Dec. 31 2009

Happy New Year. (!!!!!!!!!!)

Yup, that's it. :)

Late Night Reading

Lately I have been staying up reading until 3 or 5 A.M. Last week it was, 'Queen Of The Damned,' and this week is, 'Redeeming Love.' Yes, it is a Christian novel. Yes, I am reading it for my book club. And, yes, it has made my eyes roll more than once. But, it is causing me to realize or remember just how I would like to treat a person. (Thank You Kate)

I would like to be good to a person, to treat them well, and not be terrified about it. I understand that one must wait 72 hours, at the very least, before first contact, and that one should have their self-respect intact at all times. But why has it become so hard to simply be good to another?

Dear World: We are confused as to what relationships are, how they start, O, and how lucky we are to have them.

I believe we are all going through this, "Voce nao vale nada, mais eu gosto de voce," phase, (It's a Brazilian song, the translation of it is, "You don't value anything, but I like you." The idea of this song is: The male is obsessed with a female who makes him suffer.) and I am only wondering if there is an end date to this phase. I don't want to torture anyone or vice versa, both feel bad on equal accounts.

Now I must go -- Duke is back and I'm scared.

Is It Christmas? (Edited)

Well, my dears this week has been a blurs. Everyday has been a slightly happy Sunday. Today I returned from clearing my head. Since Tuesday night I had been staying at "Hotel R," while he was away with family, not my term so get off it. During this stay I read a lot, wrote a lot, I met with a friend for lunch, where we spoke about how porn, the sex that is all around us, has murdered romance, and how shocking it is that no-one has caught on. I made a God what were you thinking decision about a person. It was a good few days.

But, given that is was Christmas Eve I had to return home, and upon arrival I decided it was time to put up the tree. I had started days ago -- but deserted the box in the living rooom -- It was time. So, on went a pair of gloves and out came a bottle of red. We don't do real trees, the branches went on easily. Then, text messages happened, and I was off to dinner with a friend.

Dinner was much fun, we exchanged information, and this friend invited me to a midnight mass. She isn't Catholic, and neither am I, but it reminded me of 'Home Alone,' so I committed.

Once home, it was time to dress the tree with lights. There were only two strings of the color lights because the other four refused to work. I truly adore the color lights, but there was not enough to cover the tree, which was when the white lights came out. The outdoor white lights, you know those icicle ones? Those very ones. Ha. I did the big no, both. Then it was the ornaments. I hung one on, then took a sip, hung three, another sip, then I simply just lied the ornaments on the branches -- hanging them seemed too tedious.

When my parents returned from dinner my mother took one look at the tree and gave her best attempt to be supportive, "Ah Good job."

I cheerfully responded, "Thanks," and kept on with my business. I had 'Jersey Shore' on. Three things: One, it's trash. Two, I love it. Three, none of those fools are from New Jersey, that show is a misrepresentation. Anyway, the tree was dones, I had my Santa hat on as I sat four feet away from the television for as long as I could before mass time.

When I got to my friend's home it was, "Merry Christmas!" Then, "You aren't wearing that hat in church right?"

Me: "Why not?"
Friend: "It's sacrilegious! You can't wear a Santa hat in church!"
Me: "Fine, fine, I'll take it off."
Friend: "Were you drinking? I can smell it on your breath"
Me: "Yess." (Smile)

Once we got there we dipped our hands into the little stale fountain near the entrance. I put the water on my forehead like they do in the movies. (It's true I was catholic at one time, but this was before my memory kicked in.) Once past the fountain we sat in a pew towards the back. The congregation was singing some song, so I attempted to find it in their book of hymns to sing along. No luck.

Please don't take any offense to this if you're Catholic, but your church is boring as hell. Whyyyyy does thee priest talk in songggg? And I want to know how is everyone cued as to when to stand, kneel, and sit? I lost count of how many times I stood up. And what is the nose thing -- the touching to one's forehead, then nose, then forehead, then something else. I think that's new. But I participated or tried to keep up. At one point I bowed my head and said, "Please, God forgive me for not taking this seriously," and this is not me mocking, I meant it.

When we were asked to turn our faces to the ground I knelled straightly and scanned the room, and thought, who are these people? And what really brought them here, habit?

While driving home I realized I was sobered by the experience and thought, how could you show up at a church service not sober? That's called coming full circle.

Yeah it hasn't felt like Christmas or the day after. (Still in Wilton)

Delicatessen

Now that cranky Jane is gone and the chugging of water is unnecessary the time has come to report on Drinks, the celebration of Change. This will take much patience because I drank way more then usual.

Shall we begin with the opening credits of driving bare foot to the city, the heels were annoying, so off they went. I felt all movements of the car through my foot, it's so strange how a silly shoe makes such differences.

When I parked at the usual Soho area I took off to Sephora to get my face painted. There is no other way to explain this. I said, "let's do a natural look." And I sat there for an hour as layer after layer of product was put on my face. Why didn't I stop her? I was entranced by the delicate patting of the the brush. And there is something about allowing a stranger such access.

After this face message I head to a friend's apt. The plan was to meet up with a few girls to have dinner before drinks at 9:30. I arrived with my black bag, which means more clothes, I had a difficult time deciding on which dress to wear, so I brought the second choice along to do a fashion show at her place. And now that I have time to think about it, why? Ha. A friend invites me over for the first time and I bring cloths along and commence to change in front of her. I am coming to realize that I just do things.

Anyhow, she poured me a yummy grapefruit concoction, other girls arrived and our dinner plans turned into vodka based drinks & Champaign accompanied with yummy Whole Foods rice crackers. After chit chat about school, stupid boys, and two outfit changes -- in fin I went with the initial choice, we hailed a cab. Mr. Cab driver realized that we were far too chatty to be sober, which is why he felt at ease to give us a hard time when we switched destination addresses three times. At which point one of the girls called him an ass hole and told him, "Why do you care if we're paying for it." When she said this, I thought, I love her.

At late arrival, (apparently it is acceptable for the host to arrive late, I was told this by female companions, I will take any good excuse for my lateness.) I was greeted by my advisor, who was so kind to show. I do not like the idea of not being able to come to your office to discuss my current academic dilemmas. Maybe I could stop by and talk about my bills or something? Another Professor showed -- Forgive me, but I cannot remember his name, but he was loved by everyone there, so I was very glad that he came. As for the attendees, fellow students -- what to say but I want to lightly pinch all of your cheeks. (Warning: I am going through many emotions about this Pace thing being over. It's taking me by surprise.) Dear N took it upon herself to oversee my consumption of a slider. She held the plate for me under my chin, and refused to leave until I finished it. I think she knew the ratio of food to alcohol wasn't right, so thank you love. And as for the night itself, I remember it as a sweet dance of attempting to spread attentions evenly, and if I was unfair to anyone, I apologize. There were persons who couldn't make it out, but I have to say I'm pleased with the group that did come.

When Delicatessen told us to get the hell out, a some what smaller version of the group fled to Puck Fair where the dance continued, well not really, I just love it's lulling echo. While there, seated in that booth I enjoyed the present company. I tried to explain to dear N, that pompous Anthony isn't really pompous, he is merely misunderstood. Give 'em a chance. Then good-byes were said and I didn't like it one bit.

After leaving I was kidnapped for a few hours until I sobered up. No, I'm not elaborating on this. God, mind your own business.

Okay -- I'm off to the dry cleaners --Clearly I had forgotten that wine goes in my mouth.

Turn Here?

It would be a disservice to myself if I didn't write tonight. But I'm in a raw type of mood so bear with me. I'm tired and sweaty from the dance parties in my room. Today was the last day of attending Pace University.

Wow. I knew this day was coming, it was somewhere in the back of my head, hiding with thoughts of -- one day I will eventually age. I didn't even bother finding out when school ended, someone told me last week, and when I knew, something danced around in my stomach. Everything about me made annoying gestures to express that change was coming.

When I woke up this morning, there was an outfit waiting, but typically I dress to suit my mood, so the black dress was not going to work, color is what I wanted. Yeah I'm almost sure I looked off today. It's tough when one's thoughts keep one from noticing if an ensemble matches. (someone commented)

This entire morning and afternoon I felt jittery, if someone were to say boo, I might have reacted aggressively. I missed the Intergenerational Technology graduation for the elderly, but we'll get to that on another post. I was on the brink of something, pacing around Pace, until I thought, I am going to see my Advisor.

And this worked. He had no idea I was wigging. I sat there calmly for chit chat. He asked questions, I answered, and I felt human again. Thank You.

After this I went on to poetry class. We went around in circles, reading our work, then reading anonymous work, & guessing it's author, this being a special exercise for the last class. There was one poem that addressed us all as talentless hacks. Yeah, I loved it. Everyone joked with each other, I smiled broadly many many times.

There really is no comparison to a poetry class. Such a class is therapy with laughs, it's a place where the inappropriate is welcomed in Santa style with milk and cookies. I will miss this group of people -- It was a good mix. (Well, it ain't over yet -- Hooray for drinks tomorrow.)

After class I went to dinner with a friend whom I had previously deemed as a doofus. But, you know what? Sometimes second chances are worth it. The doofus label is removed, so smile. And when you wake up tomorrow morning, do this favor for me, say,  "I am amazing," or "shamazing" aloud. And let me know if you feel anything.

Last Day At Pace

Class Of Poets

This little poetry family is breaking up. What I have to say on the subject is:

"I have a secret,
I have to tell."
"I am in love with you."
"The complications of the truth are unbearable." -Devieka

"I hear your rhythms bouncing off walls." -Catherine
"It takes a courageous person to expose human nature
when no one wants to listen." -Jenady
And now what to do?
"Shave my head, spill a drink, and be left alone"? -Mihir
What to do without these talks of,
"the poop-colored floor, -Catherine
without Jenady's odd inquires,
or Anthony's pompous remarks?
Really, who cares who Alfred is?
And what of Patrick's all-heart brooding effort,
or his "impression of a cucumber"? -Patrick
Or Yusuf's poems that invariably remind me that I have no sex life?
What of lexi's distrust of capitol letters --
Am I to forget this too?
"I am no longer impressed with declarations of brillance,
espresso wrapped in ribbons, easy smiles, & science." -Zeynep
But, fine, I'll go on as I must,
though not without this poem that you all have helped me write.
Don't expect any solid good-bye, I'll say it,
"while fumbling around paint cans, looking guilty enough for eye brows to rise." -DJ


A little background: I went through an assortment of poems that were read in class by fellow classmates, and this is the product. What to say, but this class was my favorite.

Caper Journal

Attention writers and readers: If poems, prose, fiction, and photography make your insides feel warm, read at www.caperjournal.com & submit at caperjournal@gmail.com What is Caper Journal? It is a new and unusual literary blog that was created by a friend. I also help out, but honestly, not enough. So here is a bit of team spirit. Stop by and click us a wink.

A Memory

Welcome to this memory. I told it to a friend this evening. It made us laugh, so now I tell you.

While on the path train I told a friend, S, that my college experience is nearly at it's end. And what do thoughts of the end do, but make one think of how it begun.

At the beginning I was caught between Culinary school or studying psychology at some university. So, I went visiting schools. A few days before the Art Institute's open house I purchased a puppy, a Chihuahua. And since my parents had no idea of their new pet, and I could not find anyone to watch him for the day, the obvious thing to do was to bring him along.

Baby was a tiny thing then, he weighed a pound or two, so I just put him in a compartment in my purse. The first half of the tour we walked about undetected. When we got to the sausage making class room, Baby started to make all types of funny noises. I tried to ignore the accusing looks, yet when the Chef asked if everything was okay it was time to excuse myself.

As I sat in the lobby cooking up my next plan, a suited man approached and asked why I wasn't on the tour. At this point I took Baby out of my purse and said, "This is why." I explained that I didn't have anyone to watch him and that I also did not want to miss the open house. At this Mr. Suit offered to watch Baby for me. I said okay and followed him to his office, the Dean's office.

While entering I said things like -- O my God, you're the Dean...You should have said something! He brushed my remorse aside and went on about his love for dogs and that he wouldn't mind to dote on Baby while I completed the tour.

Ha. So I did. And when I returned, I learned that Baby had urinated, a little here, a little there, and Mr. Dean was okay with it! O Mr. Dean, if you are still there, I have not forgotten your patience with me.

~~~~~~~~~
On an introspective note: Eighteen year old Jane thought it okay to bring a puppy to a reasonably serious event. Twenty-four year old Jane knows not to. We're making progress.

Part II -- The Tree

The tone has changed, let me you play a bit of music that my precious magic, my heart has stored away. I thought it away, but how can I leave myself?

After leaving A I went off to a Walt Whitman thing at school. I sat through two hours of W. Whitman, and two songs by Whitman sung by an opera singer. Of course I wasn't listening to the whole thing. I tend to focus in and out of class, and when my ear catches a good word I write it down, like, Piove, it's raining.

The notes I jotted down at the Whitman reading were "Manahatta," the American Indian's take on Manhattan. I then wrote, "I return after death to be with them," here are Whitman's words claiming a return to life in order to be with women he may fancy. For what ever reason, I found this worthy of a smile. Then lastly I wrote, "Nevah." This word wasn't Whitman's, it was a Professor's. As this professor read his choice of W.W. his words were meticulous, aside from his "Nevah." What to say of this "nevah," but, don't you change it.

After this talk there were refreshments. I took a bite of sugar cookie, exchanged words with a few people that I should be getting to know more, then went down stairs. When I peered down into the courtyard at the trees adorned by holiday lights, something stirred within. My days are numbered here, I thought. And I hate that cafeteria, but I'm going to miss it much, I thought this as I bought a yogurt.

While eating yogurt by the Christmas tree near the front entrance, this guy that dropped out of my Italian 101 came by to chat a little. We did the how are you-s, he asked what I was doing, I told him I was thinking about seeing the lighting of the Rockefeller tree, as well as charging my phone. (I had unplugged the tree, just for a little.) He offered to come with and before I could say no, I said yes. As we walked towards the subway, I noticed he was affecting my mood. You see he is Mr. Brooklyn, Mr. Tough, Mr. tattoos all over one's neck, and although I have no qualms about being tough, except I did not feel like putting tough on at that moment, nor did I want any company, nor did I want this person over thinking this acquaintance-ship.

So, I told him that I changed my mind and that I was going to study instead. He walked me back to school. I entered the front entrance, went down a flight of stairs, walked a long hallway, then down another flight of stairs, and left the building by a side exit. Needless to say, but I have done this on more then one occasion. And I have just decided that I am not going to do that anymore. What's wrong with saying no thank you, if it's the truth?

When I got to 49th it was raining, so I purchased an umbrella. As I walked towards the tree I realized that I was being filtered onto specific streets, we were all being guided on a specific route. I almost turned back at this because I am not a fan of crowds, people do not think clearly when in a crowd situation. So, I elected to stroll on the street alongside cars, until I could not anymore. On the street corner of 51St. and something I was told by an officer that I should just turn back because there was no way that I would get near the tree, "It's a bad night to see the tree," he said.

Then the strangest thing occurred, he started making small talk with me? He made a comment about how he forgot his umbrella. At this I looked at the other officers without umbrellas, and asked, "Are you supposed to have an umbrella?" And we laughed a little. Then I asked for the best route to the Orange line. His friend, another cop moved a blockade and allowed me to go the way that was needed. So, hear this -- There are exceptions to the testosterone cop theory.

As I unhurriedly walked to the subway near Radio City I saw the lit tree on a massive screen, and remembered why I was there. This caused me to change course, as I walked further on, I thought I'll go as far as I can. I got past the screen and was parallel to the Anthropology store. When I looked up there were employees with name tags doing the wave, attempting to attract attention. This made me laugh. And then I saw it! (The tree) I saw it's reflection in the window and thought O how lovely. I thought how funny it would be if I just up and left at that moment. But I was so close why not inch my way a little more -- so I did -- And I eventually saw the sizable dazzling pine. I said, "Hello," stood there for seconds, then turned and walked away, mission accomplished.

My boots were soaked through -- This only meant my feet were wet -- And what does that matter? I head to Penn Station where I had planned on meeting A and friends to return ourselves back to Jersey. And I think I'm going to stop here. There's more as there always will be, but the trick it to know when to call it.

Desert Truck -- Part I

I can feel the magics. Can you?

I have a glass of cold sweet milk beside me, the rain is raining, and life is good. I have not said that in a while. But yes, life is good. I had been feeling a tad plagued lately, inconsolable about the loss of day light hours among other things, and today something from the summer came knocking. Maybe it was the dress I chose? That's probably what it was.

Let's start with the afternoon. My gem, A, came into the city today for a holiday, and since I had a very long break between my first and second classes we planned to meet for lunch then track down the Desert Truck in the Flatiron district for sweets.

 After lunch we set out to the Flatiron for a nutty chocolate something. Yet, once we got there no truck. I have to say I was beside myself for a moment, I had been thinking about that desert truck for quite some time. While standing there starring at Madison Square Park I thought, well where is it? After willing it to appear did not work I decided to ask a nearby coffee truck man. He expressed that the truck had moved to West 8th and University Place.

In fin, no desert truck at West 8th and University. By that point it was comical. As we walked on we passed Dash Diva and reminisced about that horrible day we decided to get Brazilian waxes. And how Miss Wax told A that the customers were becoming frightened due to me hollering, "I can't take it!"

After revisiting the wax memory and the necessary stop for chocolate milk we went our separate ways.

A Part II may be in order since the tone changes.