An Assortment of Thought Processes

Rachel: I wanna play a Dynamite.
Hilary: Rachel, you can't.  You're too white to play a dynamite.
Rachel: I could get that Michael Jackson disease, only backwards...
Hilary: ...

How is it that I have been living in the city for 5 months, seen 8 Broadway shows, gotten trashed at blockheads, gone on a city-wide scavenger hunt, walked through Central Park 50 times, and haven't yet been to a museum or gone ice skating?

Yesterday was a terrible day.  I literally had a misunderstanding with every single person I came into contact with.  Except for Brooke, but that's mainly because I don't think she listens to a thing I say.

I take the same train at about the same time to work every morning.  It is almost always packed, and I almost never see the same people (which is astonishing to me - I pay attention to people, and there are rarely repeats).  This morning, as I was getting on the train, my book slipped out of my hand in my usual semi-klutzy demeanor and slid along the ground, just about falling into the space between the platform and the train.  Before I had a moment to even react and go after the book, another train passenger grabbed for it, saving said book from it's gruesome fate.  I was slightly taken aback by this gesture, seeing as how ever since I moved into the city, the main thing I've noticed is how self absorbed people here can be.  Everyone walks on their own line with their own agenda, and it's up to you to move out of the way, lest you get trampled.  People don't hold doors for you as often, or tell you when you've dropped your scarf - and yet here was this man practically throwing himself on the ground to save my crappy little four dollar paperback, and almost getting closed out of the subway car.  I pushed myself into the door to hold the train, and the man stood up, handed me my book, and gave me the friendliest smile I've seen all winter.  He nodded his head as I thanked him, and that was that. 

Continuing on the subject of subways, there is a man who works a newsstand at the 14th street station who is always wearing ivory-colored gloves.  I would normally assume that this was being done for one of two reasons: 1. It's cold, and/or 2. He doesn't want to handle money with his bare hands.  However, this morning, I noticed that his gloves were still ivory in color, but the palms were entirely red, as well as some of the fingertips.  So now, I think he's wearing gloves to cover his tracks from all the people he must murder under the ground in the 14th street subway stop.  He probably hides the bodies chopped up in all the crates stacked up in the corner.  Or maybe I should watch a little less Law and Order.

My winter coat is big and poofy and white - essentially, I take warmth in a giant marshmallow.  It isn't a-lined or cinched at the waist like I would have preferred, but it keeps me warm.  I did not, however, take into consideration how dirty a white coat can get when riding subways.  While last year, my jacket remained a pristine glowing white from winters' beginning to end, this year, I want to dip it in paint so it doesn't look gross anymore.  The lesson I have learned here?  The subways are dirty, and owning a white coat is not ideal.  I would buy a new one, but I just cannot justify spending money on something that I already own, and that serves its purpose.  Next year: those neon coats the NYPD wear.

I desperately need to get over my pet peeve of hearing people chew food, because it's beginning to take an unbearable turn for the worse.  I've actually gotten accustomed to muting the television whenever the Kit-Kat commercial comes on.  It's like my own personal hell.  Strap me to a horse on a deserted island with only caffeinated soda, potato salad, and the sound of people chewing their food, and it's all over.

Want to know what not to wear?  Go to Kmart for their bad eighties couture.  Eesh.

In A Nutshell

The Place: A street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
The Time: Last night.
The Scene: Matt, Christina, and Hilary walk out of their 3 story apartment building heading for their three-way date night.  Three random strangers (2 guys and a girl) walk by, bundled up with coats, white and black scarves, and black beanies.  The men are not cleanly shaven.  The strangers greet the threesome with a friendly passing.

Three Random Strangers: (varied) Hey Guys, what's up, how's it going?

Matt, Christina, Hilary: (together and varied) Hey, hi, hey...

A few seconds pass as glances are exchanged.

Hilary: Do either one of you know those guys?  Do they live in our building?

Matt: No.  They're Hipsters.  They say hi to everyone.

Hilary: Oh.  That's...friendly.

Matt: No.  I'm from Jersey.  If someone talks to me, I say "Mind your own fucking business" and go on with my day.  I hate white people.

Scene.

Barely Out of Tuesday

I’m sitting at my computer at 10:45 pm eating Cherry Garcia ice cream straight from the pint while Christina watches Bridget Jones Diary and Matt heats up lasagna in the microwave.  A blizzard is stewing and beginning as the first inch dusts gentry atop the cars, and the brisk winds wind through the short Brooklyn blocks.  I wear my pajama pants backwards and inside out in hopes of a snow day.  Funny, how the urge to play in the snow is almost as intense as it was years ago, when all I needed to make me smile was a snow saucer and a day off from school.  Today, the same hopes ring true.  The plate suddenly shatters as Matt wails and comes to the realization that the plate was not microwave safe.  I knew, but didn’t have the heart the tell him.  He’s trying to be more domestic and independent.  His heart is broken.  I stare at the silent phone, waiting for the pot to boil as my first three pages of writing in months vanishes from my computer screen at the accidental brush of a key.  Dammit.

There was a time when I wrote in all italics because I thought it would make my writing more significant.  When I realized that wouldn’t make my writing better, I switched to a purely journalistic account, hoping it would 1) give me an excuse to write and keep myself current on the happenings of the world at large (be it politics, pop-culture, or some weird news account or funny animal Youtube sensation), and/or 2) get me some readers.  It did very little of both.  After 5 years of college, I took a year hiatus from writing down a single word - not a note, a line, a song lyric - nothing.  I was enervated and uninspired.  After 2 years of rejection from the writing world, I wasn’t exactly pumped about my future career - I mean, no one goes into the field they studied in college, that would be madness!  I assumed I could be the exception to the rule.  Reality slap: I am not.  I don’t even know if I’m that talented of a writer to begin with, let alone an outstanding one, which is what you would have to be in order to be noticed.  Writers Markets purchased, query letters sent, rejections received.  Moving on.  I now work in the world of Non-Profit, where I don’t get to do much writing at all.  Instead, I help people (really, check out my website: http://www.yai.org/), which is also something I always wanted to do - I just never saw it happening in this capacity, with this population.  I was supposed to be a dancer.  Instead, I’m a writer, right?  Perhaps not.  The journey continues.  

Which brings us back to the present.  January 11th, to be exact.  I’m not sure what has motivated me to sit back down and really attempt something, but it’s happened regardless.  Maybe that’s the only reason for meeting people - to have them inspire and challenge you.  To have them pull out all the good, the bad, and the ugly, and present it to you in a completely new and shiny package.  To show you where you stand with the world, and maybe where you stand with yourself.  To remind you of where you started, and help you find where you’re going.  In my experience, there are certainly a ton of pot holes along the way - but you always end up back on the track you belong on, one way or another, and not always in the same form you started in.  I’ve met a lot of people.  I’ve fallen in and out of love, and had my heart broken and smashed, then gently reserved it, waiting for the right moment.  I’ve laughed, I’ve wept, drank and partied, and had lots of sex.  I’ve gone on adventures, taken risks, jumped off high dives, driven on the wrong side of the road, run out of gas, broken down on a major highway, gotten stuck in a car, crawled inside a dryer, touched “do not touch” displays, accepted both truths and dares, been broken and bruised, played drunken volleyball and gone drunken sledding, climbed a few mountains, and have no regrets.  And that is what I have come to realize.  There are a million and one things I still want to do - but of the things I have done, I look back and just smile.

And now, it’s 1/11/11 at 11:11pm.  Make a wish.

Conversations Worth Remembering

Rachel: PJ and I just said your text outloud at the same time.  Melissa says 'fuck off'
Hilary: Tell Melissa I am going to give her a dick-in-a-box for her wedding gift
Rachel: Melissa says she already has some anal beads with the face of jesus on each bead and a crucifix on the end to scratch your rectum on the way out.
Hilary: Sweet, that will match my menorah dildo.
Rachel: For all nine of your vaginas
 
Just one of the many, many reasons I miss my old job.

New Year, New Songs, New Board Games

It's the little things, like finding Forgetting Sarah Marshall for four dollars, having a foam sword fight, or discovering gel nail polish that make days go from just okay to awesome, and push my girlie points up to double digits.  Which is okay, because I know what Chamball is.
 
I don't necessarily like to make resolutions, because I feel as though resolutions are meant to be broken (like "I will save money this year" or "I will not eat chocolate".  Yeah right on both accounts).  I prefer to think of it as setting semi unrealistic yet achievable goals that, when I do successfully attain, they are really exciting accomplishments.  That being said, enjoy my list of some of the things I would love to be able to do, continue doing, or just kick a little more booty at.
 
1. Relax.  Last year was crazy - between moving twice, jumping back and forth between homes, crashing on couches, working 3 jobs simultaneously, moving to the city - it was exhausting.  This year, I'm going to enjoy myself.  I've worked extremely hard for way too long.  Now, I'm settled, and I'm going to enjoy living here.  At least until September, when my lease is up, and I have to find a new place away from the crazy Orthodox Jew landlords who don't know how to do anything regarding an apartment building.  This goes hand in hand with number...
 
2. Have more fun.  I need to do just that.  I don't think it requires any more explanation.

3. Take risks.  I'm not talking sky diving here (no Tuesday Irregulars, I will not be jumping out of a plane with you in September), but more along the lines of generally just letting-go.  And maybe road-tripping to Vegas.

4. Get back in touch with my friends.  Silly, maybe, but I've gone sort of MIA for the past few months (since May, really), and now I'm done with that.  I miss my people.  I miss car rides and ice cream, sing-alongs and shopping excursions, photo shoots at abandoned car lots with drug dealers and rape motels in the background, dancing and board games, long phone calls and late night drinking.  I'm social by nature.  This hermit act is over.

5. Stop taking crap.  Again.  Self explanatory.

6. Get back into shape! (lame and typical, right?)  I don't necessarily think I need to actively lose weight.  I just need to get my groove back - get back to the studio, go outside and play more, you know, the usual shenanigans.  And maybe lay off all the candy bars they sell in the lobby of my building.  Those can't be good.

7. There is too much drama in drama.  I don't want it anymore.  I'm an adult, folks.  I'm just staying uninvolved for a while.  A detox cleanse diet, if you will.

8. Write more.  Dance more.  Kick more ass.

9. Be honest.  I've always told it like it is.  I'm going to continue to do so (maybe with a little more tact...), but I'm also going to try to speak up for myself a little more.  Not a whole lot more, because I think I do an okay job.  I just need to be more confident in my decisions and actions.  Cue cheesy music.

10. Be myself.



So watch out, World.  Hil-Dawg is back in action for 2011.  I'm excited.