Subway Flirt

Me. New Haircut. Feeling cute and flirty (I hate the adjectives cute and flirty, but I feel like them despite myself.)

"N" train platform. Me. Walking down the edge with a little bounce in my step. Running my hands through my shorter and lighter hair.

Him. On the platform edge. He's looking out for an oncoming train. He has big white headphones on, cargo pants and a sweatshirt. Hello baby blue eyes.

Me. Hi. But, with my eyes.

Him.

...

Me. I'll just stand over here, in your periphery, and surreptitiously make eye contact with you. 

Him. Looking over. Catching my eyes. Awkwardly turning away. Checking his phone.

Me. "I feel pretty! Oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and fine! And I pity, and girl who isn't me tonight. La la la la..."

Train. Pulls in. Oh, look at that! The door fit perfectly between the two of us. We enter. I stand by the door. I need the next stop.

Him. In the car. Checking his phone. (For what?) Me. Leaning against the door. Train starts to pull into station. He walks over to me by the door. I look him dead in the face.

Him.

...

Me. Still looking him full on. He diverts his gaze. Uh oh. I feel stupid.

"Sorry. You look familiar to me." I say.

"What's that?" He responds, blushing deeply and pulling off his headphones.

"I said, you look familiar. That's why I was staring at you." I say, feeling my own face get hot.

"Oh." He says, going even more red. He puts on his headphones again. Checks his phone.

Train pulls in to station. We get off. We stand apart on the platform as we each wait for the transfer.

I feel less mysterious.

I look up for Him. He's still on the platform, but is now just another body waiting for the train.

Me. On the platform for the "7" train. Another guy catches my eye.

I check my phone instead.

Growth to the Extreme!

At 8:30am this morning, I was pushed onto the 7 train and squeezed in with hundreds of other New Yorkers like cows in a slaughterhouse. I walked in huge groups of people, all walking the same speed and direction and with the same neutral expression on their faces down long hundred-foot hallways. I watched as hundreds of people moved along the platforms, almost like schools of fish, on their way up the stairs, down the stairs and onto the trains.

I was so glad I wasn't doing this every day just to get to work, I was a temporary visitor just passing through. It's stressful to be in such tight quarters with so many people, but then having to fight your way to the surface just to go to work? Stress-Fest! Every time a train pulled in it was packed so tight with New Yorkers that I couldn't see the inside of the train from the windows. And as I stood in the middle of an especially large group of commuters, I was in the awkward position of not being able to hold on to any poles, so I simply let the sheer amount of bodies surrounding me on every side hold me up as the train lurched and rattled along the track. I even had a full cup of coffee I sipped, but because the trains were so packed I couldn't lower my arm, so I let the coffee cup rest at my chin.

Simply put: Holy Shit the subway system is over crowded. I can't imagine that what I experienced this morning is healthy or safe! Fire hazards? What a joke! There were so many people that, god forbid, if there was something truly wrong the exits would not be enough to handle the stampede of folks! And even the sidewalks of New York are too small to handle the outflow of people from below!

According to the NYC Dept. of City Planning:
"New York City's population increased from 8,175,133 in April of 2010 to 8,244,910 in July of 2011. This is an increase of 69,777 residents or about 0.85 percent over the 2010 mark. The largest change in the city's population occurred in Brooklyn, increasing by almost 28,000 persons or 1.1 percent, followed by Queens, which registered an increase of 17,126 persons or 0.8 percent. Manhattan also showed a substantial increase of 16,075, which translated into a change of 1 percent. "

Woah.

So, as of 2011 almost 70 thousand people moved to New York. Meaning that one could bet there are even more people now. Manhattan Island is not getting any larger, though. So... maybe that can explain why I feel so packed tight.

To keep my mind off of how miserable that commute was I kept imagining wide open spaces and big old-growth trees... Being a guppy in a massive school of fish is no fun, and the city just gets bigger and bigger! 70 thousand people need a place to live, too! And eat! And work! And, according to the Census bureau New York's population has a good 30% of it in 25-35 age range. So, we're young, too. That also explains why I kept catching the eyes of many tired looking, trendy 20 something's also on their way to work, or, you know, unpaid internships.

I think I'll just stick to the off-peak hours so I can stretch out on the seats of the train car and pretend I'm only one of 20 individuals going to work.

Electro Therapy

I met a guy on the subway last night. Or, rather, he just started talking to me. When he first sat down I thought he was a bum. He was carrying a crate with something wrapped in a garbage bag in it that he propped up between his legs. He was carrying a big gray stained coat and a black back pack stuffed with stuff; it looked heavy. When he sat down next to me I actually considered getting up and walking to another seat. I expected a sour smell to come from his direction and wondered when he might start muttering to himself. He didn't. Instead he muttered to me.

"Sorry to bother you. But, I was curious about the book you are reading." He said, reading over my shoulder.

I looked up from "Drop Dead Healthy" by A.J. Jacobs and showed him the cover of the book. He read it over appraisingly and then said, "You know. I write a website about health. You should check it out."

I looked at the man again. Why did I think he was a bum? The crate could be some tool he needs at his job and maybe the coat is stained because he has kids and they spilled apple juice all over it. The man pulled out a bottle of oil and began to moisturize his hands. The oil smelled citrusy and made me feel comfortable. "Do you have a card?" I asked.

"No, but I'll give you the address." He pulled out a notebook covered in scribbles. He looked like a writer, for sure. I felt stupid at this point. Who was I to judge this guy? He is not only not a bum, he smells downright nice, he was wearing a Yankee hat that looked very trustworthy, and is giving me a web address for his website! I looked over the piece of paper he gave me and smiled. I hoped that maybe he'd read my smile as a: Hey, you're OK, man. When I got off at my stop I wished him a good night. "I hope you check it out!" He called after me as I stepped off. "I will!" I responded.

It turns out his site is an advertisement for electrical shock therapy treatment with a huge banner for NetZero across the top. Did I look like I needed Electro-shock therapy?

I wonder what A.J. Jacobs would think of electro shock therapy. And I wondered again what the crate that man was carrying was full of.

Feeling Stoopy

Crowded subway. It's rush hour. I'm still groggy from the nap I woke up from. I think I dragged my butt in to work in just about the slowest "get-ready-and-go" I have ever done in 15 minutes. At least, I felt slow when I reached for the conditioner for a second time in the shower and only after lathering it in realized I had already done that step. D'oh!

So, anyway, crowded subway... I'm too "stoopy" [Stoopy: (Stoo-py) A word used to describe the groggy or, in cases of Natalie's family, utter lack of brain function when awaking from a long nap.] to take out my book or put on my head phones and listen to Maroon 5 again, so I let my eyes wander.

Oh, the crotches one sees on the subway. Have we all noticed this and not said anything? Am I coming into an awakening I've never had before? Sitting on a train in New York directly positions the person sitting to have their face almost exactly at the same height as the crotch of the person standing. I suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed. I tried to dart my eyes down and instead found them resting on the package on an enormous Pakistani man sitting across from me wearing jeans that were far too small for him, so his incredible girth was spilling out and over the confines of the denim, revealing a very dark and hairy under belly that I cringed to look at. I glanced up and noticed he had noticed I was staring. I quickly feigned boredom and picked at my nails.

Cut to: crowded passageway on my walk from the 7 to the BDFM trains that span the length of an avenue block in New York. It's a nice tunnel, well lit, there are murals on the walls, and every now and then there are weird quotes that don't seem to really make a whole lot of sense to me. Every time I walk past "Gutta Cavat Lapidem" I repeat the mantra to myself like it's a secret code only I know. So, I'm walking down the passageway and again, my eyes begin to wander. There are so many people in that passage! Everyone is tall and short and fat and thin and male and female all at once! Sometimes, I need to look at my hands to remind myself that I am indeed a human and not a sheep, because falling in line with the throng makes me lose all sense of individuality (I guess this is why I am always listening to music when going to work). I start to analyze what everyone is wearing: "Nice boots, I'd wear those!" and "Terrible shirt" and "Is that a man? or a woman?" Yet, as each person passes me and goes on  their way, there is a short moment of eye contact, and then we both look away.

Ahhh... There is it: Eye contact! The only way to not have that walk become a triviality and mind-numbing parade of faceless humans. But, watching all these people watch me made me feel like I was suddenly held together by a bunch of blocks of wood. What am I wearing? I feel so stupid in these pants, I feel like everyone behind me is getting a good look at my butt and everyone passing me can see the shape of my boobs and I feel like I could scream! I took deep calming breathes. I even made up a poem in my head.

It's times like these when I really need to stand in a field of wide openness and just let the wind pull back my hair and the sun burn my arms and the grass tickle my feet.

"Gutta Cavat Lapidem:" A water drop hollows a stone.

Who is getting hollowed? Me? Or the City?

I need another nap.

Quiet

The train screeched to a halt in the tunnel between Manhattan and Queens.

A train stopping in the middle of the night in the middle of the tunnel in the middle of a work week is no unusual thing. Mysterious stops between stations are a status quo on the 7 train. The interesting thing about this stop was that the particular car I was in lost power. The vent fans went off, the regular lights shut off and all that was left was the emergency lights, throwing their eerie iridescent glow over the faces of the train car I was in.

I was busy playing a riveting game of Plants vs. Zombies, but the sudden silence made me look up. There was no noise except the breathing of the other people in the car with me. I looked at the quiet, patient faces of the New Yorkers sharing my subway. The silence seemed to stretch on and on as the stopped train waited for some unknown signal to let us move again. I felt deeply uncomfortable. No noise, except the breathing of the people in this car? Is something wrong? Where is the clack-clack of the tracks? The droning of the Air Conditioner? The screech of wheels? I felt myself wanting to giggle from the discomfort. This is so silly. I'm getting anxious over some quiet? Am I really that much of a New Yorker that silence can make me look up from my game and focus on what is going on around me?

A guy listening to his headphones, which now seemed like they were blasting, started to dance. I could hear his every shuffle. He swung his hands through the air, and bobbed his head in time to the rhythm. I watched him dance. Then focused my gaze to the two sleeping lovers across the car from me. They had been sleeping a moment ago, but the silence woke them up. They looked amused by the whole thing. Others looked like nothing was different, some people were so lost in thought I wondered if they even noticed that the train had stopped. I felt sad watching them. What was on their minds that weighed so heavily that complete silence is not loud enough to break that spell? I thought back to a 365 days ago... where I was emotionally. That might have been me, a year ago. I was so lost in thought thinking about my ex that maybe I might not have even noticed New York's movement, pausing for a moment to catch its breath.

Just as suddenly as the noise went off, the train and sounds of travel switched back on and we lurched forward. The silent moment was gone. I bowed my head back to my game, but couldn't help but smile. That was so quietly beautiful. I liked hearing the people around me breathe. There was something wonderful in the inhale and exhale of the strangers in my car, that I was reminded of the comfort drawn from breath, whether my own in the silence of my room, or listening to someone I care about breathe. Breath is life. Breath is constant, always there adding its own small sound waves to the cacophony of noise that blasts our ear drums every day, even when the train and the vents and the noise and bustle and the movement of this busy busy city aren't always there.

Hello, 2012.

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.