A Study In Relaxation

I laid my head back on to the pedicure chair and relaxed into the simultaneous manicure-pedicure I was getting. Suuuuuch decadence should not be fully enjoyed, not really. No, my guilt must play a part in the indulgence, my nagging brain has to interject her opinion about how much money I am wasting and how I shouldn't drool on my shirt, or even relax enough to fart. But, I see people do these things all the time all over the city. And, granted I don't think I can ever get that relaxed that I can just rip a good one in a public place, there is something so ballsy, so adult, about fully enjoying oneself.

At work the other day, my work husband (The bartender I work with the most: we fit like a hand in a glove. It's a pleasure working with this guy) and I were chatting under our breath like we usually do when a particularly boring show is going on when, without warning, a loud juicy fart erupted from somewhere beyond the bar from an undisclosed location. Simultaneously my work Hubby and I broke into gales of uncontrollable laughter. Someone FARTED! And it wasn't me! And it wasn't the work husband... so who is the culprit? Don't laugh too loud, you'll disrupt the show! I felt tears well up with the effort to suppress the loud guffaws I wanted to release. I looked at the other suspects in the area of the blast. No one had moved. No one had shifted. All was still the same. They must have heard that as well though. How did they all keep their composure? Magic. Adult Magic that must come when you reach a certain age that a massive fart can't interrupt your composure.

I see people sleeping on the subway all the time. It's no big deal. However, a person openly drooling on their shirt is a sight that takes my breath away. Are they aware that they are drooling on themselves? What a wonderful thing... They are so relaxed that drool can puddle on the front of their shirts and New York City can watch them do this. I can't get that comfortable in a public place. Nope. Not happening. Recently I have been so fascinated with the idea of people passing out in the subway; that I've been filming some of the sleepers. Everyone is unique. Everyone is trying to stay upright (some more successful than others) and some even magically open their eyes to the right train station. Sleeping on a subway is an incredibly ballsy thing to do, in my opinion. And, although it won't make me break into waves on uncontrollable laughter, it still makes me pause and stare for a minute.

Are these sleepers and gas-rippers fully enjoying themselves? Are these things just a side-effect of certain conditions? Accidents that occur due to a busy life style? Who knows. But, whenever I am witness to one of these acts I feel changed. These acts are so honest, and as they occur there is no apology, only afterwards, when there is a reaction amongst the natives. And just as a disclaimer: I am not a 5 year old. I feel that children are exempt from these judgments because they can fully enjoy whatever the hell they want since they haven't fully learned what it is to have a filter in their subconscious.

So, I was leaning back into my chair while one girl worked on my toes and another filed my finger nails. I thought to these occurrences in which there is no filter. I relaxed. I didn't fart though. Nor did I fall asleep. But I forgave the guilt associated with enjoying myself and tried as hard as I could to give myself up to the relaxation. Being an adult can also mean being poised in moments of extreme comfort, too. That's magic as well.

Naked

There was a line of butt-naked people doing cartwheels on stage. One actor picked up a shake-weight and proceeded to bounce her whole body up and down. I watched agog. I'd never seen a burlesque show like this. Christmas songs were sang. Santa hats were worn, except on the other heads of the actors who wore them. I giggled when two actors picked up an actress, held her aloft in the air and a parade of the naked cast did a Limbo line underneath. Holy cow. The message I got from the show was: Yeah, we're naked. So what?

I left the theatre and went to grab a drink with my friend David who took me to see the show. My mind was buzzing. To be naked, in this country, is so... taboo? I thought back to other times I had seen live nudity. Not many instances came to mind. In fact, I've never even been to a naked beach! All those people on stage: I could clearly see how different they all were. Every person was incredibly unique in ways that were not the type of fabric they wore, or the colors of their pants or even how tight their shirts were! No: these were differences that were as honest as differences between humans could be. After the first 3 minutes of trying not to stare at pivotal points of their bodies, I became used to the idea of the nakedness. That is how we all are, all the time. I thought.

I so rarely see anyone naked though, that the only readily available reference for a naked human body is myself. But: people are naked! There are showers taken naked. And clothes are changed. And sex happens. And occasionally sleep is in the nude. The list goes on and on. But, all of those acts are so personal: done behind closed doors, and only in the company of a person that is very trustworthy at that moment.

Naked is beautiful. I thought back to the only time in my life when, surrounded by other females, I took off my bathing suit and swam and sunbathed with only my bottoms on. That was in a secluded place at 2pm during the summer. It was so freeing. So natural. I felt more woman than a tight push up bra on a hot date could make me feel.

So, I guess the biggest lesson I came away with from last night would be: Naked does not mean perverse or sexual. It can simply be a state of being. A Powerful one, too. I certainly will grab a lot of attention at just the word "Naked." And yet, as attention grabbing as that state can be, it is so hidden in this country. I don't see nudity in this country like I'd seen it in Europe. It's not part of the culture. But it's always there... Just hidden by a thin line of fabric, or a closed door or a strong religious cover.

Estro-Toster-One.

My face is now back to full capacity for everything (yay sneezing, nose blowing and nose picking!). I keep spending a few extra seconds in the bathroom at work (you know, because at work spending those few extra seconds makes a whole shift go by a little easier...) analyzing my nose for any kinks, and honestly: as a professional Natalie Allen, I can say that I notice very little difference between what I look like now and what I looked like last Halloween. It's incredible how lucky I am. I broke my nose and lived (and looked) the same after.

So... what else has been happening in my life lately? I have been around nothing but boys. Boys everywhere. I come home to boys, I go to work with boys, I hang out with Boys. Testosterone seems to be my eau du toilette. So much so, that when I agreed to begin rehearsal for a 10 minute play directed by and starring only women, I was quite taken aback at how much I have missed spending time in the company of females. Granted, I've noticed a bit of a change in myself in that social respect. Since I've been hanging with the fella's pretty exclusively I'll have no qualm with cracking a poop joke and laughing really hard at a loud fart. But, the ladies have offered a number of other great ways to enjoy life. At rehearsal earlier this week there were quite a few jokes shared about period blood and vaginas (which, I don't really have to point out are somewhat of a taboo joke subject with the Dudes). I laughed pretty hard watching one of my co-stars flop around on the floor like a rag-a-muffin over the potential idea of a hypothetical party being over. Would a guy lose his shit over a party ending? Maybe not.

Another rehearsal tomorrow with the ladies before our performance on Monday the 12th. I'm psyched about bathing myself in some positive estrogen waves before going back home to the apartment where currently 4 boys are living, eating, drinking and existing in one place, with only little old me to hold up the dirty sheets they sleep on and exclaim in my most annoying voice: "you guys are sleeping on SARS sheets! Gross! Do your laundry!" Such is my life. And a few extra seconds in the bathroom before bed to stare at my nose can really go a long way to pass a shift at home too...

Black Eye

Person: "Oh my god! What happened to your eye? Did you get in a fight?"

Me: "Yeah. This guy tried to mug me as I was leaving work. He grabbed my bag and gave me a good sock in the face before running. But, I was too quick for him, I beat the shit out of him, got my bad back, and then called the cops on his ass."

Person: "...woah. Really? Damn."

Me: "um... I might have made a few of those details up... and I might have just fallen off my bike and on to my face."

I've never been in a situation before where my face tells a story before I can even open my mouth. Granted, all of us give off a "story" about who we are simply by the clothes we wear, the color of our skin, the people we are walking (or not walking) with. But, I feel as though the last few weeks I have been existing in a new realm of being. I've spent the month of November with a black eye and a story to tell. Certainly the "break" I have been pining for for the last few weeks prior to the accident. I can't say that I've enjoyed this whole experience, I'll find myself looking at a mirror and agonizing over whether I can tell if my nose looks different or not (although everyone is insisting it doesn't). I walk around the city with a brimmed hat on in the hopes that the purple bruise currently subletting the space under my eye is over looked as tired bags of exhaustion. I apply cover-up to my face before work, sometimes darkly chuckling over how I'd always prided myself on knowing I wouldn't be in a relationship with a guy who would ever give me a black eye, but managed to get one regardless. Every day small victories are achieved: The first sneeze (My nose didn't fall off!!), The first real laugh (sore, but not painful), The first nose blowing (ahhhhhhhh, I can breathe!!) It feels like I am repairing back to my old self, just with a whole new perspective on how awesome my nose is when it's not broken.

In other news: I haven't heard from, nor contacted Mr. Tall. That's really OK with me. I think back to the wonderful adventures we had, and smile, but don't feel like I need to pursue him further.

I've been dreaming of traveling to wonderfully exotic places and Thailand has been calling my name. Flights there are cheap, and the country itself is cheap to stay in as well. I've been talking with a couple of people who have been there and all of the unanimously told me that Thailand was one of the best places they have ever been. I'm drooling just thinking about it. I'm toying with the idea of going there in March for 4 weeks. There are a ton of back-packers there and I've been given the advice that all one has to do is make friends with some of these people and travel around in packs with them. How Cool!! Sign me up!

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Accident

I looked at the X-Ray for the first time with the Ear, Nose and Throat Doctor in Manhattan. "See: look, it doesn't look like you'll need any surgery. You're nose looks like it will heal perfectly fine." He said pointing to the profile shot of my face. I saw a tiny piece of bone sticking out from my skull, which is supposed to support my nose, it was broken in to three pieces. Holy Cow, I thought. That tiny piece of bone is all that connects my nose to my skull! I saw the outline of my skin and cartilage and jaw. Everything else looked completely normal. I thought back to the panic I felt when the doctor in the ER told me about the results from the X-Ray. I heaved a sigh of relief. So, I don't need surgery to fix anything. It looks like my nose will be fine in a couple of weeks. OK.

I was bike riding in Brooklyn when I got into the accident. Thinking (or, really not thinking) like the super-woman I thought I was, I decided to hop a driveway and avoid a truck that was parked in the middle of the bike lane. Whoops. There goes my front tire, Bike stops moving, and I don't. I definitely got airborne and then stopped my fall with a WHAM and an ugggghhhhhh on my face. Thankfully I was wearing my helmet (jeeze, had I not been...I don't want to think about that outcome). I rolled on to my side and stood up immediately, although I knew instantaneously that something was very wrong with my nose. My knees felt pretty banged up, and my chin was wet, which meant I must have hit that as well. A Jogger (who was the only person in the area) ran up to me and appraisingly looked over my face. "You're chin is a little pink." she said. "Sorry, I don't carry my cell on me when I jog, but there is a BP gas station up the street if you need to call an ambulance?" After assuring her that I was fine I watched her jog off.

I find it interesting how I react when I trip or hurt myself. There is a part of me that takes over, no matter how bad the damage is, that says 'I'M FINE! TOTALLY FINE EVERYBODY WHO SAW THAT! PLEASE DON'T ASK ME HOW I AM BECAUSE I'M FINE! 'K?' when really, I'm not fine, I just don't want the weird looks, the embarrassing stares or the chuckles. Not that there was anyone in the area to really do that the afternoon I broke my nose, but as soon as the jogger ran off I found myself shaking all over. Ok, Nat. How bad is this really? I did a mental check. My nose was bleeding: Not good. My knees were killing me, I must have banged them pretty good. My chin was scraped, but not too bad. My hands... not too bad either. I guess this could be worse. I whipped out my cell and took some pictures of my face. Something is really wrong with my nose. I tried not to panic. I need to get home, except, oh wait... I am in the middle of Brooklyn and 45 minutes from home by bike. Not good.

My Parents were super heroes that day. Within only a few hours I was whisked away from Brooklyn, picked up by car and taken to St. Barnabas Hospital in the 'burbs of Jersey. I was attended to briefly by an ambulance who came to see me in Brooklyn after I realized that the blood streaming from my nose was not something to ignore. But declined a ride to the hospital in Williamsburg. Are you kidding? I am not leaving my bike at the police precinct and then waiting for 6 hours in an ER. No. I'll call in the troops and go to the whiter than white suburbs where the ER visit won't cost me a whole day of my life.

In New Jersey, I was told to sit in a chair and wait for the radiologist. I slumped and stared at my surroundings. I was led in to a room that looked like it was right out of some sci-fi space ship control room. There was a bed and a huge machine that hung from the ceiling. There were a bunch of monitors behind a window and a woman in white kept walking back and forth from examination room to monitor room. Every time she walked in to the monitor room a high pitched laser sound went off and then I saw a picture of an ankle appear on a screen. Wow. That'll be me soon.

"Just stand facing the light, please" I was told. I felt like I was in a police line up. "Right side, please. Now turn to your left and don't move." Where was my ID card with my name that I needed to hold up? I thought about what the point of smiling was. I guess this would be one of the only pictures I could take where it really does not matter what I do with my face. Not that I can really smile anyway, it hurt too much. The thought of not being able to smile made me want to laugh. Everything made me want to laugh. Suddenly not being able to laugh made the effort to not do so almost unbearable. I can only wheeze, which I find pretty funny, so I laugh/wheeze more. "Hold Still!" buzzzzzzzblap! Somewhere a picture of my nose filled a monitor.

As of now, I'm fine. I've got a nice, ripe, purple shiner developing on my right eye, and my knees are pretty bruised, but I'm being treated with a ton of TLC by my family who surrounded me with such a fierce ring of love that I was overcome with emotions a couple of times the last 24 hours. I am so grateful for all the support I got on Facebook and through the phone calls and texts I got. Now I need to come up with a good story about how I got the look of the "Battered wife" I'll be rocking for the next few days...

Spilled Milk

What does one do when the magic disappears? Or, more specifically, what do I do when the magic drains out through some unseen hole in the sidewalk and suddenly I am left making out with a man I am very suddenly not attracted to, on a side street in New York City?

The night went really well! Perfectly... almost. Except, why did I not feel a buzzing, humming feeling of joy and excitement when I looked at Mr. Tall? We went out for dinner at a Thai restaurant and chatted about our days: Yes. wonderful. He's nice and attentive. Great. Liked the friendly laugh he gave me. Check. Oh, he touched my leg! ....Uh...Where's the girly delight?

We walked over to the theatre. He bought tickets to see the Moth Story Telling Slam! WHAT!? That's a wonderful surprise! Check! Oh, he's taken my arm again. How nice, he's such a gentleman. He cares about the fact that I had a headache today. Very Sweet. He's laughing at something I said...uh...Wait. I don't like something here. Why am I not dying to kiss him based on a laugh? Where is the exuberant giddiness that comes from when our eyes meet? Um... CUPID!! Where are you?

We sit down in the Town Hall Theatre on 43rd street. He's got us tickets to a real Broadway event. I love the Moth Storytelling. It's a great experience. He put his hand in mine. That's sweet! He is chatting about the people in the program. Nice. Knows his stuff about the story telling. He's rubbing my back. Like a Boyfriend should, right? ...uh... boyfriend? Did I think that? Do we look like a couple? Maybe that's a good thing. mmmm...no. No, I am not getting a warm fuzzy feeling about that at all, actually. What? Aren't I dying for a boyfriend?!

We go uptown after the fantastic show. He takes me to a cafe for a slice of pie and some jasmin/green tea. We chat about our families. He's so different than me. That's not a bad thing. He's close to his parents. Great. He's into family. Wonderful. I don't care. ...uh... I Don't care? Why don't I care? He's so nice! He really likes me! He really, really likes me. I feel it. But I don't feel the same way I did last time.

We walked out of the cafe and he pulled me in for the kill. I began to kiss him and feel his arms pull me in close. I wanted so badly to want this. I wanted to throw my arms around him with a lover's abandon and give myself over to the romantic street make-out-at-midnight thing that this could have been. But I couldn't make myself feel that. In fact, I felt the opposite. I felt his lips move down my neck and I opened my eyes and looked at the street and felt... nothing. No stir. No "Oh, this feels so nice! And was so badly needed! Take me, I'm yours!" An ambulance squalked by and the lights and noise broke the spell.

Me: Well, I need to go home.

Tall: Ok, It's late. You are taking the train...

Me: Yep.

Tall: It'll take you an hour to get home from here.

Me: Yeah.

Tall: Do you want to go home?

Me: ...uh... What do I say? I want: to want to sleep over. But, the idea of sleeping in my own bed is very appealing. Yeah, I should go home.

Tall: Ok. I have another event planned for our next adventure!

Me: What was that sound? I think my heart just broke... Great! That sounds great!

Tall: Good night, Beautiful.

Me: Good night... (Tall pulls me in for one last kiss) Oh, I feel so mean. So evil. As if I stole Cupid's quiver and snapped each arrow so that all of them were broken on the floor.

I took the train home and while walking back from the station to my apartment I felt lost in thought. I had put on some music so I could let the beats of some monotonous tune drown out the conflicts rattling around in my head. Then suddenly, and without warning I began to laugh. I seriously El Oh Elled. Holy Cow, I thought. I am so very anxious about hurting his feeling that I am inflicting a severe amount of uncomfortable pain on my part. It's not my fault that chemistry was lost between the two of us! It happens. It's nobody's fault. It's OK. He'll get over it. And I learned a lot about what I want from my next relationship. That was good to know. I shouldn't beat myself up. I can listen to the music and enjoy it without guilt associated with everything I do. The remainder of my walk was spent walking to the beat of the song in my ears.

L'chaim!

What does it mean to "act like a child"?

I feel like for many that term has a negative connotation to it, as if you are not acting what is considered appropriate for your age. After today's events, however, I feel quite differently toward that statement.

I think acting like a child is a pure state of unadulterated living. A child sees the world from a different perspective on so many different levels (literally, because they are physically smaller). I feel as though the younger the kid is the more beautiful and strange and wonderful the world can have the potential to be. As an "adult" I feel like much of the time I lose that sense of wonder. However, recently I have been babysitting very young kids and seeing the world through their eyes has been awe-inspiring.

I just started watching a four month old: Viola. She's tiny. I picked her up and walked around the apartment with her and watched as she took in her surrounding. I would carry her over to the wall and say "Yes! Look at that brick! it's rough, want to touch it? Oh, man! What a strange feeling, huh? That is a red brick. Ha ha!" And as I watched her break in to a smile at my reaction to her reaction I laughed at the joy that that moment was and thought: Why can't life be this simple and amazing all the time? Where does the wonder and joy leave life and boring every day "adulthood" take it's place? I don't want to live in a state that says I need to act any way. I want to be and be happy.

I experimented today with what acting on my impulses means. I laughed when I wanted to, I skipped when I felt like I needed to (at the thought that I was going to treat myself to a cookie and tea!) I ate when I was hungry, and sat when I was tired. I spent the large majority of the day outside, in good company with a friend I enjoyed spending company with. I spoke when I wanted and listened when I wanted (and if I didn't feel like listening: I didn't!) I breathed in the air and took large uninhibited sighs and yawns and stretches. When I saw the sun set I stopped and watched it for a while, not feeling like I was silly or "that good girls don't stop and stare at sunsets in the middle of the street...". Nope. I did whatever the hell I wanted. And it felt unbelievable. I felt Brave. Brave and strong and awake. More so than I have felt in a very, very long time.

So: Here's to acting like a child! Like an impulsive, exploratory, rambunctious kid. I am babysitting Viola again tomorrow and I'll have another lesson with her. Then, I'm rounding my evening off with another date with Mr. Tall.

Onward! To Life and living and doing whatever the Hell I want to! Hazzah!

A Second Helping

I had my second date with Mr. Tall.

Although, I wouldn't call it a date, necessarily, more like (using Mr. Tall's words) "An Adventure".

I met him in Grand Central station by the clock in the middle. I had been running all over the whole day, having just come from an audition (that went really well!!!) so I was on a high from that. He greeted me with a smile and eyes that said: Great! You're here. I can't wait for you to see what I've got up my sleeve!

He took me to the Juniors on the lower level and over a Tuna Melt, a Grilled Cheese and some diet coke we caught up a little as to what we had both been up to the past week and a half. He would look at his cell phone every once in a while and smiling say: Just checking on the time for the train.

Me: Train? Where are we going?

Him: Do you really want to know?

Me: ... No.

We had some time to kill after dinner so with my hand in his (WHAT!? already? I barely know this guy!) we walked through the terminal and up to Campell's apartment, which, Mr. Tall filled me in on, used to be some super-duper rich guys crash pad whenever he came in to the city. Now it's an old fashioned, Mad Men Style saloon featuring a very intricately decorated ceiling and men in white coat-tails who ferry expensive looking cocktails all over the dimly lit, cigarette smoke lacking room. I almost wished there was a way cigarette smoke was available there, the ambiance was so perfect for it, as if, through the theoretical gloom I could have looked over at the bar and seen the Rat Pack all hanging there drinking their Old Fashioned's and talking about Marilyn Monroe.

Mr. Tall's eyes gleamed when he looked up from his cell phone again.

Him: Ok, Let's go catch the train.

Me: Where are we going?

Him: Tarrytown.

Me: What? What's there??

Him: Do you really want to know?

Me: ...No...

Using his dancer like precision I was guided over to the track with a big Metro North Train waiting to take us, I don't know where.

"Do we have tickets?" I asked.

Mr. Tall smiled. "Of course. I already got them."

The train ride was a little less than an hour. Tall and I chatted the whole way about regional dialects and sayings. I laughed a few times at some New York-isms he said he's noticed here (Tall's from Colorado) like "You know what I mean?" and "whuddare ya up to?" I showed him my new headshots and explained the difference between commercial shots and Legit shots.

We pulled in to Tarrytown and Mr. Tall's mischevous smile came back.

Him: Ok. So, do you know anything about Sleep Hollow?

Me: Oh my god. NO WAY.

Him: And a certain legend of Sleep Hollow?

Me: HaHA! Yes! I do!

Him: Good. I found something I think you might like. We just need to get a cab to take us there.

Within 10 minutes we were standing outside the Sleep Hollow Haunted Maze. Mr. Tall had taken me to a haunted house tour.

We were the last group in.

I've been to a haunted house once before in Louisville. My friend David took me after a Dracula show for Halloween. We were also the last group in when we went. The cool thing about being the last group is all the actors who are dressed as ghouls follow you in the end and pick on you the most. I can imagine for some people that would not be ideal. For me, however: BRING IT. I screamed at the top of my lungs for every little thing I could. I laughed and shouted and ran and jumped and clung to Mr. Tall like a rat in a rain storm. The end of the tour was a visit from the Headless Horseman himself, and the scream that came out of me might have curdled milk. It was exhilarating. The production value of that tour was outstanding.

At the end Mr. Tall asked if I enjoyed myself.

Me: Um, YES!

Tall: Good! Me too. I've wanted to come up and do that for a while.

Me: I can't believe you put all this together! Oh my god!

Tall: It was fun.

We looked over ghost stories and "Legends of..." anthologies in the gift shop. We had a little time to kill before the next train. I told Tall about the trip I took to Waverly Hills Sanitorium in Louisville (One of the creepiest places I have ever been). Tall admitted he loved a good ghost story. I said I did in context, when I'm not in the middle of the woods somewhere.

After the cab dropped us back at the train station I found myself dead tired (no pun intended). I leaned into Mr. Tall's chest and rested my head on his shoulder. Oh my god, I thought. We're one of those people. The people I'll see on platforms. The one's that seem as if they are just one being they are so close. Tall's arms circled me with a protective warmth and I closed my eyes for a minute and imagined what this would feel like all the time. Oh, it's so warm and safe...

On the train ride back we were more quiet and reserved. I was getting really tired and had to be up for a film shoot in Connecticut the following morning. Tall noticed the vacant stares.

Him: Look at you. Thinking about what you have to do tomorrow, huh?

Me: ha. Yeah.

Him: Long day?

Me: Yeah.

Him: You can put your head on my shoulder if you want to sleep.

Me: Who are you, and where can I find more of your kind? That offer is very tempting... Thanks, but I'll tough it out. Keep you company on the ride home.

Mr. Tall walked me to the 7 train so I could get back out to Queens. I had a flutter in my chest. What do we do? Kiss? Does he expect something from me? Uh... Why am I so scared? Am I just going to get hurt if I get too involved in this?

A 7 train pulled in as we were entering the station. I wished the train could have waited. I don't exactly know what I wanted to do to Mr. Tall so I turned to wish him good bye and before I had time to think, he pulled me in to a kiss, just for a second, then gently pushed me toward the train. I ran on board and found a seat. He waited across the platform for the 7 to take him to the West Side. I expected the train doors to close and move, like some fairy tale ending to some fairy tale date, but promptly spent a few awkward minutes watching the car doors open and shut as the conductor had a Door-fight with stragglers trying to board the train. Each time the doors opened again I smiled and playfully pretended I didn't see Mr. Tall. He caught my eye several times and smiled back. So much for riding off into the sunset, but this is almost as good... I waved goodbye as the train lurched forward and carried me off to Queens. See you soon, Mr. Tall. I tried to repress a squeal of delight at the thought of that.

A Big Bite Out of the Apple

It's always amazing to me that when I feel as though things are looking great and wonderful, I'll need to keep an eye out for catastrophe which I always feel is waiting right around the corner. It's as if life has a way of saying: "Yes, enjoy it now because at any moment Fate might come around and take the biggest of all dumps right on top of your head..."

Granted, I know I live a very lucky and overall happy life, but cleaning up the massive crap pile that accumulates after Fate took her fair share of your attention is never fun. The upside, I guess, is remembering not to stand in the same place so that when Fate decides to come back and unload herself again, you're not standing there ready to take it.

As a means of some control over the stress I've been experiencing at my job and personal life, I bought a MacBook Air. Yep. She's a thing of beauty. I brought her in to work last night, and as a form of protection from the crumbs and bits of soiled paper at the bottom of my book bag I put "Lola" (the new computer's name) inside of a manila envelop. Oh, she's so tiny and smart. She's the physical embodiment of the saying "I wish I could put you in my pocket and carry you around so you can make me smile." I got Lola instead of an iPad. I was debating for weeks about getting an iPad because I have a lot of auditions coming up and I was thinking it might be really high-tech and professional if I got one of those tablets to sort through any websites I might be building or youtube videos I may want to show. My friend who works at the Apple store on 5th Avenue convinced me that I should just go the whole 9 yards and get the Air. He even got me a small discount! Lucky me. As I was standing outside of the Apple Store waiting for my friend I couldn't help but stare at the half eaten, rotting apples lining the walls of the store. In tribute to Steve Jobs, there was a massive shrine to the man consisting of the typical bunches of flowers, candles, notes, a picture of Steve that looked remarkably like Gandhi, and a bushel's worth of half eaten apples. As I stared at the plethora of tourists snapping shots of the shrine I couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Rotting half-eaten apples? Really? and on 5th Avenue? If I were to visit a shrine in my honor after I've passed into the great beyond, I would really appreciate it if there was no garbage left to represent all the work I've done. Yuck.

Mr. Tall and I are meeting this Friday. He says he has an "adventure planned" for me. I'm really excited! I haven't seen him since our jaunt to P.J.Clark's for the scotch/bourbon. He was out of town for a while. I kept debating about whether I should text him or not, but decided to let him make the move. I've done a lot of pursuing the last few months, if he wants me that bad, he can call me, right? So far, all that's needed is a little patience. More of that to come...

A Tall Bourbon, Please. Neat.

I had quite the adventure yesterday, but I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

I met up with Mr. Tall (the guy I had met online at the Upright Citizens Brigade last week) at the Sofia Wine Bar on 50th and 2nd ave. It was a small, dimly lit place, lit by the candles on the tables and sporting a hefty choice of wines to choose from, along with a couple of appetizers to nibble whilst sipping and squinting at your partner across the table. I was fully anticipating the date to go as any online date has gone: just a lot of blah, blah, blah's back and forth, some failed attempts at flirtation and then a quick excuse as to why I need to head home. Not so with Mr. Tall.

He was very curious about me. I had had a very busy day and chattered away about it. We talked about alcohol, and wine and food and family and jobs. I drank my Pinot Grigio rather quickly and promptly began to drop my fork on the floor and knock over a cup of water. It wasn't from nerves so much as exhaustion and tipsiness. What did I have to lose from this guy, though? I wasn't sitting at the table in Sofia for a chance at scoring a homerun that night, and, frankly I am feeling as though my life is moving in the direction I want it to so well, that a boyfriend is not really in my sights either. No pressure.

We finished our appetizers and then made our way over to P.J. Clarke's which is an old fashioned bar on 2nd ave. The place was bustling with business suites and heels. I had the keen realization that I was most definitely the youngest person in the joint. I told Mr. Tall I wanted a bourbon, a Glenlivet (which is actually a Scotch, I've now realized!), neat, please. We sipped our shots by the window and then fell into one of the most engaging conversations I have had in a while.

First off: I was actually looking up at him. And, at P.J.'s there was light to see him by! I could actually read his facial expressions. What a concept! We left the drab "whuddo you doo?" questions behind very rapidly and moved on to crazy, gesticulating, passion driven whoops of "You do that? I DO THAT TOO!" Then the "Oh my god, YES! I feel the same way!" followed by a simultaneous: "ugh, I hate that. *laughter*"

At one point the bar got very crowded. There were people moving past us and shifting us around. Tall put his arms around my waist and pulled me close to avoid being bumped in to. I looked up at him and could only smile. "Here," he said. "Let me be in the way." As he caught my arm and shifted me toward the window, away from all the movement by the bar. I left my hand in his for the remainder of the night.

He walked me back to the subway station, my arm resting on his. I felt like I was being treated like quite the lady. He's a dancer, and would occasionally lead me as if we were in a waltz: "Let's cross here" and I would effortlessly follow. Who knew crossing the street could be so choreographed? I felt my stomach tie in a knot at the thought of what our parting should consist of. There is a strange dilemma that occurs on a date: Do I kiss them good bye? Do I hug? Do I wave? What do I say? "See ya' soon, buddy?" or "Hey, Let me call you..." or "No, thanks. Your place sounds nice, but I really do need to go home" Mr. Tall blithely chatted about New York History and how he liked to explore old houses. I nodded and smiled and let him lead me in the dance down 2nd avenue, wondering what our parting would be.

At the entrance to the train he was suddenly very close to me. "Goodbye, Natalie." He said. "I would really like to do this again, Tall." I blurted. Yes. I would. "Great. Me too." He answered. I kissed him very quickly, then pulled back to see his reaction. He smiled. "Good night." He chuckled. And traced his finger down my face. Tall kissed me on the forehead before turning to walk away. "See you soon!" He murmured.

I floated down the staircase and into the subway station. I felt flush with excitement. Holy cow. See you soon, indeed.

Falling in to line

It's the "fall into autumn" time of year: a time when one looks at the leaves for golden lining, and the sun begins to grow your shadow to longer, bigger lengths, exaggerating your height so you look ten feet tall. The air is humid, but one gets the feeling that that heavy moisture is only the last vestiges of summer, whispering with her hot breath as she is chased away by autumnal thunderstorms that bring cooler, crisp temperatures that make the first hot tea of the season extra nice. I feel change in my bones, in my hair, in my organs, in my fingers, in my legs and in my health. I feel different. I can't quite put my finger on when or where this change occurred, but sometimes Change can come in very silently and only after a very long time you might notice that Change has made the room your living in different, the wardrobe your wearing more grown-up and flattering, and the thoughts you were once so used to thinking all the time: simply stop running through your head.

Last night I fell asleep with a "flash forward" thought in my brain. I imagined a facebook status update of mine saying : "I JUST GOT SIGNED BY AN AGENT!!!" What a wonderful thought to fall asleep to. And, just as my mind was wandering off into the nether regions of sleep, I realized: I'm not thinking about my ex. I'm not thinking about the lack of a boyfriend, I'm not wishing someone was sharing my bed right now... in fact, I like sleeping alone. Wha-?! When did that happen? Oh, hello Change. I didn't see you there. How nice of you to come in.

A case in point: I was on line for an improv show tonight. The Harold Night at the Upright Citizens Brigade (UCB) is a very popular venue and sells out every week. I was in the stand-by line holding a hot cup of Lemon Zinger and wishing my nose would stop leaking down the front of my face. It's fall. I get sick with the change of the season. I've just come to accept it.

I was pretending that there was something interesting on the screen of my iphone so as to avoid the sometimes painfully awkward act of waiting in line, when I looked up at the person who had just joined the line behind me. He was a tall guy, nice smile, and he looked oddly familiar. We caught each other's eyes and I blurted: "you look familiar. Have I met you before?" He smiled.

"No, I don't think so... I'm [Tall guy who dances and has taken classes at the UCB. But, he'll go by 'Tall' for short...]"

Me: (snot's running down my nose, I can't breathe well and I haven't showered in 2 days, plus, I spent the entire day watching a 2 year old pick her nose and shit her diaper, I am by no means glamorous nor do I have the energy to care about any of physical features I am currently sporting) Oh, my mistake. It's nice to meet you, Tall.

Tall: You take classes here? What level are you in?

Me: (ahh, the old: Let's see how advanced you are, and if I should alter my conversation based on your level of expertise... I suck back mucus into my nose instead.) Level 2.

Tall: Oh, ok. That's cool your here to see the Harold Teams. I've decided to retire from taking classes, I've gone up to level 3.

Me: (Well, I haven't scared him off with the snotty nose and the lack of energy, so I might as well pass the time I have to spend in line by talking with this guy) Cool! So, you an actor?

We talked for about 20 minutes. Tall seemed like a nice guy, although I couldn't tell if there was a lack of chemistry on my part or if I was just feeling sick and tired, but I gave him my number anyway once the line started to move. That's the second time I have given my number to a good looking stranger... I'm liking this trend of the "I don't care that much anymore" attitude. Plus, Tall hit on my when I was feeling and looking pretty poopy, if I meet up with him again, I won't have to spend a lot of time or energy looking better than tonight.

Thanks, Change! The place looks great! And I'm getting a lot of numbers...

Cafe Cliche

Sunday was a picture perfect day of September. If aliens were to land here in February and somehow asked me what a day in September should look like, I would tell them to look at that Sunday (in my brain) and then they would know. The sky was a crisp bright blue, the sun was warm, there was a pleasant breeze, there were big fluffy white clouds and the trees were still green and full. I was making my way over to Molly's Cupcakes on Bleecker Street in Greenwich village to meet up with a friend for her birthday party. I was starving, and when I got there I realized that filling up on cupcakes was not optimal for a lunch, so I excused myself to go have a salad and then come back.

I wandered over to Amy's Bread which was a couple of blocks away. I frequent Amy's quite often as it sits in very close proximity to my job on Cornelia Street. I had a short debate about what salad I wanted (The Tuna salad? Or the Pumpkin Seed Bean salad?) and opted for the Bean/pumpkin seed before making my way over to the window counter seat so as to look out on the street and continue to watch the picture perfect Sunday-in-September day that was going on outside.

My lazily buzzing mind was interrupted after shoving the third bite of salad ruthlessly into my mouth by a male voice: "Nice Salad! I was thinking of getting that one, is it any good?"

A guy was sitting at the window next to me. He looked like a late 20-something and had dark chestnut hair and Hazel eyes and had a bunch of papers in front of him. Ummm... Hello Seredipity!

He had a name, but I prefer to call him Mr. Hazel. I can't remember the conversation we had word for word, but I think it went something like this:

Hazel: Awesome, awesome, saying everything that's awesome. Yadda Yadda.

Me: Laughter, giggle, blush. What do you do?

Hazel: Winning, Winning, writing a one man show, started a theatre company, winning.

Me: Totally blown away, smiling a lot, shoving salad into mouth.

Hazel: Talks about job, traveling, I work in Connecticut.

Me: I work right around the corner!

(We talk about a ton of stuff...)

Me: Talk about what I do, laugh, talk about travel. Oh, by the way I have to get back to this party...

Hazel: Yeah, I have to get back to working on what I was doing, winning, winning, awesome, totally cool dude stuff.

Me: Finishing salad, look at the time: Holy Shit it's been almost an HOUR. Sorry, but I need to get going!

Hazel: I need to get back to work, too! but we should do this again sometime?

Me: YES. Here is my number.

Hazel: Here is mine.

Me: Maybe see you Wednesday night?

Hazel: I'm really busy usually but that might work!

(We share a long pause, looking at each other.)

Me: Getting up and leaving, I think you're really cool, Mr. Hazel.

(Another long look, almost as if I have met this person before, but I haven't, that's impossible, right? Wow, he's really cool.)

Hazel: It was really nice meeting you, Natalie.

Me: See you soon, Mr. Hazel. G'bye.

I walk out of the cafe and break into one of the biggest grins I've had in a while. Yep, Picture perfect September day, in every way. Even if nothing happens after this, and I never see Mr. Hazel again, I sincerely enjoyed that whole hour of getting to know a stranger far more than any of the time spent on online dating.

In 1492 Columbus Sailed the Ocean Blue...

I did a girly wiggle this afternoon.

I stumbled upon a new notion the last 24 hours. The Idea is this: What if I took improv classes in a foreign city?

Seems simple, yes. But I feel as exuberant about the idea as the first European explorers must have felt when they realized Native Americans had no fire arms and the entire Western Hemisphere was theirs for the taking.

So: What about an improv intensive in Chicago? Toronto? London? L.A.? Yep. Yep. Yep. The only thing I need to be wary of is finding a good theatre to go to, there are plenty of really crummy theatres out there. But, I'd be killing many, many birds with one massive Gibraltar-sized rock: I'd be traveling, meeting new people, experiencing different teaching forms, and getting to know a city I could potentially move to that much better, and claim the ultimate bad-assery of being an improviser who has experience in other cities. WINNING.

Ah, but the caviot: Money. The green-backs. The oolah moolah. Especially in London... Whew! OK, so I'll save the cash. I'll scrimp, and nickle and dime, and hoard. "Here hapless Natives: take these nice blankets and I'll take all your lands as you die from disease..." Alright, I won't be that barbaric, but I definitely feel like a conqueror at the moment: and the New World is beckoning.

It's amazing to think that the planet doesn't drop off after the South Ferry station on the last stop off the 1 train at the tip of Manhattan.

I'm inspired. I'll just need to keep the girly wiggles going and wriggle my toes when I start to get impatient. The World! The Entire World! I'm 24! I'm a full day's worth of years! I'll live that full day! To the masts! Man your posts! Set Sail!

It's a W-Rap.

(A Man and a Woman are sitting in a cafe.

It is an intimate moment, a moment in which something extraordinary will occur... Will it be a popping of the "Big Question"? will the "L" word work its way to the front? Is a baby announcement in order? We can't be sure, but there is an electricity between the two people sitting in the cafe, a feeling of possibility that is only felt on very rare occasions like this.

The Woman sits up in her chair in anticipation as the Man opens his mouth to speak.)

Man: I brought us here today because there was something special I wanted to share with you, (Insert completely benign and run-of-the-mill name here, maybe something like: Jane).

Woman: Oh, (Man name, something boring and really lack-luster, maybe: Ben), I've been waiting for something like this. I've been feeling so antsy lately, so thrilled about anything that could lead me to a better, more interesting life!

Man: Yes. Now. I can't think of anything really original so, I made you a poem to really tell you how I feel.

Woman: How romantic!

Men: Yes. It is romantic. Um. It's been adapted a little from one of my favorite singers, Drake. But, here goes:

Sex, love pain, baby, I'll be on that tank Shit.

Buzz is so big, I could probably sell a blank disk!

And when my album drops, bitches would buy it for the picture of me,

and homies will buy it too and claim they got it for their sister.

Magazines, papers, girls, but money is not the issue:

They'll bring dinner to my room and ask me for initials

and you'll call me a referee because I'll be so official

and you know: my shirt has no stripes, but I can make your pussy whistle

Like the Andy Griffith theme song...

And who told you to put your jeans on?!?

Double cup love, you're the one I lean on

And I'm feeling ready for a fix so you should get your fiend on!

Yeah, you know my condo is the crack spot,

and every single show I do you are out there representing me like a mascot,

get it from the back now, and I'll make your fucking bra strap pop,

all up in your slot until I, your boyfriend will hit the jackpot.

'Cause, baby, your my everything. You've all I ever wanted.

We could do it real big, bigger than you've ever done it.

You're up on everything, other hoes are never on it.

I want this forever, I swear, I could spend whatever on it!

Woman: (Pause) Was that supposed to make me smile?

Man: I'm confused. Didn't you like that?

Woman: No. I don't get it.

Man: The message! The message is that you're the friggin' best and that other hoes want this, but you're the one I want to have it!

Woman: Oh. My. God. And you needed a rap song to say that better than what you couldn't find the words to say?

Man: It was a rap song! Now it's an adapted poem from the heart!

Woman: You are so unbelievably lame that you needed to use uneducated and badly rhymed words to tell me you had feelings for me. And, since we're being honest here, this cafe sucks.

Man: Wh-What? I had imagined this going so much better!

Woman: Well, now you can imagine this with some other girl. We're over. You're lame, your poetry is lame and this cafe is lame.

(She walks out. Man sits alone at the table re-reading his poem, as if maybe he could find some inspiration from it)

Man: (reading) You don't even have to ask twice. You can have my heart and we can share it like the last slice...

(Man picks up a phone and calls a number)

Man: Hey... Friend (with a name that is just as lame, maybe: Bob) Yeah, I read the poem and she hated it. Ugh. I feel, so... so... um, hold on. I have an adapted poem that better describes how I feel, it's by one of my favorite artists called Lil Wayne:

Man it feels like these walls are closing in, the roof is caving in,

Ugh, I guess it's time to raise it then.

Your tasing them like pages in my book of rhymes,

Got them cooking, boy this crooked mind of mine got them all shook up,

and scared to look in my eyes.

I stole the fucking clock.

I took the time and I came up from behind and

pretty much snuck up

and butt-fucked this game up...

[End.]

Just Shy of a Quarter Century

I'm turning 24 in two weeks.

As the big date slowly inches forward to make me another year older I find myself reflecting on my place in life more and more. I am not the only one, it seems. The early twenties is seeming more and more like a universal time for young adults to reflect on what the hell they want to do with their degrees, their love lives, and careers. I'm wading into a pool filled with adults of varying ages, but since I cannot know what it is like to be 35 until I am, I'll stick to the early twenties section of the kiddie pool of life.

I've been working as a server for about a year and a half now. I feel serving is getting more and more constraining catering to the needs of hundreds of tourists, families, artists and pompous oafs. I've now updated my wish-board on my bedroom wall to include details of my next European Adventure, what my car is going to look and run like when I buy it, and the next two classes I plan on taking, but these are all puzzle pieces in a bigger life-driven formula. What's after these pieces? More pieces? uh oh... Someone's peed in the pool and I don't want to hang out here anymore.

When I got berated by my boss for the second time this month a few days ago I soothed my seething mind with the thought of the scathingly honest and hilarious book I will write about the restaurant I work in when I am older. I imagined the millions of people laughing over the haunting details of the restaurant, and the look on my Boss's face when he reads about himself. That made me smile and forget how upset I was. But, my book isn't written yet. I haven't gotten a big break yet that will allow me to quit the "day job" and be an actor. I have to be patient and keep building toward the big goals, the deeper end of the pool that is piss free and looks like adults are just doing easy laps back and forth.

But what does "When I am older" mean? There doesn't seem to be a starting line, a You are getting older and more adult right... NOW. Does 24 mean that? Does 17? Does 45? So, if the line changes and moves and shifts, I'll need to define it for myself I guess, one day, when I'm more "mature". And then I'll write my book. And travel Europe. And be a successful Actor. And quit my day job. And find a cure for Cancer. And bring world peace...

It's all one day at a time. And I'll be 24 soon. And life keeps moving, but my dreams can keep me afloat in the kiddie pool for now.

Yes, put that on hold please.

I "froze" my account on OKCupid today.

Yep. After 177 messages raining down on me and about a dozen dates, I decided yesterday that I would retire myself from this online dating storm. Granted, the OKCupid website was no end of entertainment if one looked at the whole thing through a comical lens. I've been told many times over now that I am a desirable human being, that my freckles are, indeed, very cute, and that I seem down to earth... but more than anything, the process has just left me feeling cold and not so eager to get into anything like online dating again.

Yesterday I had my first improv show with my class. This will be an on-going performance workshop for the next month. I'm very excited. I stayed after the show to watch some more improv, then meandered over to 46th street to get thoroughly smashed. Matt, my roomate, recently got a job behind the bar at the same place Dan (other roomie) is working at. Matt treated me really well. I had several delicious drinks and promptly loosened my tongue and chatted with the bar-folk. A guy came up to me at one point and asked if I wanted to dance. "No, thanks" I said. (I'm too tipsy to do anything worthwhile) He began chatting me up and I instantly switched on my OKCupid mode: What do you do? What brought you to New York? Oh, that's interesting that you like: _____., etc. He kinda' got the hint that I wasn't interested and moved on.

As I was working my way down the bar I struck up a conversation with a very nice Opera singer from the Czech Republic. She asked all about my life and told me about her dating woes. I listened intently. She was a very interesting character: a waitress in Prague, came to New York to sing and is now working to become an opera singer. How wonderful that someone can leave everything behind and pursue their dreams in a foreign city! She then told me all about the serendipitous events leading up to her being with her current boyfriend. She described how much the word "love" passed between the two of them, yet voiced a hesitant feeling that the relationship was not on solid grounds. "Oh, relationships..." I thought. "My god, how we can tear each other apart, yet live for the feeling of touch and encouragement above all else."

I left the bar to head home. It was pouring. And then I got a call from Hawaii.

Marichita, a friend I knew in Louisville, had moved to Maui after we all left the Actors Theatre program in April 2010. I haven't heard too much from her and we had been playing phone tag for a few days. I filled her in on my dampened mood and sad-sack thoughts about the role of being single in the big city. I could hear the sun in her voice as she said "Listen to your heart, Natarie, follow your wander-lust and find a place where you can feel the ground between your toes and root yourself in the earth" Oh, Hawaii: I needed to hear your voice, especially at 1:30am in the middle of pouring rain on a Saturday night in Times Square. I hung up the phone and ran into the subway, feeling warmth in my core despite being soaking wet.

Well, even if I can't get away right now, I can at least start back at a new square, having tried one option that didn't work so well for me. And, if Hawaii can call and wish me sunshine and smiles, then life can't be too bad. I boarded the subway and thought: Maui wishes me well, Beijing is offering me a hug and I can hear Northern Europe whispering sweet promises in my ear.

Wanderlust: I'll embrace you as a new lover for now...

Boyfriend Interviews

I feel like I've now come to a new phase in the search for I-Don't-Know-What from the online dating world. My inbox is getting swelled every day by more and more messages, some more choice that others. (Hi Ms. Candy, How's it going?) Yesterday I was supposed to go on another double-decker date day. I cancelled both dates. The first was supposed to be with Ben (the guy who tried to kiss me in the subway) and the second was a first date with a guy I was going to have a picnic with down in Brooklyn. Honestly, going on more than four dates in a week is fun, at first, but now that I've rolled in to week 2 I've decided to slow down, and maybe by week three I'll stop all together.

Not to say that I feel like this was in any way a waste of time or was not good for a few laughs, but each new person I meet feels more and more like an interview.

Me: So, what do you for a living?

Guy A: I'm and actor.

B:I'm in marketing

C: I'm an entrepreneur.

D: I'm unemployed and laughing about it.

Me: Oh! That sounds really nice. I'm currently doing this, this and that.

Guy A: Wow. You sound really busy. How awesome.

B: You know, it's funny you should mention that...

C: (Silence) That's cool.

D: Haha! Me too!

Me: You're originally from :________? What brought you to New York?

Guy A: Love.

B: Life.

C: A Job.

D: I want to make it big, and since I'm a creative type it made sense to come here.

Me: Do you travel often?

Guy A: Yes! I've been everywhere from London to Timbuktu.

B: Um. Yeah, I visit home a lot.

C: Oy, geeze I really wish I could but I'm just so busy.

D: Did you hear about what happened in Sweden?

Me: ...um, you mean Norway? (idiot.)

I don't mind getting the e-mails either. Sometimes its nice to come home after a long day and check the inbox for ego-inflating messages about my freckles or my smile or how cute it is that I like watermelon. Pecs_and_the_city called me Candy. Catsdotbiz said he thought I was "original and Oh, so refreshing". Last night I got a message from a guy in Venezuela who asked what the hell I was doing on OKCupid; that a girl like me should just walk into a room and wink at someone and that'll save me a lot of time.

If only it were that simple. For now, though, I think I'll wean myself off the nice e-mails and go back to being more of an anonymous chick_in_the_city and let random chance sort out my dating life. Job interviews are exhausting enough on their own. Boyfriend interviews? Ugh. I think I'll try my hand at winking again.

Shopping Around

It seems everyone has their own opinions and metaphors on Love and finding "The One"

I guess I would lump myself into the category of "exploratory and positive" yet, somehow I can't shake this feeling that what I mean by "exploratory" is: I am Shopping for a guy that will fit. I emphasize Shopping because in many respects it is almost the same experience to pick up a piece of clothing at a store, feel the fabric, check the price, look over the color, maybe walk around the store with it. And, if one feels really inclined: go into the dressing room and try the thing on. But, for me anyway, I can shop for hours and never buy anything.

...And that's just clothing. Clothing doesn't have an opinion of you. Nor does clothing feel hurt if you spend a long time deciding if you want to buy it, but then dump it in the baby toys section before heading out to go on with the rest of your day.

I'm in the throes of learning how to say "No, Thanks. You seem nice, but I've decided I'm not interested." I've never been very good at saying no. When offered something (especially something free) the penny-pinching-twenty-something that I am rears her fickle head and cries: "But think of the bargain!! THINK OF IT!" Like: Grandma offering me more cake, even though I've already had two pieces, the voice says: "Cake? Delicious cake? and it's free? third piece is always a charm! screw feeling sick, the cake will make me feel better!"

So: As I enter date #2 with several of these fellas, I have a very strong feeling that date #3 will not be an option for some of them. Because, date 2 means you've established a connection, but will that translate to another time and place, where you can't fall back on talking about what your parents do for a living? Is there enough chemistry to float awkward silences or lack of anything witty or original to say? And if date #2 goes relatively well: does date #3 mean that a kiss might be involved? (EEEEKK!!!) But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Live in the moment, right? Afterall, I'm only picking that dress off of the rack, I like the color and the texture, and it's sitting in my cart, but I haven't made my way to the dressing room yet. Nor do I have to...

I am about to get ready to go meet Josh: The first date #2.

The Call-Back's begin.

-Natalie

The Double-Decker

A few days ago, after my first OKCupid date with Josh (the Urban Farming Developer) who had been a real neat dude, I was feeling hopeful. I strolled into work after my walk on the Highline and greeted my fellow employees with a crisp new smile and a pop under my heels. There was a whole world of possibilities opening up to me, it seemed. I divulged some of this positivity to my co-worker, Steve. He smiled a little when I told him about my day. I'd been bemoaning my fate and my frustration about the men in my life (or lack-there-of) to him for the past few months, and it seemed that after the first few duds, I was on the up and up. Steve's got an Australian accent, rocks a completely shaved head, is married to an Australian Model, and is a really fun guy to gossip with about our boss and rants whenever he possibly can. When I finished detailing my walk with Josh, Steve said: "So, Nat, whot with the way things are goin', you could have the guys you meet pay for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinnah." I chuckled and thought that notion somewhat absurd.

Until Yesterday.

I'll keep a long, long story short. Two dates in one day is a lot to recount. Yesterday I met: Bill and Ben in Williamsburg. Just, not at the same time.

Breakfast: Williamsburg. 9:12am. Meet: Bill.

Me: (Walking in sweaty, red faced and embarrassed) Hi! You must be Bill! I am so sorry I am late. It took me longer to get here on my bike than I thought!

Bill: No biggie! I was enjoying cooling off by the fan anyway.

Me: So, nice to meet you (going in for a hug)

Bill: Same!

Me: Oh, sorry, I'm like, covered in sweat. Ha!

Bill: I totally understand, I just walked about five blocks and I was drenched.

Me: (Sitting down and noticing Bill's got a fruit bowl and Iced Latte) That looks good, I think I'll get that.

Bill: yeah! It is really tasty.

Me: (Standing up and knocking into the table: Iced Latte spills and dribbles on the floor. I wish I could dribble into a puddle next to it) Ohhh... I'm so sorry about that.

Bill: (looking like someone who wants to make a sarcastic remark, but feels too polite to do so yet) It's... OK.

Me: I'll just clean this up for you (scrubbing the table with a napkin that falls apart and crumbles into disgusting coffee-covered pills that roll around on the table and stick to everything)

Bill: So, you're an actor, right?

Bill and I talked for about 2 hours. He said he needed to leave for work around 10:30 and wound up staying until 11, which I took as a sign that despite my sweatiness and spilled coffee, I had charmed him. Before parting to go our separate ways we even discussed what eating a human would taste like and both agreed that if we had to, we would choose a moderately plump hipster female. Overall, he seemed like nice guy. I've started to imagine I've become a Casting Director of my own life, and I'm auditioning guys on the role of the romantic lead. Bill can have a call-back. We're meeting up again on Monday...

Williamsburg, 2:45pm. Meet: Ben.

I'm standing above ground right next to the entrance to the 'L' train. Ben said he was running late when I called. I put my phone away and wait. What's amazing to me is, despite having to wait in the hot afternoon heat, I managed to help 4 people out with directions. I don't even live in Williamsburg, but I whipped out my iphone and directed people to where they needed to go. I felt like I was supposed to wait on that corner for a half hour just to help people. I get a call: "Hey You! I'm above ground! Oh! I see you!" I scan the intersection. He's unmistakable. Ben comes rolling over to me on a skateboard, his hair a mop of blonde, he had playful Peter-Pan-esk eyes that looked like he'd been involved in quite a lot of mischief. "Hi! I'm Natalie, nice to meet you! Want to go into this Diner?"

Ben: Naw, that place? Have you eaten there before? yuck.

Me: (Actually I have eaten there before: with a guy named Sketch spelled with a 'K' but you don't need to know that, and I don't need to eat there again, on second thought) Got any recommendations for the area?

Ben: I want to get something healthy. I've been on a health kick lately.

We wind up going to a Thai place for lunch. It was perhaps, the worst food I have ever had. I pick at the garlic tofu and want to spit on my plate, but decide that would not be a very good first impression.

Me: So, you grew up in Sweden?

Ben: Yeah, I lived there until I was 13. (He blurts out several lines in Swedish)

Me: (This is scary. Why am I finding Swedes everywhere these days??) Wow. I only know, like two lines in Swedish. (I awkwardly say 'I'm tired' in Swedish) haha! But I'm not actually.

Ben: Woah. It's so strange to hear it coming out of another person's mouth. (He looks at me for a second longer than someone who is just making a passing comment) How's your Thai?

Me: Um... Pretty terrible. Haha!

Ben: Same here. This place sucks.

We walk over to the subway, I need to get to work. Ben's taking the 'L' back out to Bushwick and I am going into Manhattan. In the tunnel before we part:

Me: so, yeah send me a text or an e-mail and we can coordinate another meet up.

Ben: What about next Thursday? around this time?

Me: Sure. (I pull out my iphone and plug in the time, as I am doing so Ben leans in to kiss me.) WOAH! You move fast!

Ben: I really want to kiss you.

Me: Um, yeah, thanks. But, um, yeah...

Ben: Sorry. I'm pretty impulsive. Ok, so, I'll see you next Thursday!

Me: (Holy shit. What the hell? Did I kinda' like that?) Yeah. Ok. Bye.

I walk over to the subway platform and wipe the sweat from my face. I get a weird paranoia that suddenly everyone must know that Ben just tried to kiss me. I look over across the train tracks and see Ben waiting on the other side for his train. He smiles and waves. I wave back before my train pulls in and I board. I sit down and smile despite myself. I don’t know how I feel about Ben. I’m giving him a call-back. I vacantly stare across the subway car. A man with a shockingly pink head of hair catches my eye and smiles. I smile back.

Life is so crazy.

-Natalie

Romps through a recycled Highline

Yesterday I went on my fourth blind date.

I'll preface this with a couple of reasons as to why I am going on blind dates:

I decided that since the ex was getting married this month, and I've been single now for a year and a half, I should get myself "out there" and meet new people. Where do I meet these new people, though? I'm not a big drinker, I don't go clubbing, I rarely sit in cafe's for hours and people watch, and I don't often get hit on by the customers I serve at my job. So: I decided to try the online dating bonanza that seems to hit people and start "1 out of 5" relationships. Why can't that happen for me?

I went on to Match.com for the first time three weeks ago and went on three blind dates through that service.

Guy #1: Zach

Me: So, what do your parents do?

Zach: My dad is an engineer and my mom has Parkinsons.

Me: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that! What does she do otherwise?

Zach: Parkinsons. (with no hint of irony, I might add)

Me: ...So... She just sits around the house all day and has parkinsons?

Zach: Yeah.

Me: Well, you told me they just came to visit you up here in New York, so I guess she does that every now and then when she needs a break from all the Parkinsons she is doing all day.

Zach: Yeah, I guess so.

Guy#2 Sketckh (no, I did not misspell the name)

Me: So, Sketch is quite an unusual name--

Sk.: Yeah, haha! That's a long interesting story...

Me: Oh, is it no--

Sk: ...so when I was young I was dealing with a lot of issues and I would draw a lot, just whip out my pencil and sketch all types of things. Growing up it was just me and my mom, you see. Well one day I was sitting in an office, at school, haha... sketching... and my mom was sitting next to me and this guy, haha! This is funny: this guy comes up to me and my mom and says "well looks like we got a missus and a sketch" on our hands. And the name stuck ever since. But as I was growing up my drawings were getting more and more sophisticated and my mom told me that in order to be a more professional artist I needed to make a signature that was all my own, a way that no other artist could copy my work, and, being that I was only 10 at this point I just added a 'K' to my name. Pretty cool, huh? That's kind of impressive for a 10 year old to come up with, haha! no one has my name and it is completely original and...

Me: Wow, sounds like you like to draw a lo--

Sk.: Oh yeah! I draw all the time, everywhere I go. Infact I like to go to comi-con conventions and walk around the art stalls, Haha! I can spend, literally, 800 dollars in one day at those things, it's what I live for, I love supporting those artists...

Me: yeah those guys can really do good--

Sk.: yeah haha! They do great stuff. You know, it's a funny story, Once...

Guy #3 Can'tevenrememberhisname

Me: Have you ever had Ethiopian food before?

Can'tname: No, I had Indian once.

Me: Oh! great, Ethiopian is very similar in a lot of ways. It's a meal you eat with your hands.

Can'tname: Wow. That's cool.

Me: What is your favorite food?

Can'tname: Oh, I like good food.

Me:...Such as?

Can'tname: You know, like, my mom cooks really good.

Me: (Pause) What does she cook that you like the most?

Can'tname: Chicken. Really good Chicken.

Me: Oh, ok! I like Chicken too. I've gone vegetarian though, so I haven't had Chicken in a while! We can order some now if you like. This place has some great dishes. (I order some food) So, *Insert name here* what do you do for a living?

Can'tname: I'm in marketing for Food Network

Me: WOW! that's awesome! What do you do for them?

Can'tname: Marketing stuff.

Me:...uh huh. (Pause) and what is it that you market?

Can'tname: well, we take a product, and we market it to a specific group of people that we think will like it.

Me: (Holy shit this guy is boring) ...is that what you went to school for?

Can'tname: Yeah.

Me: Oh! Food! Here is the platter we ordered!

Can'tname: (Looks at the food as if looking at a pit falling deep into the chasms of the earth, probably someplace in Mexico that one has only seen in pictures) woah. How do you eat this?

Me: (deeply regretting the choice of cuisine) you tear off a piece of this pancake-like-bread, and you scoop up the food and pop it in to your mouth!

Can'tname: Wow.

After the first 3 duds, I decided to expand my search to other sites. I had heard about OKCupid! and a bunch of success stories from that site and decided to give it a try. I've now been on the site for 2 days and currently have 45 messages in my inbox and counting...

Guy #4: Josh

Me: (Walking along the Chelsea Highline on Manhattan's West Side) So, what brought you to New York?

Josh: I'm a entrepreneur and am starting a business to help promote urban farming and sustainability.

Me: (WINNING!) Woah! you know, my dad and step-mom have a whole farm in their backyard in New Jersey. They're all about that type of stuff. In fact, my dad wants to eventually be a completely sustainable farmer, living entirely off the land.

Josh: Wow, that is exactly what we are trying to promote.

Me: yeah, It's really neat visiting out there, fresh veggies and such, it's so nice to get out of the city sometimes, you know?

Josh: yeah, I split my time between going up to Rhode Island where I work on a farm up there with my business partner's parents.

Me: oh yeah? That sounds cool.

Josh: Yeah, it is. I really like it up there.

Me: (realizing that this guy is really cool, but there is no chemistry. I relax a bit) Want to get a coffee and get out of the sun for a little bit? I'm sweating balls.

Stay tuned for more adventures in my life!

Next date coming very soon...

-Natalie