Ode to a Chair

I walked past the broken chair sitting liked a hunched bum on the sidewalk. The worn yellow stripes with the water stains at the bottom and the threadbare arms reminded me again of how much I had disliked that piece of furniture. It had been sitting in the apartment with a comforter thrown over it and had therefore given the impression that there was a far more comfortable seat under there. In fact, if one didn't know what was underneath that comforter to begin with, one would sit on that antique and for a split second think they were relaxing, until a lumpy spring began to poke into a butt-cheek.

In the daylight, in the heat, on the sidewalk, however, that seat sat like a faded bulge of yellow, exposed to the elements and left to its fate. I watched as a small sparrow flew off of the derelict, decrepit, crumpled (dare I say self-pitying?) chair and into a low hanging branch. I wouldn't sit there either, I thought. I knew that chair once as it had been when it was sitting in the still, dark apartment it lived in. It was given a second chance, taken off the streets in the hopes of providing a home with a more comfortable environment. It failed, however, moving from the living room, to the foyer, to being covered up with the comforter, to finally: the street again. That thing would probably be carried off to a garbage dump in Staten Island or maybe: some other poor sap would come along and, seeing only the possibility of how charming those little yellow stripes would be in their apartment (and ignoring the glaringly obvious water stains at the bottom) they'll pick that chair up and take it home. Who knows. After a second glance at the thing I didn't really want to find out what happened to it. It's a piece of New York City history at this point, it's moving on to another place.

Goodbye you poor pathetic chair, good luck out there in the world! I won't really miss you, to be honest, as you were not very comfortable, nor were you very stable. You were pretty, once. And even with your arms worn thin by the hundreds of times people have rested there, and the lumpy cushion were once, in your better days, you provided a comfort for those needing a break from standing, you still can give off an impression of a cute, unassuming, slightly sad looking, take-me-home-and-love-me vibe which I am sure will serve you well if ever a time comes when you're fished out of the dump and used again.

Adieu.

Worshipping the Porcelain God.

As I retched the wine into the toilet of the bar I had been drinking at, I felt surpisingly calm. That felt good. A really good purge. I wiped my mouth and looked at my watery eyes in the mirror and drunkenly reflected on my life choices. Then, deciding that the whole reason I was at the bar in the first place was to not reflect on my life choices, I quickly dismissed my dizzy thoughts and tied my now smelly hair back into a pony tail and left the room.

I had been drinking for a few hours now.

I knew that that night would be a bender. I got back from Thailand a few days ago and as my Gym Buddy described it: The coil (that is metaphorically my life) had been pulled tighter and tighter and was now released and life was flopping in all different directions with a huge amount of force that could only be calmed down with time and gravity and alcohol. A few months ago, I wound myself up and sprang from New York like a caged canary and flew across the world and lived like a traveling explorer in the Jungles of South East Asia and I thought and I thought and I reflected and the home I left changed and grew, like New York as a tendency to do, and I came back on a different wave length that the bouncing around had given me, and the tight coil of my life in New York was released and I felt as if I got the full force of that all in a few days. Make sense? Mmmm, maybe I need a drink to figure that out... or not figure it out and forget about it for a while.

I'm not a drinker. So, drinking at full throttle with a full bottle and an empty stomach and a semi-broken heart and an overwhelmed brain and jet-lag led to me yakking into the porcelain bowl within a couple hours.

Thank God. I thought. OK. I'm OK. I've been better. But, I'm OK.

But, what's really the matter? What is the coil that's swinging around? A lot of things. Standing as a principle role and as a bystander to one's life is trippy. I get back and family, my living situation, my career, my future in New York, my sister, my job, and my boyfriend all sprang at once for attention. I was simultaneously impressed (as the bystander) with all I have created and call my identity, and as the lead role I'm experiencing: Ahhhh! I can't handle you all at once, but I have to because I am playing the role of "Natalie" in Natalie: A Life Story.  I can't not be the star!

I feel as if I've gone from "I'm moving to Chicago in 6 months" to "I'm going to give up acting and just be a writer" to "I hate you and you and you" to "I love you and you and you" to "I know what I'll do now" to "Oh my god, I feel so overwhelmed by all the choices I have that I can't make one and I want to bury my head in the sand" All in the course of 4 days.

Welcome back from vacation, and welcome to the role of "Natalie," the toilet's on stage right, pillow to cry into is stage left, the self-assured grown-up you're learning to become is staring at you in the mirror as you wipe your watery eyes and calmly wash the vomit from your mouth. Curtain Up.

Betrayal.

Is thinking about Betrayal constructive, or destructive?

I guess from my perspective: It's a constructive thought, to a certain point.

Betrayal is not all black and white. Betrayal could be the horror at knowing a best friend told a deep dark secret, or when an ally isn't at the "meet up point" at the crucial time, or when a lover doesn't return your attempts at contact. There are small betrayals everywhere, all the time, if one looks at life that way: the "I thought I could make that street light and didn't." or "What do you mean you have no more chocolate croissants?" or "I can't believe this ATM is charging me $3.50!" Small betrayals can exist in everyday life, but mostly after the first shock of the experience, one lets that go. Oh, well. Guess today wasn't my lucky day. I think obsessing over how the universe is out to get you because the route you take to get to the train has a construction site on it and you have to take another route, is destructive.

The other bolder, badder betrayals: the ones involving someone else going against your once established trust to do something different, I think, are the ones that could be constructive to think about.

I had a dream last night my Best Friend got up and told a room full of my peers that I had slept with someone I shouldn't have. I was mortified. I started screaming in rage, I was the laughing stock of the room and I felt so helpless in my agony over the idea that the person I trusted top-secret information with went and publicly humiliated me. I woke up with my jaw clenched and my body rigid, like I had just been beaten and was bracing for blows. What a dream to have! That's awful. I would never trust that friend with important information again. I lay away in my jet-lagged, early morning drowsiness and reflected on where in my body I felt the anguish of the betrayal. My heart. What does that mean to wake up to such a tremendous amount of adrenaline and horror on such a beautiful Summer morning in New York? Who knows. Probably not much. That dream was not even rank-able in terms of "think ability" because it was all a drama played out by chemicals in my brain as I dreamt.

Betrayal is scary. It's a fear our inner selves feel from time to time. It's a reminder that the world we live in is never as predictable and safe as we want or believe it could be. I mean, living in fear of it is not something I recommend. That's destructive. But, when a lover doesn't respond to contact attempts and all but falls off the face of the earth... then what? Imagination is the playmate of a break in the norm. scenarios get created and reasons for this and that become established as a brain frantically tries to make sense of the chaos. Real reasons exist: Imagination can come up with a million and more. But, the facts that a person once trusted is no longer meeting your expectations is rough, and an aspect of relationships in the Human experience that no one wants to be a victim to. Thinking about it can be constructive as a coping mechanism. Dwelling on it can be destructive.

Well, the dream made me thoughtful if nothing else... Betrayal is a juicy subject to hear about, but a nasty one to experience.

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.

Serendipity

Me: (Walking down 48th street, it's a bright, sunny Day. I'm covered in sweat from the gym, have wet laundry on my arm, I'm thinking about potential apartments I want to move in to...

Hello!

Oh, he just walked past. He had nice eyes.)

Him: (From behind me) Stony Brook?

Me: (Turning around. Did he just call me or did I imagine that?)

Him: Did you go to Stony Brook?

Me: Yeah...

Him: Hey! I thought I recognized you! We worked at Staller together!

Me: (What the Fuck? I don't remember... oh wait. He does look familiar! And he's got really nice eyes!) Oh! Hey! That's riiiiight! Good to see you, youuuuu...

Him: I'm Serendipity! (Obviously not his name.)

Me: Hi Serendipity! I'm Natalie! You live in this neighborhood?

Him: Yeah, I live right here. (points to building right next to my building)

Me: Woah! I live right there!

Him: Really?

Me: How long have you been here?

Him: Year and a half.

Me: (!?!?!?!) Me too! (Why have I not seen a cutie like yourself before?!) Do you ever go to the cafe up the block?

Him: All the time!

Me: (well, the fates decided that I needed to meet you, and you decided to talk to me, and so:) We should go sometime and catch up! grab a coffee or something?

Him: Sure! Here's my number.

Me: (Could this be any sweeter?) Here's mine.

Him: Great! So I'll see you around! I'm off to go to work helping coach kids in Harlem and being generally a badass.

Me: Wow. Ok, See ya! Shoot me a text 'er something.

Him: Great! Bye!

Me: (turning around. I'm holding my breath so I don't laugh out loud. What are the odds that that should happen? I need a shower. And the best part is the next time I see him I can only look even better.)

What a week it's been.