I was reading through my previous posts and noticed something disappointing. I’ve stopped writing about (and paying attention to) the instances outside of my normal routine. I’m going to try something different for this week’s post.
February 2nd – February 8th
My Week In Thoughts.
I was at work looking out the window and all of the sudden the light rain churned to chunks of white whizzing from the sky. These were no ordinary snow flakes; whirling wildly around, creating a real life Instagram filter on the window.
The comic who thinks he’s god’s gift to women. HA. Your greasy hair is almost as repulsive as your un-deserved arrogance.
The couple next to me… Chatting away “omg, I’m just not ready. Blah blah.” Why come to a small underground space where some 20 musicians are jamming out beautiful bluegrass to spend the entire time blabbing?
I’m not a musician. I can’t easily tell if a song or a performance has technical merit with most instruments. I judge music based on how it makes me feel. A good song will make my nerves dance and my heart leap.
Most times I feel more comfortable alone in public spaces. Is that why I’m single?
I’m so glad I braved the mush, ice, and frozen thighs.
Underneath the sidewalks the lady in all black plays something sorrowful on her accordion while a hungry rat scurries across my over-sized snow boot.
His hair swoops perfectly to the left. My left, not his. There’s a layer of dirt under his fingernails. He’s reading intently, forehead down parallel with the dingy subway floor. He looks like a Jerry. Or Benny. No, probably Larry.
The underground fiddler plays twinkle twinkle little star for the cheerful toddler waiting for the choo choo train to arrive.
The lady who stands at the subway entrance at Canal st. spouting various brand names [“Gucci…. Chanel… “] and I have come to an understanding. What that understandings is, I’m not quite sure.
Sometimes I close my eyes and picture myself on a beach somewhere with the sun pinching my skin.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize the pinching I’m feeling is from this bitter fucking cold. I’ve about had enough. #onemoremonth
The guy discreetly (only not discreetly) practicing his latest latin dance moves. His feet and hips are shifting in rhythm. His left hand comes up for air, makes a slight shake, and back it goes into the pocket.
Living in NYC means you’re in a constant state of some level of un-comfort. Nowhere else in the world would I put up with being so fucking sweaty and cold at the same time. I didn’t even think that was possible.
Here I am, sitting on a bench at the NYC 8th street stop. My fingers so numb they hurt. My nose a broken water fountain. And this girl walks off the N in stilettos, thin panty hose, and a coat that barely makes it past her torso. I hope her legs fall off.
I think I’ll try doing stand up.
Holy Mother of England! I reach for my double soy latte in Park Slope’s cutest neighborhood coffee shop when I hear “Blimey! What’s that bloke done now?”. Two of the world’s most adorable English men sit by the tiny window drinking their coffee, reading their paper, and gossiping harder than middle schoolers. Both are rocking a unique set of spectacles. Happy Friday to me.
The warmth (and by warmth I mean upper 30s) of the weekend was worth the freezing hell that lead up to it. I didn’t even need a scarf at one point.
Saturday I learned the difference between a chamber orchestra and a symphony while in attendance of a chamber orchestra concert. My goodness, the sound of instruments well played is magic. True real-life magic. Musicians = Magicians.
I sat next to a concert cellist who is from Ekaterinburg. The city in Russia where I am from. BOOM.
Dance cabaret at Alvin Ailey, chamber orchestra concert at Lincoln Center, & an off-broadway play. All for $15. #doingitright
I started using hashtags?
Application Pending (starring Christina Bianco) was excellent. You in NY? Go see it.
The group of 6 ladies in their early 40s with fabulous New York accents sitting directly in front of me were the perfect pre-show.