the eyes, I find myself staring at my own reflection... I realize that I look less confident than I had thought, or older, or sadder, or that my posture really IS as poor as my aunt says. But these particular sunglasses were off-putting mostly because the man they were shading was sitting behind a desk in a dimly lit building on 8th... seemingly the last place one would need sunglasses.

“Stop right there. You can’t just come in here,” The doorman said. “Who you here for?”

Were the sunglasses a shield protecting the doorman from the masses of humanity who apparently wanted to storm 555 8th? Or did they allow him to assume a new persona altogether? “Now I am SUPER Doorman!! By night, easy-going, average African-American male. By day, buttoned-down, khaki-wearing guardian of the castle! ”

I approached confidently. Initially born in the Deep South, I’d learned that charm gets you everywhere. “I’m here for Gotham,” I smiled.

The sunglasses stared at me impassively.

“The writing workshop?” I clarified.

“That’s not till 12,” the sunglasses accused.

“Yeah, I...I was pretty sure I would get lost, so I left Brooklyn at 8.”

The sunglasses appeared to look me up and down. I imagined they were trying to decide if I looked like one of New York’s many homeless trying to find a place to bathe and go to the bathroom. Apparently I passed the inspection because the Doorman grudgingly passed me a sign-in sheet and asked for my ID.

As I handed over my driver’s license, he informed me that I needed to sign in and state the reason for my visit. I hesitated, not knowing how to put, “I’m lost, my life is in a rut, I don’t have a place to live, my boyfriend and I broke up, and my career is stalled” in the inch of space available. I settled on “Creative Writing Workshop.”

When the Doorman handed back my ID, I started toward the elevator, only to be immediately stopped by an irate cry.

“WOAH WOAH WOAH!!!! You can’t just go on up in there! You need to fill in all the blanks! There’s a blank for your name!

There’s a blank for your purpose! There’s a blank for what time it is! There’s a blank for who you here to see! You get on back here and fill in all them blanks!”

“I did!” I cried. “I did it while you were checking my ID!”

He pulled the chart back toward him and studied it for a solid minute. Apparently deeply distrusting of my speed in filling it in, he continued to grill me about my intentions in his building, along with other sundry topics like my height, weight, reason for existence, whereabouts in November of 1987 and favorite color. I was glad I had arrived two hours early.

At long last, the Doorman seemed satisfied. “All right then. You can go on up. Have a nice day."

The Portable Elle

Day 6 -- Now I know why New Yorkers are obsessed with shoes. It's because they have to buy new ones every month. At the end of this trip, my Sperrys and my brand new Toms are going to need to be replaced. Most of you guys know that I deal with clinical depression and because of that, exercising -- and the endorphins it brings -- is really important to me. I can't believe I was worried about where and how to exercise here. I feel like exercising is all I do all day long. My shoes are nearly worn through and it's been less than a week!

Here are some other gems I've learned about New York. I've decided to summarize:

1.) There are a LOT of androgynous types here. I can't tell if they're men or women. It's very disconcerting. I don't know why it matters, but I want everyone to have a label and fit into a box. I NEED to know if you're a man or a woman!!!! Is that a crime!?!? Liz would say that this is further proof that I'm a "Charlotte" from Sex and the City. Charlotte once famously complained about New York's bi-sexual population by saying, "Gay? Straight? Pick a side and stay there!!" I don't like Charlotte, but I can see Liz's point.

2.) An interesting thing here is that men do not go completely drag, but wear pieces of women's clothing. You can still absolutely tell they're men, but they are dressed in jeans and belts that give them very distinctive hips and butts. Personally, I find it disturbing, but I know that's not very PC. Anyway, I was informed that the jeans manufacturers are making this a lot easier by making a new cut of denim called the "girl cut." First there were boy cut jeans for girls, and now there are girl cut jeans for guys. I guess we should have seen that coming, but it's still messed up.

3.) New Yorkers don't like fitting rooms. They don't like lines, so they just try the clothes on out in the store, over their other clothes. I tried this yesterday. It did save a lot of time.

4.) It's not cool to smile, laugh, or make eye contact with other people on the subway. This is really hard for me, because I find the subway hysterical. Yesterday a man hopped on a VERY crowded train at 2nd Avenue and yelled, "Hey everyone, I know a lot of you know me and you know why I'm here! I want your money and your donations for all the people I help! Mexicans, Russians, Bosnians, black people, it don't matter! If you don't have any money but you want to donate food or drinks, put your wallet away and give me that! I promise you it will be gone by midnight! If you're an attractive person and you just want to give me a hug instead, come forward and give me that! Okay, I'm making my way to the back of the train now! Okay, thank you, I will see you all tomorrow night!" And then he hopped off, and within 2 minutes, a radio announcer-type voice came over the intercom saying, "Ladies and Gentlemen, please remember that soliciting money in the subway is illegal! Kindly do not give away your money and thereby encourage this behavior. Thank you!" I started to laugh but no one else had even looked up from their books or iPhones, so I shut up.

5.) If you want to go to Shakespeare in the Park in NYC, you need a ticket. It's free, mind you, but you still need a ticket. And the line for the free tickets starts forming a full 14 hours before the show begins. FOURTEEN HOURS!!! I don't understand New York, and I refuse to participate in this madness. But I really want to go to Shakespeare in the Park!

6.) New Yorkers hate Times Square.

7.) The Bronx is still dangerous, despite what the guidebook says. Guidebooks are never going to tell you NOT to go somewhere, which is dumb because how can you trust a guidebook that only tells you the positives?

8.) New Yorkers pretend that Staten Island doesn't exist. Many of them just give you a blank stare when you ask them what is on Staten Island. They genuinely don't know and can't imagine a reason why anyone would go there.

9.) Brooklyn is very disparate in terms of areas... There are really nice houses and brownstones and then nasty graffiti covered cars and buildings everywhere. Brooklynites miss the days when they lived in Manhattan, and Manhattanites never travel to Brooklyn -- although they do acknowledge its existence.

10.) Queens is very family-oriented but dirty. Come to think of it, most of New York is very dirty. I am astonished by the amount of trash covering the streets at all times. Everything smells, too. For a city that fines you if you litter, there is an astonishing amount of litter everywhere! And even in the places where there isn't a lot of litter, there are constantly, CONSTANTLY trash piles festering out on the streets waiting for pickup, whether you're in the Upper East Side or Queens. They really ought to develop a better system for garbage.

11.) New York is obsessed with recycling. I'm sure that's what some of the bags on the streets are full of. A lot of the stores you go to will give you a plastic bag that says, "PLEASE REUSE OR RECYCLE THIS BAG AT A PARTICIPATING STORE!!!"

12.) Bathrooms are a rarity. I feel like I have discovered a priceless gem when I am in the city and I discover a bathroom. Some of them are marked by signs that scream, "THIS BATHROOM IS FOR OUR CUSTOMERS ONLY!!" And some of them have little slots where you have to deposit quarters if you want to use a toilet. Like Slumdog Millionaire, only without the big pile of sh!t down below.

13.) New York homeless people are attractive. They look just like anyone else, except for that they're curled up in the doorways of closed shops. I don't know what to make of this.

14.) New York is a city of extremes. There are lots of ads in the church bulletin for roommates to split the $6,000 a month rent on a 2 bedroom. But you can eat lunch for $1.00 on the street, and get a $20 mani/pedi. I'm wondering where the guys selling the $1 pizza slices are living.

15.) Almost everyone is from somewhere else. Only 3-5% of the population of New York are WASPS.

16.) Unlike other cities, New York does not fine people for feeding the pigeons. This is probably why the pigeons are so ballsy. I have had several pigeons fly straight at my head! I identify myself as an outsider when I start yelling and freaking out while other people don't even glance up.

17.) New York DOES fine people for honking, which I find really interesting. There are signs posted EVERYWHERE that say, "$350 minimum fine for honking" and yet at every single intersection, there are at least 5 cars that honk.

18.) New Yorkers by and large ignore street signs at crosswalks. They are in too much of a hurry to wait for the "Walk" sign, so they walk across whenever they feel like it. I think this may account for the excessive honking.

19.) Pedestrians here are fearless. My heart has flown up to my throat numerous times when a huge bus has nearly collided with a person walking across the street... but the pedestrians don't look up even when the busses are mere inches away! It's like they know if they get hit, they'll win millions in a lawsuit. Hmmmmm.....

Stay tuned for more pearls of wisdom and insight later...

BrokeBack Apple

Day 5 - Yesterday, I went to the New York Public Library. There, I saw one of Guttenberg's first Bibles, a page Thomas Jefferson copied of the Declaration, a letter written by Picasso, some original notes of e.e. cummings, and a book Charles Dickens had written all over.

After that, I went to Forever 21 and bought three dresses... I know, it doesn't seem very New York-y to buy dresses from Forever 21, but it is as hot as a mug here and I felt like I was being boiled alive in the subway stations whilst wearing my jeans. I feel considerably better now... although not-so-great about the need to shave.

In the evening, I went with Roxanne and her husband to Bryant Park for a screening of Marilyn Monroe's Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. I was pretty excited. We got there at 6 p.m. and the lawn outside the New York Public Library was PACKED. Then the announcer came on, telling us all that the movie would start at 9 p.m. I fumed. I had promised my father (who is obsessed with Liam Neeson's performance in Taken) that I would not ride the subways late at night. If the movie started at 9, it wouldn't end till 11, which would put me back in Brooklyn at midnight... not a big deal if I were staying in Park Slope, but Aunt Jean's hood is no Park Slope. I heaved a huge sigh of exasperation and returned to Brooklyn by 9 p.m., leaving Marilyn Monroe behind. My mother suggested this morning that perhaps I could poll people in the Big Apple to see if is REALLY as dangerous as Dad seems to think to ride the subway at midnight. I did this, but got no conclusive information either way.

I returned to the House of a Thousand Cats to find that the plumber had finally fixed the toilet, but that he had not touched the shower. It was still full of dirt and mud. In a misguided attempt to fix it on my own, I took a plunger to the drain. I think I made things considerably worse, because now not only is it absolutely filthy, but I know it is also full of toilet germs. Finally, I gave up and took a "hooker bath" as Liz calls it... sponging off and spritzing perfume to cover one's stench.

Exasperated, I held my nose and filled up my air mattress. The brand new air mattress I bought has apparently sprung a leak. If filled up right before bed, it will be mostly flat by morning. I don't really care, it's just par for the course, and in the general scheme of things it seems a minor inconvenience.

Today, I went to my first catholic mass, and discovered that I am not, in fact, Sicilian. You can imagine my shock, as my parents have been telling my siblings and I that we are Sicilian for quite some time. No, Aunt Jean assured me that my great-grandmother was from Naples and my great-grandfather was from Rome. That's why I have green eyes instead of brown. I'm pretty sure AmyRose and Lindsay are going to be devastated. Ryan won't care. Anyway, most of the people at the Tuesday mass today were 90-year-old Italians. I kind of stood out.

After mass, I took my laptop into the city, where I had drawn up a plan for the day's travels: go to the places in the East Village where my NYC tourbook said were worth seeing, and then go to Barnes and Noble to do my homework. I probably should have planned a bit better... one of my first stops was "The Strand," a NYC bookshop full of three floors of new and used books. In fact, their claim to fame is that they provide 18 miles of books. I assume that's if you lay them all end to end. I cannot resist books, and spent the rest of the day lugging a huge bag of books around the city, in addition to my laptop. I expected my back to break, but then my feet started hurting and that provided a nice distraction.

Other stops of the day: I went to Kiehl's. I don't really get it, but the guidebook said to go, so I went. They had a bunch of really overpriced lotion. I don't get the hoopla, but I bought some because, geez, I'd traveled all the way there. Then I bought a t-shirt at Zara's, not because it was a particularly awesome t-shirt (although it is purple), but because that's where Princess Kate shops, and dammit, I want to be a princess. Finally, I arrived at Barnes and Noble, only to discover that in NYC, the B&N's consist of 3 floors of solid books with nary a chair in site. Exhausted, I took the Brooklyn-bound train to a restaurant Liz and I had discovered: Beet. I sat there and ate dinner by myself, reading one of my many new books. Liz thought I was quite independent.

Perhaps my favorite purchase of the day is a book I got my dad (or more likely, my sister because dad won't read it): "The Complete Manual of Things That Might Kill You." AmyRose is always falling apart medically, and Dad always thinks he is, even though he isn't really.

The only thing I didn't do today is homework. Still not sure when or where to do that.

Say Hello to Gertrude Stein

Liz left today. She should be on an airplane heading for St. Louis right about now. So far, I haven't completely panicked, but I'm pretty sure it's only a matter of time. I am completely on my own in New York City.

Last night I went to church at Redeemer. It's a reformed church in Manhattan that I had heard a lot of good things about. Scott Sauls, who used to teach at Riverside in St. Louis, is a pastor there now. I decided I wanted to find a church while I am here, so Redeemer seemed like a good place to start. Unfortunately, it meets in multiple locations on different campuses, and I got the time/location combination wrong so I only caught the last half hour or so. But Scott was preaching and it was really good. He was talking about Hagar in the wilderness and about how she only had two choices: return to complete dysfunction or die. Scott said that sometimes God himself pins us down in dire circumstances because he knows it is where we need to be. I can't help wondering if my job/apartment search/House of Cats is just such a thing. Scott also this article that one of his friends from seminary wrote about being single. She said that her theme verse was this: "If any man would come after me, let him." I thought that was hilarious.

Anyway, I met some folks at Redeemer and they invited me to their small group on the Upper East Side Thursday night. I really want to go, but I'm not entirely sure about riding the subway from UES all the way around Manhattan and back down to the tip of Brooklyn from 10 to 11 p.m. It seems like I get whistled at more than necessary. It kind of spooks me. When I was with Liz, it was okay, but now I'm on my own. And apart from the catcalls, the biggest problem I have with the subways is finding the actual stations. They're underground... It's not like they just stand out on the horizon! Even with my maps (I have 2), I still get all mixed up. It usually takes me longer to locate a station than to actually figure out where I'm going. Still, I've taken like 20 trains so far and I haven't gotten on the wrong one once! Although, that was largely because of Liz. So anyway, I don't know whether to go make friends at this small group or not.

Last night at Redeemer, I looked in the classifieds (the church is so big they have their own classifieds). There are a few apartment sublets. I'm thinking about calling, but I don't want to completely alienate my aunt. She called the plumber today, which I appreciate, although I don't think she understands that plumbing won't fix the permanent stench permeating her house. Also, a sublet would be another nine hundred bucks, which I could really use to buy another salad.

Yesterday I went to class. It was good to be forced to sit down and write something. In general, I feel like, "I'm in New York! I need to SEE everything, not sit in front of my laptop and write!!" But yesterday in class I was given a topic and forced to write. I'm no Gertrude Stein or anything, but I think, off the cuff, that what I wrote was pretty damn good. In any case, everyone laughed and applauded at the end (we had to read it out loud). And just to toot my own horn here, no one else got any applause. And some people even got, "You didn't really follow the directions." But not me. I'm a genius. But then I was compared to David Sedaris and it occurred to me that what they were mostly applauding wasn't what I wrote but how I delivered it (half of DS's success comes from the fact that his voice is so high-pitched and puny and he has great comedic timing).

Tonight I am going to meet one of my friends from Wheaton days in Greenwich Village, and tomorrow will be my first ever Catholic mass (I promised Aunt Jean I'd go). Yikes. Better pray for me :)

Welcome to the Big, Steamed Apple

Days 1 and 2: Welcome To the Big, Steamed Apple

Liz and I flew into LaGuardia Airport Friday morning. American Airlines, which I hate, ripped my brand new suitcase clean through. They said that if I wanted to bring it BACK to the airport within the next 30 days, they would repair it. They were unwilling to pay the $280 cab fare it would take for me to drive an empty suitcase from Brooklyn to Manhattan and then return to pick it up when they were through. Have I mentioned I hate American Airlines?

The Fodor's Guide to New York City says that New York is a wonderful place to visit any time of year... except July and August. In July and August, you may as well just shoot yourself. So that's good.

Upon arriving in Brooklyn, we found that my 83-year-old great aunt had, indeed, become an "old cat lady." Cats are CRAWLING everywhere... and urinating everywhere, too. At last count, she had 14. It smells so bad in the house that Liz started dry heaving as soon as she made it to the bathroom. The ironic thing about all of this is that my aunt is actually allergic to cats. She just feels sorry for all of them so she allows them to stay with her. But suffice to say that the house, which should be worth about a million dollars, is now worth about $3. I promptly announced to my aunt that we needed to go to the store to buy an air mattress to put upstairs (where the cats are ALLEGEDLY not allowed, but where I smell them all the same). The upstairs is filthy too, but at least I won't step on a cat.

Upon returning from KMart with $150 worth of bedding, Liz and I set up shop in the empty upstairs apartment. Then we discovered that the toilet doesn't work and the shower is broken. I tried to turn it on and it filled the tub full of mud. Around 8, we went downstairs to report these findings to my aunt, and she said she would call the plumber. Then she told us to get some sleep. We stared at each other in dismay. It was only 7 p.m. back home in Missouri. And we weren't going to spend any more time than necessary in the House of Cats. So we took off for a Brooklyn Dunkin' Donuts, which stays open till 11:30 p.m...

The next day Aunt J complained, "I thought you came here to see ME!"

I assured her that I wanted to spend time with her very much, but -- and this was put a bit more delicately -- I wanted to rip my own arm off and beat her cats to death with it. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't sleep. I had survived the night by burying my nose in the polyester KMart comforter and using it as a gas mask.

That morning, I vacuumed for Aunt J. I had to empty the filter of the vacuum (which was brand new) after cleaning JUST the dining room. She eventually got annoyed and waved me out the door.

Liz and I traveled all around Manhattan. It was a glorious Saturday, made a bit less glorious by the fact that we hadn't yet figured out the crucial balance between drinking water enough to stay hydrated and yet little enough to make finding a public bathroom doable. In between our Sex and the City tour and lunch in Little Italy (where $8 will buy you a "salad" consisting of two tomato slices and a piece of mozzarella cheese) I got a massive migraine. I didn't know if it would feel better to go lie down in the house of cats or keep walking around out in the sun. I settled for sun.

Around evening, both of our phones died... this made meeting Liz's friend in Queens considerably more difficult. We ended up at a little Greek place where I ate stuffed grape leaves, and we waited... and waited...and waited...and finally gave up hope of the friend ever showing. Back on to the only train we had managed to figure out: the F. Turns out the F is not the best train to take from Queens to Brooklyn. Yes, it will get you there, but do you really want to see Nevada in the process???

Back in Brooklyn, Liz and I discovered we have different mattress firmness preferences. In an effort to make her time easier, I gave in and let her adjust the air mattress to the setting marked, "Hard as a Rock." After tossing and turning for some time, I announced, "I'm going to pretend this mattress is a raft. And I'm Tom Sawyer, and I'm floating on it down the Mississippi River on it. That makes the fact that I'm filthy and sleeping on a rock a little more bearable."

Liz looked at me. "Shouldn't you be floating down the Hudson River?"

"Okay, I'm Tom Sawyer and I'm floating my raft down the Hudson River. That's why it smells so bad."

Liz snorted. "They have cats in the Hudson?"

"They are catFISH," I retorted. "All these damn catfish are stinking up my raft. But I'm not going to complain. I'm going to DO something about it!" I put the the earplugs I had brought along up my nose.

"See??" I stated joyfully. "Dow I cad breathe again! I'be breathing through by mouth idstead of my nose!"

"Great," Liz said. "I'm glad you are having such a blast."

"I'be dot. I'be just trying to bake the best."

"Well, where do I fit in to this little fantasy of yours?" Liz asked.

"You cad be Big Jib. He was odd the raft with Tob."

"I don't want to be a big black man. I'm a white, red-headed female."

"Fide. You're Add of Green Gables."

Black

You know how people tell you, "It's always darkest just before dawn"?? Well, right now, it is BLACK in my life, and I want to believe that a dawn is coming, but I sure don't see it. I can't really imagine feeling any lower than I do right now. I have been living in my friends' north county home for the last few months, waiting, waiting, waiting for my perfect apartment to be ready. I first inquired about this apartment in January. It was supposed to be ready in February. And then March. Then April. And May. And June. And then August. And now, here I am and I just found out it's a no-go. And I know what you're thinking, That's ridiculous, you should have seen that coming from a mile away. And you're right, I should have. But I guess I'm naive, because I didn't.

I've been waiting for this particular quasi-rent-controlled apartment in the heart of the city because it's in a small complex comprised of young professionals, and the flat right across from "mine" is inhabited by a girl I went to high school with and really like. There are no other apartments in the vicinity for anywhere close to the price. So I've been living like a homeless person for MONTHS waiting for the current tenant to move out, thinking that surely now that he is married (last month), he would not want to continue paying rent on two places.

And now it's all null and void. My high school friend informed me that it's pointless to keep waiting, the place couldn't possibly be ready by August when I get back from New York. She said she'd been wanting to tell me to find somewhere else for awhile, but felt really bad.

I just feel like such a loser. First, for not seeing that this apartment wasn't a viable solution to my unsettledness. And second, for getting my hopes up. And third, because I feel rejected. And I'm sure that a lot of this is due to the recent re-break-up of me and Derek, and probably some of it is due to recent health problems I've been having. But things just genuinely suck right now, and I don't know how to make them better. I don't even know how to enjoy a summer in NYC, knowing that I've got nothing to come home to, and friends who could be getting stir-crazy having me in their tiny house.

Where is God?