NYC Love/Hate Relationship, Pt. 1: I hate you.

I stayed up till almost 1am the last two nights reading (and finishing) A Thousand Splendid Suns and while I loved the book, I have not loved the last two mornings. This morning was especially difficult to drag myself out of bed; I hit snooze until 7:48, when I used every ounce of groggy energy in my body to put myself in the shower. I checked the weather (a habit I’m trying to get into given the volatile and indecisive climate as of late) and saw it was forecast to be slightly warmer than usual. So I got dressed and did not wear my scarf. As I walked the 1/2 mile to the subway (the farthest anyone on the entire island ever has to walk to any subway at any given point), the wind whipped down my jacket and into my shirt. I regretted forgoing the scarf. Then somehow today every single commuter forgot how to swipe their MetroCard and there was some shoving, cutting of lines, and very angry looks. Then I got on my subway and managed to slither past the crowd and find a spot against the in-between-doors, which I can lean against instead of straining to reach the bar overhead to balance. Apparently I immediately became invisible because some dude tried to take up the exact spot I was occupying. For the entire duration of the ride, which is one stop, but which involves lots of stops and goes since MTA conductors can’t seem to time their trains correctly to correspond with the ones in front of them. THEN I got on my second subway and stepped into a near-empty car, only momentarily relieved from the crowd, because almost instantly every single airway and orifice on my face was accosted by the most foul smell. I looked over and of course, of course, I got on the one subway car that had been deemed some homeless dude’s home for probably the entire winter. Gross.

Needless to say, by the time I got to work I was incredibly cranky and all day long I have been thinking of everything I hate about New York City. And I’m going to tell you them. (Luckily, my inevitably dominant optimistic side found counter-arguments to almost every hateful part about NYC, hence the admittedly love/hate relationship and “part one.”)

• The weather: I have lived in a lot of places, but never have I found a more inconsistent climate than here in NYC. What the fuck, New York? Really – one day in March can easily hit 80 degrees, while August can dip to the mid-50s with chilly raindrops hitting your bare shoulders. Two weeks ago it was 47 degrees and tonight it’s snowing. It should be snowing, but it shouldn’t have been pushing 50, which is usually reserved for April, which in 2009 was a month after the hottest week of the year.
• The sidewalks: They ruin my shoes. Heels, flats, boots. Doesn’t matter. The soles and heels are torn up and demolished within a span of three months. They are crowded and cracked and half-covered with subway grates that the majority of the population is terrified to step on. I don’t mind walking on subway grates, but I often wear shoes that prevent me from doing so without getting stuck.
• Public transportation: It’s all local on weekends. If it’s running. It’s delayed. It’s crowded. It keeps getting more expensive. It’s reserved for only the center seven avenues of the island. If you happen to live on any of the four eastern- or western-most avenues, you have a hike to get to your stop. Oh, and homeless people seem to think they can take up shack in cars of their choosing, causing them to smell so bad my nose hairs burn and my eyes water. Not. Pleasant.
• People: Unfriendly. Pushy. Impatient. Angry. Unforgiving. Self-obsessed. Arrogant. Glaring. Competitive. I could go on, but I think I’ve made my point.
• Smokers: I don’t care if you’re outside, I am downwind from you most of the time and breathing your disgusting second-hand exhaled smoky breath is so far OFF my list of things to do I actually entertain fleeting thoughts of taking up the habit only so it won’t bother me anymore. Also, I resent you more when I’m running (read: exercising my lungs) and you are sucking on a cancer stick (read: killing your lungs). Get a better hobby.
• Prices: A glass of wine will regularly cost $8. Happy Hour means $5 beers instead of $7 beers. Mixed drinks (with well liquor) are also around $8. Ten dollars for a drink doesn’t phase me, though I won’t have more than one. A dinner out is expectedly $50 after tax and tip and that’s “not a bad deal.” Coffee is upwards of $2 per cup and I have seen water bottles go for $3. A Manhattanite is expected to fork over 50% of their annual income to pay rent. Financial advisors will tell you to try not to go above 30%. It’s just so. expensive.
• Accessibility: It takes a minimum of 40 minutes to get anywhere here, unless you’re walking, in which case it takes up to 20. But let me put this in perspective: In California recently, I noticed a sign that said the destination was 75 miles away. I figured in my head it would take about an hour to drive. In NYC, it takes me an hour to go from my Upper East Side apartment to the West Village. It’s 4.3 miles.
• Bugs: While I’ve been lucky enough to live in apartments with very minor roach problems, I am not spared underground (subway) or downtown (narrow streets). Seriously, the stories you hear are not myth: these radioactive immortal fuckers are well over an inch long and seriously revolting and creepy. And during the summer, when it’s hot and humid, they like to come up onto the sidewalk for air. So not flip-flop friendly.
• I’m fat: My walk from my apartment to the subway is .5 miles each way. Walking a mile or two is second nature and it’s not usually a question about whether I take a cab across town or walk. (I walk.) Even so, somehow, miraculously, I do not lead an active lifestyle. Somewhere between long hours, late nights, rich dinners, and boozy happy hours, walking just doesn’t cut it. Also, like I said before: the weather sucks and so do the sidewalks.

Ok I’m done being negative. Even writing these points, I had to consciously resist the urge to temper them with “I’m grateful for…” and “I really do like…”. NYC is certainly not all bad, which is what I’ll focus on in the next installment. But, to me, it really is the epitome of a love/hate relationship.

Head in the California Clouds

I am officially back on the east coast. I guess technically I was officially back at 8am this morning, when my red-eye flight landed at JFK, but now I’m home in my apartment and it feels more official that way.

The last 72 hours is literally a blur. This weekend crawled by at a snail’s pace and yet was over before I could blink. The days lasted forever and yet they are over already. I was in California less than 24 hours ago and it already seems like last year. It’s also weirdly only three degrees chillier here in NYC than in San Francisco. Not helping my sense of time and space, people!

So anyway. The Cali Boy visit was, in a word, awesome (is anyone surprised?). My flight was delayed two hours last Thursday night but somehow arrived only one hour late. Cali Boy was tracking my flight all day long (even before I was) so he was well up to speed on when I was set to arrive. Word to the wise: Virgin America flies into the International Terminal at SFO. This caused about five minutes of confusion when Cali Boy and I could not figure out why we were both at “Arrivals” and yet were not in the same place. I finally figured out where I was, he pulled up in his little red Subaru (Rex the WRX) and hopped out with a grin.

“You made it!” He said, grabbing my duffel and flinging it into his trunk. He gave me a huge hug and we drove back to his house. As opposed to earlier in the day, during which I could not have been freaking out more, at that point in the night I was so exhausted and disoriented from having traveled 3,000 miles and gained three hours of Thursday that any semblance of anxiety was entirely gone.

Of course, the exhaustion manifested itself into completely delusional speech and also caused me to immediately spill a large glass of water all over myself and his kitchen counter and floor within about 10 minutes of walking in the door. Luckily, he seemed to find these quirks endearing rather than red freak flags.

I didn’t really realize how well we’d gotten to know each other over the past two+ months. The background made everything easy; it was never awkward or uncomfortable. It felt natural to sit in the passenger seat, to have his arm around my waist, to catch his eye and grin about something we both overheard. The hardest thing, for me, was to accept it as my reality for the time being. My biggest challenge was remaining open with my guard down. I’m not sure I totally succeeded, but I do know I did a better job at it than I normally do.

We went to Pier 39 and saw sea lions. He bought me saltwater taffy that we ate as we wandered through a photography exhibit. We took a ferry to Alcatraz Island where we got a guided tour, watched a short Discovery Channel video, and did the head-set self-guided tour. We hiked all over the island in the sunny, salty air looking out at the views the prisoners had as they played baseball in their courtyard. We had pizza and beer and watched “When Harry Met Sally” and he told me I was never allowed to call it a non-chick-flick again. We drove down to Monterey and saw Cannery Row (à la John Steinbeck’s slice-of-life novel from 1945) and went to the aquarium where we saw sea otters and seahorses and hammerhead sharks and giant tuna fish. We walked down the rocky coast and found an empty bench that seemed placed there exactly for us. We found a beach entirely devoid of human life but over-crowded with spotted seals taking an evening nap. I met his friends who all gave him props for having a chick fly across the country to hang out with just him. (He gave me props, too.) We saw “Avatar” in 3-D and watched football in bed after sleeping till noon.

Overall, the weekend was intense and amazing and natural and sexy and comfortable and just all around great. B asked me today about my “emotional/mental state,” though, and I don’t have an answer yet. I’m still digesting everything. Cali Boy is really cool. He’s cute and we are compatible in a lot of ways. We have a lot of differences but most are complimentary instead of clashing. I’m attracted to him and we got along for 72 hours straight – most of the time in a one-on-one situation, always sober (a drastic change from the first weekend we spent together).

I’m going to visit B and Mama Bird this weekend and I’m counting on them to help me sort through my thoughts and feelings and hopefully I’ll be more in tune with my “emotional/mental state” soon. Until then – just know that until I crashed this afternoon and could barely keep my eyes open, I couldn’t stop grinning.

Earth to Sara…

I’m getting chastised again for not updating. Last time this happened, I had run into a total brain blockage that was preventing me from writing coherently. I didn’t feel like things were happening to me. Now they are happening too fast!

I feel like I’ve been caught up into this whirlwind of unreality and as hard as I try to stand with my feet firmly planted on the ground, I can’t get my head to come back out of the clouds. It’s a weird feeling – being so stretched out. My logical brain just will not reconcile itself with my gut feelings. What this really means is that my instincts are winning out and that somewhere my reasonable side is letting it happen.

This has literally never happened to me before.

I checked last night out of curiosity and the emails started on November 9 – right after we each got back to our respective coasts after the wedding. Since then, there have been over 50 emails, countless texts – both drunk and sober – and I’m guessing at least 10 hours spent on the phone. And now here I am, gearing up to spend 72 hours nonstop with this guy.

In standard NYC terms, 72 hours of dating would take weeks, if not months, depending on how busy you are. For me personally, dates usually last only a couple hours – a few if it’s going really great – so 72 hours with someone is equal to maybe 10 few-hour dates and five sleepovers of the eight-hour variety? My math may be a bit off but the point remains: spending three days straight with someone is a long time.

I told Mama Bird today that I am concerned about getting so caught up in the whirlwind that I will totally lose my grounding and struggle to come back down to earth. She looked at my through gchat (I could see her face as she typed these words) and said, “You’ll be fine.” I’m going to visit her and her new puppy and B the weekend after – mostly to meet the puppy but also so they can both yank my romanticizing, overanalyzing head out of the clouds and pull me back to reality.

And right now there is only one reality: I live in New York City. There’s a cute boy that I have a potentially great connection with across the country. And I am going to find out the day after tomorrow.

Insults from a Cable Company

I just received this from B on gchat:

“Comcast just told me I have a non-responsive box. Naturally I can’t stop giggling.”

Why are we perpetually 13? I love it.

Classy Ways to Ring in 2010

I went to DC for New Year’s Eve this year with about 40 of my closest friends and maybe 4,589 acquaintances. I use the term lightly, but I’m sure you get the point. Anyway, it was a really classy celebration. Here’s why:

• The strap on my $14 dress from Charlotte Russe unraveled a bit after midnight.
• I sent a friend to get “something to fix it.” He came back with a long strip of duct tape.
• Third Eye Blind was the headlining band. What’s up, 1997?
• Did I mention Stephan Jenkins is 45 years old?
• Twin fell on the dance floor and proceeded to sit there, sprawled out and sipping a beer, for about 5 minutes.
• Frere made out with one of C’s sorority sisters from college. Who totally predatored him. Cougar alert!
• I made out briefly with some rando in a sweater vest with my dress duct-taped together. I don’t have an actual memory of this, I just know it happened.
• There was a guy present in one of those full-body suits of the spandex variety. You know, the kind that covers your face, too. It was neon green.
• (He was definitely really ugly under that suit.)
• The bartenders let us double fist all night.
• After prowling the streets for about 20 minutes, seven of us blatantly stole a cab from a couple sitting on the curb, who’d apparently been waiting an hour. Oops.
• Back at home, frozen pierogies were fried up for late-night snacks. Many were still cold in the middle. We ate them anyway.
• A large group of us then proceeded to collapse into a pile on a twin-size air mattress and pass out that way. Voluntarily.

As you can see, 2010 is already off to an amazing start. Upcoming adventures (read: more blog posts! yay!) include: skiing in the Poconos this weekend, MLK weekend (Beerlympics/Mama Bird visits!), and the inevitable Crazy Trip to California.

California, here we come

Oh. My. God.

So much has happened in the last 12 days.

The day after I posted this, Cali Boy called me. I was not expecting a phone call – then, or ever really – so seeing [Cali Boy] pop up on my caller ID was a bit more than nerve racking. But then we talked for two hours. I don’t talk to anyone on the phone for two hours. Except apparently Cali Boy.

So that happened. And then I had a really vivid and weird dream, basically about Cali Boy and my very mixed feelings about the entire situation. Then two days after our phone conversation, Travelzoo sent me a Newsflash email highlighting flights on between San Francisco and NYC for $100 each way. So I forwarded the deal, which ran until December 29, to Cali Boy. He agreed it was a great deal but also said paying rent is a top priority right now. Alright, that’s fair. I guess the holiday season is typically one where bank accounts suffer…and flying across the country is expensive and intense and kind of crazy.

Then Cali Boy called again last Sunday, on his way home from his parents’ place. We talked again for an hour – and I ended the call because it was 11pm EST and I was tired and had to wake up early to commute into NYC for work on Monday. And then on Monday and Tuesday I started questioning everything all over again. I worked from home on Tuesday, which meant I was alone in my apartment with only my thoughts all. day. long. And R1 made a very casual comment about how she doesn’t think I’m nuts for talking to him because it’s “not like we’re having any kind of relationship.” True, and fair, but that kind of stuck with me. So when I was having dinner with Bex I was questioning things even more. It’s been two solid months of emails and texts and now very lengthy phone calls…and for what? I told Bex I was worried that maybe I had turned into just a friend across the country. I realize that sounds kind of stupid, but I have a really hard time believing a guy I like also likes me and I have an even harder time believing that he still likes me while I am 3,000 miles away.

Anyway, the more we chatted, the more certain Bex became that I need to go out there. It was after 9pm when she finally got me to agree – now is the time to take risks and do crazy things. And if it’s this scary now, then it’s gonna be really fucking scary when I’m 40. So I texted Cali Boy at 10:30 and said, “Sooo that flight deal ends tonight at midnight. Want to give me the next best weekend to come to SF?” I half expected/hoped he wouldn’t reply in time. But he did, right away, and said any weekend except February 7.

So I called Twin (because my laptop was at home because I am spacey) and she looked up flights and I BOOKED ONE.

Yep. Thirty minutes before the deal ended, I booked a flight to San Francisco. I leave in 3 weeks and stay for 3 full days and nights. And I am bursting at the seams with excitement.

This weirdly (though not surprisingly) reminds me a bit of my Blog Twin’s Experience earlier this year…not the specifics, of course, Cali Boy is not a blogger and we didn’t meet online. However, the “everything and nothing” conversations, the butterflies, the insanity and unexpectedness of it all…the annoying bi-coastal nature of it all. None of my friends here know what I am feeling, but Blog Twin replied to my tweet about my impulsive decision and it’s a huge relief to know someone can relate to what’s going on in my head.

And with that, I will say: Happy 2010!

An Exception to Every Rule

I wrote at the beginning of this month about the 2009 resolution I finally accomplished, 11 months into the year. The same disclaimer applies here, I think.

Anyway, the whole point of that weekend (A’s wedding, the casual attitude, etc) was that I would never see him again. Or really speak to him. I went to the wedding with zero expectation of any kind of hookup – I was there to be A’s bridesmaid – and when the hookup became apparent, I went into that with zero expectation of any follow-through. In fact, I actively didn’t want any follow-through. As things progressed, I felt more confident, sexy, and free than I had in a really long time. There were no strings attached! The guy lived in California and I’m in NYC. It didn’t occur to me that there might be an exception to the rule of one-night-stands.

Like I said, it was fun. I figured we’d become friends on Facebook, mostly because he had pictures and I had pictures and I had met a lot of really cool people and it would be bizarre to leave him out. So the friending happened and then he sent me a message. It was really short and nice, superficial, a simple how-was-the-trip-back-were-you-struggling-as-much-as-I-was. (I mean, we’d gotten about 3 hours of sleep. That day of traveling was rough). I wrote back agreeing that it was rough and returning the question. He wrote back again and this time the message was longer, more engaging. I showed it to Twin, wondering why on earth this guy was writing to me. I mean, I knew he thought I was hot and I knew he liked my personality. But come on, it was a one-weekend fling. No need to pretend like you have any further interest in me past that. Twin advised I wait a bit longer before replying and slowly make the messages shorter so they’d fade out. And that was my intention.

Fail.

Within two weeks we’d moved from Facebook messages to emails and another week after that we exchanged numbers. (Talk about a backwards way to get to know someone). It’s been a solid month and a half since we met and we are emailing “epic essays” (his words, not mine) several times a week. Sometimes there is contact multiple times a day. Texts are also not uncommon, though they mostly happen when at least one of us is not so sober.

So now I must introduce this guy not simply as “some guy from the wedding,” but as Cali Boy. Because, oh right, he still still lives in California.

What am I doing? One-night stands are supposed to be just that – one night. No further interest. No further contact. It’s casual, meaningless. You’re not supposed to realize that the other person is not only sexually attractive to you, but also really fucking cool. And even if that does happen, it’s not supposed to be mutual. Or bi-coastal. So what the fuck.

The thing is, I’m trying to just kind of go with it. I don’t want the emails or texts to stop. I really like learning more about him and hearing stories and I find myself interested in how his week is going and what his plans are for Christmas. He seems to be interested in the same about me and has done some cute things, like sending me videos of baby otters playing on the carpet and Elfing the two of us into the jibjab Elf Yourself video on Thanksgiving day.

There are definitely times (this past week was one of them) that I seriously question my intentions and motives here. I question the entire situation and wonder why I continue. I don’t see contact ending but I also don’t see a future involving anything more than virtual communication. What’s the point? There isn’t one.

Except he’s tentatively planning to come visit in February.