I think this is going to be a new regular feature on here for me: Monique and Tana's FAVORITE PLACES IN THE WORLD, due to the fact that she and I are always going to strange places (i.e., Duane Reade, or the grocery store) and finding such charm and comfort in them that the begin to feel like home. It'll be comprised of perhaps a short description along with the actual location. For right now, since I have errands to run, I'll begin with just a list of places and will expound later:
Bravo International Supermarket: 34th ave. and 35th st., Astoria, Queens.
Duane Reade: any of them
Rockaway Taco: Beach 96th St, Rockaway, Queens.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
25 Looms Quite Large
A good friend of mine (we'll call him B) called me the other day because it was his birthday and he was in the IE, wondering if I'd made my way there yet. In the course of our conversation he asked me why I was in Wisconsin and I told him A and I broke up. He asked what had gone wrong with A and I told him that was for a longer catch-up (preferably in person, with alcohol) someday down the road, and then he asked if I had the number of a mutual friend of ours from high school, M. I told him I hadn't talked to M since graduation in '07, when I found out he was having a kid with someone and didn't have the balls to tell me himself, instead letting this mutual friend of ours give me the news.
So, M and I had been a little more than friends. We'd been back and forth with each other since freshman year in high school and then I took off East and left him in Oceanside with a ton of things left unsaid. But we'd always held torches for each other, so to speak. Anyway, after a fortuitous trip home to SoCal in '05, M and I escalated things. Or, M did, and I followed along. I knew the deal- 3,000 miles and he was a good-looking kid. I wasn't asking for the world. I wasn't even implying that I might want the world. But, see, he started talking about the things we could have, the places we could go. And I suppose I fell for it, 3,000 miles away. And then, out of nowhere, in May '07 I find out he's "Starting A Family" with some chick he's been with for less than a year and- typically- they're ELATED!!!!! Whatever. I wait for him to tell me. I wait and I wait and I wait to hear from him. And I hear nothing, until I strike up a conversation first. I let him play coy, hear him make a bullshit excuse, and then I write him off. And I haven't spoken to him since.
Some days, I miss him like (as I often text my friend J) a fiend misses rock. He and I were good with each other. We could chill, we could talk, we could argue until Hell froze over and still be friends. But, when it mattered, he was too much of a chicken to tell me what was going on. When I vented about it to yet another mutual friend of ours, the guy told me M was probably just afraid I'd call him out, tell him he was being a fucking idiot because, let's face it: People our age- 22, 23 at the time- were getting together with people they barely knew and having babies in the first year of their relationship, when things were good and everything was exciting. He had more to look forward to and was tying himself to someone it was entirely possible he wouldn't make it very far with. (and that whole system of beliefs I carried was the foundation for why I did what I did later, the next year, when A and I were together). Anyway, the friend told me M was probably worried I'd lose respect for him.
The point is that at some point along the way— through bickering and snipping at each other in Freshman English, through the way he'd look out for me when we barely saw each other Sophomore year, through the contact we kept up when his family moved to Carlsbad the summer before we were Juniors and then after I left— somewhere in there I loved him. And when I love—this is what B told me when he called a few days ago—I love hard.
I will. I will love you until you break my heart past reconstruction. Depending upon circumstances and our history, I might even give you a couple of chances for redemption. But really, how long can one do this? How many times can you go out, guard yourself until you think you're safe, and then when you least expect it, get slammed into like an armadillo in the path of a Mack truck on the freeway?
Conversely, what the hell's the point of loving if you don't love hard? Why bother?
I suppose it is as with every other thing in life: middle ground. Moderation in this instance won't really get you anywhere, so you have to find middle ground. But where is that?
And why, sweet sweet newborn-baby Jesus, why do I dwell on all of this for most of my waking hours?
My first college roommate began a site for her to work through her impending divorce and blog-conference with friends of hers in similar positions, of whom I am one. It's a support-group in blog form: reminding us that there are always things to be thankful for, especially girlfriends, and that our greatest assets are ourselves, our greatest cheerleaders each other. With the help of her idea and her site I've had time to not only stew and cry about the dissolution of A and me but ruminate on and analyze it more productively. Confront the demons and move on.
I'm always going to have regrets—I kind of don't know how to live without them—but they don't have to be dehibilitating. I don't know why it's so difficult to find someone who'll love you back just as hard and not be manipulative or controlling or have substance abuse problems or just be generally insane. Maybe those characteristics (one, or any combination of two or more) are prerequisites in most people.
At this point, I guess I'm just trying not to let cynicism be king. It's not attractive on someone so young.
So, M and I had been a little more than friends. We'd been back and forth with each other since freshman year in high school and then I took off East and left him in Oceanside with a ton of things left unsaid. But we'd always held torches for each other, so to speak. Anyway, after a fortuitous trip home to SoCal in '05, M and I escalated things. Or, M did, and I followed along. I knew the deal- 3,000 miles and he was a good-looking kid. I wasn't asking for the world. I wasn't even implying that I might want the world. But, see, he started talking about the things we could have, the places we could go. And I suppose I fell for it, 3,000 miles away. And then, out of nowhere, in May '07 I find out he's "Starting A Family" with some chick he's been with for less than a year and- typically- they're ELATED!!!!! Whatever. I wait for him to tell me. I wait and I wait and I wait to hear from him. And I hear nothing, until I strike up a conversation first. I let him play coy, hear him make a bullshit excuse, and then I write him off. And I haven't spoken to him since.
Some days, I miss him like (as I often text my friend J) a fiend misses rock. He and I were good with each other. We could chill, we could talk, we could argue until Hell froze over and still be friends. But, when it mattered, he was too much of a chicken to tell me what was going on. When I vented about it to yet another mutual friend of ours, the guy told me M was probably just afraid I'd call him out, tell him he was being a fucking idiot because, let's face it: People our age- 22, 23 at the time- were getting together with people they barely knew and having babies in the first year of their relationship, when things were good and everything was exciting. He had more to look forward to and was tying himself to someone it was entirely possible he wouldn't make it very far with. (and that whole system of beliefs I carried was the foundation for why I did what I did later, the next year, when A and I were together). Anyway, the friend told me M was probably worried I'd lose respect for him.
The point is that at some point along the way— through bickering and snipping at each other in Freshman English, through the way he'd look out for me when we barely saw each other Sophomore year, through the contact we kept up when his family moved to Carlsbad the summer before we were Juniors and then after I left— somewhere in there I loved him. And when I love—this is what B told me when he called a few days ago—I love hard.
I will. I will love you until you break my heart past reconstruction. Depending upon circumstances and our history, I might even give you a couple of chances for redemption. But really, how long can one do this? How many times can you go out, guard yourself until you think you're safe, and then when you least expect it, get slammed into like an armadillo in the path of a Mack truck on the freeway?
Conversely, what the hell's the point of loving if you don't love hard? Why bother?
I suppose it is as with every other thing in life: middle ground. Moderation in this instance won't really get you anywhere, so you have to find middle ground. But where is that?
And why, sweet sweet newborn-baby Jesus, why do I dwell on all of this for most of my waking hours?
My first college roommate began a site for her to work through her impending divorce and blog-conference with friends of hers in similar positions, of whom I am one. It's a support-group in blog form: reminding us that there are always things to be thankful for, especially girlfriends, and that our greatest assets are ourselves, our greatest cheerleaders each other. With the help of her idea and her site I've had time to not only stew and cry about the dissolution of A and me but ruminate on and analyze it more productively. Confront the demons and move on.
I'm always going to have regrets—I kind of don't know how to live without them—but they don't have to be dehibilitating. I don't know why it's so difficult to find someone who'll love you back just as hard and not be manipulative or controlling or have substance abuse problems or just be generally insane. Maybe those characteristics (one, or any combination of two or more) are prerequisites in most people.
At this point, I guess I'm just trying not to let cynicism be king. It's not attractive on someone so young.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Lost in the Lakes
I'll admit it: I've been a negligent blogger. Apologies.
I'm leaving New York next Sunday, in case anyone has thus far missed this announcement. The past two months have been at once about healing, recovering, and hedonism. Who knew I was so down to throw off the yoke of responsibility and just live for my own happiness? I've laughed more in the last couple of months than I probably had in all of last year. It's been fantastic.
That's the new word I'm using, too. Everything is fantastic. FAN.TAS.TIC.
Leaving is bittersweet. I just met someone I have a lot of fun with, and with whom I try to spend as much time as I can. But having been in two serious relationships over the past 5 years, it's really time for me to stretch my legs and explore. There's so much to see! So many places to go! And I'm tired of crying. I have come to detest trying to form my life to someone else's. At this point it's difficult for me to even form my schedule to someone else's. What's the point?
So I'm moving to Wisconsin. Fresh air, fresh start. Best friends I thought would always be there and would always be "best" are no longer and that hurts more than anything I've ever gone through. On, Wisconsin. It's time to confront these demons and move on.
Two things I want to do when I get there: run and write. Okay, and go to plenty of football games. I do love football. Write so I don't kick holes in the wall when I feel overwhelmed and angry and hurt. Write so I can convert weakness into strength through the deliberate placement of words onto paper (or screen...). Run so I can mold the energy that threatens to mutate into depression instead into physical ability and endurance. In short, I want to develop a multi-layered strength that used to live somewhere inside but that's been slowly disassembled and ripped away to the point where it's nearly impossible for me to deal with anything anymore.
There's been a lot of rage in my hair but it's calming now.
Next chapter, please.
I'm leaving New York next Sunday, in case anyone has thus far missed this announcement. The past two months have been at once about healing, recovering, and hedonism. Who knew I was so down to throw off the yoke of responsibility and just live for my own happiness? I've laughed more in the last couple of months than I probably had in all of last year. It's been fantastic.
That's the new word I'm using, too. Everything is fantastic. FAN.TAS.TIC.
Leaving is bittersweet. I just met someone I have a lot of fun with, and with whom I try to spend as much time as I can. But having been in two serious relationships over the past 5 years, it's really time for me to stretch my legs and explore. There's so much to see! So many places to go! And I'm tired of crying. I have come to detest trying to form my life to someone else's. At this point it's difficult for me to even form my schedule to someone else's. What's the point?
So I'm moving to Wisconsin. Fresh air, fresh start. Best friends I thought would always be there and would always be "best" are no longer and that hurts more than anything I've ever gone through. On, Wisconsin. It's time to confront these demons and move on.
Two things I want to do when I get there: run and write. Okay, and go to plenty of football games. I do love football. Write so I don't kick holes in the wall when I feel overwhelmed and angry and hurt. Write so I can convert weakness into strength through the deliberate placement of words onto paper (or screen...). Run so I can mold the energy that threatens to mutate into depression instead into physical ability and endurance. In short, I want to develop a multi-layered strength that used to live somewhere inside but that's been slowly disassembled and ripped away to the point where it's nearly impossible for me to deal with anything anymore.
There's been a lot of rage in my hair but it's calming now.
Next chapter, please.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Untethered
I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be somewhere, enjoying someone's company, and not having to worry about inserting the phrase "my boyfriend" into a sentence so as to make sure that other person knew not to cross The Line. It's been 5 years since I was last so fully unattached and while foreign and sometimes terrifying/miserable, being single is sort of fantastic. Okay, some days it's less-than fantastic, but not having to answer to anyone when I'm out with a guy friend? Priceless. Not having to account to someone else the money I've spent. Glorious. Not having to take care of someone when they get home trashed at 3:30 in the morning and either throw a pity party or start a fight? The most blessed, blessed, blessed thing in the world.
Anyway, now that I'm leaving the city of course I'm hanging out with all of the people I enjoy. I like that part, too: not having to worryabout getting home by a certain hour because that's when someone will be home and God forbid he's alone for a few hours. Thursday night I had a rough day at work, and afterwards stopped by my friend's for some fresh-fruit margaritas and serious chillin'. Yesterday I met up with the same friend and his gf and their roommate to watch the US game at the beer garden and then we all spent the entire day together. It was fabulous! And I'm not just saying that because I was drunk most of the time, either.
Last weekend I went to Jersey to help Keita's sister and brother-in-law clean their house a little; their kitchen is being redone and there was dust on EVERYTHING, so Kilolo and I went to wash things, get the AC installed, and assist in the organizational effort to the extent it was possible without a sink, or the dishwasher being hooked up. While I was there I told them what happened with Alex and one thing that was mentioned was that I've gotten to a point in my life where I don't need projects anymore, and I don't need trainees. Alex may have seemed like he had it together but he very, very much didn't-not in the career sense, really, because he did know what he wanted and was capable of going after it-but in the general life sense he was a boiling hot mess.
Now, all of that said, I'm still in a holding pattern of sorts, which means I'm not ideal relationship material (nor do I want to be) right now. So as much as I'm not trying to deal with anyone else's shortcomings at the moment, I'm also not going to inflict mine on anyone. I think that's fair, no?
Men are tricky beasts, and I have a penchant for attracting the obtuse and obstinate. Love 'em, but I gotta leave 'em alone.
And also? I'm pretty much too awesome for everyone. ;)
Anyway, now that I'm leaving the city of course I'm hanging out with all of the people I enjoy. I like that part, too: not having to worryabout getting home by a certain hour because that's when someone will be home and God forbid he's alone for a few hours. Thursday night I had a rough day at work, and afterwards stopped by my friend's for some fresh-fruit margaritas and serious chillin'. Yesterday I met up with the same friend and his gf and their roommate to watch the US game at the beer garden and then we all spent the entire day together. It was fabulous! And I'm not just saying that because I was drunk most of the time, either.
Last weekend I went to Jersey to help Keita's sister and brother-in-law clean their house a little; their kitchen is being redone and there was dust on EVERYTHING, so Kilolo and I went to wash things, get the AC installed, and assist in the organizational effort to the extent it was possible without a sink, or the dishwasher being hooked up. While I was there I told them what happened with Alex and one thing that was mentioned was that I've gotten to a point in my life where I don't need projects anymore, and I don't need trainees. Alex may have seemed like he had it together but he very, very much didn't-not in the career sense, really, because he did know what he wanted and was capable of going after it-but in the general life sense he was a boiling hot mess.
Now, all of that said, I'm still in a holding pattern of sorts, which means I'm not ideal relationship material (nor do I want to be) right now. So as much as I'm not trying to deal with anyone else's shortcomings at the moment, I'm also not going to inflict mine on anyone. I think that's fair, no?
Men are tricky beasts, and I have a penchant for attracting the obtuse and obstinate. Love 'em, but I gotta leave 'em alone.
And also? I'm pretty much too awesome for everyone. ;)
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Could It Be... Has Hell Frozen Over?
So perhaps this isn't the best idea to have right before I migrate to the middle of the country, but I'm thinking of going vegetarian and possibly even gluten-free or vegan.
I don't really know why I'm having this impulse. Maybe because I love cupcakes and I have a strange idea (possibly mistaken) that vegan/GF cupcakes aren't going to make me blow up like a balloon and even better there is FROSTING for them! New York has done a number on my relationship with food, I tell ya.
Anyway, I have an entire box of food spices and supplies I'd really like to use up before I leave. That means monster cooking. I also feel like baking insane amounts of chocolatey sweets to give away to people. I'm okay with monster cooking, if it's in the name of me not eating any of it.
I suppose I should elaborate on at least one thing I've been avoiding: A and I are completely done. I moved my stuff out of the house and into a storage space last weekend and have been staying with a couple of friends in Queens. I'll be staying with them until early August, when I'm leaving. Not that this should be very much of a shock, but I don't feel like talking that much about it- at least not to the extent I've shared in the past. I'm fine, though with a couple of hiccups here and there.
That said, I'm going to try and hit the gym instead of taking a lunch break. Same with after work. I'm supposed to meet a friend for dinner at 10, so why not get a good run in before then? Tomorrow I'm going to check out Pilates uptown. If there's one thing I do need help with, it's breathing.
I don't really know why I'm having this impulse. Maybe because I love cupcakes and I have a strange idea (possibly mistaken) that vegan/GF cupcakes aren't going to make me blow up like a balloon and even better there is FROSTING for them! New York has done a number on my relationship with food, I tell ya.
Anyway, I have an entire box of food spices and supplies I'd really like to use up before I leave. That means monster cooking. I also feel like baking insane amounts of chocolatey sweets to give away to people. I'm okay with monster cooking, if it's in the name of me not eating any of it.
I suppose I should elaborate on at least one thing I've been avoiding: A and I are completely done. I moved my stuff out of the house and into a storage space last weekend and have been staying with a couple of friends in Queens. I'll be staying with them until early August, when I'm leaving. Not that this should be very much of a shock, but I don't feel like talking that much about it- at least not to the extent I've shared in the past. I'm fine, though with a couple of hiccups here and there.
That said, I'm going to try and hit the gym instead of taking a lunch break. Same with after work. I'm supposed to meet a friend for dinner at 10, so why not get a good run in before then? Tomorrow I'm going to check out Pilates uptown. If there's one thing I do need help with, it's breathing.
Friday, May 21, 2010
a quickie
I'll expound later, but I just need to get these few words out so I can focus on what I need to do and not let the anger build up, as I am prone to do:
I can make my mother cry, but you can't.
Except I don't even like to be responsible for it. I know sometimes I can be a rotten offspring, but at the end of the day my mother's as close to me as one of my arms, or my feet. She and I have our differences- sometimes explosively so because we are so similar- but I absolutely hate when she hurts. I know she usually shields hurt from me for a variety of reasons, whether she doesn't think I, as her daughter, should have to deal with her pains, or because she's trying to protect me from something. In some instances, I feel like I should be the one she talks to if for no other reason than I've been around the longest (obviously with exception to her best friends from before I was born), and I've been through a lot with her. In other words: I get it. And maybe when I was younger I wouldn't have quite possessed the capacity to deal with it, but I do now.
Anyway, I'll expound more later.
I can make my mother cry, but you can't.
Except I don't even like to be responsible for it. I know sometimes I can be a rotten offspring, but at the end of the day my mother's as close to me as one of my arms, or my feet. She and I have our differences- sometimes explosively so because we are so similar- but I absolutely hate when she hurts. I know she usually shields hurt from me for a variety of reasons, whether she doesn't think I, as her daughter, should have to deal with her pains, or because she's trying to protect me from something. In some instances, I feel like I should be the one she talks to if for no other reason than I've been around the longest (obviously with exception to her best friends from before I was born), and I've been through a lot with her. In other words: I get it. And maybe when I was younger I wouldn't have quite possessed the capacity to deal with it, but I do now.
Anyway, I'll expound more later.
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