Kiss

Talk. Stare. Hand touch.

Kiss.

Blush. Smile. Wink.

Kiss.

Run my hand through his hair...

Where did I go? It's been three weeks and I've forgotten I had a life before this guy.

Friends? Appointments? Things I wanted to do? I should do them...

Kiss.

I need to do them! Stop Buggering around and Get out of it ya' mongrel! I'm getting my face pashed off and with the pashing comes the forgetting, comes the bliss of relationship adrenaline, comes the "I'll do it tomorrow".

Pash. [Pa-shh.] Verb. To passionately make-out with someone. Which is what I can't seem to stop doing.

When we first met we agreed kissing in public was disgusting and we'd not subject New Yorkers to the sight.

Whoops.

Kiss.

My dad asked if I've hit any red lights with the Musician. Any bumps? Red flags? Things he's done that make you second guess? Nope.

I went onto Facebook and looked at my old crush. He seemed distant. Fuzzy. And my mind threw a blanket over him and I flipped to a picture of my boyfriend and I and I... sigh because my god this is what cocaine feels like.

Kiss. All I want to do is Kiss.

And Talk. Discuss. Chat. Laugh. Be disgusting on the train. Both groan over the ooze of cheese that seems to be created when we sit and stare into each other's eyes and the world goes away and suddenly it's all... gone.

Kiss. Watch. Repeat.

The Parting Point

We walked across 5th avenue, my scarf pulled up around my cheeks as the cold, early February wind made me want to whine while it whistled through the caverns the midtown skyscrapers create. I glanced to my left and noticed we were close to the "parting point" where we say our good-bye's and then go our separate ways. I'm no expert on guys, nor am I an expert on what the etiquette is when you say goodbye to someone you spent the night with, so I was eager to collect more data: starting with what he would do when I sarcastically said, "Well, I'll let you go here. My stop's right over there. Are you sure you're safe enough to walk the twenty feet to work? Or should I escort you to the entrance? It's a dangerous neighborhood, you know." I looked up at his 6'4" face that seemed feet above me. He chuckled. "I think I'll be alright." He answered.

In the past, when I say goodbye the next morning I'll try and keep it light. Hey, uh, good hanging with you... uhm, bye? See you...around? and then there's an awkward hug, or a kiss on the cheek or (my favorite!) the arm squeeze (which is really not my favorite at all!). Then, off they go on their important missions (because men ALWAYS have an important mission!) and they don't look back or do any of that bull-shit romantic movie crap where they linger inches above your face, stroke your hair tenderly and tell you how wonderful last night was. I've given up expecting anything more than an arm squeeze at this point, because that seems to be all I can get from them when I've awkwardly stood by our "parting point" and waited for them to make a move they never make. (Is it because kissing is so scary!? I mean: c'mon! We had sex for chrissake!)

So, it came as a pleasant surprise when I delivered my sarcastic IDidntGetMuchSleepLastNight line and he pulled me in for a kiss. UH, WHAT!? You're kissing me goodbye!? On 44th street!? We could be SEEN! And right after that thought I could only experience and analyze the phycological equivalent of light, fluffy, pink bubbles popping in and around my head and body.

"Do me a favor." He said, when he pulled away. "Don't eat when you get home. Just, go right back to sleep. Do it for me. Hell, do it for the both of us, please? Today's gonna suck and one of us should at least get a good nap." I nodded. I smiled a big goofy I'veOnlyGotBubblesPoppingInMyBrain smile. I turned on my heel and walked toward the subway as he waved goodbye and walked toward work.

He kissed me! He kissed me full on! Like, a real goodbye should be! I want to kiss everybody! *Pop!* *Pop!* *Pop!*

Alright, Mr. Kiss: that's how to make an entrance.

First Kiss

The first time I ever kissed a boy was during a game of spin the bottle. I was 16.

I was petrified of boys at 16. I had a group of friends I would hang out with occasionally and I remember the girls talking about the boys they had kissed, who they had crushes on, who they wanted to start dating (or were currently dating) I, however, always felt completely baffled by this talk of the opposite sex. What happened to Boys having Cooties? I was supposed to be kissing them now?! I started to really feel the pressure after Sophomore year of high school when my last girl-friend, Stacy, admitted she had kissed a boy. Crap. I needed to get on the bandwagon! This was Junior Year and I needed to get my lips in contact with a male's: Stat!

I was not too awkward in High School. No acne. I was a major Theatre Nerd: I was a member of the drama group, I could sing all the songs to all the musicals, ever. I used to have long hair, but cut it all off and wore it in a Bob that I would pin back with simple brown pins. I was also discovering that I had hips, and had even gone so far as getting myself a pair of hip-hugging jeans that I was really proud of. But, none of the stupid High school boys appealed to me. Who, in the pool of guys I knew, could fulfill the important role of first kiss?

I imagined my first kiss being like a scene out of Lord Of the Rings (which I was OBSESSED with). It would go as such:

I'm standing on a romantic, moonlit bridge overlooking a cascading waterfall. I'm wearing a dress that looks like it belongs on an Elven Princess. I'm trying to make a wish when, suddenly, a romantic stranger passes by. He sees me on the bridge. I make a wish. He comes over, his blue eyes catching the white peaks of the water. He whispers something clever that makes me giggle. He says I have a cute giggle. Then, he leans in and kisses me, and we confess our undying love for one another.

The end. That was the whole fantasy.

So, none of the geeky, pizza-faced, short, awkward, immature 16 year old boys seemed to fit that mold. Or, maybe I was a lesbian? I mean, seriously, not a single dude made me want to kiss them. There was that one cute guy who was in the school band, but he was off limits: too cool for me. Anyone who was as into Lord Of the Rings, and musical theatre as much as I was, was not in the popular crowd. I resigned myself to sexual confusion and celibacy for the rest of my life.

Cut to: The closing night party of our school's rendition of "Into The Woods". There were a bunch of people there: cast members, band members, audience members, wanna-be's and friends. And then, after a couple swigs of that all-too-sweet Mikes Hard Lemonade we were all drinking, someone placed their empty bottle on the rug and announced we were playing spin the bottle. Oh. Shit. The rag-tag group gathered 'round the bottle and I took in the crowd. The only guy I could have considered, who also happened to be the host, was already making out on the couch with another girl. But, wait: someone brought a friend wearing a Red Hat. He was cute.

I distinctly remember the moment Red Hat and I kissed, the fear in being unsure of how to "do it right" disappearing the minute contact was made. Oh. I know how to do this! I was made to know how to do this! I LIKE THIS. We parted lips and I wanted more. Plus, every time I looked up from the spinning bottle the host and the girl on the couch were Gettin' It On.  The bottle span and span. I wound up kissing a plethora of people: dead fish lips, big sloppy red lips, dry lips, soft lips, men, women, lesbians, gays (this was Manhattan, my school was full of all types) and then: Red Hat. I wanted to have that bottle hit Red Hat SO BAD! After a couple rounds, I spun the bottle and then just up and pounced on him. The room gasped (or, at least I like to imagine they did). I felt like I was having an out of body experience. Like a pro, Red Hat got up, grabbed me by the hand, and led me into the hallway were we started making out like two love-sick teenagers.

This was my first kiss, my first make-out, and Hell, the first time I realized I REALLY liked boys. Like, Really, Really liked them. I gave Red Hat my number because it was getting late and I needed to get home.

I remember floating toward the subway, waving goodbye to the smirking friends as I left the party (I knew I would get a whole lot of shit for what I did the next day at school once the news spread that Natalie mauled a dude at a party). It wasn't until the train stopped at 86th street and I was told by the conductor that the trains were not running to my stop did I snap back into a little big of reality. I walked out of the subway and decided to hoof it the last mile home. It was 2am on a Thursday. I walked briskly, trying to avoid the vomit splats on the pavement from the bars lining Broadway.

Funny thing about being distracted while trying to walk really fast: I concentrated so hard on avoiding vomit puddles that I forgot to watch out for cracks in the pavement. I tripped. I fell. I got up quickly. I looked down at my hip-hugging jeans and saw the fall had ripped the knees to my pants wide open. Whoops. That didn't bother me, though. I felt more like a badass. I earned those holes! And, frankly, I felt more accomplished than I had ever felt up until that point. Those holes were a badge of honor. And I was a Woman at that moment. Epic.

A Re-Election

I watched Obama walk toward the podium and the rest of the bar I was in stilled. My group and I had just arrived from Times Square were we watched the election results come in as New Yorkers screamed at the top of their lungs. I drank down a Jameson and clapped my hands, heaving a sigh of relief. I thought back to the anticipation of the day, like the super-bowl of politics, everyone boasting about how long they had waited in line to vote and really cynical New Yorkers actively shitting all over people who hadn't voted (no, not real poop, more like: "You didn't Vote!? Oh my god. I really don't want to meet you. No, really. You suck. You're a piece of shit." Truth: I actually heard that statement.)


Waiting in line to vote yesterday was pretty annoying. After I got home I checked my Facebook newsfeed and saw dozens of other friends also talking about how long it took to finally get to the booth and cast a ballot. I'm still not convinced that system accurately counts everyone. Especially since the margins between Mitt and Obama came down to such small numbers, I mean: What the hell? 30 thousand votes here, 20 thousand there, etc. My ballot was a big sheet of paper that I bubbled in and slipped into an envelope and the lady who took it thew it on a big pile and said "thanks!" as I walked out. I imagined, once the polls were done, all these blonde 20-something cheerleaders flooding the church I had voted in and tackling the massive pile of paper with a zeal found only in the anticipation of counting votes for the next Prom Queen. Except, there are like, millions of votes.


Back in Times square, a bunch of thoughts ran through my mind as I watched the election results roll in and the winner was still not solidified. Thoughts like:

A) I wonder what the families of both parties are doing all day? Business as usual? Or, are they all sitting in a room somewhere biting their nails?

B) What the hell would I explain to the people I met abroad if Mitt had won? "Yeah, sorry. I know Mitt's policies would only be welcome in a place like Pakistan outside of the United States. But, I really can't speak for the 50 million Americans who wanted him in office. Which is why I am here in sunny Beijing! Life just makes more sense here, you know? Haha! [insert witty comment in Mandarin]"

C) I feel like Mitt coming in to office would have been like if my Mom decided to date a creepy corporate christian guy just out of the blue and expected my sister and I to like him and have dinner with him every night. Ew.

D) Obama's pretty hot.

E) Oh, and I like that my LBGT community here and everywhere in the States can hopefully look forward to an America that will accept their life choices without bias and discrimination. (I've kissed a bunch of girls, by the way, and although I would not consider myself a lesbian: I totally get the attraction to women as a woman.)

F) Mitt makes me think of the word "hit," which makes me think of guns, which makes me think of death, which makes me want to drink: death is scary.

G) Michelle is hot.

I'll remember the elections of Obama for years and years. It's an incredibly influential presidency (not that any presidency isn't, well... maybe William Henry Harrison's presidency wasn't: he was only in office 30 days before he kicked the bucket). The fact that Obama is still in office makes me proud to be an American in the eyes of the rest of the world. When Bush was in office, I wasn't an American, I was a New Yorker because, God Forbid, if I had admitted to being an American when I was in India I might have gotten punched in the face. So: Here's to another 4 years. And hopefully a second term that can bring both sides of the fence together in cooperation! (I've kissed republicans, and I gotta say, I totally get the attraction to them, too.)

The Marriage

I couldn't keep my gaze off of the bride walking down the aisle as her soon-to-be husband stood at the alter with a smile plastered on his face. She radiated beauty as she took her time walking toward her marriage rites. As she got closer I could feel her measured breath, her steady gaze on her love, and the sheer force of will in keeping back the tears that threatened to spill out of her eyes and down her cheeks. She seemed completely different from the girl I met in college when we both performed in a prevention through the arts group on campus. The girl I knew back then was a bubbly, quick-to-laugh, R.A. who wanted to be a teacher and buzzed around campus making stuff happen. The bride I saw walking down the aisle was austere, poised, and solely focused on floating to the alter.

The ceremony was beautiful, the catholic priest announcing his love of the spiritual and the love of the flesh, but I couldn't keep my eyes off of the couple standing under the massive statue of a bloody and beaten Jesus. The two of them were holding hands, looking deep in to each other's eyes and smiling big happy smiles of joy. Two people: in a ceremonial setting, wearing traditional clothing, were promising a promise out loud to all the witnesses in the church to hear. I listened to their vows of fidelity and trust and to promise to stay together for the rest of their lives, but felt like I was seeing a promise already uttered between the two, probably silently at first, but a promise that they both independently knew for a long time. The wedding rites were a ceremonial way of letting us all know they meant it.

I remember talking to a girlfriend getting married a couple years ago. She kept insisting that "you just know" when you meet the man/woman you'll wind up with. I keep thinking about that "ah-hah!" moment and wonder if that's not the moment when you make a promise to yourself that the person who makes you feel that way is the person you should be with for the rest of your life.

I am not an overly religious person. I don't subscribe to the idea that an Omnipotent being will get me into a kingdom of heaven if I worship them, but I do believe that the reaction I had to watching two people, very much in love, tell their world that they will love each other forever, was holy. I believe in the awed feeling I felt when I watched them hold each other, that to me was the moment of the wedding, and any wedding for that matter, which transcends religion and becomes it's own moment of purity. It's a beautiful thing to witness, and I'm glad I did.

Every marriage is different, and every couple will bring their own personalities and beliefs to their ceremonial "knot tying." The love I've seen in all the weddings I have been to though: that seems to be a very similarly beautiful thing to see, and all of them have that spark, that glow in their smiles and that energy to their step which makes the bride ethereal and the groom handsome and attractive. That spark will cement the memories in their brains to be recalled in times when all else seems hard and frustrating. I wish those moments of bliss on everyone! And I wish all the best to my two friends.

Melted Butter

"You know what's so cool about you?" I asked, a smile breaking on to my face. "I mean, a lot is cool about you, but what's really super cool?" He shook his head, looking at me. "That." I said. "You make so much eye contact. I love that. I feel like you really see me, and you're open, like, you're letting me read you." I felt silly, like I suddenly switched languages and wasn't able to quite communicate what I wanted to say. "You know? Like, so many people I know don't make eye contact, they stare off and I don't know where they go sometimes... It makes me feel lonely, but you look right at me. It's really cool." He smiled back.

"You're easy to look at." He replied. "You're also very open."

I leaned back onto the single pillow on his tiny bed and sighed. "I feel like melted butter right now." I whispered. He chuckled, leaning in to kiss me again. 

Now, a couple hours later, the morning has come and gone and I am back home. I feel worried. I keep trying to figure out what I want and what he wants and what I would do if I didn't get what I wanted. This is a fascinating situation I'm in. On the one hand, I feel like there is nothing that I need to analyze yet about anything going on between Kismet and I. And, on the other hand, I feel like there is so much I could see happening. 

I don't think the english language has the proper vocabulary to describe all shades of love/relationship statuses. Like, this situation: In public we are at "friend" status (meaning, no hand holding, Public displays of affection or furtive glances) however, when alone we are "relationship" status (extremely affectionate, sweet and passionate). I don't know what to call that. I am confused. How can someone feel so good and be so good to be around and it's not a committed relationship? A casual hook-up is just that: no weight, no worry, no real passion. How can I get up in the morning after feeling so warm and weightless and go back to being the person I was the day before, after a night that made me feel like I once felt when I was dating Serendipity? 

Am I a sucker for falling in love? Am I the girl who wears her heart right on her sleeve and then gets crushed when everything doesn't become "happily ever after"? The answer, I believe, is Yes. 

I'm tired of explaining how a person didn't work out. I'm tired of feeling like every time I see someone it could be the last time. But, how can I control that? This is New York in 2012 and I am one of thousands of very pretty, smart, driven 20-something women who are all here to be loved and worshipped and sometimes I feel like I'm in a rat race for decent guys. So, whenever I find one, I feel like I struck a nugget of gold. 

I think a New Year's resolution will be to not worry so much. Yeah, it's a tall, daunting and seemingly open ended task, but one that I want to work on. If I don't worry, if I turn off the think-blinders and relax, I feel like melted butter: light, weightless, and warm. Kismet is still Kismet, whether I worry about him being something or someone else and the time spent with him makes me feel really, really good, and that's fact.

The Holy Kiss

I got caught staring at a large black man clearly enjoying the jazz that was being played at my job last night. He was nodding his head and shutting his eyes and muttering "Damn!"under his breath. At each key change he'd nod his head in affirmation, like he had just taken a swallow of something really yummy. I couldn't stop staring at his utter enjoyment.

He looked over at the bar I was standing behind and caught my eye. I smiled, beckoning him to the bar. I felt I needed to explain myself further. The song ended and the man got up and walked over. I leaned in over the bar toward his face and he leaned in over the bar toward my face. I moved to whisper in his ear and he moved in to kiss me on the cheek. I felt his warm soft lips brush my face and could feel myself blush a deep crimson. 

What? Wait. No! That's not why I called you over!! Oh... awkward. 

I tried to rescue to the pause after I pulled away from him with a huge smile. "I like to watch people enjoy the music." I whispered as the next song vamped up. "Do you want a beer?" He pointed to an IPA and I jumped away, eager to get out of his circle. I smiled as I handed him the beer and waved away his money. "It's on us." I said. He put the money in the tip jar and moved back to his seat. 

I tried to focus on the music, but my mind started buzzing. That stranger, that worshipper of music just kissed my cheek. I don't know him from Adam and he just ambled over and as soon as I leaned in he planted one right on my face. I smiled, unsure of how to really feel about the occurrence. I guess I liked that. I didn't feel threatened by it, or anything. I looked out over the other heads of the nodding patrons, all there to experience the jazz and to drink in the sounds. I moved to make my way up the aisle that parts the small room I work in and did it more for the purpose of feeling the reverence of the listeners than to take drink orders. It's like walking through a church sermon in a church full of very dedicated converts. 

As I collected a few empty glasses I wondered if the "Holy Spirit" of the room would cause someone else to kiss me one day. I didn't mind that idea. I got the sense that the kiss came from a place of bliss through worship than any sexual drive. I smiled. And who says the power of prayer is only for churches?

A Snapshot

Our palms were locked.

"You know? I believe that the palms hold a lot of energy. When you touch something or someone with the palm of your hand you are really transferring a lot of energy to that thing. Holding hands with someone is so personal. It's not something I do everyday." I mused. I looked at the ten fingers interlocking. It almost all looked like it could have come from the same hand. I looked back at him, checking for what his response might be. There was morning sunlight blasting the room full of color, so that his blue eyes looked really clear. I took a mental snap shot. He smiled.

My sister told me she sees change in me every time she sees me. We were sitting on the couch in my living room sharing stories of childhood. The impromptu muffins we threw together with the ingredients lying around in my kitchen were baking in the oven downstairs.

"Really, Cait? I'm so different? It's only been a few weeks..."

"Yeah, remember that time you told me I looked like I lost weight? And I said, I just gained confidence?"

"uh huh"

"Well, I didn't mean to say that I disagreed with you. I could tell you were giving me a compliment. And, I might have lost weight, but what I meant was: I just feel so good about my body. I feel like I've really come to love myself. It's still a struggle sometimes, but I love what I am. And I can see that in you."

I looked at myself at that moment. I felt as if I was suddenly looking into a mirror which was facing another mirror, like in the bathrooms of a Greek Diner in Queens, when you can see yourself and the back of your head stretch off into oblivion. Each time getting smaller, but still reflecting enough to keep the next image going, as if you are forever multiplying another version of yourself. In that moment, I saw another reflection. 

I was back in the snap shot moment in my sunlit room. I looked at the floor: clothes were strewn about. My bra was mocking me as it lay on the floor by my dresser... yeah, last night's activities didn't give me a chance to really put any clothes away.

I didn't care.

"We should get something to eat. I've got eggs. And I can make some coffee." I said. Looking back at him. I felt calm and collected, unlike my room. This is new and exciting. And, even if it were to end tomorrow, I feel different, like I lost a few pounds of anxiety and replaced it all with fluffy carefree clouds. 

Hanging Out

Chilling out in the summer is hard to do unless one has an AC.

But, hanging out? Really relaxing in the company of others and feeding off the creative energy of their bodies, and not feeling pressure to speak or do or act unless one wants to is: in my opinion, truly a wonderful level of friendship to be enjoyed by only the closest of friends.

And what causes that comfort? That level of trust, to know that the people who also happen to be in the room will be totally content to stay in their underwear all day and maybe debate taking a shower and maybe have to get up at one point and announce that they'll be back after they take a dump?  That comes from love. A love of the people around you. A love that transcends a need for sex or for drama or for stimulation, a love that occurs when one can be happy just sitting in the same confines of the same four walls as other people.

When someone has that relationship with others, be they roommates, relatives, co-workers, or best friends, that's something special. Lovely. A romance with other relationships that aren't just a boyfriend or girlfriend.

I love hanging out with other people who also want to just hang out.

Oh, hello delicious summer afternoons. I'm loving the sweet flavor of your laid-back kisses.

The Tip Of The Tongue

We were standing on the platform for the 7 train. It was another one of these deliciously warm spring days we've been having so many of this season. The sun was beginning to set and we had both paused to watch the train we had just gotten off pull away and then travel on into the distance. The Woodside station in Queens sits pretty high up from street level, and if you stand at the right place, you can see a gorgeous panoramic view of the skyline of New York.

I felt my hand go up to feel his and the two of us stood in awe of the sheer wonder that the scene was displaying for us. "This would be a great moment" I thought, "to say 'I love you.' "

"What'cha thinkin', Nat?"

Oh, a bunch of things involving a three word phrase that feels like it's ready to pry open my lips and jump out of me, but I feel like I can't say... just yet. We've only been seeing each other for a month!

"I'm taking in the scene, Serendipity. I'm drinking this in. It's so beautiful."

"Yes. Perfect."

"I l-l-liiiikke you so much."

"Me too, Nat."

I leaned in to kiss him and we smooched on the platform for a few minutes, until the next 7 pulled in and hundreds of Mets fans poured out of the train, diluting the breezy subway platform make-out with drunken sounds of cheering and screeching train brakes. Pulling apart, sharing a smile, and without saying a word, the two of us began to make our decent down to street level to go grab a slice of pizza and ice-cream. As we made our way I looked back at where we had stood in that moment and promised myself that more moments are coming.

And then I wondered how much strength I have left to not say the 'L' word out loud the next time a perfect moment comes along.

The Boyfriend

Some quick highlights:

#1: Beautiful day. Walking. MoMa in Queens. Wow. You're cute. See you soon.

#2: Yes, Let's get wine. Talk Talk Talk. Mmmmm....

#3: Hi. Makeout. Talk. Makeout. Talk. Walk. Makeout.

#4: Meet my Sister. Talk Talk Talk. Wow.

#5: Are we dating? Cause this is outstanding.

#6: I'm gonna leave my tooth brush here.

#7: Yes. I'll be your Girlfriend. Yes.

Ok, so it might have happened with slightly more time details and more bullet points, but I've leapt head long into a relationship with Serendipity.

The amazing part of this relationship is calling it one. I couldn't believe how much of a bold statement I was making when I announced that I had a boyfriend. Even saying that I have a boyfriend seems so, high school? I'm so used to being single and dating occasionally that it was quite the shock to have a guy in my life that I am making future plans with. "You mean: We might be dating in another two weeks? I won't not see you again?"

Plus, Serendipity and I met on the streets of New York. I was hustling and he was bustling and yet, in the stream of on going movement, we had locked eyes and struck up a conversation that eventually lead to all of the events leading up to me in my kitchen writing this blog post. Serendipity is not on Facebook, doesn't text a whole lot, and doesn't keep a blog, but I met him the "Old Fashioned way".

I'll have more to report once my brain stops reeling from this relationship I've jumped into head first.