Oh so awkward…

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Life occasionally just seems likes a series of awkward moments. Like now where I was making small talk with someone and I got in response that smiling face of clearly I didn’t hear what you just said, but I don’t want to ask you to repeat yourself so I’ll pretend i heard and give a generic response. Problem being I recognized this face and because I was to tired to either repeat myself or call him out,I in turn had to pretend like I accepted his response as valid. How absurd would it have been if, in turn, he caught the fakeness of my response as well, but again out of laziness, just returned to his seat. Amusing to think about.

I’m grateful for these moments. They’re the ultimate plane leveler. They provide me with an odd sense of satisfaction that we are all just bumbling about on this crazy little rock person as clueless and odd as the next. It’s what makes us human.

I’ve been wishing I talked more at length about my impressions on New York, and this topic is a perfect example. Drugstores aside, it’s very infrequent that you happen upon chains in the city, stores or restaurants. You don’t go down to the nearest Raleighs or Jewel or Albertsons for your groceries, you’re much more likely to hit up some odd local owned shop with an assortment of foreign goods and hispanics stocking fruit 24/7. Likewise for restaraunts.

The little hole in the wall type eateries just spill from every crack and corner. And oh how many times I’ve been humbled meandering into a shop that has no prices, no menu, no English speaking employees; just pointing, smiling and hoping to god I have enough cash. In short it’s an absolute nightmare for someone of my personality, on the shy side and abysmally frugal (I plan my budget and my purchases with a iron fist). And depending on the part of town you’re in you may find the other side of the coin, where you go into a rather plan looking establishment only to find that soda and noodle dish you’re sipping is 25 dollars. You’re down to your last 20. And no. They don’t take card.

That type of calling you awkward, I have to admit… just as enjoyable. I plan my entire life to a T to avoid mistakes. I’m terrified of being publicly embarrassed. I would consider this to be one of my largest assets and one of my largest flaws. I have an extremely keen ability to get out of tight spots or solve impossible issues. My mind, abysmally stuck in logic mode, avoids that freaking out stage and thinks immediately says: Assess and Act. I’ll cry and freak out later, once I’ve got a plan. Yet, where does spontaneity fall into a rigid problem/solution logic center? Let’s go ahead and take that question out of the rhetorical and admit… It doesn’t. So these moments. Not having enough change to dry your laundry. Tripping on the stairs in the subway station. Spilling coffee on your shirt. As terrifying as they are, these moments keep my little world spinning.

Let me throw a little more New York talk in here. Walking around the city was a very odd experience for me. You see, it was the first time I’d been here; yet, it was far from the first time I’d seen New York. Like most people in the US I’ve been eating a steady diet of New York since I was a young tot. Every major form of media holds NY in regard as the quintessential American city and it’s either been the site of, or mimicked in sets, for countless movies, shows, music videos, cartoons, comics, video games and any other media known to the American man.

The Subway. Ohhh the Subways I knew all to well. I’d killed mobsters in Max Payne in the subway. I’d been attacked by Lickers in Resident Evil 2 in the subway. I’d been mercilessly followed by eerie floating undeads in Silent Hill 4 in the subway. Oh I knew the subways. And to be truthful? Since these were my reference points? They freaked me the fuck out. You walk down into this cold, dimly lit area with dark tunnels stretching to nowhere on every side of you. If you get the courage to step on one, be prepared to be swallowed up into that dark, but it gets broken up every so often with haunting red or blue lights. Illuminating graffitied walls, and I imagine if you keep your eyes peeled, the bodies of unlucky or slow graffiti artists (I mean… you have to imagine right?) And truly, on a late night with a fairly empty car I still get chills as I can almost feel the sticky drool of a terrifying Umbrella Corp experiment dripping down onto me.

So maybe I’m alone in this subway thing. I’m prepared to accept that fact and it was kind a huge tangent anyway. I’m prepared to accept that as well.

I have, on occasion, thought that maybe this wasn’t the best idea. I know I wanted space, I wanted something new and I wanted to take a stab at a dream. But is throwing myself into a situation with no friends, really the way to go? Or maybe it was the perfect idea, sometimes you just have to jump in the deep end. Really I don’t know. And that’s the only thing I can be sure of, because I damn well need to stop pretending I have any sort of handle on things or really know where I’m going or what I’m doing. That will come. And that’s okay.

King Leer

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I know I’ve described to some, though possibly not all, about the leering phenomena that exists here in New York. Until recently I lived in Kensington, which is a couple miles south of here and significantly more ethnically diverse. And somehow there is a fair amount of residents that can afford to just sit on the streets outside of shops. So when a young lady, such as myself, steps out of a store she may find herself between two creepy old Indian men. The one of the left who says, “Nice. Very Nice.” And the one on the right who says “Yes I like that.” I can say wholeheartedly that this was the most jarring thing I had to deal with in my move. Hands down. It’s not talked about and it’s is just entirely out of my realm of experience until now.

Other than the comments there are a few other things that may happen. Staring. Just. Constant. Staring. Not to be deterred by subtle gestures of non-interest. Oh no. But then they add something particularly classy. Start with a stare and then add in lip licking. I shudder to think of it.

Now I don’t mean to isolate the Indians. It can probably be attributed to a cultural difference, because it’s predominantly common in first generation Indians, while many Indian-Americans clearly know what’s what and act with class. In fact there’s been a few who I’ve just wished would turn into their lewder counterparts, because damn there’s some good looking Indian males around. And I’ve had my share with Hispanics (like that nice fellow who saw fit to escort me the half mile to my train station) and blacks (Particularly in Queens. Oh the smile I got from a dude with a grill today.) But truly they just go above and beyond any other group.

Finally I reached a breaking point. Out for drinks after the first day of Comic con an Indian fellow introduced himself to me. I was polite but disinterested so he proceded to sit in the both next to ours and stare at me. He had intermitten visitors, but whenever they would leave he would continue to stare at me, and if I ever looked over he’d wink and mouth words that I didn’t bother to interpret. I gesture for him to come over, he quickly obliges and leans over the table where I whisper to him, “If you don’t stop staring at me I will rip your balls off.” Mark that day on your calendar folks, because that was the first time I got something to work! He smiled. Walked away. And not a glimpse of him for the rest of the night.

And that is how my crusade started. Clearly this was a cultural difference and I just needed to let them know, one at a time, that this is not, in fact, the way to make an American woman feel special. I felt like I’ve done a real service in my short time in Kensington. But now I live in Park Slope and young, attractive and well off men (no matter their race) just don’t seem to have the same leering tendency. Luckily I work in Queens and also ride the subway on a regular basis. New York’s little traveling pie chart. So I still have my run ins.

Truly this is the only reason I wrote this post. A couple days ago I had one such run in. I was sitting innocently looking at my feet or something equally innocuous when we come to a stop and very large. Large. Man walks on and sits across from me. Because I have that just ridiculous tendency to be nice I look up and smile. Oh no. How am I still making this rookie mistake? That is his in. He returns with that pedophile, heavy on the creep smile. But his bulking demeanor makes him look similar to a large brown toad in a haggard wife beater. With this visual in mind I can’t whipe the smile off my face, but I break eye contact post haste and stare at a very interesting ad for the next five minutes.

I cant’ help but check back in. The dude. Still smiling looks back at me and his greasy lips part as his large wet cow tongue veeery slowly makes it’s way around his lips, grazing against his ill formed and scratchy mustache. I just… I couldn’t help it. I burst into smile. Okay. Few more minutes and the man is just clearly staring at my crotch. I start to get fairly uncomfortable. But then we meet eyes again and… again with the ever so slow mouth licking. I start to laugh. Who is this giant old toad? Is he in on the joke or does their really exist someone this vile and strange?? I laugh until my stop where I shake my head as I get off. Oh boy.

So there’s your bite of New York for today.

Ramblings and Jews

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I feel like… I should have something to… do. But I’m at a relative loss.

I mean I have my projects. I’ve finished the basic design for a new website for this blog, so I need to cook up the final art before I can get on with the hardcoding (and you’re going to freaking love it guys, coming soon). I’d like to be hitting a daily posting basis here. And in that vein now that I got back my tax incentive I’d like to get a snazzy new mic so you all don’t have to aurally wade through the background noise and spittle that a cheaper mic just loves to showcase. But I don’t have to do any of that. No that’s all just play time. If I wanted to go home, change into a robe and eat chicken wings while watching 5 hours of Seinfeld reruns. Well. I could do that too. Yes, exploring creative outlets in my free time will probably serve me better in the long run, but it’s free time. Free. Free to spend however I damn well please! With school, then the move, this seems almost like an entirely foreign concept to me again. I’m suspicious. I’m sitting here at my desk trying to create complicated to do lists out of thin air. I’m writing this post in hopes that it will jog my memory of some important piece of business I must attend to. But nope. Nothing.

And at this point I kind of feel like I’m bragging. A couple days ago I post about my awesome neighborhood. Today I post about free time. If I get that new job, you can probably expect a post about that. Really it’s almost broaching tactless. But god damnit, every dog has it’s day doesn’t she? I just called myself a dog. That’s cute. But you know. It’s an up, give me a few months and I’ll be wading through the shit again. Here. Here’s some consolation for your sadists out there. I’m probably going to start up school again, as soon as this fall if at all possible. And yes the new job I’m going for is full-time and is permanent. So I’ll be right back where I was in spring. Hell. But Hell in New York people! That’s a kind of hell I can go for.

I feel like I should end this on a positive note, so I wanted to make fun of Jews a little. Hey hey now. Hasidic jews. Oh. Still bad? Ah give me a break and I’ll tell you a secret. Come in a little closer. Okay. I have a thing for Jews. You see I’m naturally attracted to the basic characteristics, dark hair, dark eyes, olive complection, prominent nose. Oh yes. But then I move here and get introduced to the Hasidic community and Oh. Momma. Add on two more layers. One? The clothes. Suits and fucking hats? Love it. Two? Their complete disinterest in women. Ever girl loves a challenge, what better than to have to actually rip a person from his heritage to be able to fuck him. Come on now. And truly the religion just fascinates me. I’ve always said I have more in common with them than Christians. We both don’t beleive Jesus Christ was the son of god. That’s something we can work with right?

But that was a great bit of justification for what I truly wanted to say. They fucking crack me up. Look. I love ‘em, I’m allowed. I see one today intently reading his Torah on the subway, as they are prone to do, but what killed me is those curly side burns. He was fiddling with one as he read, pulling out that great big curl, letting go as it bounces back and repeat. A grown man with the same nervous habit as Shirley Temple. That’s good stuff.

Then another jewish fellow walks on. This guy killed me. A portly younger man with absolutely unwieldy facial hair. Not just long, completely unkempt. At least it matched the rest of him. His shirt was loose, his pants and jacket had stains and he just looked generally disheveled. And no sirs and madams. He was NOT reading the Torah. I THINK I SEE THE PROBLEM HERE SIR. Cleanliness is next to Godliness isn’t it? Is that part in the old testament? Fuck if I know, but I think they still generally like to be clean. The cherry on top was the sizable something or other hanging from his left nostril. Now as I’m looking the man over I can help but imagine the life and times of that something or other. Surely it will eventually knock loose with a cough, sneeze or rustle and due to the pure breadth and range of that beard of his… surely there it will land. And how long will it stay there dear friends? With his habits of tidyness, possibly quite some time. Surely if they allow this man in their folds they couldn’t frown to deeply on a little hanky panky with a gentile? I’ll let you know how it goes.

Now with more phelgm

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There is little else more uncomfortable then not being able to keep your eyes open at work. It seems to be happening to me a lot lately though, but usually for good reason. It’s generally from being productive in one way or another. Whether it be socially or cleaning or organizing. Getting my act together, so to speak. Which I suppose leads to the theme of this post: being happy.

As you may or may not know I recently moved to a neighborhood in Brooklyn called Park Slope. The more time I spend walking through Park Slope, the more I fall in love with it. Head over heels really. My heart just swells bigger with every step. I want to forcefully strip the title “Happiest Place on Earth” from Disney World to return in to it’s rightful owner: Park Slope. Because if you’ve ever lived in Orlando friends? Oh dear dear. Disney World or not, the place is a pit. But here the houses are beautiful. The people are young and beautiful (but more accessible than hipster Williamsburg). The streets are lined with trees, the trees are lined with birds, the birds are singing songs to the heaven’s, because they’re on my side… they’re grateful to be in Park Slope. Am I being sappy? Overblowing and overestimating? Oh. Maybe. That’s what one does when they’re feeling happier, more optimistic and more creative then they have in months time. Fine. Completely and utterly sappy. That’s me. Add this scenery with the beautiful weather we had all weekend? Folks I am literally walking on AIR.

The best part is, finally I’m starting to feel justified in my actions. The most classic psychological fallout of a bad experience is blaming yourself. A breakup is no exception. So of course I’ve been over and over a thousand times how PERHAPS I was the sole reason of our downfall. I was selfish, I didn’t work hard enough for us. This, that and the other. And the fact of the matter is, does it matter? Not really. The relationship wasn’t working and that’s all that needs to be judged at the end of the day. So now? Now I’m happy and truly what better measure of success is there? Selfish motives or not, I made some right decisions for once. Bloody miracle that is.

Spoiler: I feel like shit

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Okay. I had a blog written out today discussing the grand topics of why my companies president is a superior douche bag and how that relates to the meaning of life. That discourse will have to wait for another day because, friends, I am dying. This is the bit where I complain, so skip ahead if you don’t enjoy hearing about the suffering of others. I woke up this morning with a sore throat, and was a wee bit worried. But I went on with my morning frenzy. Skip ahead a couple hours and my head is in my hands at work feeling like it had been sat on by pre-subway Jarod for 6 hours while I slept. The my whole body followed suite. I’ll drop the Jared simile now lest we get a little bit lewd here. The next step was chills. And all of this was before lunch!

But all of that crap aside. There’s two things that kept me going. One: the massive amount of apartment shopping I knew I had to do after work. And two: the thought of coming home to my freezing, lumpy couch bed that I wouldn’t even be able to open up till about midnight because of my night owl roommate. Yes. These are my treats in life friends: walking up 8 flights of stairs with 4 large bags of apartment necessities all while feeling lightheaded; being rabidly hungry, but not being able to choke down even water. Sometimes you just have to stop and realize how good you have it. Get a little perspective. Throw up a little. It’ll do you good friends.

Listy listy

So for reasons that are to boring to go into here (mainly for myself, honestly) I’ve decided to offer up my blog in two formats. Written and spoken. If you’re browsing around the ol’ internets and a quick read is what you’re up for? Great. If you’re jetsetting and would prefer to hear my cat scratch in your ears? Great. Either or. No games, no gimmicks, no hurt feelings.

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Now on with the oh so popular list!

First off, an obligatory thanks to Paul for starting this up. Then also to Fred, Dave, Angela, Lauren, Cass, Kevin, Paul, Kwok, Hudson… am I missing anyone? For keeping the list train going.

I’m a sort of Jack of all Trades, in that I have interests in a great many varied areas. This has made me reach that “point in my life” where I have to decide what I really want to do with my future about 4 or 5 times now. No matter what I decide, practical or extravagant, I always have a sinking feeling that I’m ignoring my true talent or calling, because for each of those things I can make an equally convincing argument.

Since I graduated high school I’ve moved 4 times in as many years. Seattle, Orlando, Chicago and now New York. I keep saying this city is the penultimate in the country so I’ll probably settle down for awhile, but catch me in two years and we’ll see about that.

I have been in love with New York since I was very, very young. I almost got to go on a trip with my mother after we watched “You got mail” together. I planned for weeks and then we never went.

I love fashion. Very, incredibly much. Not as in the big name haute couture… some I find fantastic, some incredibly bland and I truly despise seeing people following a big name whether or not it looks ridiculous. No no, I mean the true love of fashion as design, as art, as experimentation.

A designer was one of my potential career paths.

Fashion was the doorway into my love for Japan. I studied Japanese for two years and had planned to go there on my honeymoon.

I also studied German for 4 years. I love foreign languages.

I truly doubt I could speak coherently in either of the aforementioned languages. My memory is a fairly severe hindrance in my sad love. I’m convinced the only way for it to stick is immersion. And ohhhh that will happen. One of these days.

I grew up a mormon and while I decided I was atheist at the age of 13 I still get these sinking feelings whenever anything bad happens to me of, “What did I do to deserve this punishment?” I feel like I’ll never be able to shake that good old Christian guilt.

I am a happy person. I love comedy, I love silliness, I love being a happy person and I’ve found that while very rarely hold grudges and can get over most faults that a person may have being angry or being inconsiderate I cannot accustom myself to.

I will always, always go for the funny guy.

I love these lists. I always wish people new me better and in kind I wish I knew people better. I feel like we get so engrained into our daily grind facades that it’s rare to crack through the surface, but, as bolstered by the popularity of this list, I think I’m not the only one who feels this way. Crazy society.